I secured my packs, then started her up and headed for the Brindle. The traffic heading into the city was light, so it didn’t take me too long to get there. I swung onto Lansdowne Street then right into Treasury Place. The Brindle was a white, four-story building that had once been a part of the Old Treasury complex. It look innocuous until you neared it—that’s when its veil of power kicked in, in the form of a tingling caress of energy that burned lightly across your skin. Not hurting, just warning those who were sensitive to such things that this place didn’t suffer fools or evil gladly.
I stopped in the parking lot along the edge of the area that had once held the premier’s office but had long ago been reclaimed as a park, and left my bags where they were simply because the Brindle’s magic secretly ensured no thief could ply his trade this close to her.
The last time I’d been here, they’d been waiting for us—three high-ranking witches, their tunic-clad bodies revealing little of their shapes and their faces serene as they’d forbidden us entry. This time the steps were empty, and the huge wood and wrought-iron doors were open, allowing a glimpse of the warm, shadowy interior. Several years ago I’d come here to deal with a ghost who was making life less than pleasant for some of the witches who lived in the rear parts of the old building, so I wasn’t unfamiliar with the place. Even so, a sense of awe still struck me as I stepped through the doorway. This place—these halls—were almost as old as Melbourne itself, but they were so entrenched in power that mini comets of energy shot through the air at any movement.
The foyer wasn’t exactly inviting, but the rich gold of the painted brickwork added a warmth that the somewhat austere entrance lacked. I walked on, my footsteps echoing in the stillness and little explosions of fire following in my wake. A woman appeared out of one of the rooms farther down the hall then stopped, her hands clasped together in front of her tunic-clad body.
"My name is Helena," she said, her voice like the water in a spring river—sweet but cool. "How may I help you, child?"
"I need to know if anyone has recently accessed the curse that summons a Maniae."
She paused. "That curse has gathered much interest of late."
Excitement had my heart skipping several beats. "Meaning someone has asked about it?"
"Several someones, I believe. This way." She turned and led the way to a room several doors down. The visitors waiting room, I knew from my past visit. You didn’t get past this area without either a witch escort or special dispensation from Kiandra—the head witch herself.
Helena walked around a desk and opened one of several large books sitting on top of it. She flicked through the yellowed pages carefully, then said, "Ah, yes. Here it is."
She pointed to a spot about halfway down the register, then turned the book around so I could see it better. It was a spell register from the looks of it, with each page not only noting the name and location of the book that contained the spell, but holding a signed record of all those who had accessed it.
The Maniae curse only had three entries. The first, Charles James Highcourt, had accessed the book over two hundred years ago. The second, Deborah Elizabeth Selwin, had viewed it nearly three years ago. Which fit in rather neatly with Adeline’s comment that Alston had hired her because of some nasty stuff going down on the vampire council nearly three years ago.
The third name …
My eyes widened and, for a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was actually reading.
Because the third name—accessed only a few hours ago—was one Madeline Hunter.