Page 23 of Ulune's Daughter

I follow her through the Fae Ways. Although she’s an experienced Walker, she’ll never be as good as a full-blooded fae. I track her easily, slipping from skin to fur as needed, and tuck into the shadows under an air vent on the roof of the Hilton to watch her rendezvous with her team.

There are two men and four women, including my mate. The man she calls Arch fancies himself an alpha. He’s overly familiar with my mate, standing too close to her, draping his arm over her shoulders as they huddle together over a gleaming schematic of the hotel. If she showed any sign of reciprocating, I’d attack. The man’s a Fire-mage; I can smell his magic. It’s showy, but no match for mine.

The other man, whose magic carries the musk of old parchment and the metallic edge of ink, is more respectful. He draws the hotel’s plans out of the aether, using a feathered quill. He listens attentively to my mate. Returns her smiles. They clearly know each other well. But he never tries to touch her.

He can live. Arch may have to die before the night is over.

Before they disperse, they don equipment out of black bags they each carry. My mate is already in dark, plain clothes, although what she wears tonight is more form-fitting than usual, and she wears tall boots, which outline the shape of her muscular legs from thigh to ankle. I like those very much. I’ll see her wear her boots and nothing else someday.

They strap on harnesses. Instead of human guns, they affix odd cylinders to the harnesses. The cylinders carry soft whiffs of my mate’s scent. Like the machines in her room of wonders, I think these tiny machines are of my mate’s design, although I have no idea what they do.

The fearful woman, who my mate calls Cami, walks around the edge of the roof, placing small boxes every dozen steps. These, too, bear my mate’s scent. Once the boxes are all in place, the six magi gather again. Kellan leads them in a chant. With my Third Eye, I see faint green traceries stretch from the group to connect the boxes in a complex web. The web sinks slowly into the building’s roof.

The magi break apart, pushing small devices into their ears. If I focus intently, I can hear the whisper of the tech-mage’s voice from the little earpieces.

“MAGAR coming online,” the tech-mage says. “ETA eight minutes.”

The team settles down to wait, passing around bottles of water. One of the women hands my mate a bar of something fruity and mealy, which my mate chews while she talks in low tones to the others. From their conversation, I gather that two of the women are a couple and are in the middle of adopting a child.

Kits would put a crimp in my mate’s treasure hunting. I mull that over while I listen to their discussion. Perhaps Luca’s human can watch our kits while I guard my mate on her hunts. Rhodes could be good for something after all.

When the tech-mage gives them a signal, the team rises again and readies themselves. I watch to see which door they plan to enter the hotel through.

The respectful man, Vivian, unrolls a long piece of parchment across the roof. He grasps what looks like a painted handle on the parchment.

He lifts the handle and a blue-limned hole opens in the roof.

My mate jumps into the hole.

I shimmer from fur to skin as I fight my instinct to follow her. Madwoman! Where has she gone?

“I’m in position. Tenth floor.” My mate’s voice comes thinly through the earpiece Vivian wears.

The remaining members of her team jump into the hole, one by one. The ink-mage pulls it shut behind him.

I step into the Fae Ways. A moment in the World Wood and I’m out again, following the faint scent of my mate, two stories down, sliding into the shadow under a table bearing a huge bouquet of reeking lilies. Humans are so scent-blind. I put a paw over my nose and watch my mate.

She and the ink-mage stroll down the hallway, hand-in-hand. I reconsider whether the ink-mage survives the night. But as I watch, I see the difference in the way they touch. They don’t lean toward one another. They don’t swing their hands or clasp each other’s fingers tightly. This is a pretense, to divert attention.

I settle onto my haunches to conceal my white underbelly. The ink-mage can live.

As they reach the end of the hallway, the ink-mage releases my mate’s hand and puts his arm around her shoulders. Before I bristle, I notice the small movements of her fingers as she shapes sigils. The aether around her shimmers with her magic.

She lifts one of her hands and whispers into a black band strapped to her wrist. “I have a strong silver signature along with the steel of the room safe. Danny, can you confirm?”

“Scanning. Hold your centaurs,” the tech-mage replies.

“There’s a weird vibration coming off this thing,” Kellan mutters.

“MAGAR confirms, Kells,” the tech-mage says. “He’s also got a gun in that safe.”

“Wanna bet on whether he has a permit for that in the UK?” one of the women scoffs.

“I’m on it,” the tech-mage says. “Be a nice little fuck-you if we managed to get him deported from the UK and banned from international travel for carrying an unlicensed firearm.”

“Danny, can you tell if the safe is hard wired?” Kellan asks.

“Nope, no connection. Battery powered.”

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