Lyryk woke to Biscuit’s cold, wet nose sniffling in her ear.

Must you? She thought to the dog, grumpy at the rude awakening.

Is time, came the reply.

She reached over and shook Eliam’s shoulder, jerking back as he lashed out, anticipating his reaction. It wasn’t the first time she’d shaken him awake. He looked around, blinked himself awake, then nodded at her. They looked around the magical shelter, gathering everything they brought for their investigation. Eliam released the spell, and the sudden chill of the predawn air gave Lyryk a shiver. The cold didn’t make her mood any better.

The pair crept toward the darkened house, checking their path for traps—both magical and mundane—each leaning into their trained strengths. She and Eliam made an excellent team, and she knew it. She hated it, but understood Tordak’s reasoning. Their skills complemented each other’s. Where she could disarm mundane traps, he found them before she did. Her strength was finding magical traps. His strength was nullifying them. Too bad the man himself made her want to chew horseshoes.

As they watched for movement, Lyryk asked, “how many guests did you count?”

“Twenty-seven. You?”

“Twenty-eight, when I arrived. Twenty-four as we were hustled out the back.”

“Do you think anyone left early?”

“Master said his Eyes don’t report premature departures.”

“Yet some never return home.”

Not all leave. Biscuit’s head shot up, his nose sniffing furiously at the air. Smell fresh lifeblood. Follow.

He crept toward the side porch, leading the pair around a net trap. Once, he sat, not moving until Lyryk sensed the discord of a magical barrier. She tested the barriers until she found the magical key, then gave it a quick twist to deactivate the spell. She’d have to remember to reset it when they left.

Loud snoring behind the right-hand door meant they were close to the servant’s quarters. Using the bardic hand signals, she motioned to Eliam to follow her to the entryway. She remembered seeing an open book in which Sarren had written their names. Master Tordak had given them a list of people who’d disappeared in the weeks following their invitations to the Redthorne manor house.

The journal contained more than just guest names and activities. Some entries mentioned ‘procurement issues’, ‘delivery complications’, and ‘sticky residue’. As they returned to the servants’ stair, a book lying on a table in the hallway caught Lyryk’s eye. She stopped, staring at the cover.

“What?” asked Eliam.

“That’s Draconic.”

“What is?”

“What’s written on that book,” she said, pointing to a stack of books on a nearby table. “I’ve not seen one outside a guarded room in a mage’s library.”

“And?”

“And this one is called ‘Blood as a Catalyst.’ Look, what little I know about Draconic writings is that it deals with dark magic. Not exactly I’d expect to see laying about in the open.”

Use caution, Bard.

Eliam led her back to the narrow servant’s stair leading up to the second floor, Biscuit following. A landing halfway to their destination gave Lyryk an opportunity to once more cast the spell that made her nearly invisible. They continued up, neutralizing one last trap as they entered the second floor.

(To be continued)