Page 91 of Shield of Fire

“Which, if the remaining trees are anything to go by, was a gorgeous, well-loved parkland.”

“More a well-tended wildland, but yes. The new entrance lies to your left, behind the boulder.”

I glanced over, but the boulder blocked all sight of the entrance. “I take it that stone was strategically and deliberately placed?”

He nodded. “This is now a burial site, remember. None but the invited are welcome into it.”

“That sounds like there’s magic here.”

“There is.”

I wasn’t sensing it, and more importantly, perhaps, neither were my knives. But given the magic’s intent was more protection and repelling, that wasn’t really surprising.

I finished my trail bar, tucked the wrapper back into the pack’s side pocket, and then put my sweater and coat back on. I was still overly hot from the walk up here, but that would change soon enough once we got inside. Besides, the additional layers would come in handy in the tighter tunnel spots. It was always better to scrape clothes than skin.

Mathi walked up and stood beside us. “How deep are we likely to be going?”

“Quite a ways.” I looked at him in amusement. “You can return to the car, you know.”

“I know, but you have no idea what grips that shield, and my gun might just come in handy.”

“Bullets won’t kill a godling.”

“Perhaps not, but silver bullets will certainly take care of anything supernatural. I know this for a fact.”

“You do?” I asked, eyebrows rising. “Since when have you ever had to deal with the supernatural?”

“I am not just a pretty face?—”

“There are some who would argue with that,” Cynwrig murmured.

Mathi studiously ignored him. “And I do run an international business. There have been times when we’ve had to deal with... shall we say entities?... less than pleased about our takeover of their lands.”

“You never said anything to me about it.”

“You weren’t around at the time.”

“Ah yeah,” I said. “I keep forgetting you’re a much older man.”

“As is Cynwrig.”

“By comparison, no,” Cynwrig replied mildly. “In elf terms, you’re a good century older.”

“Seventy-two does not a century make,” Mathi said dryly.

Cynwrig smiled but didn’t reply as his phone beeped. As he pulled it free from his pocket, Lugh approached and handed us each a headlamp.

“We should get going,” he said. “We have no idea how long it’ll take us to reach the lake?—”

“I can tell you that once we get inside,” Cynwrig said. “I can also search for whatever other problems we might encounter.”

He meant physical blockages rather than any sort of metaphysical ones.

Lugh nodded. “I’d still rather avoid stumbling down this mountainside at night. Too easy for others to set a trap.”

My gaze jumped to his. “You think we were followed?”

“No, but doesn’t mean we weren’t.”

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