“Collecting information.”
He frowned. “I don’t think this is normally how investigative journalism goes.”
Amy selected some of the files. They were dusty and smelled like mildew. The front of the files had strange symbols on them. Little sigils and whorls. Magic? she wondered, remembering similar symbols Rowan had pointed out around the Thorn estate. Amy snorted at the thought of Victor having magic. The last thing they needed was for him to be more powerful.
As she began to open one of the files, Spencer gave her a warning whisper. “I don’t think we’re alone. We should get out of here.”
“What do you—” Amy started, but then she sensed it, too. She didn’t see or hear anyone else, but she had the vague feeling they were being watched. She grabbed more files. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”
They had something, though she had no clue if it would help.
The pair headed for the door, which they had left open. They were almost there when a figure leaped from the rafters above, landing on the concrete floor in front of the door. Amy uttered a yelp of alarm. The figure, clothed in all black so they couldn’t tell who or what it was, prowled toward them.
Spencer landed a punch in the figure’s face as it launched. The man issued a cry of rage and pain, stumbling back. Spencer used a few grappling maneuvers to lay the man flat. Seconds later, their attacker was unconscious.
Another voice shouted from the far end of the warehouse, following the sound of a back door banging open. “Hey, stop!”
Amy spotted two men. One raised a gun and fired.
“Get down!” she screamed.
She and Spencer ducked behind a nearby crate. The bullet flew past them. Another round went off. Spencer fired back, and a scream told Amy he’d hit his mark.
“Go, now!” Spencer shouted.
She scrambled to her feet, then shot for the door. She passed through it and was greeted by the chill wind. Spencer came after her in seconds. Amy fled toward where they’d hidden the car. As soon as they were inside, Spencer started it and slammed the gas.
Amy’s heart thundered as he sped down the road. “That was close.”
“Too fucking close,” Spencer clarified.
She gave him a wan smile. “We’ve got something, though. I hope it was worth it.”
Spencer’s grim expression said he didn’t give a shit what it was. Her almost being shot had not been worth it.
She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was after midnight. “I think it’s time you took me home.”
“I’m glad you said that,” Spencer replied. “Because I wasn’t exactly going to give you a choice.”
CHAPTER NINE
Stacy peered at the key. I hope this works.
Her entire house was quiet. She’d been the first one awake, and the soft gray light of dawn tinged the war room. Even Rowan was not awake. The sprites had not yet come out of hiding to flit around the estate again.
She’d spotted Amy’s car parked out front when she came downstairs. It was a relief to know her friend had come home, and she wondered what Amy thought about the wreckage. However, Amy had gone to bed, and Stacy did not expect her to wake for another hour or so.
Therefore, she stood alone, key in hand and a small, locked door before her.
Her heart pounded with anticipation as she inserted the key, her other hand clutching the locket around her neck. Please work. She turned it and heard a faint click. The door shimmered, and magic sigils flowed across its surface.
The doorknob glowed, as well as the key. This was the second sign the key had worked. It triggered the enchantments in the door to loosen. Stacy eased the heavy wood aside, and a draft of cold, musty air hit her. She sometimes forgot how old the house was and doubted anyone had come in here since her mother’s death.
The interior of the space was too dark for her to see into, so she used her phone flashlight. “Holy shit,” she murmured as she took two steps into the room.
The small, cramped area would have looked larger if every wall wasn’t lined with shelves full of books. While the “war room” library behind her held many old volumes, none were as arcane-looking as these. They were ancient tomes preserved by magic. Stacy felt their enchantments thrumming through the air. They were arranged in neat rows, their titles so faded that she could not make them out.
She tried to trace her fingers along the spines, but they were warded by magic. She would need Rowan’s help to undo them. Why had her mother chosen to keep these books here instead of in the main part of the library? Was it merely their age, or did something else about the books make them special?
A small table sat in the center of the room. Stacy approached it and noticed a smaller version of the same map spread out in the war room. This one depicted the details of the Thorn estate and its magical defenses. Its age was apparent, especially when Stacy tried to touch its corner and found more wards over it. The intricately woven magic overlaid the parchment, protecting it from aging further.
The annotations on this map were slightly different. They were written in Catherine’s hand. Stacy recognized it because she’d seen the same handwriting in her mother’s journal. Several annotations included symbols she did not understand, but she sensed they had to do with magical defenses. Others were in a language she did not understand.
I’ll show this to Rowan and ask him what it is, she decided, hoping the dryad would be awake soon. He’d be as curious, if not more, to learn what she’d found.
Since she couldn’t access the books or the map, she left the room, closing and locking the door behind her. The turn of the key made the sigils flare with a soft green light, a signal that the enchantments were back in place.
She grinned. That was handy. Only the one with the key would be able to open it. She pocketed the small brass object, intent on sharing the information only with Rowan. Until I know more, she thought.
Stacy smelled something sweet and knew breakfast was ready. She didn’t know who’d prepared it. The “how” was more of a curiosity since her kitchen was still in shambles.
She strode into the dining room to find the smashed table and chairs gone, replaced by a smaller table that held several boxes of donuts and wrapped breakfast sandwiches. The dryad stood before the table, passing out the food. Stacy smiled, realizing Rowan had not been in bed when she awoke. He’d gone to pick up breakfast.
“I know this was difficult for you,” Stacy commented as she reached his side. He started in surprised, mostly because he’d never seen her awake before nine A.M. “It must have pained you to order food instead of making it yourself.”
Rowan glowered. “I can’t let us go hungry simply because the kitchen is unusable.”
Stacy opened one of the boxes, and her eyes gleamed at the sight of raspberry jam-filled donuts. Her mouth watered. She, for one, did not mind that breakfast had been ordered and picked up.
