As Roarke and I hurried out to the car, I called my deirfiúr on my comms charm.

“Nix? Cass? Are you in Magic’s Bend? Can we meet at the shop? I’ve got some books we need to look through.” Normally I’d ask to meet at P & P, but this was during working hours so Nix couldn’t leave the shop.

Roarke glanced at me, surprised. I hadn’t told him I was going to call them.

“Trust me,” I said to him.

“We’re back. Nothing panned out in New York. I can meet you at the shop,” Nix said.

“I’ll be there,” Cass added.

“See you in fifteen.” I cut the connection and turned to Roarke. “We’re going to need to read these books fast. To do that, we need help.”

“Books are really our best bet?” he asked.

“Quit doubting. Right now, they’re our only bet. We’re working with a trend here—first Merlin’s Cave, then Guinevere’s grave. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find something else connected. You have any other ideas?”

“No.”

“Then we’ve got a plan. Anyway, I’m a fast reader. It won’t take long if we all work together.”

“All right.” He climbed into the car.

I could tell from his expression that this wasn’t usually how he did things, but until we had something else to go on, it was our best bet.

It didn’t take long to reach Ancient Magic, but there was no parking when we arrived.

“Drop me off, will you?” I asked.

“Sure.” He pulled over to the side.

I hopped out, then hurried into Ancient Magic while he parked the car. Entering the cluttered, magic-ridden shop always felt like coming home. Nix stood up from where she’d been seated behind the counter, a book in one hand and an apple in the other. She set them down on the counter and hurried around it to me.

“Hey! How’s it—” Her jaw dropped, and her eyes widened.

Startled, I glanced behind me to see if we were being robbed. No one was behind me. But then, a robbery wouldn’t surprise Nix. She’d just beat them up and call the cops.

I turned back to her, but before I could ask what her issue was, I caught sight of the familiar blue glow extending out from where I stood. It crawled across the floor, almost reaching our counter.

No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be happening again.

“What the hell is happening?” Nix’s voice was high-pitched.

The room filled with people. They started out blue, but turned corporeal. They were clothed in long dresses and suit coats from another era. Nineteenth century. Behind the counter, an old man with a bushy mustache appeared. An ancient brass register appeared on the counter, squashing Del’s apple.

No, no, no. My hearth thundered in my ears, and my skin chilled to ice.

This was my fault.

I spun, ran out of the shop and across the street to the park on the other side. My mind whirled like a Ferris wheel as I turned and gazed through the shop window.

Everything had disappeared. Nix stood alone amongst our usual clutter of artifacts, her face shocked.

The breath whooshed out of me in relief, and I nearly swayed.

It was gone.

But I’d done that. I’d done that.

Sweat broke out along my skin, my relief short-lived. Holy magic, this was a problem. I was bringing the past back. Bringing the dead back.

“Del!” Roarke’s voice sounded from the other side of the street.

Startled, I glanced up to see him hurrying across the pavement toward me.

“What are you doing over here?”

I glanced around, mind scrambling. “Uh, I thought I saw my neighbor’s dog. He shouldn’t be out.”

Roarke’s gaze searched the street and park behind me. “You find him?”

“No. I must have been mistaken.” I looked at him hopefully.

His brows lowered. “No, you’re up to something.”

“Am not.”

“No, something is off about you. But don’t worry, I’ll figure it out.”

That was exactly what I was worried about. “Come on. Let’s head in.”

As we crossed the street, I prayed to magic and every god I wished I believed in that the crazy magic wouldn’t happen again. When we entered the shop, the first thing I noticed was Nix’s squashed apple on the counter. There were a couple of artifacts tumbled to the ground, as well.

“Hey, guys,” Nix’s voice was slightly strained, but she looked mostly normal. “Cass is in the back. I’ll go get her.”

“Will you hang out here?” I asked Roarke. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”

He nodded, his gaze already traveling over the assortment of crazy artifacts cluttered onto the shelves lining the walls. I followed Nix into the tiny back room where I found Cass changing into a new T-shirt.

“I freaking spilled on myself again,” Cass muttered as she tugged the thing over her head.

