Chapter 1: The Unwanted Guests

 

Inverness, late March 2030.

"It's you."

I spat three times to my left. "Hverfa!"

"Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?" the trespasser on my back porch said, as the wind blew a cold, wet shower on my face.

"Get lost."

"Oh, Cas..."

I wiped my face and crossed my arms, staring at Matthias and trying to force him to turn and get lost with the power of my mind.

Didn't work.

Shame.

"Why are you here?" I scanned the shadows behind him, trying to see into the pitch-black darkness the rain had created. I had this terrible itch inside my mind, telling me something was off, and it wasn't just the weather. A boom of thunder rolled from the distance.

There was a man standing several steps behind Matthias, looking like he was trying to merge with the shadows. He was dressed head to toe in dark colours, his hood pulled up against the rain. I had almost missed him, since he was standing so still that he was half-hidden by the downpour, keeping his hands in his pockets.

He looked like a man who wanted to be overlooked. Hidden.

But failed.

"And who is your companion? Not a friend, since you have none."

What are you?

"Oh, Cas, don't be rude. Let us come in first, it is raining, gods dammit. I'd like a warm cup of tea, or something warm, other than your welcome, that is. It's freezing out here."

"No."

"Oh, come on!"

"No."

Matthias sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Look, I'm here about the debt."

Helvíti. I had hoped he'd forgotten that.

Stupid debts and their stupid deeds.

I squinted, trying to pierce his skull through all that red hair and read his mind. What are you planning, Matthias? And why did you bring a stranger with you to collect?

After a moment, I gave up and turned my back on the door, leaving it open, and went to put the kettle on. Let them come in then. I'll make some tea. I leaned against the stove and kept my arms crossed as I stared at the water. I had just removed it; it would boil in no time.

They had knocked on my back door. To avoid the dismissal spells I had put on the front? I still hadn't spelled the back, however, and now deeply regretted not making the time. It was too late now.

I heard the stranger walk in behind Matthias and close the door quietly, and I glanced back at him. He wiped his boots on the entrance mat, shook off the water from his coat and lowered his hood. Then he let his eyes roam around my kitchen.

I kept a close eye on him in my periphery.

Matthias sat down on one of my stools and almost lost his balance as it wobbled on the uneven floor.

"Please, do not make yourself at home," I said to him as I stared at the kettle. Steam was already coming from the surface. I grabbed a pouch of herbal tea, as the stranger walked close by, cataloguing my herbs and my half-prepared spellwork with an unreadable expression. He paused on my battered Moomin cup collection and moved on. It felt like a high-powered magnet had moved through my aura. I could sense his movements in my vicinity even without looking at him, and the fine hairs on my arms moved in the current.

I put a double dose of the valeriana mixture in the water. I would need it.

"And keep your nimble fingers off my belongings this time, Matthias." I pointed my finger at him and added another scoop to the barely boiling water. Triple. I would need triple. I removed the kettle from the stove and put it on a coaster on the table to brew. "Remember the last time." I looked at him. He didn't meet my eyes. Then I turned back to the stranger and took him in properly. I returned the gesture, and we observed each other.

He was a strange, bland man. Medium height, medium weight, medium face, someone who could be from his early thirties to his late forties. It was hard to focus on his face, like my gaze just wanted to glide off him. I forced it to stick. Brownish hair, greyish-something eyes. Add a brown briefcase and glasses, and he could be an overworked accountant.

The sort of face you saw on someone doing a crime and never could describe them properly to the authorities or pick them from a line-up. Forgettable. But powerful.

"And you, don't touch my stuff either," I said to him, even though he hadn't even twitched. I tried to stare the man down, but he didn't blink, just stared back with those grey, blank eyes.

"I wasn't planning to. Never touch a sorcerer's stuff, my mother used to say to me." His voice was quiet, indescribable, non-threatening. He gave me a half-smile, nodded and turned away, deciding to play polite.

"Oh, she did, didn't she." I tried to read him as he continued auditing my home. This time he paused when he saw the plush pillow collection on my bed, as I had left the door ajar. I took a few steps and kicked the door closed, blocking his sightline. I caught a whiff of leather as I passed him, but no trace of anything else. Usually power made a scent. "And who was she, so wisely warning her son? And who are you, exactly?"

