***

Faelan reached for Bree’s door then pulled back. Nothing he said would get past her anger tonight. She was furious, and rightly so. He’d bloody well botched this up. He was either accosting or accusing the only woman who knew he was alive. He’d apologize in the morning. If they were still alive. He blew out a sigh and headed to the second floor. Perhaps he could earn back her trust. It was a bit early for demons yet; they preferred the dead of night.

Two hours later, he wiped the sweat and dust from his face and surveyed the sanded floor. That should please her.

He put aside his tools and left the room, aching for his bed. He couldn’t sleep, but he could grab a few minutes’ rest. Damnation. He’d forgotten to get a mattress. He climbed the narrow stairs, his brain muddled with exhaustion, suspicion, and lust. Regrets at what he’d done in the bathroom. More regrets that he hadn’t pulled her into the tub and finished it properly. But that wasn’t the way to treat a woman he’d known less than a day. She wasn’t a prostitute, but it didn’t mean she was fully human.

He stepped onto the dusty floor of the attic, gazing at what remained of the people who’d lived and died here. A stack of boxes was piled in one corner with bed frames, mattresses, and a child’s rocking horse. Hers? Tables and other bits of furniture were on the far side. He followed a trail of footprints to an old trunk, similar to one he’d owned. She claimed to have found the map in a trunk. Someone had been here, that much was true. He could smell a flowery scent, like a woman’s perfume. Lavender. He hadn’t noticed it on Bree. The mattress could wait a bit. If her story was real, he needed to find out why this McGowan had been crawling around the graveyard and if he was connected to Druan.

Faelan opened the trunk, raking through musty clothes, ribbons, and a stack of small boxes. One had McGowan’s name on the front, barely visible. She hadn’t lied about that. Unless she’d written it. There was no treasure map inside, only a couple of straight razors. It neither proved nor disproved her story, but he still found it hard to believe she just happened to find a map to the crypt where he had been buried, and she just happened to live here in this house where the key just happened to hang on the mantel. In his experience, coincidences usually required careful planning.

He’d have to keep his head clear and his kilt on until he figured it out. Many a warrior had been sent to his grave by a filthy halfling hiding behind a lovely female form. He looked at the trunk again. Why would anyone in her family need one of these? Faelan removed the contents and ran his finger along the lower edge until it brushed the familiar slit in the bottom corner. He sorted through the things he’d removed, but there was no key. He tilted the trunk on its side and heard a thump. Something was hidden inside. He was beginning to think this house held nothing but secrets.

It wasn’t likely Bree knew about the compartment. Any woman who went around opening burial vaults in the middle of the night wouldn’t stop at a locked trunk.

Faelan replaced the items, wondering what had happened to the few belongings he’d brought to America. As he closed the lid, he saw the footprints continued to a stack of boxes. Following the trail, he found books. He didn’t need books. He needed answers. He lifted the top of the nearest box and saw a leather journal with thick bindings. Was this the one she’d read from at breakfast? Why put it in here? He picked it up and opened the cover.

The breath whooshed out of him like it did when Tavis punched him in the stomach.



Chapter 10


His clan’s sacred Book of Battles. What, by all that was holy, was it doing in America? In Bree’s attic? Faelan slammed the book shut and put it on the trunk, staring at it as if it were a coiled snake. He’d never seen the book, much less held it. No warrior had. It was forbidden, kept under lock and key in a place known only to the Keeper of the Book. Not even the Watchers were allowed to see it. Inside was a handwritten list of five centuries of battles between warriors of the Connor clan and their assigned demons. It was even rumored to hold future assignments not yet issued by Michael.

If a demon got his—or her—hands on one, the entire clan could be wiped out. Faelan paced the floor, running his hands through his hair. Had Bree stolen it? Was she working with Druan?

He thought about her eyes, the softness of her mouth, how it fit under his, how clumsy she was, how alive. And that pie. The best he’d tasted. She’d saved his life. Probably saved the world. Would a halfling or minion do that?

There must be another explanation, but if not her, then someone in her family was a thief. How else could the book be here, in the place they had lived for generations? Was someone in her family a minion? Or all of them? It would make sense that Druan would put the time vault somewhere it could be guarded. Demons often had a family of minions serve them for generations.

Faelan looked at the book lying there, holding so many answers. All he had to do was look inside, and he’d know if he would destroy Druan. If his brothers had died trying to help him. His suspension and awakening wasn’t normal. Would he be forgiven for such a transgression?

Faelan’s hands shook as he opened the book again, but he couldn’t make himself look at the words. He wasn’t beyond breaking an insignificant rule or two, but he’d followed the important ones far too long to cast them aside now. He flipped through the pages quickly to make sure the book was intact. The ink was faded and there were some stains, but it seemed fine until the end. The last few pages had been ripped out.

Someone had taken part of the Book of Battles. Bree? She’d admitted to being here. It must be her footprints marking the dust. Years of fighting demons had taught him to look beyond the obvious. If she’d lived here less than three months, it was possible she didn’t know about the book. He had no proof she had taken it. It wasn’t fair to hold her responsible for something someone in her family could have done.

He started to close the book and saw the last page, half torn, was written in a strange language. He’d heard rumors of secrets hidden deep within the clan. Was this one of them? Closing the book, he left the attic and approached her room. If he confronted her, she’d lie about it anyway. No. Better to watch her. Catch her in a mistake. He hid the book under the floorboard with the time vault key and then climbed into the shower, leaning against the tile in exhaustion. He was certain of one thing. Whether she did or didn’t steal the book, he would find his answers here.

