Magic Misled (Lizzie Grace #7) - Keri Arthur Page 0,99
sorts, what with the limited number of cases requiring RWA intervention of late.”
I chuckled. “It’s actually not a case but rather information I’m after, and you might well be able to help me anyway.”
“Always happy to try.” There was a smile in his voice. “What do you need?”
“Do you know anything about the Thaumaturge Society? Other than the fact they’re some sort of private fellowship for human illusionists?”
“Many of whom actually have at least some true magical ability thanks to their ancestors—near or far—having a link back to witches.”
Because while blue bloods would never marry a human, they certainly didn’t mind bedding them. “Is the fellowship its only purpose? Because it’s been suggested to me that they have a library catalogue of dark art maker marks in their possession.”
“I’ve never seen it, but I believe that’s true. I also believe maker marks are not the only items relating to dark arts that they collect.”
My eyebrows rose. “Meaning spells?”
“Apparently so. The council does regular inventory checks, of course, because that sort of information could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Nothing has ever been found on site, however.”
“What about off-site?”
“They have always denied there is such a thing.”
I snorted. “And the council believed them? Seriously?”
He laughed. “No, but they can’t legally react without reasonable evidence.”
“Since when?”
He laughed again. “Despite your experiences, there are some very good people on the High Witch Council.”
“I’ll bow to your greater wisdom when it comes to that.” I took a sip of my coffee then added, “I guess my next question is, do you or Ashworth have any contacts who might be able to do a search through their archive and let us know whose mark is on the cheek of our rogue?”
“If the rogue is a wolf, she can’t possibly be marked by a dark sorcerer. Only witches can be.”
“I know, but the witness we talked to was convinced it was a maker’s mark, so we need to follow it up.”
He grunted. “Well, I’ve been retired long enough that I’ve few usable contacts these days. You want Ashworth to ring back?”
“Please.”
“It won’t be immediately. He does love long hot showers—we’ve had to install a larger hot water service just to cope.”
I laughed. “Tell him he’s unattractive when he’s all wrinkly and prune-like.”
“I have. Trouble is, he knows it’s not true.”
I laughed again and then hung up. Once I’d finished my coffee, I pottered about doing the washing and some cleaning, then headed up for a shower.
The phone rang just before five; the tone told me it was Aiden. My stomach plummeted. I took a deep breath and then answered. “I’m gathering dinner is on hold.”
“Yeah.” The edge of weary frustration in his voice tugged at my heart.
“For a bad or a super bad reason?”
“The latter. I’m afraid the rogue has hit again.”
Chapter Fifteen
“So much for the hope her wounds would hamper her movements for a couple of days,” I muttered. “Who was it this time?”
“Jack Martin.”
“The man she was tracking in the forest behind that horse place?”
“Yeah. We’d explained the situation to him and did in fact escort him from the reservation as he didn’t live here, but either he didn’t believe us or considered sex with his girlfriend a higher priority than his life.”
“So it happened at the girlfriend’s place?”
“Yes. They were postcoital, apparently, and didn’t hear the rogue break in.”
“Was the girlfriend also killed?”
“No, just Jack. Thankfully, we’ve managed to get a list of everyone who was in the same class as John and the other three victims. We’ll be attempting to contact them all tonight in an effort to hamper the bitch’s progress.”
“She may not be going after the entire class,” I pointed out. “She may just be going after those who bullied Leesa, either because they’re related or they have some other connection we haven’t found yet.”
“While that might be the case, we can’t take any risks at the moment. I have no idea how late I’m going to be, so don’t wait up for me.”
“Okay.” I hesitated, biting back the instinctive need to add “love you” and simply said, “Talk tomorrow.”
“You will.”
I’d barely hung up when the phone rang again. This time, it was Ashworth.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been in the shower all this time,” I said, amused.
He laughed. “Indeed I haven’t, lass. Been hunting up some old contacts, and I’ve managed to get a viewing at the Thaumaturge Society tomorrow morning at eleven. Thought you’d like to come along.”