Robert's father held himself back. His jaw clenched so tightly his cheekbones turned to stone. Hatred burned in his bloodshot eyes. Hatred far more terrifying than that of a starving master vampire.

But he held it back.

He swallowed the rage, guided his wife from the office, and left without a word. Which somehow made it all the more terrifying. Not to mention how much of a bastard I felt.

Bryce shut the doors behind them, then let out a string of curses.

I suspected Feron's restraint had not pleased him. Instead of a swift, reactionary uproar, he now had a patient, deeply embittered enemy.

"Told you," Nicholas muttered, dropping into a chair opposite Bryce's desk. "You shouldn't have played them in the dark."

I took the seat next to him, but Bryce remained standing, pacing the room in tight, restless strides. It took him a moment to speak.

"Just because Matt was ungifted didn't mean he wasn't compromised. Too many people know as it is. What's the point in hunting a traitor if you announce it at every turn?"

"And stirring up hatred among your own does have a point?" I countered.

Bryce stopped in his tracks, sarcasm creeping into his voice.

"So I should have declared my suspicions outright? Strolled into the council chamber, pointed at the Ferons and said, 'I don't know who, but I think one of them's a traitor'? That would've gone down well. No one would've taken offence at that, and of course, the guilty party would've immediately confessed."

"He's got a point, lad," Nicholas said. "A traitor is worse than any slight."

I frowned.

"Then what was that 'I told you so' about?"

It almost seemed like Boily had just contradicted himself for no reason. Not a great look for a chief of security.

"The poison," Nicholas said. "Would you have poisoned your own son to cover up your treachery?"

"For starters, I wouldn't betray my own clan," I shot back. "But someone else? If they knew the poison would be detected? Yeah. They might."

Boily shook his head and rattled off Robert's parents' names.

"Matt and Alice didn't know. We never told them. And they never tried to warn us, never so much as hinted at anything. Which means they had no way of guaranteeing their son's survival. So, yeah—there was reason to talk to them. Still is."

"No." Bryce's tone was firm. "The attack on Robert may have been a farce, but underestimating our enemy is dangerous. The parents will be investigated."

"Just make sure it doesn't take long. They'll be demanding the body by evening. How long can we stall?"

"As long as possible," Bryce replied.

Then his attention turned to me.

"Bryan's occupied, and I don't have anyone else to assign to you right now."

"Don't worry about me," I said. "Worry about the girls. If anything happens to them…" Sheridans might look laid-back on the surface, but I doubted they'd let an insult slide. And if so much as a single hair fell from Finella's head — "Half the district will burn."

"I've heard enough about Lord Flower," Bryce assured me. "Try sending them home. If they won't go, don't fret, we promised them training, and I will find people for that. Just keep your guard up. And keep your eyes open. Nicholas will see you home, hand him the page."

"And Kettle? What if he won't let it go?"

"Kettle is your problem. And keep today's events quiet. Especially from Logan. He's a terrible liar."

On the way home, Nicholas and I worked out the story. Bryce had dumped the entire responsibility for its credibility onto Boily. Nicholas decided that my visit to the 'body,' and my interrogation next to the 'warm corpse,' would make it all seem plausible enough.

We ran through the list of questions.

"And the laughter in the office?" I asked.

"Tell them I was telling you a joke," Nicholas said. "Half-truths make the best lies."

The house greeted me with the smell of frying bacon. To be honest, I hadn't expected Simon to recover so quickly. And I was right.

I peeked into the kitchen.

Ellie and my cousine, Sally, were busy at the stove, while Finella was giving the baronet an earful. Not for his dishevelled state or immoral behaviour, no, she was furious that she hadn't been invited to the party. Never mind that it had been mostly a gathering of men.

Kettle, nursing a hangover, was sipping whisky from a glass and doing his best to ignore her. But he noticed me straight away.

"We heading to Bald Hill today?" he asked instead of greeting me.

"Only if you find yourself a chaperone," I replied.

At that moment, Boily appeared behind me. My friends didn't know him, but Sally immediately sensed something was off.