“That’s not going to seem like a very big problem in a sec,” Nix said as she turned to me. “What the hell was that?”

“What was what?” Cass asked.

“Keep your voices down,” I hissed. “Roarke is out there. He thinks I’m peeing. And you missed it, Cass. I think I’m manifesting new powers. I’m bringing old places back to life. Bringing people back.”

“What?” Cass’s shocked gaze met mine.

“Yeah,” Nix said. “Our shop used to be the general store that served the factory workers above. Del just strolled in and brought with her this weird blue glow, and out popped a whole bunch of people in old-timey attire. She brought the dead back. She brought the past back.”

“Not good,” Cass said.

No. Bringing the dead back to life was strictly forbidden. That was a very bad power to have, even if they did disappear when I left. With the way my weird deathling powers were changing, maybe next time, they wouldn’t stay gone.

“Why’s it happening?” Nix asked. “Can you control it?”

“You’re going to have to control it,” Cass said.

“I know.” I dragged my hands through my hair. “But I don’t know how. And I don’t know why it’s happening. I mean, I turned into a Phantom when those other Phantoms embraced me. Aethelred said it was a trigger. Maybe something triggered this.”

“Going to the Underworld might do it. That’s a solid trigger, I’d bet.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, feeling the slightest fraction better. At least I had a why. Kinda. “But that still doesn’t explain what the hell I am if I can bring folks back from the dead.”

“A secret,” Cass said. “That’s what you are.”

She was right. And I’d have to learn to control it. What if it happened in a grocery store? Not to mention, sometimes the people I brought back didn’t want me on their turf. Tintagel Castle had been proof of that.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I’ll practice. But first we have to figure out this demon thing and get Roarke off my tail.”

“We’ll help.” Nix glanced at the books that I just now realized were still clutched in my hands. “Those the books you mentioned?”

“Yep.”

“‘Kay, let’s head out there,” Cass said. “Aidan is coming over on his lunch break and bringing pizza.”

My stomach grumbled. I’d nearly forgotten I hadn’t eaten. I followed my deirfiúr out into shop. Roarke was admiring a pair of wicked looking daggers on the shelf.

“Let’s get started,” I said. “I don’t know what kind of clue we’re looking for, but I hope it’s in one of these books.”

Aidan walked through the door carrying two pizza boxes and a six-pack of soda. He grinned and held them up. “Lunch.”

He set the food on a little table against the wall, then approached Roarke, who held out his hand to Aidan.

“Roarke.”

Aidan shook his hand. “Aidan Merrick.”

Roarke inclined his head. “Origin.”

“Warden,” Aidan said, using Roarke’s title in return.

“Let’s eat while Del gives us a run-down,” Nix said. “I need to know what direction I should be looking in.”

“Good plan,” Roarke said.

We scavenged chairs from around the shop and in the back. Nix and I ended up sitting on the counter after having surreptitiously tossed the apple in the trash.

“So here’s the deal.” I told the story of Merlin’s Cave and Guinevere’s grave while trying to inhale a slice of cheese pizza.

“So he stole a concealment charm created by Merlin,” Aidan said when I finished.

“Yes,” Roarke said.

Aidan shrugged. “That could be your clue right there.”

“What do you mean?” Cass asked.

“For the last two months, Origin Enterprises has been conducting research on the fallibility of concealment charms.” Origin Enterprises was Aidan’s security company.

“Smart,” I said. “Trying to find ways to further protect your stuff.”

His gaze traveled to Cass. “In a sense, though we’ve never worked much with concealment charms. We protect property, primarily.’”

“Three months ago was just about when you met us,” Nix said, her gaze thoughtful.

Aidan nodded. “Once I learned that you three used concealment charms to protect yourselves from the Monster who hunted you, I wanted to make sure that those charms couldn’t be cracked. If they could, he could find you.”

Cass’s face pretty much melted—that was the only way I could describe her expression. To be fair, my heart did the same.

“You were trying to protect us?” she asked.

He reached for her hand. “I hardly think that should come as a surprise.”

