Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,81

voice—Ricker. “Sorry, duty calls, and I’ll have to go.”

“The ring?”

“I’ll ask. If there is consensus on its relocation, where do you want me to meet you?”

“At Windermere Museum, tomorrow morning if you can.”

“I’ll be there, with or without the ring.”

“Just be careful, Luc. Darkside is ramping things up.”

“I’d ask you to do the same, but we both know you’ll do what you want, regardless of what I say or think.” The warm amusement in his voice had my pulse doing a happy little dance. “Sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

He hung up. I shoved the phone on the table and picked up my tea. “So, what did Barney say?”

“They’re making slow progress. Most of what they’ve transcribed so far appears to be admin stuff—payments, stock lists, etc.”

My eyebrows rose. “Payments to who?”

“They’re all coded, so it’s hard to say. He’s going to pass them on to preternatural for further investigation.” She reached for the remote and turned on the TV. “He’ll give me a call the minute he does find anything. In the meantime, what do you feel like watching?”

“Something that doesn’t take much brain power.”

We settled on an old episode of Escape to the Country. I finished my tea and then snuggled under the duvet. In no time at all, I was asleep.

A soft beeping woke me many hours later. I opened one eye and looked around balefully before I realized what the sound was—the alarm on my phone. I swiped it off and then saw the time—it was barely 4:00 AM.

“Fuck, Mo, why so early?”

She chuckled softly—some might say evilly. “Because we need to get to Windermere before sunrise. Up, lazy bones.”

I swore at her—which only made her chuckle again—then tossed off the duvet and shivered my way into my clothes. After pulling on my new boots, I dug the wrist sheath holding the black stone knife out of the backpack and strapped it on. I had no idea why I felt the need for additional protection, but I wasn’t about to gainsay it. I then strapped on Nex and Vita and stuffed everything else into the backpack. As we headed out, I grabbed the remains of the pie. Dessert for breakfast was perfectly acceptable at this ungodly hour of the morning.

We climbed into the nondescript Focus I’d hired, and I drove out of Preston. There wasn’t much in the way of traffic on the M6, so we reached the turnoff in good time. From there, it took us another twenty minutes to reach Windermere. Dawn was just beginning to tickle the clouds with color, and a thick gray fog crawled through the empty streets, hiding the quaint old houses and giving the old town a decidedly spooky feel.

Once we’d reached the Windermere Jetty and Museum, I pulled into the small parking lot and stopped. The minute I climbed out, a rush of awareness flowed around me, cocooning me in a blanket of warm caring.

Luc was here.

My gaze went to the darkness hovering close to the museum’s entrance. “How long have you been waiting, Luc?”

He shook off the shadows and walked toward us, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s just as well Darkside hasn’t your skill at sensing our presence, or we’d be in deep trouble.”

“I think it’s more you she can sense than Blackbirds in general.” Mo’s voice was dry. “It’s that whole connection of souls thing you don’t believe in. Did you get the ring?”

“Surprisingly, yes.”

“Excellent. This way, both of you.”

She quickly set off, marching across a bridge that spanned the concrete water channel and then through the heavily treed park beyond.

Luc fell in step beside me, his big, warm body protecting me from the slight chill rising off the dark water. “How long has it been since she talked to Vivienne? Does she really believe she’ll get a response?”

I shrugged rather than outright lie. “It apparently depends on what sort of mood Vivienne is in.”

Another smile tugged at his lips, though it was something I felt deep inside rather than actually saw. “It’s hard to imagine a goddess being ‘moody.’”

I snorted. “Why? There’s countless tales of vengeful gods wreaking havoc on both human and witch populations.”

“Yes, but I always thought them to be nothing more than tall tales meant to scare us into obedience.”

“Some were,” Mo commented without looking back at us. “But some atrocities were very real and very understated. Not all the old gods were as benevolent as Vivienne—and even she had her moments. Now, quiet,