Spellbinder (Moonshadow #2)

She also mustn’t forget they were all still watching her.

More than a little rattled, she carried her meal to the music hall. On the route, she had to dodge several servants dressed in brown clothes. One stood still, eyes closed, while a whirlwind like a small tornado moved systematically back and forth over the hall floor.

As Sid stared, dirt was sucked into the whirlwind, and she remembered what Kallah had said about the castle getting cleaned by magic. Even the house cleaners had a generous amount of magic.

After watching for a few moments, she slipped past the worker and hurried on to the music hall. After she ate, she got back to work.

She hadn’t slept enough. She still felt draggy and hungover, but years of discipline had taught her a long time ago how to keep going.

Besides, she could sleep when she was dead.





Chapter Thirteen





Morgan slept deeply until late the next morning, and when he woke, he knew he had turned a corner. Despite the fact that fighting with Robin had torn open his wound again, he felt stronger and steadier, and even though he had spent himself utterly the day before, he felt more of his magic had returned as he’d slept.

He had been in a desperate scramble ever since he had heard of Sid’s kidnapping. Now, for the first time, he felt like he had enough energy to start digging through the books he had brought with him. Eager to get started, he rose to wash and eat a quick breakfast, and then he settled at the table in front of the books.

He had stolen from the Bodleian Library a wide sweep of anything that might bear useful information, so he was prepared to run into dead ends and irrelevancies.

Still it was disheartening to spend hours poring through the books, reading esoteric passages about the Deus Machinae, or God Machines. The Deus Machinae were legendary items of massive Power that legend said the seven gods of the Elder Races had cast into the world to ensure their will continued to be enacted throughout time. Yet nothing he read tied those legends to Azrael’s Athame.

In fact, he found no reference to Death’s Knife in any of the passages he read. Personally, he had never heard of the Knife before the night Isabeau had stabbed him. That single act had irrevocably transformed his life and changed the course of history at once. Since that time, he had studied it carefully, albeit at a distance, for the many years he had watched it dangle from Isabeau’s waist.

It was an item of tremendous Power and age, so theoretically it could be one of the God Machines. If it was, it would be indestructible.

If it wasn’t one of the Machines, there might be some hope of breaking it. But he couldn’t learn how to do that until he learned more of the Knife’s provenance and origin.

He needed to travel to the Louvre while he still had the freedom to do so, to consult the Elven book. But he didn’t dare leave Sidonie while her fate was so precarious. Perhaps he could slip away after her audience with the Queen, although he scowled to consider that.

He hated the thought of leaving her, period. She didn’t know her way here at court, and she was vulnerable to the vipers that had manipulated their way to positions of power.

One step at a time. One obstacle at a time.

For now, the next step was getting through tomorrow evening.

Restless after a day of physical inactivity, that evening he prowled around the neighboring hills to see if he could catch the scent of the puck, but either Robin had decided to go back to Earth or after their confrontation he had grown stealthier, and Morgan didn’t find any hint of his presence.

Distrustful of such a clear and open lack of evidence, Morgan returned to his cottage, where he tended to his wound and rewrapped it and doused himself with more of the hunter’s spray.

This time when he slipped down to the night market, the need was not so urgent to steal food. Sidonie would be fed, at least until tomorrow evening, and he wasn’t hungry.

This time he was interested in information.

Cloaking himself tightly as always, he threaded his way like a ghost through the crowded streets and the lantern-lit stalls. At Gardin the cloth merchant’s stall, he heard Sidonie’s name and paused, his attention sharpening.

“I heard this human named Sid found her way to court to petition the Queen for an audience,” Gardin told the noblewoman who fingered a length of damask silk as she listened.

Morgan knew the noblewoman, Freya, who was a notorious gossip. Freya leaned close, her eyes avid. “The music master will not be pleased when he returns to discover his hall has been invaded by a human upstart,” she told Gardin.

The cloth merchant shrugged. “Eh, Olwen has nothing to worry about. No human musician, no matter how ambitious, can possibly hope to supplant a master Light Fae musician who has been working at perfecting his craft for centuries.”

“True,” Freya agreed. “If this woman is hoping to find a position at court, I’m sure she will be sorely disappointed.”

Morgan suppressed a derisive snort. Sidonie’s talent was light-years beyond Olwen’s. Once they overcame the hurdle of tomorrow evening’s audience, if she wanted, she could ascend rapidly in favor to become a true power at court in her own right.

Not that she would care about any of that. She only wanted to return to her rightful life.

“I’ll wager you she’ll be sent packing before tomorrow evening is out,” Gardin declared.

Freya laughed. “I’m sure you’re right.”

The pair knew nothing. The only thing of note in the conversation was that news of Sidonie’s presence and her upcoming audience with Isabeau had reached town. Morgan moved on.

Rounding a corner, he stopped dead. Not six feet away, three Hounds had gathered in front of Zacharias’s stall. Zacharias sold pints of dark, yeasty beer, fried meats, boiled eggs, and fish and potatoes. The three men sat at a rough plank, eating and drinking.

Warrick, Johan, and Harrow. They would have led the hunt for Morgan, back to Earth. If they had returned to Avalon, that meant the other Hounds would be returning as well, and that meant sneaking around the castle and town just became a lot harder.

He was also running low on the hunter’s spray. Whether he decided to travel to the Louvre or not, he needed to make a quick trip to Earth for more. With the Hounds returning, he needed the spray now more than ever.

Morgan tightened his cloaking spell until it lay against his skin like a heavy, hot layer of rubber, blocking everything else out, even the slightest breeze. He wanted very badly to step forward to eavesdrop on the other men’s conversation. But if anyone might say in passing the words that could activate his geas, it was those three.

And he didn’t dare hire someone else to eavesdrop for him. Not knowing the triggers to avoid, they would simply repeat what the other men said, and he would still be trapped. Simmering with frustration, he backed away and left the night market altogether.