“You didn’t tell us, though,” Cass said.

“Let a man have a few secrets.” His gaze turned thoughtful. “But it appears this information might help you.”

“What’d you learn?” Roarke asked.

“Research and Development determined that if you can figure out how the charm was made—either through potions, conjuring, blood magic, or whatever—you might be able to break them. You’d need to know the origin of the magic and what type it was. There are a lot of different ways to make charms. But that information is almost impossible to come by. Mage’s don’t usually advertise how they make their goods, or they’d lose their business. Keeping that in mind, it’s almost impossible to get the information needed to break the charm.”

“If you get the info you need, how do you break the charm?” Cass asked.

“Blood magic,” Aidan said. “Aerdeca and Mordaca were our consultants on this. It’s not an easy spell, nor technically a legal one. But since the creator of the charm is dead, it walks a gray line.”

Roarke scowled, as if he didn’t like the sound of breaking the law.

I hurried to clarify, saying, “Mordaca and Aerdeca are our friends who live and work in Darklane. They’re blood sorceresses, but they’re not evil.” They lived just three doors down from Aethelred, in fact, and I’d seen them while visiting. They worked on either side of the law, but most of the time they were on our side. I’d never seen them do anything outright evil. “I don’t suppose you could find Merlin in the Underworld and ask how he made the charm?”

Roarke shook his head. “No. Eventually, perhaps. But it could take years. I don’t like the sound of blood magic, but if it’s the only way to stop the Ubilaz demon, then it’s worth it.”

“So Del just needs to use her seeker sense to try to find information about the magic used to create Guinevere’s concealment charm,” Nix said.

“It’s worth a try,” Cass said.

“It’s an off chance.” But I saw no harm in it. I really wanted that info, so my dragon sense might give me something. Even better, both of my deirfiúr could look for it, too. If one of us got a lead on it, we could pursue it.

I closed my eyes and called upon my magic, working to keep my signature repressed so that Roarke didn’t get a sense of my distinct FireSoul signature. I envisioned the locket and Merlin and Guinevere, guessing at what they’d looked like, but giving it my all. Anything would help.

When the magic tugged about my middle, I grinned.

“I’ve got something.” I opened my eyes. “Near Edinburgh.”

“Scotland?” Nix asked.

Cass nodded. She’d must have gotten that sense as well.

Roarke looked back and forth between us, his gaze assessing. Shit. We hadn’t been very careful.

I turned toward him. “Do you have an Underpath exit in Edinburgh?”

The Ubilaz demon was strong. Roarke would need to be as close to full strength as possible when we found him, so tearing a hole through the ether wouldn’t be smart.

“I do. I’ll have a demon drop a car off outside.”

“A demon? Are they, like, your minion network?”

“Essentially.”

“Handy.” I stood and passed some of the books I’d been holding to my deirfiúr, keeping one for myself. “Will you guys look through these while we’re gone? See if you find anything interesting?”

“Sure.” Nix stood. “And call us if you need anything, okay?”

* * *

“Ugh, I hate that.” I stumbled out of the Underpath into a small, dimly-lit pub.

Copper mugs hung from the ceiling, and a crackling fire warmed the wooden-walled space. Once again, patrons didn’t seem to notice us as we stepped out of the wall.

Roarke’s hand cupped my elbow to steady me, which snapped me out of my funk pretty dang quickly. I shivered, unable to help liking his proximity even though he might be the architect of my final demise.

Which would not happen.

“This way,” he murmured and led me from the pub.

Snow sparkled in the glow of the ancient-looking lamps as we stepped outside onto the cobblestone street. A quick glance behind showed that we’d arrived via a pub called the White Hart Inn.

When I turned back to the street, a black SUV had pulled up to the sidewalk, and a brown demon with small horns climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t think Edinburgh was a supernatural city,” I said.

“It’s not.” Roarke took the keys with a quick thank you, then climbed into the driver’s side. I followed. “But the Grassmarket is. This neighborhood has been a supernatural haven for half a millennia. Humans avoid it because of a spell similar to the one on Magic’s Bend.”

