Page 74 of Shield of Fire

“And that’s probably why the remaining old gods are now stirring humanity’s pot, so to speak,” I said. “There’s no better way to reawaken interest than to rattle some figurative cages and prove you still exist.”

Lugh wrinkled his nose. “Not sure something like that would work—humanity in general isn’t as gullible as it once was.”

Eljin snorted. “I’m not so sure about that—just look at some of the so-called politicians they keep voting in.”

“A major truth right there,” I said, lightly tapping my coffee mug against his.

Lugh shoved another biscuit into his mouth. “How many scrolls we got to examine?”

“Probably a dozen or so,” I said.

“Meaning we’re in for an all-nighter.” He paused and glanced at Eljin. “Well, you’re not. You need to keep impressing the powers-that-be while you’re still on probation. Good men are hard to find these days.”

Eljin smiled. “Thanks for the compliment.”

“Thank my sister. She’s the one who says you’re good.”

Eljin glanced at me, eyes twinkling merrily. “I suspect you and she might be talking about two very different types of good.”

I laughed and lightly slapped his arm. “Good is such a mediocre term and one I would never use in reference to you.”

“I’m so glad to hear it.”

“Thoughts on the task ahead, not bedroom delights, people,” Lugh said, the twinkle in his eyes belying the severity of his tone.

I grinned, saluted him with my coffee cup, then downed the rest of my drink and slid off my stool. “Shall we get to it?”

“You read old Latin?” Eljin said in obvious surprise.

“Not a word, but Lugh will write down what phrases I need to look out for.” I shrugged. “At worst, I can be the tea and biscuit lady.”

“There will be no tea and certainly no biscuits down there,” Lugh commented. “The last thing we need is crumbs or—gods forbid—coffee spilt all over the place.”

“Then you’re stuck giving me a quick lesson in old Latin.”

He nodded and led us into his study—where Eljin and I picked up the boxes and he grabbed a notepad and pen—then moved on through to his storeroom. It hadn’t really changed all that much from last time I’d been here; four long gray shelving units still ran the full length of the room, and filing cabinets lined the rear wall. This time, though, there was a massive five-door walnut armoire where industrial shelving had once lined the right wall.

“That looks rather incongruous in a place like this,” I said dryly. “And if it’s hiding the entrance into your cellar, it’s a little too obvious.”

“Sometimes the obvious is the best defense,” he said, in an odd echo of Harry’s comment. “Trust me, no one short of Hercules himself would be able to move that thing now that it’s filled with all my bits and pieces.”

“Which suggests access into the cellar is through the armoire itself,” Eljin said.

“If it is,” I commented before Lugh could reply, “then it’s going to be a tight fit for a certain overly large pixie.”

“Please note the double doors in the middle, sister dearest. I am not that silly.”

I grinned and watched as he opened said doors, pushed the two laden shelves aside, and then pressed a hand against the middle at the back. Light flickered around his fingertips for several seconds, then the back panel slid to one side and pale light flicked on, revealing wide concrete stairs going down.

“Cunning,” I said.

“Clever,” he corrected. He took the box from me and headed in.

Eljin and I followed. Despite his assurances, it was a bit of a squeeze, even for me, but the stairs themselves were wide and easy to move down, and the room at the base—although not large—was fresh and surprisingly bright considering the soft lighting. It didn’t hold much in the way of furniture—just an empty shelving unit, five well-used chairs, and a long wooden table with drawers along one side.

Lugh placed the box and notepad on the table, then retrieved cotton gloves from one of the drawers and handed a set to each of us. After prying the lid off the first box, he removed a scroll and cautiously unrolled it. The vellum was in surprisingly good condition and the lettering crisp and clear.

“It talks about the god Cronus,” Lugh said, after a few minutes.

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