Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,19

the room itself was light and bright and had the added bonus of glass doors down the far end of the room that led out onto a small balcony.

Mo took off her coat and strode over to the pin-neat glass-and-chrome dining table where three large photographs sat. “He’s done a good job enhancing these.”

Barney grabbed the oven mitts and pulled out a large tray of lasagna. It smelled absolutely divine. “The question is, are you able to read the glyphs?”

I stopped beside Mo and peered at the first photograph. The glyphs that had been almost impossible to see on the back of the throne were now crystal clear. It was also evident that each photograph held a different line, which surprised me. I’d only seen one when we’d been examining the back of the old throne—obviously the others had been all but hidden in the grime.

“The glyphs are older than the ones on Einar, but there’re enough similarities to make a fairly reasonable guess.” She paused, her eyebrows furrowed and expression intent. “The first line reads, On the darkest day, in the darkest hour, when all hope has been extinguished—”

“I’m not liking this,” I muttered, “it’s already sounding decidedly grim.”

She ignored me and picked up the second photograph. “The Blackbirds will rise, a hand will draw the one true sword, and—” She paused and picked up the last photograph. “—a lost throne shall be reclaimed.”

“That’s not a prophecy I’ve heard before.” Barney glanced at Luc. “Have you?”

“No, which is surprising given—” He stopped, his head snapping around.

That’s when I heard it—the soft creaking of stairs. At the same time, Nex began to pulse.

“Barney,” Luc said softly, “are you expecting any other guests?”

“No, I’m not.” He placed the lasagna on a board, then took off the mitts. “There’s an easy way to find out who it is, though.”

He walked across to a small control panel on the wall to the right of the door and pressed a button. An image immediately flicked up on the screen. The two women climbing the stairs were dressed in plain blue overalls that had Ainslyn Express Couriers emblazoned on the left breast pocket. Both looked rather ordinary—one was short, stout, with a thick thatch of brown hair and skin that was perhaps a little too pale, the other her polar opposite.

But a closer look revealed their eyes were red more than brown, their painted nails ventured into claw territory, and their ears held a definite point.

Halflings.

And Nex had reacted to their presence. Interesting.

Luc reached back and drew the magically concealed Hecate. The spirit blade—which contained the soul of a witch whose penance on death was not only entrapment in the sword but to destroy the dark forces whose power she’d coveted in life—began to hiss.

But a soft scrape had my gaze darting toward the balcony. A figure dropped from somewhere above us, landing in a light crouch. As he rose, I spotted the gun in his hand.

And it was aimed at Mo.

Chapter Four

“Shooter on the balcony!”

I knocked Mo sideways and down as the glass doors shattered. The bullet aimed at her smashed into the wall behind instead, showering both of us with plaster. I twisted around and grabbed a couple of chairs, throwing them down lengthwise in front of us. It wasn’t much protection, but it was better than nothing.

Hecate was screaming, a sound accompanied by the clash of steel against steel. The assassin at the window was still firing, and the bullets ripped through the apartment, tearing apart furniture, floor, and walls alike. Fragments of wood and glass spun through the air, deadly missiles that hit with an accuracy the shooter lacked. The metal chairs continued to protect us, but the shooter only had to take a couple of steps inside and we’d be easy targets. I needed to do something—and fast.

“Stay down,” I muttered.

“Don’t,” Mo said.

I gave her the same sort of look she’d so often given me when I said something stupid and drew Nex and Vita.

After a deep, fortifying breath, I pushed up onto my knees, instantly drawing the shooter’s attention, then slapped the daggers together and imagined a shield of sheer electricity. Lightning shot from the ends of both blades and whirled into a pulsing, dangerous net that caught and then incinerated every bullet flying toward us. But the only way to ensure we were really safe was to stop the gunman. I flicked a finger out, and a matching streak of blue-white light shot from the center of the