The man kept half-smirking to himself and turned away but didn't answer.

Matthias spoke instead.

"This is Marcus, my... associate. The thing is, Cas, because of certain accidents in these past few years, I owe him a life debt. Now he wants to collect it... from you."

Matthias briefly met my eyes before looking down at his hands, pretending to check his impeccable nails. I went to get the cups and let him speak. Matthias had wanted something warm, alright.

"We... He wants your help in finding the Draugameistari," he muttered to his cuticles. "I told him you might be able to help."

That name... The Draugameistari. The Magister Mortis. Sometimes called the Necromancer, capitalised. I flinched like he had whipped me and almost dropped a cup. Matthias, dammit!

Put some ice into your hat, Cas. You need your poker face for this.

I dropped my shoulders, breathed low into my stomach, unclenched my jaw, and shifted my weight to my heels.

Better.

I could breathe again. I took the cups and turned back to them.

"Do you now?" I managed to make my voice a lazy drawl, instead of a panicked squawk, and tilted my head as I looked at Marcus. "You want me to find the famous, evasive Draugameistari? He hasn't been spotted in a decade or two, not since Dad died. What makes you think I can find him?" I put the cups on the table and grabbed the kettle.

"Death is your domain, dear Cas, and I thought..." Matthias cut in.

"Matthias," the stranger said, his voice even.

Matthias went back to staring at his manicure.

Marcus kept his attention on me, face expressionless, as I poured three cups of my foul-smelling evening tea. I finished and tried to catch his face twitching, some microexpression, but my eyes wanted to glide off him again. I blinked. Give me a tell, dammit.

"I don't know if you can find him. But considering your particular talents... I thought you might," he said evenly.

"Sorry, I don't know where he is," I said just as evenly, choosing my words with care. If you want to lie with the truth, choose your words with care. How to live with the Huldufólk 101. I took the largest mug and went to sit on my reading chair, crossing my legs. "So, I guess your favour stays unfulfilled. Bye. The door is that way." I pointed at the door.

Marcus was looking at me with a dubious look. A power of sensing the truth? If he did, his reading of my answer must be confusing as hell. His gaze wandered to my wool socks for a moment, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "Well, I'll take your word for it. There is another matter you, Miss Cassandra Smith, can help me with instead."

"What is it, do tell?" I took a big sip from my cup. It burned my mouth but I didn't care.

"I need to find the grave of Gottskálk Nikulásson, and your late stepfather knew where his latest grave is, as he moved him there. Can you raise his spirit and get the location?"

I choked on the liquid. "You want your hands on the Rauðskinna? Are you insane?" My voice pitched higher a notch and I coughed. This man must be mad, or worse, stupid.

"You know of it."

"Know of it... Of course I know of it! My mother used to... There are literal cautionary tales! Everyone in Iceland knows of it. Are you two fools? You're too early; March still has a few days left."

"So it can be acquired." Marcus stepped to the table and picked up a steaming mug, drinking from it. Matthias was already cradling his own tea.

"No, it can't. That book is guarded by Gottskálk himself! You don't just walk up to a powerful, sentient draugr bishop and demand his precious book!"

They just kept staring at me while they sipped their tea. Matthias was silently pleading, but Marcus was staring at me with suspicion and intent.

"Can I ask why the hell you need it in the first place?" I asked.

They glanced at each other but stayed silent. Apparently, that was a no.

"Why do you need me? You can whip out a regular Ouija board and ask Dad yourself." I waved my hand toward my supply closet. "Look there, I can lend you one. Be my guest."

"He is not responding to any regular summoning rituals, so we need a more... sophisticated and hands-on approach. More up close and personal. My sources say it needs to be done at his grave, by a relative. Or a stepdaughter would do."

What sources? Hela? And at his grave? Well, that would make sense if they wanted to maximise the odds of succeeding...

I stared at the golden-brown liquid in my Groke mug, numbness taking over me. Could I get out? Probably not. The debt was called in, and I had to pay, that's how it went.

But I couldn't let them have the book. That was one family grave I needed to keep visitors away from.

Think!

