Now those passageways that still existed were shrouded in webs of magic so dense and impenetrable Nikolas and his men could no longer find them. More disturbing, he knew from scrying with Annwyn that the people in Lyonesse couldn’t find the passageways either. The two lands were virtually cut off from each other.

What business did the puck have for being in that area, or the Queen, for that matter? What fresh mischief was Isabeau up to?

“I want to check out the stretch of road for myself,” he told Gawain. “I’m only forty minutes away, so I’ll be there shortly.”

The chance to capture the puck and possibly discover information on the Queen’s movements superseded any risk of banding together and possibly attracting a pack of Hounds. Besides, if a confrontation did occur, there was no one Nicholas trusted more to have at his back in a battle than Gawain.

The other male grunted an assent. “I found the spot about a hundred meters south of a broken-down Mini, but the car might have been towed by now. Look for a cluster of three white oaks on the west side of the road, and you’ll find it. I’ll wait for you in town.”

After disconnecting, Nicholas moved quickly through the flat he had sublet for the month, gathering weapons and his black leather go-bag. He paused only to send out a group text.

Possible lead on the puck’s whereabouts. Watch for updates, and prepare to mobilize.

Rhys was the first to respond. Where did you find him?

We haven’t yet. Gawain caught his scent on Old Friars Lane. More news when I have it. After sending the quick reply, Nikolas pocketed his phone and left.

As he sped to the area, Nikolas thought of what he had gleaned from the mobile phones of the dead Hounds. On the day he had been attacked, one of the Hounds had received a call from a public call box. Then much as Nikolas had just done, that Hound had sent out a group text to three people, and they had responded quickly.

Each mobile Nikolas had collected had the same corresponding texts on it. He had killed all the participants involved in the attack.

Like terrorists, Hounds tended to operate in cells or, more accurately, in packs. The alpha had received a phone call, mobilized his pack, and they had converged on the village where Nikolas had been.

Someone had known where Nikolas was going to be that afternoon, and they had informed a pack of Hounds. Could Robin have done such a thing? Had he been tracking the knights of the Dark Court, only to betray them one at a time? Was he the reason why their numbers had diminished so drastically over the last six months?

Nikolas hadn’t shared Oberon’s good opinion of the sprite. He’d never been overly fond of Robin, finding him capricious and unpredictable, but he also would have never believed Robin to be capable of such treachery.

Now he was no longer so sure. None of them were quite who they once were, when Oberon had been a strong, vital leader ruling over a thriving, prosperous court.

The Porsche ate the miles with a languid purr, and in the evening’s fading light, Nikolas came over a rise and looked out over the land. Patches of farmland traced a different pattern than they once had, but the dip and curve of the land itself hadn’t changed.

Ancient memories drifted through his mind. The thunder of Fae horses’ hooves pounding the ground and the clash of swords. The screams of pain, and the flares of deadly magic so bright and beautiful, warriors stopped to stare in awe as they died.

And then that final unsurpassable roar of Power, as Morgan unleashed what he had been holding in reserve.

The earth shook and cracked with a force that had thrown horses to the ground and brought everyone—the most Powerful nobles and foot soldiers of two kingdoms, the Light Court and the Dark, and the humans allied to either side, both friend and foe alike—to their knees.

As long as Nikolas lived, he would never forget that sound.

A human had done that. A human had brought some of the oldest and most Powerful of the Elder Races to their knees.

Or, at least, a creature that had once been human.

Nikolas didn’t see any sign of a Mini, but when he drew close to the cluster of white oak trees, he pulled to the side of the road, stepped out of the Porsche, and walked.

The sun’s light waned and shadows lengthened, and insects played a seesaw symphony in the underbrush. The gloaming was near, the time that was neither day nor night, when shadows left their anchors to mingle and whisper together before the moon’s pale light sent them scurrying home again.

As Nikolas strolled alongside the underbrush, the symphony fell silent, and it only began to play again when he had passed.

At first he didn’t pick up Robin’s scent, but he did sense a smear of darkness on the road that drew him. He reached the spot where a hiss of dark magic had expired and knelt on one knee to examine it. The darkness was both psychic and physical. The magic had burned into the asphalt.

Isabeau’s Power signature was quite distinct. When he passed his hand over the shadow, it bit his skin, the last toxic sting before the last of the magic dissipated completely. Glancing at his palm where a reddened welt raised, he dismissed the tiny injury and took a deep breath.

With the exception of Oberon, none of the Dark Court who had Wyr in their ancestry could change into their animal forms, but their Wyr blood did give them enhanced abilities. Gawain was the better tracker, and it must have been several hours since Robin passed this way, but once Nikolas had knelt down, he could finally scent the puck, along with the faint scent of a strange woman.

What was she? Clearly she wasn’t Isabeau herself, and she didn’t smell like Light Fae.