Page 88 of What Fools These Immortals Be
“Yeah. Thanks, Vlad.”
“Stay safe, Maurice.”
I shove my phone back into my pocket and look at Asher. “You need to stay here.”
“I need to help you search. If you’re right—”
“If I’m right, you need to stayhere.”
Deacon makes an affronted sound. “What, can’t we take care of ourselves?”
“Not against the fae,” I say.
Asher sighs. He’ll stay.
Deacon makes to speak again, but Vasile is by his side now, and his hand moves to gently rest against the back of his mate’s neck. “Leave it, lupul meu,” he murmurs. “This is a fight you will not win.”
“Fine,” Deacon says, clearly not happy about it at all. “Should I call the other packs in? Kieran’s…”
“I think they’ll be fine. They’ve got a fae with them now, anyway.”
Deacon jerks in surprise. “What?”
“Who?” Asher asks.
“Spectra. The high fae attacked her bar last night.”
“Fuck.”
That seems to surprise Deacon too, Asher swearing, and I take it as my chance to leave. “I’ll call you if I find anything,” I say to Asher before I slip out of the office.
I don’t like this. I don’t like that something is clearly wrong. Njáll would never abandon the clan like this, no matter how overwhelmed he feels.
I track down almost every fae on Grant’s short list—heading back to The Goodfellow first, which is where Njáll and I met Reijo in the first place. I don’t recognise the bartender, and when I ask him about the woman who was working the night Njáll and I met Reijo, he won’t tell me where to find her. After much discussion, it turns out he doesn’t know her address and he only got called in because she was taking the night off last minute.
The sky is beginning to turn pink as I push the front door to the base open and walk inside. I’m greeted with silence, but the kind of heavy, waiting silence that puts me straight on edge. I tilt my head and listen. Vlad and Grant are here, both upstairs in their respective rooms. Vlad isn’t asleep yet; he’s moving, pacing.
Magic reaches me and I let out a quiet sigh.
The Huntsman is here. I don’t know why I’m surprised.
He’s waiting in the sitting room, idly turning the pages of a book I know he isn’t reading. He doesn’t look up when I enter, and the sleek fall of his hair hides his face from view.
I don’t speak. I don’t really know what to say, what he wants. He told me to stay away from Njáll, and I have. I had nothing else to be doing tonight. Searching for him should not matter.
I’m on edge, though, from the lack of fruition with my hunt to the Huntsman’s presence, and I fight the urge to curl my hands into fists.
“I gave you orders,” the Huntsman says. He’s still turning pages, his voice deceptively mild.
“I didn’t break them.”
“Not about the crai. I understand the necessity of searching for him if you believe a high fae is involved. I told Vladimir and Asher to maintain their watches.”
Not that Vlad is. Not if he’s upstairs.
“What then?”
“What is the purpose of the Wild Hunt, Maurice?”
