“They’re trying to make me desperate enough to run. Or weak enough to be an easy target.” Hazel wrapped her arms around herself. “The Blackwoods couldn’t get to me in the city, so they used the council to pressure me. To manipulate where I’d be and when.”
“The moonbell flowers,” Marcus said slowly. “How did you know to go to that clearing that night?”
“I didn’t. I mean…” Hazel’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Henderson told me. She said her granddaughter needed the tonic urgently, and someone had mentioned seeing moonbells blooming in the clearing off Route 9. She gave me directions.”
“Mrs. Henderson?”
“No, she wouldn’t…” But doubt crept into Hazel’s voice. “Her late husband was on the Shadow Council. Not Margaret’s inner circle, but…”
“But close enough to know things. To pass information.” Marcus pulled out his phone. “I’m calling Malphas. If there’s a leak, we need to know.”
“Wait.” Hazel grabbed his arm. “If we tip them off that we know, whoever it is will cover their tracks. We need proof.”
“We need you alive more than we need proof.”
“And we need to win this trial. Which means we need to know who we can trust.” She met his eyes. “The ley line attack. The timing was too perfect. Someone knew exactly when your firm’s protective detail changed shifts. That’s not information the Blackwoods could have gotten without help.”
Marcus’s mind raced through possibilities. “The council member whose child you helped…”
“Could be grateful or could be compromised.” Hazel turned back toward the cabin. “Either way, we can’t trust anyone outside this cabin. Not until we know who’s feeding information to the Blackwoods.”
They stood too close, hearts pounding from more than just the confrontation. Her hand came up to rest on his chest, right where it had been this morning.
“We should…” he started.
“Document everything,” Hazel finished. “Every contact with the council. Every suspicious timing. If there’s a traitor, we need evidence for the trial.”
“I was going to say ‘get inside before they come back.’”
“That too.”
They stepped apart. It took more effort than it should have, and then they returned to the cabin. But the charged silence from earlier was gone, replaced by grim determination. Dinner was devoured while they compiled notes. Dishes were washed while comparing timelines.
“Look at this.” Hazel pulled up her phone and showed Marcus a series of messages. “Every time I’ve had a delivery scheduled from your contacts, something has gone wrong. Either the council shows up right before, or there’s a ‘mysterious’ attempt on the courier. Someone knows when supplies are coming.”
“Which means someone’s monitoring either the firm’s communications or yours.” Marcus checked his own phone, seeing the pattern. “Three attempted interceptions. All within hours of supply orders.”
“Margaret specifically mentioned you ‘flaunting disregard for tradition’ by bringing in outside supplies. How would she know unless someone told her?”
They worked late into the night, building a case within a case. By the time exhaustion forced them to stop, they had a clear timeline: someone with access to both Marcus’s firm communications and Hazel’s business had been feeding information to the Shadow Council, who were passing it to the Blackwoods.
“You should get some sleep,” Marcus said, checking the wards for the third time.
“What about you?”
“I’ll keep watch.” He positioned himself in the chair by the window, case files spread on the small table as a pretense. “They might come back.”
Hazel hesitated in the doorway between the main room and the bed. “Marcus…”
“Go to bed, Hazel.”
She didn’t argue, but he felt her watching him before the rustle of blankets told him she’d settled in.
Marcus opened the case file again and pretended to read. He’d known the leak existed for weeks. Hadn’t found it. Hadn’t even looked in the right direction. Five hundred years of practice at supernatural logistics, and someone close enough to bring her tea had been selling her every day.
He turned the page. He didn’t read that one either.
15
