With a pained hiss, James drops the tablet and his phone into the bag. Harrison grins and throws in a swirling purple spell, incinerating the contents into a bubbling, molten lump.
A matte black minibus pulls up at the kerb, pulsing with layered wards.
“Oh, no,” Tony mutters. “The war machine. Embarrassing. Quick—inside before anyone sees.”
“It’s magic-proof, bullet-proof, and seats all of us,” Harrison says proudly.
I wish we had the ‘war machine’ for our journey here.
“It weighs a ton and drinks petrol,” Tony grumbles.
“Feels like a school trip,” Simone says with a grin. A cut on her cheek is already healing, and the skirt of her suit is torn at the seam.
“Get in,” Harrison snaps.
Valdarr fastens my seat belt. “We are going to a new safe house. Baylor is waiting.”
I watch as the lights and glow of the city slowly turn to dark roads and dilapidated buildings. The house sits at the end of a row of other homes in disrepair. It’s unremarkable, rundown—peeling paint, grass in the leaking gutters, a patch of moss creeping up the far wall. It looks like it hasn’t been lived in for thirty years.
Inside, the hallway smells of damp. Harrison slides acrooked wedding photo aside, keys a code, and an inner door hisses open.
Beyond lies a sleek, modern hideout.
Baylor hurtles around the corner, howling with joy. He slams into my legs, then bounces between Valdarr and me.
“Hey, buddy.” I scratch his ears. He pants happily; I kiss his nose.
“So this is Baylor. What a beautiful dog,” Ralph says, dropping to his knees. “I love dogs.”
My Husky, delighted to meet someone with great shovel-like hands, flops onto the floor. All four legs splay out as he presents his belly for tickles, and Ralph laughs with delight.
“Drinks?” Valdarr offers.
“I’ll pour.” I brush his arm, head to the kitchen, wash my hands, and prepare the blood. My hands tremble slightly at the thought of what is about to happen next.
Glasses distributed, Simone—cool as ever—leans against the wall and sips her drink. “So, next steps?”
“Meetings with the Ministry of Magic and the shifters,” Valdarr replies. “Sooner than ideal, but Father is up to something. No one in the clan is harmed, so today counts as a win.” He squeezes my hand.
“About that,” James says, taking a swig of blood. His eyes narrow. “How did you know everything today? Who is your contact?”
A thud. We turn: Simone has crumpled, her glass shattering, blood pooling.
“Simone—” Tony lunges.
“She’s fine,” I say. “Sleeping spell.”
James splutters. “You—my liege, she’s knocking out clan members!”
“Yesterday, you wondered who leaked our location to Clan Nocturna, who arranged for the wards to fail, who allowed the human assassins inside, and who aided your father.”
I meet Valdarr’s gaze. “It was Simone.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Valdarr believes me without question;I can see it in his eyes. He understands I would never make an accusation without proof.
“She’s been right all night,” Ralph says quietly, flicking a glance towards me.