"Fine." I looked at Marcus. "I will come to Iceland, call Dad's ghost and ask for the location. After that, my debt is fulfilled, and the rest is your funeral. Are we clear?"

Marcus looked like he wanted to add something, so I stood up and turned to Matthias. I stared at him firmly and offered my dirty hand to shake. I had been planting herbs when they jumped on me.

"Are we clear?" I repeated. Matthias was the one I owed, not Marcus, so he was the one who needed to agree. My fingers were soil- and grass-stained, smelling faintly of organic fertiliser. Matthias was staring at my hand with his lip curling, like I was offering a handful of dog shit for him to shake. He didn't want to touch it.

"It's this or something else, but no extras, no side dishes, no open-ended favours. You don't get to add items to the list as you think of them." He glanced at Marcus, who then nodded once and returned to his tea. I bet he had wanted to fool me into multiple favours, and he clearly did not expect my precise wording. He knew when to bow out.

Matthias took my hand and shook it firmly, not flinching like I had suspected he would.

"Deal."

The word slammed on us with a vibration. I felt it trembling like an infrasound boom, in my teeth, in my bones, in my soul. It was the boom of a heavy prison door slamming shut. It spread farther and farther, like the binding life-debts did, and sealed the deal.

Too late for regrets, then.

Suddenly, an echo reached Marcus and resonated back to me, and I caught a tiny glimpse of him with it. A glimpse of something... Something like a massive hurricane landing next to your home and disappearing immediately.

I turned to stare at him.

Marcus was tilting his head, his brow furrowing, his gaze unfocused. He was getting a sense of something, too.

I held my breath.

Soon he shook his head, shrugged his shoulders and focused back on the present, on his cup, face blank once again.

I exhaled quietly. I needed to be careful with this one.

Matthias moved towards me, his hand reaching out.

"Cas—"

"Don't."

We stared at each other. He was pleading for forgiveness, but I had none to give, since I was filled only with resentment. He turned away from me, and I saw his Adam's apple bob.

I looked up and down again at the bland stranger taking space in my cabin.

Too much space.

More than his medium frame should have.

Too much presence.

I needed this visit to be over and these people gone.

"So, when do we leave for Iceland? I hear the crossing is a bitch in April, icebergs and all, and we all know how that ends. Good thing we aren't crossing the Atlantic." My anxiety was about to take over, and I was turning morbid. I needed to collect myself. "You have any shipferries booked?"

"First we do a detour," Marcus replied and went to put his empty cup in my sink. "First we go to London, and you'll come with us. We need to investigate a related clue. We book a shipferry from there." Matthias finished his cup and walked to the sink too.

I took a deep breath. I should have asked about that before offering my hand.

"We'll keep you updated," Marcus said. "We'll leave in a week, possibly two." He headed for the door, pulled up his hood and exited without another word. Matthias lingered at the door with his hand on the handle.

"Happy birthday, Cas. Thirty-five years and you haven't died yet? That deserves a party."

"You're a week late," I said unemotionally. I had spent my birthday alone, and it stung.

"Better late than never, huh?" He looked at me, smiling sadly. "It is good to see you." He pulled the door closed behind him.

I collapsed on the floor and broke into a sob.

After the tears stopped, I just sat there, numb. The kitchen felt too empty, like Marcus and Matthias had taken something with them as they left, stolen a part of my comfortable reclusion. Even the silence was too loud, too obvious. My ears were ringing from it.

My past was finally catching up with me. I probably had to face everything I left behind.

The huldufólk... They had taken care of me like family, but their care was poison.

And then there were the Aesir. They were worse than poison, they were a cage. Like gods always are.

Reason enough to hide in plain sight under a fake name.

I needed to prepare, pick a few things. And to subtly investigate. And contact Sara and ask if she knew anything about what Matthias had been up to. But how? She was in Reykjavík, and no post would reach her in time.

It was time I visited Leakey's.

* * *

The next day, I rode to Inverness.

Leakey's Books and Trinkets was surprisingly full. All the people with an inkling of magical talent used the shop to get their magical needs met. The old elf, Seannan, who owned the place, had contacts, and the merchandise was always top tier. She would have something I could use.

