Page 21 of Ulune's Daughter

Whitey blinks back at me.

I stroke his soft forehead. “Will you let Jane and Carrie feed you, beautiful boy?”

“I dunnow,” Danny says. “Is feeding like a euphemism for a blowjob?”

“I was talking to the cat, you dork.”

“You bought a cat? Why?”

“I didn’t buy a cat. He adopted me, in the way of all cats. He’s in such good condition that I thought he belonged to someone else, but now I’m not so sure. He’s so hungry; I don’t think anyone else is taking care of him. Lemme make sure Jane can feed him and I’ll call you back.”

“Oookay, I see our priorities have shifted.”

“Don’t be an ass. We rearranged our entire lives so you could feed that stupid virtual pet of yours every two hours,” I remind him.

“Yeah, but mine was adragon. Yours is a lame-ass cat.”

“Nothing lame-ass about you, is there, perfect boy?” I croon to Whitey who gives me the slow-blink of eternal love.

I hang up with Danny, call Jane, and arrange for her to stop by and feed Whitey, just in case I’m away overnight. I can walk the Fae Ways from a lot of places and fly from others, but I know from previous hunts that they can be all-consuming. I might not even have a spare hour to pop home and take care of my kitty.

When I call Danny back, he adds me to a conference call with the rest of the team. We’ve come together over the years, meeting through friends and colleagues, pulling in the talents we need. Archer is our official leader and he likes to call me his “right hand,” but the truth is I’ve led our most successful hunts, including the one that recovered our highest-value and best-known find: a pure gold statue of the shark god, Sagoru.

To say that Sagoru was unhappy about that find is a serious understatement.

Camille, our Seer, is speaking when I join the call. “I’m telling you, Dan, it’s at the dark of the moon. That’s what I’ve Seen. The sky was bright with stars but no moon.”

“That’s fucking tomorrow,” Dan responds. “There’s no way. The buyers won’t even be in the country until Friday.”

“Let’s do recon tomorrow but be ready for the grab,” I suggest, to end the argument. Camille and Danny can go ‘round for hours, each entrenched in their own position, if someone doesn’t step in. “Danny, I haven’t had a chance to read the email, so can you bring me up to speed?”

“Sure. Mark Carter, our second favorite black-market antiquities dealer, has gotten his grubby paws on thecalicem Sulis Minervae. The chalice was part of a royal collection housed in Krakow. The Nazis took it in 1940 and it hasn’t been seen since. I’ve intercepted the message traffic between Carter and his prospective buyer. The image Carter’s sent is a 95% match for the SS-Ahnerebe pictures of the cup. I’m pretty sure it’s genuine.”

“Fuck,” Arch swears, his deep voice recognizable even though there’s a lot of static on his line. He must be calling in on that antique sat phone of his. “We’ve got to track down Carter’s source. This is the third time in as many years he’s tried to shift Nazi loot. He’s getting it from somewhere.”

I let that pass. Of the seven of us, Arch is the crusader. I believe in recovering enchanted artifacts and either getting them back to their original owners, or to a museum like Bevvy’s or the Column Museum in Boston. But I have no interest in taking on the assholes who are trying to traffic the artifacts. That’s a job for the Aedis Astrum, even though they show no interest in doing it.

“Good job, Dan,” I say. “Do you know who the buyer is?”

“Yeah. Here’s the thing. It’s that jackal pack out of Ankara.”

Someone, probably Vivian from the depth of tone, whistles.

“I thought we’d agreed to s-s-teer clear of anything involving the Wepwawet?” Cami says, her slight stutter emerging.

I understand her anxiety. The last time we tangled with the Wepwawet, Cami, María José, and I spent a night as their very unwilling guests. Long hours of listening to how they planned to drug, rape, and breed us did not endear any of us to Jakob Maher and his boys.

“Cami, did you See any of the Wepwawet?” I ask.

“No, but Sirius was bright in the sky.”

The Dog Star. That could mean a run-in with the Wepwawet. Or it could just mean we stumble across a dog as we try to recover the chalice. Although I love Cami and appreciate her visions, which have saved us from trouble several times, I wish she was half the Seer that Teddy’s husband, Charlie, is.

“Okay,” I say. “All the more reason to get in there tomorrow. If we can snatch the chalice before the Wepwawet arrive, so much the better. Dan, where’s Carter got it stashed?”

“The meet’s set for Liverpool on Saturday,” Dan says.

“Liverpool, England?”

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