I buckled the seatbelt and peered out the window, taking in the row of brightly lit pubs and the winding stone staircases that led up toward another street. If I ducked my head down really far, I could just catch a glimpse of the romantically lit castle on the hill above. Edinburgh Castle.

“If you have a network of demons waiting at your beck and call to deliver cars, why didn’t you just use one of them back in Cornwall? Why let Melly drive us?”

He frowned. “I thought it would make you more comfortable to have an outside person.”

“Uh.” Didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’m really only in the business of intimidating the Kings of Hell.”

I glanced at him, surprised. Though I really shouldn’t have been. He could tear off heads with a flick of his wrist and punch his way through the ether. He clearly didn’t feel the need to exert his power in stupid ways, like controlling everything around him. Only weak men did that. Roarke was comfortable with the idea that he could handle his environment, and if he wanted to drag me back to the Underworld when this was all over, he was confident he could do that, too.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged. “You still have to go back to the Underworld when this is all over, but I don’t have to be a total jerk about it.”

To say that I had mixed feelings about this whole situation was an understatement. His courtesy with Melly gave me the weirdest warm fuzzies. But the idea that he’d drag me back to hell made my blood heat while my skin chilled.

Might as well get this show on the road. I pointed toward the castle. “We can go that way.”

* * *

I kept my head buried in the book about Guinevere and Arthur as Roarke navigated through Edinburgh and the countryside beyond. Occasionally, I poked my head up to direct him and caught sight of rolling mountains or running sheep.

At one point, my scalp itched. I reached up to scratch and found one of the tiny bumps that indicated horns were starting to form on my head.

A chill went through me as I reached into my pocket to retrieve one of Connor’s potions. I found only one.

Damn. That was the last of it. I was transitioning too quickly. We had to find this demon, or I was in trouble like I’d never known.

With trembling hands, I drank the potion as subtly as I could, jumping when I heard Roarke’s voice.

“Do you know what form this information is going to take?” Roarke navigated the lonely mountain road. Snow sparkled in the grass on either side. We’d turned onto a mountain path that led us into the lowland mountains outside of Edinburgh.

“No idea. I just asked my seeker sense to find information about the charm Merlin made for Guinevere. It could be anything. But I’ll know it when I see it.”

A few moments later, my dragon sense tugged hard.

I gasped. “Stop!”

Roarke pulled over on the side of the tiny road. We were in a valley between two rolling hills speckled with the first snowfall of the season. The sun was setting behind the hills, casting a golden glow over the frost-crusted grass.

“We’re near,” I said.

“There’s nothing here.”

To confirm his statement, a sheep bleated in the distance.

I grinned. “Sure there is. There’s history everywhere.”

We climbed out of the car. The frosty grass crunched underfoot, and the chill air froze my nose. I shivered and zipped my jacket, then adjusted my sheathed sword at my back.

“This way.” I set off away from the car, following the tug of my dragon sense toward the setting sun.

The rolling mountains around us were desolate and beautiful. When we came to a wide, rambling river crusted at the edges with ice, I stopped on the bank and analyzed my options. A path of wide, flat stones looked like they had potential.

I pointed to them. “We can cross there.”

“I could just give you a ride.”

My gaze snapped to his, and I swallowed hard. A ride? Like, in his arms. Yeah, my peace of mind could not handle that level of closeness.

“Ah, I’ll take the rocks,” I said.

He grinned wickedly, as if he knew my thoughts. “Suit yourself.”

I smiled weakly, then hurried to the rocks and hopped over, wobbling occasionally. Roarke followed behind, graceful as usual. When we reached the other side, my dragon sense went off like an alarm in my chest.

“We’re super close.” I squinted into the distance, doing my best to see through the semi-darkness. Dusk had fallen fully, and the moon was only partially full.

A small copse of trees sat alone in the valley. I hurried toward the little forest, shivering at the sickly sensation that welled over me as I neared the trees.

“Del, there’s something wrong with that forest.”

Roarke’s voice snapped me out of my focus on the trees. He was right. There was a charm of some kind trying to repel us.