"Well now, Cas! Nice to see ya!" I heard a voice with a lilting Irish accent coming from behind a stack of books placed on the cashier's desk. I could see the wild black curls of the speaker peeking.

The shop had once been a church, built in the 1790s. The cashier's desk sat where the altar used to be, and the bookshelves and display cabinets full of magical objects were where the pews used to be, with more curiosities in the upstairs gallery. Seannan kept the dangerous books and trinkets behind the old sanctuary, behind a door so tightly warded that not even a ghost could enter. I knew this because the ghosts had told me so themselves. She also kept Doug there. Or maybe Doug kept himself there.

"What can I be doin' for ya today?" Seannan was standing on a step stool for better reach and peered down at me from behind a stack of books, a questioning stare over her half-moon glasses.

"Hi, Seannan. I need a way to contact someone remotely, fast, and I was thinking you surely have something useful for me." No time for small talk.

Seannan pulled an old mobile phone from her pocket. "Here."

I looked at the mobile phone. "Har har."

"What? Sure, it's a perfectly good mobile. A Nokia 3310. Still works, thirty years after it came out o' the factory."

A tall, gaunt man in his 50s came from the back room, his balding head glinting in the sunlight pouring from the windows. He was carrying the Egyptian Book of the Dead in his armpit. "Now, young lady, are you in trouble?" Doug had no time for small talk either.

"Hello, Doug. Nothing I can't handle."

"Lies," he huffed.

I sighed and focused on Seannan again. "You see, I am trying to reach someone in Iceland. Not enough people there to keep up a functioning mobile network." I turned back to Doug. "Oh, and I need my bag as well," I said, trying to keep my tone casual.

Doug went still and stared at me, seeing right through my calm exterior.

Seannan missed her companion's reaction. "Ah, Cas, you've no sense o' humour. Sure, I know ya wouldn't be askin' if a mobile would've done the trick. Hang on there, I might have somethin' for ya." Doug helped her down from the stool, and she disappeared into the back room. She was so tiny next to Doug that her head barely reached his chest.

After she was gone, Doug looked at me. "Now, young lady, seriously, are you in trouble?" he asked again, quietly.

"Not a lady, and not so young anymore."

"To me you're always a young lady, young lady."

It was my turn to huff.

Soon Seannan came back carrying a small hand mirror. I took it and held it, examining the artefact. It was small and rounded, with a wooden edge and a handle, and it looked ancient. Holding it made my hand tingle a little.

"This mirror'll let ya get in touch with anyone at all, so long as they're near a mirror or anythin' reflective," she said. "You can borrow it, for a price, o' course."

Of course.

"How much?"

"One o' the newest things I picked up came with a wee passenger."

"So, an exorcism, then?"

Seannan smiled. "Sure, there's no use wringin' ya of your last coin when you've talents as useful as yours."

I glanced at Doug, who was suspiciously disappearing into the back room again.

"Fine, then. When does this exorcism need to be done?" I asked her.

"Whenever it suits ya. The sooner, the better."

I'd have to squeeze the ritual in now. "Okay, show me the wee passenger."

Seannan led me to a small side room while I sorted my emergency supplies.

"Now, why isn't Doug handling this?" I asked Seannan.

"He's been tryin' to. He keeps doin' some Egyptian ritual he hasn't a clue about, and the ghost just keeps cryin' more. Doug just... he's not himself at all."

When had he been? I looked around the room. "Where is this ghost then? Let's get it over and done with." Various artefacts, books, and boxes littered the tables in the room. A sorting room, probably.

"Would ya believe it? It came in with an old Egyptian shabti figurine we'd only just bought from an old noble family. Got the whole lot for a grand price. Mind ya, now I know why they were so happy to let it go for next to nothin'," Seannan said with a sour face. "Sure, it's a good thing ya came by. I was just about to send a messenger."

A shabti, of course. Explained the Book of the Dead Doug was carrying. Undoubtedly the shabti was robbed from the grave of some ancient Egyptian noble in the early 20th century. The good old days of the grave robb... Eh, Egyptology's golden era.

The statue hid in a wooden box, its surface carved with gold-etched ankhs. The lid was closed. I touched the box before opening it, to get a feel for the nature of the spirit.