"Morning, sir," Simon greeted him. Then, turning back to me, he suggested, "What about those lads I played with last night?"

The girls greeted Nicholas politely, but I caught them off guard with my next words.

"One of them was murdered this morning. Maybe you should head back to Farnell."

"I doubt that would help," Kettle muttered. "If anything, you're the one who should leave."

I tensed.

"And what exactly do you know?"

Simon shrugged.

"No one tried to kill me before I met you," he pointed out.

A second later, he got a smack on the head from Finella.

"No tact whatsoever!" she huffed.

"But it's true!" Simon argued. "Look at you! When was the first time you fought vampires?"

Finella hesitated and glanced at me.

"Let's not talk about that."

"And are you sure we'd have even had to fight a werewolf if not for Duncan?"

I clenched my jaw.

"Simon, my dear friend, pack your bags."

"And this murder, are you involved in that too?" the baronet asked, ignoring me completely.

"Bags, Simon!" I barked.

"Right, got it. But how exactly?"

He raised a hand to block Finella's next attempt at cuffing him over the head.

Anger is a terrible advisor.

And I was angry at Simon. Because, in some ways, he was right. I should have controlled myself. But instead, I saw an opportunity. If I played this right, I could send them all home. And let them blame Kettle for it.

"Finish breakfast and pack up. You're all going home."

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"No, we're not," Kettle said firmly. "Sally already told us the clan is grateful for the fight with the werewolf."

"You didn't even fight him," I snapped. "The girls did all the work."

"I risked my life!" Kettle declared boldly. "I think that counts. Besides, Logan invited us. You really want to take this up with him?"

He topped up his whisky. The bastard.

I wasn't about to drag Logan into this. Who knew how Jenny would react to our little brothel adventure?

Fine.

Half an hour ago, I was against my uncle using clan members in the dark. Time to take a more honest approach.

"Listen, I'm being accused of murder."

"Is this some kind of joke?!" Sally demanded, darting a sharp glance between me and Nicholas. "Who?"

"Robert Feron."

"But his mates already beat his face in," Sally frowned. "Chris said so."

Boily handled the lie.

"Someone broke into his house last night under Duncan's guise," Nicholas explained. "Slashed him with a poisoned blade. The poison wasn't identified in time."

I turned to the girls and Simon.

"Please, just go home."

The girls exchanged uncertain glances. They almost agreed.

Then Kettle spoke again.

"We need to stay."

I swore under my breath.

"If we leave now, it'll look odd. Suspicious, even. Your clanmates might think we ran off because we were involved. And I'd rather not have an entire clan as enemies."

To be honest, I hadn't looked at it from that angle. But clearly, my uncle had. That would explain why he hadn't pushed too hard to send my guests back to Farnell. Even Boily seemed to agree with the assessment.

"Not bad, sir," he said approvingly. "So, what's your plan?"

"Same as before," Simon said. "With one exception, we don't split up. I get it, we all have different goals. Individual lessons would be more beneficial. Personally, the only thing I care about is Bald Hill. I still want to visit a few more times. But I'll be patient. Maybe your instructors can come up with something useful for everyone?"

"Living Thicket," Nicholas suggested. "Sally, you up for it?"

My cousine shook her head.

"The baby was a nightmare all night. Wouldn't let me sleep."

"Then take him with you, he might settle down."

"And what if it's teething?" Sally shot back. "Last time was bad enough. He screamed for two days straight."

So that's why the Thicket only took toddlers from age three and up. Other places of power had no such restriction, but it wasn't like people lined up to visit them. Except, of course, for the Ancient Stones — on burial days. The Thicket, on the other hand, was visited often and willingly. Blood magic was as beneficial for the spiritual heart as ether was for the third eye.

It was precisely because of this source that our clan had so many shifters and warlocks.

"Logan mentioned they put up a deer enclosure in the grove."

"Near the grove," Boily corrected.

"And it's well guarded. I know the way, we'll get there ourselves."

