Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,31
kids, the other extra-strength and obviously meant for me. “Use them if you need to.”
I tucked them into my pocket and then moved past him. Luc turned and led the way down the stairs—no doubt with the intention of catching me should I fall—then lightly gripped my elbow and guided me out the front door. A black car pulled up as we exited; the door opened, and a craggy-faced, silver-haired man in his late forties climbed out. Jason, the preternatural team’s lead investigator and a good friend of Luc’s.
“I should have guessed you’d be involved,” he said, voice dry. “You seem to have a talent for attracting trouble.”
“At least it’s keeping you in a job,” I replied mildly.
He snorted, and his gaze switched to Luc. “Why are you running off with one of our survivors?”
“Long story short, we can’t risk a repeat of what happened with Henry.”
Jason frowned. “Henry was an heir—”
“And in one of your most secure locations,” I said. “It’ll be better for everyone if we take her off grid.”
“And we’ll need to borrow the car,” Luc added. “So if you can arrange transport for the motorbike, I’d appreciate it.”
“I’ll hold it hostage until a full explanation of what is going on is forthcoming,” Jason said, voice dry.
Luc laughed. “As per usual. And you’ll send an update as soon as you get the woman’s ID?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
The two of them exchanged keys, then Jason went inside. I convinced the child to release me and belted her into the middle seat before climbing in beside her. She immediately pressed against me, her little fingers resting gently on my arm.
Luc did a quick U-turn then glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “I take it your comment about going off grid means Blackbird-related locations are also out?”
I wrinkled my nose. “No offense, but we can’t risk it. It’ll be safer for her and safer for anyone who guards her.”
“Where do you suggest we go?”
“I have no clue.” I shifted and dragged my phone out of my pocket. “But Mo will.”
She answered on the second ring. “What the hell has been happening? I’ve been getting all sorts of horrendous vibes from the cosmos.”
“The Aranea killed the woman inside the house, but I managed to save the little girl.”
“More went on than that. The vibes held the stink of a rising storm, and I haven’t smelled something like that for generations.”
“I’ll explain all that later. Right now, we need somewhere secure to take the girl.”
“Why isn’t the preternatural team looking after her?”
“Because Henry wasn’t safe with them, and I don’t think she will be.” I hesitated. “Mo, she’s a De Montfort.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “That’s … interesting.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say impossible.”
“I think the events of the last week or so have proven the impossible no longer is.” Her voice was dry. “I take it you’ve already left Leeds?”
“In the process of, yes.”
“Give me a few minutes then, and I’ll make some calls.”
She hung up without waiting for my reply. I dropped the phone onto my lap and then glanced down at the pale little face resting against my side. She was asleep. It was obvious she trusted me, despite the fact I was a stranger and, given my bloody eyes, probably a scary-looking one at that.
“Why do you think the Aranea was sent to that house to kill the woman and maybe this kid?” I said. “It really doesn’t make much sense.”
“Maybe they’re simply getting rid of the loose ends.”
“But the woman wasn’t guarded—”
“Was Jules?”
“Not that we noticed.”
“Then it’s possible there was some sort of electronic or magic-based tracker involved.”
That would explain why the woman had stayed in the house when the Aranea pulled into the driveway. Maybe she knew it was pointless trying to run and had grabbed the metal pole for defense—only to have it ripped from her grasp and used against her.
“It makes sense to track Jules—they obviously knew we were looking for him. But nothing we’ve come across mentioned an Aquitaine woman with a De Montfort child.”
Nothing we could understand, at any rate. It was possible the partially destroyed notes we’d found in the deconsecrated church might have mentioned something, but everything had been written in elvish, and we were still trying to find someone to transcribe them.
“You’re presuming the dead woman is her mother. She may not be.” Luc’s gaze met mine in the rearview mirror again. “As to the father—do you think she could be Henry’s? Or Gareth’s?”