“He was drugging me, probably to get information.”
“How did you find out?”
I gave him a very brief version of events, then added, “Do you think Dawson will be able to run a check on the Eljin in that article? I just think it wise to keep Sgott totally out of any search right now in case our Eljin is connected to the spies at the IIT.”
“Easily enough done. Get Lugh to cc me with anything he finds.”
“Already sent him a text. Thanks.”
He hesitated. “And you really are fine?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He paused. “But if you’re still feeling heated, you know where I am. Always happy to help out a friend in need.”
I rolled my eyes, even though he wasn’t in the room to see. “Give it up, Mathi.”
“Never.”
I laughed. “No more news on our thief, then?”
“No. I’ve a meeting with my father in an hour, so I’ll see what I can get.”
“You’ll let me know?”
“Of course,” he replied, and hung up.
I finished my tea, poured myself another, then swiped through my contacts list until I found Treasa’s number. I was tempted to call her, but in the end, chickened out and sent a text instead, asking her what she knew about the connection between the Eljin in that article and ours.
Then I rose, grabbed the first of the boxes, and placed it on the table, spending the next few hours going through each of the accounting books. If I learned one thing, it was the fact Mom not only worked for a good number of museums, but also for a lot of insurance companies, hunting down relics stolen from private collectors.
The first box didn’t hold anything that mentioned either Gethen—Cynwrig’s father—or Geitha’s Tears. I shoved it under the coffee table, wearily rubbed the crick at my neck, then rose tostoke the fire, saying a soft prayer for the wood’s sacrifice before tossing it in. Then I turned to warm my butt while listening to the rising tide of the wind outside the old building.
That wind held whispers of evil on the move. Beira, despite grumbling about me needing the practice, had obviously asked the wind to find the pectoral and its wielder.
I swore, ran over to grab my phone, and called Mathi as I swept up my coat and ran down the stairs.
“Two calls in one day,” he said. “This can’t be good.”
“It’s not. Our thief is active.”
“Where are you?”
“Running down the tavern’s stairs so I can go out and read the wind better.”
“We’ll meet you at the end of the lane in ten.”
“Hurry.”
He didn’t answer. He’d already hung up.
I slid around the corner on the ground floor and belted toward the back door.
“Everything all right?” Ingrid called after me.
“Hope so,” I shouted back. “Just late.”
I thrust through the door then out into the lane. Evening was closing in, and what remained of the day was filled with a fog-like drizzle. I threw my coat over my head and hurried down the lane. The whispers suggested the thief was surprisingly close... if there was such a thing as close when it came to the wind and her definition of distance.
