Page 18 of Kiss of Smoke

Blessed Branches, it felt good to have a parent who was pleased by my affection towards them. Pomona hadn’t so much as flinched when I stopped calling her ‘Mother’ and switched to her real name.

I tried to hurry without losing my grip, but the darkness felt like an actual presence pushing in on my eyes.

A scream almost escaped me when I felt hands reach out to grip me, but I knew what the presences of Gwyn and Jack felt like by now—and there was suddenly solid ground underfoot.

“Come on down, Dad!” I called up, then backed into Gwyn until I was almost fully touching him. I didn’t want to lose a grip on either of them for a second.

Ceri pressed himself against my legs, and I reached down, stroking his soft ears.

Five minutes later, Noctifer was with us, and Gwyn lit a torch, but instead of golden flames, it glowed with a ghostly green light.

He smiled at us in that ghostlight, and I realized I could see the faint outlines of a skull beneath his skin. “Hunt magic is wild magic. It’s probably best if I light the way down here.”

“Agreed,” Jack said, examining Gwyn’s face with interest. “The older magic here must be amplifying your abilities. Halfway here, halfway there…interesting effect.”

I realized he meant Gwyn’s dual nature of both Otherworld and Avilion…he was half dead, half alive. Half here, half there.

I could see the skull beneath his face because he was both.

Instead of pulling away, I wrapped my hand firmly around his. “Let’s begin, then.”

Gwyn twitched his fingers, producing several more orbs of ghostlight that hovered around us like fireflies.

Jack bent down, examining the dirty stone floor intently. “With the exception of our own footprints, this hasn’t been disturbed in quite some time.”

“So the Souls haven’t passed through here,” I said, feeling more disappointed than I should. It would be nice to have confirmation that we’d found one of their secrets.

“Not necessarily. This tunnel is particularly old and hidden from most, but it may intersect with a passage we have yet to search.” Jack stood, brushing off his suit even though it was still perfectly clean, and set off. Ceri was already wagging, trotting after him.

“Stay close, Briallen,” Noctifer murmured, and I nodded with agreement as a light flickered past my face.

“Sure thing, Dad, but—hey, did you guys hear that?”

I almost smashed into Jack. Everyone had stopped dead in their tracks twenty feet down the passage.

Distorted voices filtered to us, sounding like they came from everywhere at once.

As though in silent consensus, both of my guys and my father surrounded me, and the ghostlights began to drift outwards, illuminating the path both ahead and behind us. I gripped the dagger Gwyn had given me, my palm growing sweaty.

The voices grew more distinct, until I realized it was a feminine tone calling, “Wait!” from behind us.

The tension settled as Oriande came into view, her hair disheveled again, gripping a flashlight for dear life. Several moments later, Oak, her cameraman, came into view, his camera propped on his shoulder and filming.

Jack scowled at them. “What the hell areyoudoing here? Have you been following us?”

Oriande sneezed, and smoothed down her violet suit. She’d climbed down the rickety ladder inthat?I was amazed she hadn’t fallen and broken her neck, but then I saw she’d changed out her high heels for sneakers. “Of course. This is an important chapter in Fae history. We have to record it. Sagas will be written about this—”

“This isn’t a damn cavalcade,” Gwyn said, his voice smooth and dangerous. “You’ll slow us down.”

Oriande drew herself up to her full, considerable height. “No, I won’t. Before I was the face of Public Relations, I went on plenty of field assignments. I cut my eyeteeth on this sort of thing. This ishistorical material, gentlemen.”

Jack and Gwyn stared at her for a long moment, and Gwyn finally sighed. “Fine. But if things go sideways, stay out of the way.”

Oriande released a breath, and nodded, her lips turned down in a stoic expression.

We continued with the TV crew behind us, and the tunnel seemed to stretch for miles with no end in sight. Oriande eventually caught up to me, and I saw the faint gleam of a mic clipped to her suit lapel.

“So, Briallen Appletree,” she began conversationally. “My sources say you’ve been fairly close to the Ghosthand Killer case for several months. You keep popping up where the bodies are found, usually with Goodfellow. Do you have a background in law enforcement?”

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