The Darkest Midnight. R. A. Finley

today’s shipments.”

      They looked over at the sound of infectious, little-boy laughter. Brought on, Thia saw, by Lynette’s skilled use of a Jack Frost puppet.

      “We’ll be fine,” Abby said. “Sometimes I think she could run the place by herself.”

      “As could you,” Thia assured her, amused by the note of jealousy she’d detected.

      “True.”

      Her mood improved, Thia headed toward the office. If she remembered correctly, there were only a few things to—

      “Thia.”

      She stopped, turned back to Abby.

      Who wasn’t smiling at all. “If he is not Cormac, that’s even more reason not to deal with him by yourself.”

      Thia felt dread creep through her bones.

      

      Landmark Hotel, Granite Springs

      Cormac pushed open the main door and stepped into the bright warmth of the hotel lobby. It was an old building by American standards, but tastefully modernized. Art deco lines and furnishings, and a background palette of neutral, light colors. Beneath the proliferation of seasonal trappings were some quality oil paintings. Landscapes mostly, and probably local.

      And done by the same artist, he decided a few moments later from the spot he had chosen in one of several seating areas that carved up the large, high-ceilinged space. Against the wall and to the left of the main doors (and the reception desk directly across from them), the plump sofa afforded the best view of the interior, and the out-of-the-way section had only one other occupant. The others, set nearer the fireplace or windows, respectively, were much more popular. Guests conversed over cups of coffee or on their mobiles while others, like the gentleman across from him in one of two armchairs, read newspapers.

      A cup of tea would be nice, caffeine be damned, Cormac decided and prepared to flag down one of the staff.

      Before he could, Murphy appeared.

      That hadn’t taken long.

      He forced himself to relax—or at least to appear so. Reminded himself that it wasn’t for lack of trying that he hadn’t been able to uphold his end of the bargain.

      Murphy had an intimidating presence: Tall and broad-shouldered, he topped Cormac’s natural height by a good half foot. In terms of power, he cloaked whatever he had so well that Cormac could only guess whether they were well matched there or not. Better to assume they were, or to credit Murphy with more to be on the safe side. In Cormac’s experience, only people with a lot of power tried to hide it, and only those with great skill succeeded.

      On approach, Murphy made the small, sweeping gesture of an elementary coercion spell. The crossword-puzzle man promptly stood and took himself to another chair in one of the crowded areas.

      “Wondered when you’d get around to stopping by.” Murphy sank into the vacated seat. His words carried a worn trace of Ireland. “Nice disguise you’ve got going there. Fool anyone with it?”

      Cormac shrugged. “Well enough.”

      “Really.” Murphy leaned back in a casual pose belied by the glint of power in his dark eyes. “So. Where is it, then?”

      “I don’t have it.” Cormac braced for an explosion...of temper, of power—a literal explosion. Anything, really, on the scale of furious reactions. So he was unprepared when the other man merely nodded.

      “I figured as much,” Murphy said, “what with the deadline but two weeks away.”

      A bargain made according to the Old Ways, upon pain of death.

      Murphy had come through with his part; he had not interfered when Cormac first pursued Thia in Granite Springs. If only Cormac had thought to renegotiate on Samhain when Murphy and his mercenary forces had come to the rescue on Brodgar. Given the man’s history with Idris, he had doubtless relished the opportunity to help take him down. Since Cormac had been the one to invite Murphy’s aid, he should have made that the fulfillment of their deal in place of the Achill Bell.

      But Cormac hadn’t been thinking clearly at the time. Idris and his people had taken over the Ring and surrounded it in Druid Fog, and Thia was being brought right to them. The Brigantium wouldn’t listen to reason and accept that it had been betrayed. There had been no one else to whom Cormac could turn. Beyond stopping his father, he hadn’t considered how else to make use of the situation.

      A staff member walked by to refill someone’s coffee, and Cormac regretted not getting that tea. His throat was dry.

      “I was hoping”—how he did loathe that word—“that we might adjust our deal.”

      Murphy’s grin flashed. “I figured as much there as well.” He flicked a hand, no spell, a gesture only. “Let’s hear it, then. Not excuses, mind. Explanations.”

      Fair enough. “I went to the stronghold after I—after I left Brodgar. Someone got there first and cleared out everything of value.”

      “Anything you could trace?”

      “Cleansed. Thoroughly.”

      “That takes more than a passing skill.”

      “It does.” Cormac leaned forward, set his arms on his knees. “Fortunately, I’ve encountered the like before.” And could almost guarantee who had been behind it.

      Unfortunately, too, considering who that person was.

      “The most recent was a few months back, when I was tracking the Stone.”

      Murphy’s expression hardened. “Name.”

      “Cassandra.” His recently-discovered half-sister, bent on revenge. If she was behind the clearing out of Fiend’s Fell, it meant she had every piece of Idris’s extensive arsenal. Every relic collected, every weapon, every spell.

      “She’d have had to work fast,” Murphy said. “You got there how long after leaving Innse Orc?”

      The Old Irish name for the Orkneys. The mercenary’s true roots were showing.

      “A few hours.” Cormac grimaced. “I—well, it took me some time to get my head straight.”

      The surprising hint of understanding in the other man’s gaze was quickly masked. “So, she had a bit of time, then, but not much. Not enough, I should think, for all that.”

      That had been Cormac’s conclusion as well. An undertaking of that scope would have taken days, not hours. “Idris may have intended to clear out after the ritual. If so, he’d have already made preparations.”

      “Or there could’ve been people left behind, able to assist when the claimsech arrived.”

      An unflattering term, but there was no arguing that Cassandra Swinton wasn’t one.

      “It’s been weeks,” Murphy went on. “Why not tell me straightaway?”

      Because Cormac hadn’t been able to think clearly. He had been reeling, trying to come to terms with having killed Idris and of finally being free. All while missing Thia to the point of obsession.

      “I’m telling you now,” he said.

      Murphy’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t press.

      Cormac leaned back into the overstuffed cushions. “She swore revenge.”

      “That she did.”

      “Most of the primary players are here.”

      “And so here is where she’ll likely to focus