***

A ringing phone woke Bree. She shot up in bed, staring at it, afraid to answer, afraid not to. What if something was wrong with her mother? “Hello?”

“Bree, it’s Peter. Sorry to call so late, but it’s urgent that I catch your friend before he leaves.”

This was her chance to get rid of Faelan, get him out of her hair. But then she’d never find out who he was and how he’d gotten inside the time vault, and she’d never rest knowing she’d walked away from the greatest mystery of her life. “Sorry, you missed him.”

“Damn it. Any way to reach him?”

“It’d be difficult. Is he in trouble?”

“No. Just wanted to ask him some questions. Where did you say he lived?”

“Uh… Scotland.”

“Scotland? Don’t suppose you have his phone number?”

“I don’t think so.”

“What did you say his last name was? I’ll find him.”

She hadn’t given Faelan’s last name when she introduced the two men. “Vault.”

“Faelan Vault. Got it. I thought about swinging by your place in the morning. I wanted to look in on you. You could always rustle up some French toast.”

“You can’t. I’ve got the flu.”

“The flu? I just saw you this morning.”

“It hit fast.”

“You need anything?”

“Rest. Did you identify the victim?”

“Not yet. Kind of hard, with his body ripped to shreds and his fingers and head missing. Sorry. I’m frustrated. A mutilated body and no leads.”

“What about the campers?”

“They don’t know anything, or not saying, if they do.”

“What about the ones who saw something strange?”

“They hightailed it out of here as soon as we questioned them. Didn’t even come back for their gear.”

“Did they actually witness the murder?”

“No. Just saw something in the woods near where it happened.”

“You think they were involved?”

“I doubt it. I’ve never seen two people so scared.”

“What did they see exactly?”

Peter gave a frustrated sigh. “An orc. Their words, not mine.”

“An orc?”

“Like in Lord of the Rings. Those monsters with the ugly heads. They were probably on drugs, but keep your doors and windows locked. Whatever did it was either incredibly strong or incredibly insane.”

Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Bree glanced at her locked door. “You sure it wasn’t an animal?”

“You can’t repeat this, but we found some strands of hair. They look human. They’re testing them now.”

“What color?” she squeaked.

“Dark. Like your friend’s. If you happen to find a number for him, or if you change your mind about staying there alone, call me. Emily had my cell phone number in the kitchen. Bree… be careful.”

After he hung up, Bree touched the short piece of hair, remembering how terrifying Faelan had looked lunging at her with his dagger, how angry he’d been when she followed him outside after the scream, the footprint he’d hidden, the blood. His fury in the crypt when he’d found her taking a picture of the time vault. His bizarre behavior over Erik.

Was Faelan the demon? Was that his secret? He was with her when they heard the scream, but maybe he had a partner. Maybe her grandmother hadn’t meant for Bree to help Faelan, but to help someone lock him away. Bree threw back the covers. This time she’d find his name in the book no matter how long it took. Demon or warrior. It was time for show and tell.

***

It was gone.

Bree searched the floor, behind the boxes, in the boxes, but the Book of Battles was missing. He must have taken it. A thump sounded outside the window, and she jumped. Dead limbs were always falling from the old oak, but after finding Faelan, Bree didn’t chalk anything up to normal. She went to the small window, clouded with age, and lifted the hem of her pajama top to clear a circle. The full moon was surrounded by clouds, throwing shadows on the chapel and graveyard. Trees began to look like skeletons and the chapel windows like empty sockets in a skull. The window facing her darkened as if something stood there. It wasn’t Faelan. She’d heard him snoring softly as she crept past his door. The shadow shifted again, and two yellow spots materialized, then vanished and reappeared in the blink of an eye.

She was halfway to Faelan’s room before she realized she’d turned to him for protection, when he could very well be the threat. His door was still ajar. Invitation or chivalry? She stepped inside. He lay on his back, one arm flung over his head, the edge of a towel covering his groin. He wasn’t wearing the sleeping pants she’d bought. He wasn’t wearing anything, from what she could tell.

His face was relaxed. Dark hair fell across his forehead, spilling over his outstretched arm, blending with the fine hair dusting his armpit. Her soul ached, and for a second, she didn’t care what he was or where he’d hidden the book. Then her sanity returned. She had to know which side he was on. The book must be here somewhere. She’d hidden her treasures under the loose floorboard when she was a child. Had he found her hiding place?

She tapped her foot softly until she heard the squeak and then removed the plank. A glint of metal shone in the dark. She pulled out a necklace, a tarnished silver cross. Her dad’s. Her grandmother had given it to her the night he died, the night she told Bree the story of warriors and demons to distract her from her grief and keep the nightmares away. Before they left for the funeral, her grandmother had asked for the necklace back. It was valuable, she’d said. She shouldn’t have given it to Bree yet. Bree knew it was valuable. It kept the nightmares away like her grandmother said it would, so Bree hid it under the floor and said she’d lost it. That was the only time in her life she’d lied to her grandmother. The necklace had lain there in the dark for nearly two decades. How could she have forgotten hiding it here?

Caught up in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the noise until too late. Faelan stood next to the bed wearing nothing but his talisman and tattoos, his face set like the Grim Reaper. Bree jumped to her feet, heart racing, the necklace clenched in her hand.