I have. We were working on the particulars when I was summoned here.
And what, precisely, are the particulars?
As I have said before, to have any hope against her, you must first disconnect her access to her god and his powers.
How will the disconnection help?
If she can’t access her god, she can’t access the strength and power of the maenad.
I snorted. Meaning I’d only be confronting a mad ancient vampire capable of performing ordinary magic. What a relief that would be.
Your sarcasm is misplaced, Stanford said, expression annoyed. You are an Aedh armed with a demon sword, and more than a match under normal circumstances.
Hunter wasn’t normal, though. Neither were the circumstances. So how do you intend to cut her access to her god?
With magic, of course. He shrugged. I cannot tell you the details, because I am not magic proficient. It does, however, involve a type of warding shield, similar in style to what currently guards the Brindle.
I frowned. Meaning we have to get her to that location for it to work?
Yes.
But won’t she sense the magic before she goes in?
No, because we won’t actually enable the magic until she is within the building.
I really don’t think it’ll be that easy—
She wants the key, Markel cut in. If you have it as bait, she will come. Believe that, if nothing else.
I did believe it. I just didn’t believe Hunter would walk willingly or unprepared into any sort of trap. I glanced at Stanford. Hunter’s well aware of your plot to dispose of her—aren’t you afraid you’re next on the hit list?
A smile touched his lips, but the light glittering in his eyes turned cold, harsh. She has already made one attempt on my life.
Markel raised an eyebrow. When?
Stanford glanced at him. At the same time that the other councillors were assassinated. She sent Cazadors.
Markel’s anger shot across the astral plan, so strong it felt as if the very foundations of the place were trembling. She has no right to use the Cazadors as her own private kill squad.
No, but even Cazadors are not immune to the promise of power. And that is what she offered them, Markel.
Them. Meaning Hunter had sent more than one Cazador after Stanford, and he still beat them. I’d been right before—Stanford was every bit as dangerous as Hunter, just in an entirely different way.
You know this for a fact? Markel asked.
Stanford nodded. I questioned them.
Who? There was an odd sense of urgency—perhaps even a touch of . . . not fear, but something close to it—in that one simple word.
Frances Halberry and Edward Appleton. Stanford paused, his expression sympathetic. I am sorry.
Markel briefly closed his eyes. I would have sworn neither could have been swayed by her.
Were they your friends? I asked softly.
Markel’s gaze met mine. In the dark depths of his eyes, rage burned—a rage that was deep, fierce, and close to uncontrolled. Berserker, I thought with a shiver. Uncle Quinn had mentioned once, long ago, that the berserker mentality was often a result of being a Cazador for too long. And becoming berserker, these days, was a death sentence. I hated the thought of that happening to Markel, because he actually seemed a pretty decent person otherwise.
Yes, he said, voice clipped. And I cannot believe they would willingly go to their death on the promise of power from a madwoman.