“We should turn back,” Roarke said. “This place is evil. Dark.”

“No.” But suddenly, I couldn’t agree more. This place was terrible. I shivered and turned, ready to race back to the car.

Roarke had already turned around and was heading back to the river. The sight of him walking away from a challenge shocked some sense back into me.

“Roarke! It’s an enchantment.” A strong one. My feet were still moving toward the river even though my mind knew that I wanted to get into that forest.

I hurried toward Roarke and grabbed his arm, pulling him to a halt. He turned to me, his dark gaze cloudy.

“We must go.” His rough voice sounded a bit drunk.

Hell, my head felt a bit drunk. I shook it, trying to clear my mind. It worked a little. I bit my tongue hard enough to send a streak of pain through my mouth. It kept me in the present, at least.

“It’s an enchantment, Roarke. It’s protecting the grove.” Which meant the clue was definitely in there. “Come on.”

He resisted my tug on his arm, so I reached up and slapped him. The crack of my hand against his cheek echoed through the valley. The fog in his gaze cleared and he stiffened, then shook his head hard.

“Strong enchantment,” he muttered.

“Try biting your tongue.” I tugged on his arm. “Come on, let’s run for it. Try to be quick. Once we’re inside, it might fade.”

He nodded and held out his hand. “If one of us falters, the other can lead.”

I nodded and gripped his hand, no longer surprised at the shiver that ran up my arm. I liked holding his hand, and I always would because I was an idiot with a poor sense of self-preservation. But he was right—we’d do better as a team.

We set off, racing hand-in-hand across the grass toward the forest. As we neared the oaks, the sense of foreboding grew.

We had to turn back. We shouldn’t enter.

This place was haunted.

Which made it perfect for me.

I bit my tongue harder and pushed forward, fighting the compulsion to retreat. When Roarke slowed, I glanced over. His gaze had turned cloudy once again. My own head was foggy, the desire to turn back welling even stronger.

Fight it.

I embraced whatever haunted force lurked in the woods and clung to my dragon sense like a lifeline. It pulled me forward into the forest, so I squeezed Roarke’s hand as hard as I could and tugged him. He shook his head, and his gaze cleared. We set off again.

By the time we crossed into the forest, the horrible sense of foreboding was nearly enough to send me to my knees. But I kept going, winding through the stunted, twisted oaks that had no doubt stood here for hundreds of years. Clinging to my dragon sense was the only thing that kept me going. As long as I could focus on that tug, I could just barely ignore the repelling charm that tried to evict me from the forest.

Once we were deep into the trees, the sense of foreboding fell away. My shoulders relaxed.

“Feel that?” I said.

“Yeah.” Roarke’s voice finally sounded normal. “That was an excellent repelling charm.”

“No kidding. I doubt anyone has been in these woods since it was enchanted.” Only my dragon sense had kept me going. And we were close now. Really close.

A clearing ahead held a group of stones that protruded from the ground.

I pointed to them. “There!”

“I see them.”

We hurried across the grass. When we neared the stones, I raised my hand to ignite the magic in my borrowed lightstone ring. The glow illuminated the three large, flat stones that stuck up out of the ground. Almost like gravestones, but not quite. They were nearly as tall as I was, each carved with beautiful, ornate scenes. They were stele, not gravestones, and their style was familiar.

“They’re Pictish stones,” I said. “The Picts lived in this part of Scotland in the late Iron Age, early Medieval period. They made stones like this between the sixth and ninth centuries AD.”

Roarke leaned close to study them. “They tell a story.”

“Yeah.”

In between the ornately carved swirls were figures. The detail was extraordinary. Many Pictish stones were decorated with beautifully ornate designs. Yet, stories of this detail were unusual.

My gaze raced over the three stones, trying to figure out where the story started. On the left, I thought. At the top was a man. Concentric circles appeared around him, like they represented magic. In the next scene, he was standing over a large cauldron, his hand hovering over the top.

So he’d used potions to create the charms.

“It’s Merlin,” Roarke said. “Creating the charm with potion magic.”

I gasped. “No, two charms.”