"There are four men on duty today. Bailey and Feron's lot," Nicholas said. "I'll send Logan to you. His 'authority' should keep them from making any rash decisions. Just try not to provoke anyone."

"He's supposed to be preparing for his wedding," I pointed out.

"We have a funeral coming up. Hardly the time for a wedding."

Damn it.

I nearly slipped.

I knew Robert was alive, so it hadn't even occurred to me that the wedding plans would be put on hold.

After breakfast, the girls, Ellie and Sally, since Finella had no talent for cooking, prepared picnic baskets.

Simon, ignoring my warnings, ran off to the bar to put together a basket of his own. It clinked in a very telling way as he carried it. We took the same old pickup to the Thicket.

Logan was slightly disappointed that his fiancée had been left behind this time, but when he heard about Robert's 'death', he agreed it was for the best.

Unlike Bald Hill, the Thicket had its own separate road, and we drove straight to the place of power. We parked outside a small hunting lodge, next to a large enclosure. The fence posts were made from tree trunks, with long hazelwood rods woven between them.

Hazel grew wild in the Thicket.

It wasn't entirely useless, its nuts and buds were used in potions, but like everything else here, it grew too fast. If the clan didn't keep it in check, the Thicket would become impenetrable in a matter of weeks. Even now, the contrast with the rest of the forest was striking.

Behind us, the beeches and birches still carried their black-and-white winter colours.

A few patches of grass and flowers had begun pushing through the earth, but the closer we got to the source of magic, the greener everything became.

On the side of the enclosure nearest to the source, even the hazel rods had sprouted buds. The grass there was vibrant, and it had drawn in all the imported deer. Beautiful creatures with grey fur and branching silver antlers. They were smaller than our native red deer, but I doubted my uncle had any interest in preserving their bloodline. More likely, he wanted to mix it, pass on at least some of the Americans' remarkable antlers, which were prized for their use in virility potions.

The lodge door opened.

The Baileys emerged: father Adam and son Peter. Same long-nosed face, despite the twenty-year difference. They hadn't been at the pub last night, so they were clearly unaware of the latest news.

Adam wasn't Gifted, but he regularly took part in hunts. Peter, a few years younger than me, showed some promise, hence why he was eager to take assignments in the Thicket.

"Who've you brought us this time, Logan?" Adam Bailey asked with a smirk, only to pause when he spotted me.

"Well, well, if it isn't the prodigal Kinkaid."

There was no malice in his tone.

"Gentlemen," I greeted them.

"Morning, Duncan. Ladies. Mister…"

"Sir Simon Kettle, baronet," I introduced him.

Simon waved it off, insisting they call him by his first name.

I introduced the girls as well, then, wasting no time, delivered the two biggest pieces of news: First, my acceptance into the council. Second, Robert's death.

I made no attempt to hide that he'd seen me before he died. The warmth in Adam's voice cooled instantly.

"I need details, lad," he said.

"There aren't many. But let's at least call the Ferons over. Logan and the lads can cover for them in the meantime."

Bailey put two fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle.

"Boys," Logan called, already moving along the enclosure. As he passed me, he added, "Shout if you need me."

The Ferons came in twos as well, a father and son, just like the Baileys. But unlike them, these two bore little resemblance to each other. Michael, the elder, was thin and lanky as a pole. Irvin, though shorter, was far more solidly built. Of the pair, the father was Gifted: a warlock, though a half-hearted one, with little ambition for honing his craft.

Their greetings were polite. At first. Then things changed.

I fed them Boily's version of events, answered a few questions, and left even more unanswered. How the hell was I supposed to know who had attacked him? Or why? Or why they had chosen to wear my face?

Once the questions were done, I left them to their thoughts.

At least none of them had openly accused me. For now, I had no reason to fear a knife in the back, though the guards' attitudes remained as cold as ever.

Logan was diligently playing the role of security, pacing with his rifle at the ready, while the girls fawned over the deer.

