Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,58

my office at the conclave from my father. It used to smell this way, like him. I still caught the phantom scent when I cracked open his reference books. I strolled the perimeter of the room, examining his floor-to-ceiling shelves, afraid to touch the delicate wood carvings lining his walls but unable to tear myself away from perusing the motley collection of knickknacks and books that added up to who my father was.

I pulled up short when I caught Diode’s sad expression.

“He never wanted this,” the great cat said.

Before I could ask what this was—me or Mom or this whole situation—the entire room began trembling. Baubles tumbled from the shelves and crashed onto the floor.

“What is that?” I saved a tiny owl shaken from its ledge on reflex.

“The hunt.” Diode’s fur stood on end. “They won’t stop until they knock down the door.”

Rook came to my side. “How long does that give us?”

“A half hour.” The cat hissed in response. “Perhaps less.”

Rook’s lips thinned. “Do we have your permission to search the den?”

Diode tore his narrowed gaze from Rook and nodded at me. “She may do as she pleases. You may stay where you are if you value your tail feathers.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Rook stood back and entered a staring contest with the cat.

I had a good idea who was going to win, paws down.

“Okay.” I dusted my hands. “Here we go.”

Despite my first impression, and the fact the entire den fit inside a hollow tree, the central room was a good twenty feet in circumference. Fae magic at work. Making room where there was none.

Opening a door across from the entryway, I stepped down a long hall lit by hand-blown mason jars hung by cords from the ceiling. They were filled with—I squinted up at one—pissed-off pixies.

Well, that explained the second warning I had received about Rook. Apparently, the petite fae were light sources and messengers all rolled into one easy-to-capture package. They were probably willing to do anything for their freedom.

I counted seven jars as I passed under them. There must have been twice as many doors. I tried one after the other, but each one was locked. Great. Tell me to look where I please but ensure I got nowhere. Whoever or whatever lurked behind those doors stayed off-limits to me.

Giving up on the stealth approach, I called, “Macsen?”

No answer.

“Macsen Sullivan?” I reached the end of the hall and the final door. “Black Dog?”

Nothing.

Gripping the knob, I turned the handle and—to my surprise—the door opened. Right onto a wall of solid dirt. A hall full of doors that led nowhere. Unless.... Why keep all those pixies if their light was never used? Macsen could be using the area for storing them, but sharp doubts prodded me.

Murmuring my Word, I removed my glove and lit up that hand. Closing my eyes, I blocked out the thudding behind me, the tremors under my feet. I filled my lungs with air from the hall, sorting a whiff of Diode and discarding it to focus on the tobacco aroma. Once I had it, I followed the scent to a nondescript door on the right. Certain I was on to something, I gripped the knob with my left hand.

Subtle warmth spread from my palm, up my arm, to wrap me in its embrace. Once the magic dispersed, I opened the door, wary of what awaited me. Annoyed chattering reached my ears first. Another set of jars filled with angry pixies made the inner room glow.

I stepped inside, drawn to a battered desk in the corner. More bookshelves lined these walls. Modern bindings crammed between ancient tomes. Printed reports were pinned down by a glass inkwell. An old comic book wrapped in plastic sat beside an empty mug.

This must be Macsen’s home office. Judging by his chaotic filing system, not much had changed since he last occupied the space I inherited from him at the marshal’s office. I grinned when I spotted his sleek coffee maker and a bag of dark roast beans. Faerie wasn’t wired for electricity. He brewed with magic or he didn’t drink. I could admire the man’s dedication to remaining caffeinated.

“Macsen?” I glanced over my shoulder and wet my lips. “Dad?”

I held my breath. Nothing. He wasn’t here.

“Why am I not surprised?” I turned a slow circle. “You’re never around when I need you.”

The ground under my feet shook. I had to go. Now. Before the hunt trapped me in the den. Part of me thought