“Perfect,” I muttered. “So our killer is going after high-level mages.”

“If he wants to keep on killing, yes,” Hank said thoughtfully. “Whoever is doing this must be after power. Think about it. The Adonai are the most powerful of all Elysian races, right? They’re top of the food chain. But most all of them have left the city or gone back to Elysia because they prefer light to darkness. So the killer’s pickings are slim.”

I picked up his train of thought. “Right. And next up in the Elysian power chain are sirens and nymphs. Add an Elder or a Magnus-level crafter to their résumé and you’ve got the next best thing in power sources.”

“Exactly. And he had to target a Magnus-level crafter because the Elders are virtually untouchable within the confines of the league.”

“True,” Liz said. “The Elder crafters are like hermits; they never leave the safety of the Mordecai House.”

“Okay,” I began, my thoughts turning. “Well, we have a workable theory. We’ve found our missing Adonai, and we’ve got one powerful nymph sucked dry. Let’s assume, for now, that the others in the warehouse met the same end. We’ve got a killer preying on power, but only Elysian power. He’s not targeting Charbydons, because if he was, he’d be going after the nobles next; they’re just as powerful as the Elysian Adonai.”

“Which tells us one of two things: either the guy’s got something against Elysians of power, or Charbydon power is of no use to him.” Hank snorted. “Or both.”

“Well, he can’t be feeding on all that power alone,” Liz said. “A body, no matter where it’s from, can’t hold that much.”

“So who is powerful enough to kill a bunch of Adonai?” Elliot asked, getting into the spirit of our brainstorming.

Good question.

I glanced around the group, and saw the answer on their faces. Charbydon noble. In Elysia the Adonai were the most powerful, but in Charbydon, the nobles had that distinction. The two races also happened to be enemies since before Man walked this Earth. And most still were despite the peace pact they’d agreed upon when the two worlds had been discovered thirteen years earlier.

“But anyone can rise to power, enough to rival an Adonai or a noble,” I said. “It’d take centuries of study and training, but there could be others in this city capable of taking down an Adonai.”

Hank’s brow lifted in agreement. “And this might be the perfect setup for starting a war.”

The Adonai had recently bowed to government pressure, agreeing to stay quiet about their missing members in the interest of public relations. But once they learned the missing had turned up dead, it was highly doubtful they’d remain quiet. They’d blame the Charbydons.

Elysians versus Charbydons. Heaven and hell at war. Again. Only this time Atlanta would be the battleground.

“Sure hope he’s not a Charbydon,” Liz broke the silence, saying what we were all thinking.

“So we find him,” Hank said in a deep, determined tone. “And shut him down before he fucks up life as we know it.”

“Elliot and I will take care of the bodies.”

“And we’ll talk to the chief,” I said. “See if he can convince the ITF to keep this quiet for as long as they can.”

Liz’s expression turned grave. “I guess you’ll be going to the Grove next.”

I nodded. “We need to find that terrace.”

“Well, good luck. He’s going to want her body. Tell him I’ll have it to him by tomorrow morning and not to storm my morgue.”

Easy for you to say, I thought. Liz wasn’t about to stand in front of the Druid King and tell him one of his Kinfolk had been murdered.

4

It was a two-and-a-half-mile drive north from the warehouse district to Tenth Street. Downtown passed by in a quick stream of lights, lights that never went out. The clock on the console read 4:38 P.M. But outside it didn’t matter—it could’ve been predawn or late dusk during one of the darkest thunderstorms you ever saw.

I sighed, staring out the wet window. Some days, it was hard to tell the difference between night and day.

“You pick up a sunlamp yet?” Hank asked.

“Yeah, Rex got two yesterday. Last two at the hardware store. Supposed to be a new shipment coming in tomorrow. You get yours?”

Hank nodded and slowed the car, turning onto Charles Allen Drive. “I hear the schools are going to replace some of their overhead fluorescents with those new sun bulbs Titus is hawking.”

“That’s good. They’re supposed to draw less electricity, too.”

“Well, good thing it’s winter and Mother Nature is in hibernation right now. Hopefully we can figure out how to bring the sun back before spring.”

The time of year was one bright spot, but it had also been unseasonably warm ever since the darkness. Many things continued to grow, trees, shrubs, and grasses keeping their leaves and color. And that color was starting to fade …

Hank parked the car against the curb, turned off the engine, and then proceeded to check his weapons. I did the same. It was a ritual at this point, but sometimes double checking or triple checking could save your life. Plus, it gave us both a moment of quiet time in which to switch gears into work mode.

The drizzle had turned to a fine mist, which did nothing to ease the faint sensations coursing through my body as I stepped onto the sidewalk and walked alongside the black cast-iron fence that enclosed the nymphs’ territory.

It was quiet here, the sounds of the city drifting into the background and the streetlights giving off a dim, hazy glow. We stopped in front of the gate.

Fourteen-foot-tall iron bars spanned eight feet across, attached to enormous stone anchors. Not that a gate would keep out enemies. It was a statement. A line drawn in the sand. Cross it without permission or invitation and all bets were off—you might be risking life and limb.

About five years ago, the nymphs had purchased part of Piedmont Park. Their territory consisted of the eleven-acre Clara Meer Lake and all the land south and southeast—what used to be Oak Hill and the Meadows. Nearly a hundred acres of lake, meadows, and woodlands smack dab in the heart of the city—the perfect home for the only beings from Elysia born with the ability to shape-shift into animal form.

Nymphs had a passionate and devoted relationship with nature, and they, along with the sidhé fae from Elysia and the darkling fae from Charbydon, had been the foundation for much of Celtic mythology when they settled in parts of the British Isles and Europe during the Neolithic Age.

A dark figure appeared on the other side of the gate. Black T, black jeans, black boots. Male. Angular face. Wiry. Lethal.

We flashed our shiny new federal ID badges.

“Hold on.” He drifted back into the mist and darkness, returning a few minutes later to open the gate. The loud whine of the iron hinges made the fine hairs on my body rise. “Follow the path straight ahead to the lake. Don’t stray from the path.”

A thin layer of fog hugged the ground, covering the path, but we didn’t need to see it since the way was lined with tall wooden torches carved with Celtic-style symbols and animals.

I knew from coming here as a child that it was a straight shot to the lake, but now the old pavement had been pulled up and replaced with quarried stone. Asphalt was not favored within Kinfolk territory.

Still, it was a long-ass walk to the lake.

The nymph closed the gate behind us, and then blended into the misty darkness.

“Guess we’re footing it.” Hank shoved his hands into his leather jacket, and started down the path.

“It’s hoofing. We’re hoofing it.” But he was already a few feet ahead of me.

The air was cooler and wetter in the park, reminding me of the lake at Mott Technologies and the unconsecrated Civil War burial grounds—the place where I’d called the darkness. The scents immediately triggered images. Iron dagger. Blood. Mine. Mynogan’s. My daughter’s face. The grass and the night sky shifting to gray.