Page 32 of Horn of Winter

He didn’t sound happy about that, but then, he was probably still in fatherly mode rather than police chief. I nodded and followed him back down the road. The knives remained inert, and the storm that had raged overhead only a few minutes ago was already dissipating. I suspected that wasnota coincidence. Suspected that the connection between me, the triune, and storms was strengthening—mutating—in as yet undefined ways.

And the only person I could ask about it tended not to be too forthcoming when it came to information. But maybe, given Beira’s liking for whiskey, I could ply her with a bottle or three of the top-shelf stuff and see if the alcohol loosened her tongue.

Was it even possible to get an old goddess tipsy, let alone drunk?

Sgott stopped in front of the building, where the door had once been. The floorboards were unscarred aside from the odd puddle of water, but the wood was silent, its song gone forever. The hush made my heart ache.

“I’ve called emergency services to come check the gas and electricity lines,” Harry said as he and Bec stopped either side of us. “That floor looks surprisingly solid.”

“Looks are often deceiving when it comes to the aftereffects of magic,” Sgott said. “Bec, the basement stairs are in the back corner—if they’re accessible, sweep down and check what the situation is with Kaitlyn and the joists. But be careful.”

She nodded, her gaze narrow and unfocused, an indication she was reaching for her alternate form. Energy flooded the air, prickling across my fingers and face, and her body rippled, becoming ghost-like as genetics and magic made the necessary adjustments.

Then, with a quick flick of brown-gold wings, she swept upward and arrowed toward the rear of the building. After briefly circling, she swooped down the stairs and disappeared. I waited tensely, but for several minutes there was little sound beyond the steady drip of water coming from the guttering of the building on the right side and the distant rumble of traffic and incoming sirens.

Then Sgott’s phone rang sharply, making me jump a little. He answered with a quick, “Anything?” After a few seconds, he added, “Stay with her. I’ll send in the medics now.”

“Kaitlyn’s alive?” I said once he’d hung up.

He nodded. “But unconscious, with a very slow heart rate and frostbite on her nose and cheeks. No guarantee she’ll fully recover.”

“But?” Because there was one. I could hear it in his voice.

“Someone left a message in the basement—it was written in ice across a wall.”

I raised my eyebrows. “A message or a threat? What did it say?”

“Revenge might be a dish best served cold, but mine rages beyond control. It will find all who deserve it.”

I stared at him for a second, a thick knot of fear clutching my stomach. The first part of that message was an echo of what the ghul had said to both meandthe woman who’d questioned her a week ago. And while it might be nothing more than a coincidence that revenge was also the motive behind the destruction here, I seriously doubted it. The old gods did like their games and Fate was a dab hand at unleashing chaos in subtle ways.

“Why do you suddenly look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Sgott said, gaze sweeping me with concern.

“Maybe because I did?” I held up a hand to cut off the inevitable next question. “The ghul said something very similarto me last nightandto a woman who’d been seeking her the week before.”

“Did the ghul mention anything else about this woman?”

“No, and she won’t, given how highly they prize such conversations.”

“That is unfortunate.” He paused. “I might attempt to talk to her tonight. Most ghuls are law abiding and tend to cooperate more often than not.”

“Fingers crossed our ghul is one of them.” I studied the empty expanse of flooring again. “Do you know if there’s any ice witches here in Deva?”

“I’d have to look at the council’s business register to find out, but it’s unlikely anyone registered would be responsible for this sort of destruction. All magic leaves a tell, and it’s a fairly easy process to track it back to a practitioner.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

He half smiled. “It’s not something we advertise, though I daresay it’s something most practitioners are aware of. It’s also the reason why so few witches working the black market accept contracts in their own backyard. Records are regional,notnational.”

“That makes no sense.”

“No, but the spellcaster’s guild is extremely strong and has very deep pockets. I can’t see any national system being introduced as long as Marjorlaine Blackguard and her elk remain in control.” He looked around. “Ah good, the medics are here. Do you want to head back to the car to wait? Or do you want me to arrange a car to take you home?”

“I’ll just catch an Uber.”

He nodded then stepped through the nonexistent doorway and led the medics down into the basement.

I walked down to the café at the far end of the street, then dragged out my phone, first calling an Uber and then my brother.

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