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“I read about the Druids.”
Graves’s fingers flexed on the steering wheel. “Oh yeah?”
“They have magic, too.”
“They are the warlocks of their people,” he said with a shrug.
“But like actual priests,” she said. “And there are some stories of them being healers and prophets.”
“Sure,” he said easily. “Who told those stories?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who assigned me the book.”
“Well, as with most things,” he said gravely, “history is told by the victors.”
She knew that to be true. They were still writing the history of the Monster War, and already some people forgot how bad it had gotten. She couldn’t imagine what it would say in books thousands of years from now.
“The rest of the book was pretty dense. Lots of history. Names and dates and stuff really go over my head.”
“Nothing jumped out at you?”
“Well,” she said softly, “I was interested in the festival days.”
He snorted. “Why does this not surprise me?”
“I mean, it sounded like a good time,” she said with a smirk. “Sounds a lot like Imani’s parties.”
“Indeed.” Graves’s eyes flicked to hers. Heat traveled through her. She’d had one taste. That should have satisfied her. And yet, she couldn’t help but admit that she wanted more.
She cleared her throat and glanced away. “But otherwise it was a lot of this deity here and that deity there. Oh, and fairies. Can’t forget the fairies.”
“Sídhe,” Graves corrected again. “Or just Fae.”
“And four magical artifacts. A sword of something, a cauldron, the Spear of Lug . . .”
“Lugh,” Graves corrected, looking at her sideways. “Like the name Hugh.”
“Right, okay. Definitely was pronouncing that wrong.” She squinted, trying to remember the last.
“The Stone of Fal,” Graves supplied. “The four treasures of the Tuatha Dé Danann.”
“That,” Kierse said. Then she froze. “Wait, a spear.” She pointed at Graves. “You said all this shit is real.”
“I did.”
“Okay,” she whispered, sobering. “So, are the magical objects, fairies—sorry, sídhe—and gods real, too?”
“All the tales come from somewhere.”
Which meant yes.
She ruminated on that as they breezed through Queens and to the back entrance of The Covenant. The building was dark. It was way past its hours of operation. But Graves had said they had to make their window.
Graves cocked his head to the side, and they entered The Covenant. He directed her down a hallway until they reached a lab. Dr. Mafi was seated at a computer, typing furiously. Tonight, she wore a mustard-yellow hijab, but it looked hastily thrown up rather than perfectly put together like last time. Bags hung heavy under her eyes, and her brown skin was sallow as if she had been working sunup to sundown. She didn’t even notice them enter.
“Emmaline,” Graves said.
Dr. Mafi startled. She closed out of whatever she was working on. “Graves, you made it.”
“We did,” Graves said.
She looked Kierse up and down. “Nice jacket.”
Kierse met her steely gaze with one of her own. “Hello, Dr. Mafi.”
“I see you don’t take advice well.”
Graves cleared his throat. “Emmaline, you were vague on the phone.” His eyes shot momentarily to Kierse, and she saw something like concern flicker through their depths before they returned to Mafi. “You need another sample?”
Dr. Mafi stood, brushing imaginary lint from her clothes. “Yes. Come sit over here, Kierse.”
Kierse looked to Graves, and he nodded. Mafi seemed . . . rattled. As if something had scared her. Kierse did as she was told, and Mafi quickly went to work hooking her up and drawing more blood from her arm.
“What’s going on, Emmaline?” Graves asked. He crossed his arms, his face stern. “I can read you. Something is off.”
“Don’t read me,” she bit out.
“It’s all over your face.”
Dr. Mafi settled at that. “Yes. I suppose it is. I’m just . . .” She looked down at Kierse. “I’m not sure what to make of the samples she gave me. I have some answers, but I need more time to analyze what is going on. I’ve never seen it before.”
“Explain,” Graves commanded.
She ground her teeth together. “Well, she’s not a warlock.”
Kierse nearly jumped out of her seat. Her eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped. “What? But I have magic!”
Graves didn’t look surprised. Or at least it didn’t show on his face.
“I have magic, and I’m not a warlock,” Dr. Mafi said.
“So I’m a witch?” Kierse asked, sitting back in the chair in defeat.
“No.” Dr. Mafi hurried to her desk and retrieved a piece of paper. She passed it to Graves and pointed at something on it. “That is warlock DNA sequencing. The few that have been mapped. That is the gene that has been isolated that is attributed to your abilities. There are a few other protein variations. A DNA and RNA combination difference, but this is what it should look like. You don’t have to sequence for everything else if you find this.”
“Okay,” Graves said.