Simon had settled himself cross-legged on a thick beech root, eyes closed in meditation. The presence of blood magic here was unmistakable. The scent of herbs made my head swim. I felt my mood lift, a pleasant heaviness settling into my muscles as blood surged through them.

Of course, I wasn't about to miss the chance to examine all this splendour in the finer layers. Like Bald Hill, the entire Thicket was bathed in an emerald glow. But it was dimmer than I expected. No sparks of magic in the air. Instead, every single blade of grass was saturated with blood, so much so that it shone from within.

"Shall we?" I asked, nodding towards the deeper part of the grove, where the air grew greener and the grass taller.

Logan sniffed the air loudly, making a show of it.

"Wolves nearby," he said. "I'll stay here. You lot go ahead, just keep your guard up. Don't all start meditating at once."

At the heart of the Thicket stood five granite boulders, arranged in a rough circle. Scattered across them were reservoir stones. More hung in baskets, tied to the branches of a colossal cherry tree.

A cherry tree that was only five years old. The last one had lasted barely ten. You'd think, in a place where life overflowed, such a thing would be impossible. But blood magic was destructive. Everything here had an expiration date.

In those ten years, the previous tree had grown to the size of an oak, produced a hundred harvests, and burned itself out.

The young one already bore a handful of ripe cherries, hand-pollinated by the guards before the insects arrived.

We gathered the charged reservoirs from three of the boulders, tied them into a sack, and hung it from a branch. Then we spread blankets across the stones and prepared to meditate. Finella volunteered to stand guard first, she hadn't come expecting any great personal benefit from today's trip.

Simon's eagerness to train did surprise me. But I didn't dwell on it. I had work to do. My personal source of elemental energy awaited.

Unlike other elements, blood did not feel foreign. Its magic was warm, familiar, almost comforting, and certainly not as prickly as lightning. It seeped gently into my body, filling it with strength. A pleasant heat spread through my lower abdomen, like a kitten curling up to sleep inside me.

Minutes passed.

I realised my elemental source was full, and the excess magic simply flowed through me, dispersing into my body.

I opened my eyes and glanced at my friends. I could swap places with Finella so she could try guiding the magic through her spiritual heart —

But then I remembered the seal on mine. And closed my eyes again.

Yesterday, I hadn't risked anything with lightning. It had burned enough on its own. I hadn't wanted the distraction. But this. This, I could handle.

Besides, I'd never broken blood runes before.

During my last deal with Ferrish, Harry had told me the seal was almost broken. I'd asked him what he meant. Apparently, there was hardly anything left to do, just a few more years. Ten at most.

Ten years.

From his perspective, that was nothing.

From mine?

Half a bloody lifetime.

Then again, I'd once been prepared to break it until I was forty. So, no point whining now.

The magic flowed into the chosen rune as easily as it had into my elemental source. But, to my surprise, the rune held far more. How was that possible? It had been completely different with my third eye, and I suspected my spiritual heart would be different as well.

The rune absorbed magic nearly three times longer than the elemental source had. One rune. And there were over fifty in the seal. Yet even when it was fully saturated, I felt no discomfort.

No sweat beaded on my forehead. No nausea. No dizziness. On the contrary, I felt refreshed. Energised.

But my elemental source, left unchecked, had drained by half.

I could replenish it quickly from the air, but what was the point? The whole purpose of the source was to store magic on its own.

Ah, well. I hadn't placed much hope in blood magic anyway. It was a difficult element. Few ever truly mastered it. I opened my eyes, all three of them.

Inside Ellie, a vast emerald lake had formed. Simon had managed to hold a spark. Neither seemed ready to finish yet. Only Spark looked bored, inspecting the large thistle flowers beneath the cherry tree.

"Fin," I said. "Swap with me, time to meditate."

"What's the point?" she waved me off. "I'm not Simon, I don't have delusions."

"What do you mean? He's doing pretty well."

"What?" she scoffed.

I tapped my forehead where my third eye was.

Finella frowned. Then —

"Well, in that case, I suppose I should give it a shot. Now get off the rock."

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