It felt cold. Sad. Lost even.

The spirit in it was stuck and wanted to go home.

"How did you notice this spirit? Did it bother you somehow, make a scene, destroy books?" I asked, opening the lid and lifting out the small figurine.

It was about 10 cm long, faded blue, carved in the likeness of its owner's sarcophagus. Ancient Egyptians buried these with the dead to serve them in the afterlife. Sometimes they buried actual servants, too.

"Sure, the poor thing makes everyone miserable. Keeps appearin' between the bookcases, starin' at the customers while it's cryin'. Terrible for business, so it is."

I set the statue down and dug through my pouch for my galdrastaves and my knife. The spirit flashed before me. He was young, brown-skinned, and weeping.

"Veistu leiðina heim?" I murmured and placed the wooden Vegvísir under the statue. "Þú verður að fara heim. Hér, ég skal sýna þér veginn."

Do you know your way home? You need to go home. Here, I will show you the way.

The temperature dropped, and the spirit appeared on my right side and stared at me, pleading. Seannan stepped back as frost began forming on the nearby windows. A faint wailing echoed from far away.

I placed the Umbótarstafur in front of the statue to make amends. I hummed first, then let my voice spread through the room as I sang the ancient galdr, a small consolation for a man entombed alive in a stranger's grave.

"Leiddr skaltu til ljóss, líkn skal þér veitt, harm skaltu hrinda í Annanheimi, brotin eru bönd þín, brotit er böl, böl er bindr þik at bíða."

Led you shall be to the light, granted to you shall be grace, grief you shall shed in Otherworld. Broken are your bindings, broken is the bane, the bane binding you to stay.

The spirit was fading now, his mouth moving soundlessly.

"You've been trying to move on for thousands of years, haven't you?" I whispered. "But you got stuck. Now, go, be at peace."

I cut my finger with my knife, reddening the blade, and traced the lines of the Umbótarstafur to give it more power.

"Lauss skaltu líða, landlauss andi, fletta skaltu frá þér kvöl á friðar leið, Annanheimr opnist, opnist gleymska alls, liðit er liðið, liðit er fánýtt, far nú, þú liðni, ok hvíl í friði."

In liberty you shall leave, landless lingerer. Peel away your pain on path to peace, Otherworld opens, open is the oblivion. Past is perished, past is pointless. Leave now, you past, and go rest in peace.

Sweat started to trickle down my forehead, and my hands started to shake. The air was too thick, like breathing in molasses, suffocating.

The spirit tilted his head back, tears falling down his cheeks, a smile appearing on his face. He faded fully away, a heavy sigh of relief echoing around the room.

The temperature rose gradually back to normal, and the frost started to melt into little droplets, just like the sweat that was running down my back.

"Far heill," I finished.

We stood there in silence for a moment. My right cheek was buzzing faintly.

"Well now," she said. "Sure, I've not heard that one before, so I haven't. What was it, then?"

"One of my own creations," I said, rubbing my face.

"Ah now, I've always had a soft spot for your way o' doin' things, Cas. You're not one to go throwin' force around."

I didn't reply, as it took all my focus to keep the shaking under control.

"Ah well, each to their own, I suppose," said Seannan. "Come along now, let's be gettin' your payment."

We were heading to the main hall between the shelves when we heard the cashier's bell ring, and Seannan hurried forward with a blur to serve the waiting customer. I turned a corner after her and almost bumped into Marcus.

He was standing by the theology section, reading a Bible with concentration. Probably like the Devil would, scrutinising every word, as he had scrutinised everything in my home.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, my heart fluttering in my throat. He was almost passing for a normal human now, but as I forced my eyes to focus on him, the too much presence became clearer and clearer.

"I am in need of some supplies. This shop was recommended." He was looking at the residual frost on my sleeves before meeting my stare. "Such a chill in the air, wouldn't you say? The windows even frosted over. I suppose spring hasn't yet settled for the year. Almost like... an otherworldly presence passed through."

Why did I have to run into him, of all people? I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, refusing to explain further.

"It's an old building, Marcus. These are rather draughty," I said and smiled politely. "You should shop for winter gear as well, Iceland will be even draughtier."

Couldn't he just drift away now so I could have my episode in peace?

