I finished eating as quickly as I could, then stood. Just that little motion made my muscles ache and my head spin.

“You okay?” Roarke asked.

I nodded slowly. “Yeah, just recovering. A good night’s sleep will do it. Thanks for getting the healer, by the way.”

“Not a problem.”

“Well, I’m lucky.”

Those wounds could have killed me. Lofta’s magic was the only thing that had stood between me and a quick return to the Underworld. What would have happened at that point was anyone’s guess. And frankly, I didn’t want to know.

“I’m going to call Dr. Garriso and set up a meeting for tomorrow morning. Once we know what Gwenhwyfar is, we’ll find the demon.” I hoped.

Roarke nodded.

I stood there awkwardly for a moment before grabbing my plate and putting it in the sink, then hurried from the room. It didn’t take me long to reach my bedroom, though I wanted to poke around his place more. I resisted and felt like a saint for doing so.

A quick scan of the bedroom revealed my phone plugged into the wall near the bed. Roarke’s thoughtfulness made me grin. I hurried to it and called Dr. Garriso, arranging to meet him at eight. I hung up and put the phone back on the bedside table, then looked at the bed.

I was exhausted and achy, but restlessness stole through my muscles. The sound of rushing water outside the windows caught my ears. There’d been a balcony off the hallway, I recalled. I wanted to see the river. And maybe I could even see the portal from here. It was fixed, right?

Before I could second-guess myself, I grabbed my jacket from the duffle bag and headed out. By the time I made it outside to the balcony, the moon had risen high in the sky. I made my way across the wide expanse of wooden deck and leaned on the railing.

The river rushed below, glittering in the light of the full moon. Something rustled in the bushes across the water, and I stiffened. When a deer poked its head out from behind a bush, my muscles relaxed. Normally I could hold my own in a fight, but my injuries were slowing me down. I didn’t like being in this weakened state.

But nothing was going to get me while I was at the house belonging to the Warden of the Underworld. Not only was his title scary as hell—pun intended—I’d seen him in a fight. No one would mess with him on his own territory.

When the door opened behind me, I almost jumped out of my skin.

“Can’t sleep?” Roarke asked from behind me.

I turned. He was wearing the same clothes he had been, but this time, he held my sword in his hand. My palm itched to yank it from him.

“What are you doing with that?” I asked.

“I thought you should have it back.” His gaze was grave. “I’m sorry I took it from you. If you’d had your own weapon, you might have stood a better chance against the Ubilaz demon.”

An image of the relief and happiness on his face when I’d woken from my wound-induced slumber flashed in front of my vision.

“Thanks.” I reached out for it, and he handed it over. My hand brushed against his and sent my heart rocketing through my chest.

His gaze lingered on mine—briefly—before he looked away.

I tried to focus on the smooth, familiar grip of my sword instead of on the memory of his touch. In truth, the feel of my sword made my heart swell.

Roarke joined me at the railing, leaning his elbows against it and looking down into the water below.

“That’s the blade you use when you hunt demons, then?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why that job?”

“Why do you care?”

He shrugged, tilting his head until his dark gaze met mine. “I’m interested.”

In me? Whew. I didn’t know what to do with that information, so I packed it away. I didn’t necessarily want him to be interested, but there was no harm in sharing the basics.

I shrugged. “I’m good at it. And it pays well.”

“Did you train with the sword for long? You’re talented with it.”

I leaned against the railing, needing to take some weight off my aching muscles. “That’s the weird thing. I didn’t have to train a lot. At least, not that I remember.”

“What do you mean?”

I glanced up at the stars, my mind drifting back to the first time I’d seen them. “When I was fifteen, I woke in a field with no memory. I was with Cass and Nix. We didn’t even remember our names. I can’t remember the first fifteen years of my life. But I’m a natural with a sword. Maybe because I practiced when I was a child. I don’t know.”

Why was I telling him all this? Maybe because it felt good to confide in someone other than my deirfiúr. I’d always found it unsettling that I was so good with a sword. What kind of childhood had I had that I didn’t remember training with weapons?

And maybe if he knew me better, he’d feel guilty about taking me back to the Underworld.

“What the hell happened to you that you woke as a child alone in a field?” Anger rang clear in his voice.

“Um, we’d been held prisoner by a sociopath. I don’t have any memories of it, but Cass does.”

“Why? And where is he?” Roarke growled.

“Dead.” I grinned. “Cass killed the bastard.”

As for why he’d held us prisoner, that was info I wouldn’t be sharing. The Monster from our past had wanted us because we were FireSouls. He’d planned to use our talents for his own benefit. But there was no way I’d reveal that side of my nature to Roarke. A rule follower like him would have a hard time not turning me in to the Order of the Magica.