In the scene below the one with the cauldron, Merlin stood with a charm dangling from a chain clutched in each hand.

“Guinevere was only wearing one.” My gaze raced down the stone. Where did that other charm go?

Roarke pointed to an image at the bottom of the first stone. “There he is, giving the first charm to Guinevere.”

I crouched down and peered at the carvings. Below, on a separate scene, Merlin gave a charm to a mounted knight. A large crown adorned the brow of the knight.

“Arthur,” I said. “One for Guinevere, one for Arthur.”

“Why would Arthur want a concealment charm?” Roarke asked.

“Maybe he didn’t.” My gaze raced down the stone, taking in the various scenes. “Maybe he needed something else.”

The bottom of the first stone showed Arthur and Guinevere parting ways, though it was impossible to tell how they felt about the separation. Happy? Sad? My heart thundered as I moved to the second stone.

The second stone showed Guinevere at a cathedral. She sat outside in a garden. Though the details of her face had been worn away by hundreds of years of wind and rain, her posture made her look content. There were other scenes of her life—her meeting with other people, her dancing, singing, and finally dying and being laid to rest in a crypt. I recognized the distinctive tower that had adorned Glastonbury Abbey. This stone finished her story.

I moved to the third and final stone. At the top was a scene of Arthur riding his horse toward a massive castle. I expected a battle in the next scene, but instead, he was welcomed to the castle. The pendant that Merlin had given him was clearly displayed around his neck. But rather than witnessing his life as I had Guinevere’s, I saw Arthur go down into a crypt beneath the castle walls. Several knights followed him as well. His knights of the round table?

“He’s going to his death,” Roarke said.

“How can you tell?”

“He climbs into a sarcophagus in the next scene. And look at the mourners.”

Roarke was right. Arthur was shown kneeling in a great stone box, unmistakable as a sarcophagus. And the people around him had their heads bowed. My gaze skipped to the next scene where Arthur was shown drinking a potion. The next carving showed him resting peacefully, his sword laid upon his chest just below the charm pendant.

“Why?” I asked. “Why would Arthur poison himself?”

“He doesn’t.” Understanding laced Roarke’s voice. “This is the only myth about Arthur that I ever really knew, because it explained why he never ended up in the Underworld.”

“You would know.” He’d sure noticed when I’d gotten out. “What happens?”

Roarke nodded. “Arthur puts himself into eternal slumber beneath one of his strongholds where he waits to rise again, should England need him.”

“Oooh.” That was good. Very romantic and self-sacrificing. My favorite type of myth. “But you said he never goes to the Underworld.”

“Exactly. Because if he did, he couldn’t come back and defend England in its hour of need.” Roarke turned to me, catching my gaze with his own, which pinned me to the spot. “It’s impossible to escape the Underworld and rise again.”

I swallowed hard. The undercurrent in his words was clear. You, Delphine Bellator, have done the impossible. Something even King Arthur knew he could not do.

“So what’s the deal with Arthur? How will he rise again?” I asked, hoping he’d follow my lead away from talking about me.

He gave me a sharp look, but continued. “No one knows. He wasn’t born immortal. No one is.” Roarke pointed to the final scenes.

Arthur, rising from the crypt while a horde of warriors attacked his castle. The pendant around his neck was surrounded by concentric circles that made it look like it was vibrating.

“The pendant,” I said. “Merlin’s charm. It must have kept Arthur from crossing over to the Underworld.”

“That’s why he never ended up in my domain. His soul has been waiting here on Earth, ready to rise when it is needed. Merlin’s magic made it possible.”

“Whoa.” I stepped back, my mind spinning. “So Merlin’s other charm can keep the wearer out of hell.”

“Yes. I’d heard rumors of such a thing amongst some of hell’s darker denizens, but thought they were ridiculous. But those rumors came from Merlin himself, bragging of his old magic.” Worry entered his dark gaze.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “There’s something worse about this kind of charm. That if you wore it once, you were imbued with its magic.”

“Wait, so if the Ubilaz demon even puts it on, it doesn’t matter if we take it from him? He’s immortal forever?”

“Precisely.”