"Clearly." He looked at my shaking hands. "Maybe I could ask for your company, help me pick the right attire. I could also return the favour." His brow furrowed as he watched me hide my hands in my pockets.

I rubbed my right palm on my stomach, trying to shake the tingles. The air was still too thick to breathe, and a faint grey edge formed around my vision. "Oh, my wardrobe is straightforward and functional. You see-" I gasped for air. "I have no taste. You're better off with someone else."

"Maybe I'd like straightforward and functional. It's smart," he said slowly.

Now, this was getting too confusing.

I tried to take deep, calm breaths, but my diaphragm refused to obey. My vision narrowed, and everything seemed to be so far away.

Seannan came to us, looking between me and Marcus, then giving me a worried glance. Rescuers come in surprising forms, apparently. "Well now, sir! I didn't see ya come in. Can I be helpin' ya find somethin' specific, or are ya just browsin' the curiosities?"

"I have a list," Marcus said, pulling a folded slip of paper from his coat. "And I'm told your stock is unparalleled."

Seannan's eyebrows shot up toward her hairline. She glanced at me, then back at Marcus. "Right then. Cas, love, give me a moment to settle this gentleman, will ya? Grab a seat upstairs or hide among the pews."

As soon as they turned the corner, I couldn't hold back anymore. My vision went black, and a low thrum vibrated from the ground, up my shins, up my thighs, into my stomach. Into my chest.

Then I felt it.

A hemp rope chafing my wrists, my ankles, digging deep into my flesh, marking it. And the darkness, horrible sand-smelling darkness, was engulfing me. Then the sounds of the bookshop vanished, and I was blind and nearly deaf, alone in my desperation, hearing only my own coarse, dying breaths as I tried to scream. Entombed alive to serve some old noble asshole for eternity who thought this man's life was worth nothing. The wailing pierced the universe and my skull, bringing desperation and hopelessness in its wake.

I leaned on the shelf and covered my mouth with my forearm, biting down on it, trying to hold back the sobs, hold back the Otherworld, push back the pain, and find my vision again.

Breathe out. Long breath out. Exhale; the inhale will take care of itself.

"Begone!" I whispered.

The thrum faded, taking the wailing with it. The ropes disappeared. The world came back in a rush, and my feelings were mine again, and mine alone.

I straightened up and wiped the tears from my face with shaking hands. Then, on unsteady legs, I sneaked between the shelves, trying to see through the gaps as Seannan served Marcus by the desk. Doug appeared again and lingered near, looking at them from under his steep brows. Marcus could have been buying travel guides. Or objects of mass destruction.

Minutes passed, and my trembling gradually faded. I tracked the exchange through the stacks until it was done. Marcus paid for his items and strode back to me.

"Now that the business is done, I'd like to continue discussing our shopping plans—" He stopped, then looked me up and down. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Oh?"

"No. You do your shopping alone. When will we leave for London?"

That annoying half-smirk returned for a second. I gritted my teeth, trying not to snap at him.

"That's unfortunate. Well, we meet at the stables a week from now."

"Fine."

"You have a nice day too, Miss Smith."

He turned and left the shop, not waiting for my response.

I went to the cashier's desk, where Seannan and Doug were murmuring to each other.

"Strange one, that," she muttered, beckoning me over. "Polite as a priest, but his pockets are lined with gold and his eyes... well, there's nobody home in those eyes, is there?"

I followed them to the back room, rubbing my wrists. I picked up the mirror from the table.

"How long can I keep the mirror? I'd rather make the call in private."

Seannan waved her hand.

"Ah, keep it with ya. I've other ways o' makin' my calls," she cackled. "Sure, you've more than earned it! Now come along and have a nice cup o' tea and your bag before you're off again."

Oh no, tea. I wish someone would offer me something else for once. But now, maybe I could ask questions about her client.

"Sure, I'd love to."

Have some coffee, I added in my mind.

* * *

We gossiped while we drank your tea.

"So, d'ye know who or where the Draugameistari might be?" Seannan asked while pouring cups for all of us.

Doug picked up his and was not looking at either of us.