I shivered at the thought. Roarke was part demon. He’d turned his brother over to the law. I had to keep these things in mind. Constant vigilance through my life had kept me safe. Forgetting what Roarke really was—what he was really like—would do me no favors.

“Do you know anything about me other than my last name?” I asked. “And is my first name really Delphine?”

“Yes. It’s Delphine. But you said you didn’t know your own name.”

“I didn’t. But maybe that’s what made me choose the constellation Delphinus for my name. Deep down, I recognized it.” The thought made my heart ache for something I couldn’t even recognize. “But what about my last name? Do you know any more?”

“No. I knew only your name and how to find you.”

“I thought you tracked me by the blood I left behind.”

“I did.”

Was he lying? Before I could ask, he said, “What did you do after you woke in the field?”

“Stayed on the run. Eventually we raised enough money for concealment charms to hide us from the Monster’s seers who sought our location. Then we opened Ancient Magic.” With our skills for finding treasure, it was the only way we’d known to make a living. “The demon hunting for the Order was just a gig on the side to make more money. But with Ancient Magic doing better, I can now do more treasure hunting.”

“You lead an interesting life, Del Bellator.”

“You’re not too shabby yourself.”

He shrugged. “It’s a job.”

I laughed. “Some job.”

“It keeps things in line.”

“Which you do like.” And that was what I was afraid of. Staying in line probably meant taking me back to the Underworld.

* * *

After leaving Roarke on the porch, I slept like a log. By the time I woke at seven the next morning, all my aches and pains were gone. If I hadn’t woken in Roarke’s spare bedroom, there’d have been no way to tell I’d almost been killed by the Ubilaz demon.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen!” Roarke yelled through the door. “We’ll leave in ten.”

“All right!” I showered quickly, regretting not waking early enough to spend more time in his enchanted forest shower, then pulled on my black leathers.

When I took my sword off the dresser, I couldn’t help but grin. Having it again felt so danged good. I sheathed it at my back and then headed down the stairs. The kitchen was lit by the warm glow of the rising sun, and I got a fairly big stab of kitchen envy.

Coffee was sitting on the counter, along with a travel mug, so I grabbed a quick cup and headed out to the driveway. The morning was brisk and chilly as fall leaves tumbled off the trees.

Roarke, dressed in a dark blue sweater, leaned against his car, holding his own cup and looking like he fit into this rustic-chic mountain life so easily. No one would guess that the Warden of the Underworld owned a matching pair of travel coffee mugs or looked so good in a sweater. Mostly they’d just imagine his Were-demon side.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yep.” We climbed into the car, and I almost groaned at how cozy the pre-warmed interior was. “You’re not a big fan of being late, are you?”

“Nope.” He backed the car out of the drive.

“You know where the Museum of Magical History is located?” I asked.

“Yeah. Big building near the old library, right?”

“Exactly.” But it was weird he’d know so well. “How often are you in Magic’s Bend? I never see you around.” And I’d have noticed a guy like him

“Not often, honestly. A housekeeper does my shopping in town, and I know where the museum is but only because I looked it up on my phone. I keep to myself mostly. And my colleagues are demons, so… I’m not around other supernaturals much.”

“Do you like that?”

“It’s all right. Not all demons are evil.”

I glanced at him, remembering how he’d saved me. “No. Maybe not.”

* * *

We arrived at the museum thirty minutes later, and I led the way to Dr. Garriso’s office in the back. I’d never actually been here before, but I’d gotten to know Dr. Garriso over the last few months. He’d helped Cass with a few problems, and I was hopeful he’d help me, too.

“Come in, come in.” He opened the back door to the museum. Dr. Garriso was a small man, about seventy, and always sported the tweed coats that made him look like he should be hanging out in the drawing room of some country house in England.

We followed him down the sterile, cold hallway to his office, which immediately transported me to another world. An English country house, in fact. The narrow space was done up like the library in one of those fancy old houses. Bookshelves lined every wall and were stuffed full of leather-bound books that were far older than anyone in the room. It smelled of paper and leather, which was just about the best scent I could imagine.

Colorful Tiffany lamps cast a warm glow on the leather chairs and small wooden tables crowded into the space.

Dr. Garriso’s office was a wonderland.

“Have a seat.” Dr. Garriso gestured to the far end of the room where two plush chairs sat under the window. A smaller wooden chair was pulled up beside the two. “I’ve just put the kettle on.”

I followed Roarke to the chairs. He took the small one, leaving the nicer ones for me and Dr. Garriso, who followed us with a tea tray. He set it on the little table between the chairs, then handed out the cups.

I grinned at Roarke, who delicately cradled the china in his massive hands. He looked like a bull in a china shop, determined not to break anything.

“How can I be of assistance?” Dr. Garriso asked.

I set the tea aside, hoping Dr. Garriso didn’t notice that I hadn’t drunk any. It really wasn’t my thing. I’d try to force down a couple sips in a minute to not be rude.

