Flashback: The Morrigan: A Yancy Lazarus Novella (Yancy Lazarus Series Book 4) by Hunter James

Author:Hunter, James [Hunter, James]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Warlock, Mystery Supernatural Witches and Wizards, Paranormal and Urban Fantasy, s Adventure Fiction, Dark Fantasy, Thrillers and Suspense Supernatural Witches and Wizards, Fantasy Action and Adventure, Mage, Men&apos
Publisher: Shadow Alley Press, Inc.
Published: 2016-05-05T18:30:00+00:00

NINE:

Quarters

Lugh edged past us, heading for the door that now filled the hallway: a heavy bastard of dark wood with delicate silver inlays covering the surface in elaborate swirls and patterns that seemed to defy logic. Twisting here, turning there, connecting in nonsensical ways. Looking at the door was like staring at the love child of one of those Magic-Eye puzzles and an M.C. Escher painting. Complicated custom-built wards. Powerful things that’d be one helluva deterrent to unwanted guests.

Lugh fidgeted at the door handle for a moment, turning the silver knob this way, then that, before pulling a fat, ol’-timey skeleton key—dangling off a ring full of similar keys—from his robes and inserting it into a lock. He jiggled the key, metal clinking against metal as he worked, before the door popped open with a creak of wood and rusted metal. “There we have it,” he said. “These damn doors are old. Can be a bit unreliable at times, at least if you don’t know how to caress them just right. A lot like women, I suppose.”

Ailia didn’t acknowledge the innuendo, but rather slipped past him, pushing the door open and offering us all a good look at the room beyond:

The walls were old gray stone, like something you might find in a historic castle, but everything else was new, modern, and sleek. Polished, dark wood floorboards ran underfoot. A massive marble fireplace—cold and dead—occupied the right wall, flanked on either side by arched windows, which overlooked a sprawling forest filled with an assortment of pines and firs. Those windows also offered a downright spectacular view of the night sky overhead—velvety black, near-bursting with pinpricks of diamond light.

Hot damn, the place was classy as shit.

An area rug of browns and grays sprawled in the center of the floor was topped by a heavily padded couch and an accompanying pair of mocha-brown leather armchairs. The chairs sat opposite a small table with a chessboard. Further in, near the back wall, I spotted the ambassador’s desk, a hulking mahogany thing, which probably weighed a friggin’ ton and seemed to demand respect. It was the kinda desk a high-ranking politician might use to receive guests, and the bookcases on either side—chock-full of dusty, complicated legal texts and arcane grimoires—only served to solidify that air of power.

Someone had ransacked his work space.

File folders and papers were strewn about; pages were splayed out on the desktop, while others littered the floor. Several tomes had also been pulled from the bookshelves and carelessly tossed on the ground.

Though the office had clearly been searched, there were no obvious signs of struggle. Nothing broken. No bloodstains, scorch marks, or body parts laying around. The ambassador wasn’t much to look at, but the guy damn near had a license in badassery and an advanced degree in shit-kickery straight from the University of Beat-Downington, so I was reasonably certain he wouldn’t have gone without a fight.

And those wards on his outer door should’ve been more than enough to keep someone out—even one of the High Danann.

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