"Dad wasn't too talkative about his plans for the succession," I replied dryly, before trying the tea myself. Somehow this stuff still could travel all the way from the Far East to the British Isles.

"You might think he'd tell me, at least," I continued between winces. "But Dad took most of his secrets to the grave. It's been fifteen years, and the new heir hasn't shown his face. If he had, we would know it."

"Yes, we would know if he had," Doug said, looking at me now. "Although I have heard some rumours. There is this new club owner in London who claims he is the new heir. Vampires and the sort."

"Ha, vampire club."

"That's the rumour, but I agree, it's probably a wrong one. But it might be the reason this Marcus is dragging you to London."

"This is worryin'," Seannan cut in. "The book, too? Those secrets, those spells..." Her voice faded away. "Cas, ya can't let them have it."

"I am well aware of that."

"Are ya really goin' to help them?"

"I have to. But I was clear with my words. I agreed only to raise Dad and ask where they moved Gottskálk. I did not agree to get the book from the bloody bishop. They need to know where it is before they can go after it, and I am the only one who can get the exact location for them. I cannot be forced to do anything else."

Doug stared at me intently while I talked. "You should keep watch over them," he blurted. "It is your responsibility to see they don't get to Gottskálk."

We were silent for a moment, staring at each other. Two death-workers, having a moment.

"There isn't a soul left in this world who can raise the old Gottskálk and pry the Rauðskinna out of his bony fingers without dying a horrible death," I said slowly.

"Except for the Draugameistari" Doug said back.

"Yeah," I said. "So, I guess we're safe."

"Unless this Marcus has leverage over the Draugameistari" Seannan cut in.

"Or another way to control him," Doug said, still staring at me. "You have to make sure they don't get it."

After a moment of silence, I blurted out the question that was bothering me.

"Can you tell me what he bought?" I asked Seannan.

Seannan contemplated my words. "I don't know, Cas," she said, her voice dropping. "I don't go spillin' me clients' secrets. But nothing that makes me too worried."

"Well, at least, can you tell me if you've heard anything?"

She sighed. "Sure, I've been hearin' rumours about a man, too ordinary, nobody seems to be able to describe him," she said. "He's been askin' my kin down south on behalf of someone where the… Draugameistari, the Necromancer, might be found... or if they knew anyone with a gift to match. Someone good at handlin' powerful dead."

She gave me a long, knowing look. Doug hid behind his mug.

We were silent for a moment. The moment went on and on, but when I was about to finish my tea and take my leave, Seannan continued.

"They told me he may have somethin' to do with Gaius and his lot."

I inhaled some of the tea and started coughing, punching my chest. Oh shit. Doug was staring at Seannan now. "When did you hear this? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Oh, phew, 'tis just the old women gossipin', they do talk a lot o' shite," Seannan rebuffed.

I sat there trying not to choke as they bickered.

Gaius the Storm-General. Leader of an irregular force of misfits. The new power player everyone had been whispering about, but his alliances, origins, and goals were... unclear. This was not good.

And if Marcus was working for him and looking for the Draugameistari..

I realised I had set my cup down and missed the saucer. There was a small puddle of tea on the table. I had spilled the tea. Literally. I wiped the stain away with slightly trembling hands. Get your shit together, Cas. Seannan and Doug had stopped arguing and looked at me and my fumbling with empathy.

Well. It is what it is. Can't be helped.

"And if they are looking for the Draugameistari, they might mean to use him to gain the upper hand in the war, not just for the book. An army of the dead led by him..." Doug continued, and fell silent, face pale. "And the book... Young lady, that's one grave you perhaps should not visit."

"I know, Doug," I sighed and hid my face in my hands. How the hell will I navigate through this?

"An' the lid's barely on the pot as it is, rumours about humans pushin' back, gettin' stronger. And the pantheons aren't likin' that, not one bit," Seannan continued for both of us. "He'd better be keepin' neutral, as he always has."

Isn't that the truth. But I needed to go, so I stood up.

"I know. This is not good. But thank you for the information. I need my stuff now. Doug?"

Doug stood up too and went into a small adjoining storage room and came back with a blue duffel bag, the pommel of a sword peeking from inside.

"Good that you picked this one too. It gives me the creeps."

"That's Dáinsleif for you."