I dug into my pocket where I’d written Gwenhwyfar’s name on a piece of paper, then handed it to him. “We found a sarcophagus with that name carved on it.”

He squinted down, his spectacles reflecting the low glow of the lamps. He made a tutting sound, then said, “This name looks very familiar. One moment.”

He stood and hurried to the far wall, then climbed a narrow ladder and pulled down a few small books. As he walked back, he’d already started reading them.

“Ah, yes,” he said. “As I thought. Gwenhwyfar is the old Welsh spelling of Guinevere.” His bright gaze lifted and met my own. “You’ve found the grave of Queen Guinevere.”

“As in, King Arthur and Merlin?” I asked. And oh, that was no coincidence at all. First we find the demon at Merlin’s Cave, now at Guinevere’s grave?

I met Roarke’s gaze. He knew exactly what I was thinking.

“Exactly,” Dr. Garriso said.

“I guess the names do sound almost the same,” I said.

“Yes. Many cultures in Britain have myths and stories about Guinevere, Arthur, and Merlin. They are popular figures.”

“Were they real?”

Dr. Garriso shrugged. “In some form, yes, I think. However, there are so many stories and myths that no one knows the truth of them.”

“So, is Arthur buried there as well? Or Lancelot?”

“I do not know,” Dr. Garriso said. “No one knows. There are several places they are purported to be buried. There are so many stories about those figures that it’s as if they lived a dozen lives.”

“Do you know anything about a magical charm that Guinevere might have owned?” I asked. “A pendant she wore around her neck that may have been a concealment charm?”

Dr. Garriso’s eyes brightened, and a grin stretched across his face. I’d never seen him look so excited. “Oh! Did you find one at her grave?”

“Yes. There was one draped around her skeleton’s neck.” Guilt streaked through me, though I hadn’t been the one to push off the lid of her sarcophagus. It’d been the demon. But still, I hated the damage caused to her grave.

“Well, I’ll be.” Dr. Garriso’s eyes took on a distant cast, as if he were reliving a memory. Or a story.

“What do you know?” Roarke asked.

His gaze met ours, pleased as punch. “There are many stories about Queen Guinevere. According to who you ask, be it the Britons or the Picts or the nineteenth century Romanticists, in almost all cases, she is a pawn. She has agency, yes, but not as much as she deserved. As anyone deserves. More often than not, she was used as a plot device to further the stories of the male characters, like Arthur or Mordred or Lancelot. In many cases, she meets a dire end. I never liked those stories. She was in an impossible situation most of the time, given too little credit and too little agency.”

“But there’s another story, isn’t there?” I could see it in his eyes. There was a story he treasured above the others.

“Yes.” Dr. Garriso nodded. “In one story, written by an unknown author many centuries ago, Guinevere took her fate into her own hands. She saw how those around her tried to use her, so she commissioned Merlin to create the strongest concealment charm ever known. She took the charm and ran, becoming master of her own fate. She appeared occasionally thereafter, but only on her terms. The rest of the time, she lived the life she pleased, hidden from those who would use her.”

Oh, I liked this Queen Guinevere. I liked her a lot. And first chance I had, I’d be visiting her grave to repair the damage. Maybe I could even get her to come to life and have a chat.

That probably qualified as abusing my powers, right?

“You said the author was unknown?” I asked.

“Yes. But I suspect that Gwenhwyfar wrote it before she died. If I were her, I wouldn’t be able to resist sharing my cunning plan with the world.”

“Neither would I,” I said. “So she finished out her days at Glastonbury Abbey.”

“If that is where you found her grave, then it appears so. There was a legend that she might have ended up there.”

“She did.”

“Splendid that you found it,” Dr. Garriso said.

“Except for the fact that we lost the concealment charm,” Roarke said.

Dr. Garriso’s face fell. “That is not good.”

“No.” Not only did we lose something that should be in its proper resting place with Guinevere, but it was now concealing a dangerous demon. “We’re hoping to learn more so that we can track down the demon who stole it. He’s using the concealment charm to hide from my…seeker sense.”

I was so excited about Guinevere, and so stressed about the demon, that I almost tripped up and said dragon sense. That would be baaaad.

“Hmmm.” Dr. Garriso frowned.

“We have some clues,” Roarke added. “The demon first visited Merlin’s Cave at Tintagel, then Guinevere’s grave.”

“That’s a trend,” Dr. Garriso said.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“But I’m afraid I know no more.” He stood.

Disappointment surged through me.

“There are many myths and stories about Guinevere and Merlin and all the rest. Read these. You may find something helpful.” Dr. Garriso handed me the books, and I took them, my chest loosening as hope pushed away disappointment.

Some of my problems I solved with my sword. But many others, I solved with books. They might look unassuming, but there were worlds within these pages.

And, I hoped, the answers that we would need.