Page 52 of Horn of Winter

In any other situation, I would have instantly called Cynwrig and asked him to come with us. Lùtairs were, among other things, manipulators of stone, which would definitely come in handy if the souterrain decided to collapse three seconds after we’d entered.

But thiswasn’tany other situation. I sighed and, after grabbing a couple of painkillers to take care of the lingering remnants of my headache, shoved on a pair of boots, swept up my purse, phone, and the piece of paper holding the address,then headed down to the back lane, grabbing one of my waterproof coats on the way. It wasn’t raining—in fact, for a winter’s evening, it was quite pleasant—but I wasn’t about to risk the distant rumblings becoming a full-fledged storm.

I was lucky enough to catch a passing cab on St. Werburgh Street and, despite the traffic, it didn’t take us all that long to get over to Hoole. Harper lived in a two-story, red-brick, semi-detached house on a tiny side street opposite a kids’ small soccer field. It wasn’t a particularly large or attractive place, with a black door situated in the middle of the building and three weirdly placed windows that formed an odd V-shape up the front. There was a white Ford parked to the right of the building, just in front of an untidy-looking picket fence that divided both the front yard from the back and her property from the next-door neighbors. A proper wooden fence sat at the rear of the yard. The whole area was obviously very close to the A41 because the constant rumble of traffic was very audible.

As the cab drove away, I walked up to the front door, rang the bell, and then stepped back to scan the upper window. A curtain twitched, and though I didn’t see anything more than a brief flash of pale skin, it did tell me there was someone home. Whether it was Harper or not was another matter entirely, as I hadn’t thought to ask Mathi to get a description as well.

No one bothered to answer the door, however, so I rang the bell again, then pressed my fingers against the thickly painted door and slipped inside the faint music of the old building.

There was indeed someone home.

Trouble was, at that very moment she was heading out the back door, running like hell for the back fence.

Chapter

Eight

I sworeand raced around the side of the building just as a thin, gray-haired woman leapt for the back fence and flung one leg over the top of it. I caught the air and snapped it toward her, looping the leash around her waist, then yanking her back. She squawked and fell, landing heavily in a thick patch of lavender. It at least broke her fall. The air certainly didn’t.

I extended the leash to both legs to prevent her climbing back up, and she instantly attacked it, using her own storm skills to try and dismantle it. Interestingly, despite the fact the wash of her energy across my leash suggested she was powerful enough in her own right, she had no luck. Her gaze jagged to me, and I felt her energy switch. I raised a hand in warning. “Don’t. Anything you hit me with, I’ll rebound double-strength.”

I wasn’t sure I had enough knowledge to actually follow through with the threat, but she wasn’t to know that.

She scowled up at me, steely eyes flashing with anger. “You’re a fucking storm witch? No one told me that.”

“That seems to be a common theme when it comes to felons hiring others to go up against me, though it generally refers to me being a pixie.” I squatted in front of her but kept well out of fist reach. “Who told you about me?”

“I can’t say.”

“Why did they hire you, then?”

“I wasn’t hired.”

“Then why did you run when I turned up at the door?”

She sniffed, disbelieving. “I was told not to trust you.”

I studied her for a second. “If you weren’t hired, were you paid to provide information? The name of an ice witch, perhaps?”

“Can’t say.”

I sighed. “Look, we can do this the easy way or the hard. Your choice.”

“No, it ain’t, because another goddamn pixie beat you to it. I literally cannot give anyoneanythingin the way of information as to who I spoke to. Not you, not the IIT, not nobody.”

Well, that was fucking inconvenient, especially when it was generally impossible for one pixie to undo the mental commands of another. I’d heard the pixie councilcould, if pushed, but they only ever did so under extenuating circumstances. Apparently, unpicking a truly in-depth enforcement risked destroying the mind. Which was why they used the red knife for deep control crimes; controlling other pixies was considered the second-worst crime you could commit—murder being the worst, naturally enough—especially when it involved family. Though I might hate it, I was well aware I was damn lucky to be serving out my sentence with the council.

When it came to controlling everyone else, however, it was basically anything goes, unless, of course, you were foolish enough to magic someone famous. This woman wasn’t famous, but if she’d been so broadly restricted I wasn’t going to get past it.

I nevertheless reached out and touched the visible bit of leg between her jeans and her shoes. She swore and slapped at me. I flicked a sliver of air around her hands, trapping them, andtold her to behave or I’d gag her. To be honest, I was surprised she hadn’t started screaming the minute I’d pulled her from the fence, but maybe she didn’t want to attract neighborly attention any more than I did.

I didn’t have to deepen the touch to feel the caress of another in her mind, and the sheer breadth of it was astonishing. Someone had made very sure this woman really couldn’t talk about a wide range of subjects.

I released her and sat back on my heels again. There had to be some way around the restrictions. There always was—Vincentia had certainly proven that. I just had to find the right question.

I pursed my lips for a second. “Did this other pixie contact you through the guild?”

“No. Privately.”

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