The Wulver stared into his steaming cup. ‘So, our witch is currently indisposed. He is unable to fight the pull of this curse at all? And the Redcap, it escaped under his watch?’
Lachlan railed against the implied criticism. ‘Cam is a good witch. Agreatwitch,’ he said indignantly. ‘It’s not his fault he’s cursed.’
Arran huffed again, turning gentle eyes on Lachlan. ‘He is young, and a long way from greatness. If he had not met his calling so late, then perhaps he would not still have so much to learn.’
‘Don’t you dare blame him for that.’ Lachlan’s fists flexed without thinking. He found himself echoing Meredith’s words from earlier, seeing the deeper significance of them. ‘He didn’t have to become a witch. Hechose.It’s remarkable what he’s done, after everything he’s been through.’
There was an edge of a smile in the Wulver’s expression. ‘I didn’t say he was incapable of greatness. Walkers, in my experience, are a tenacious breed. I’m sure he will be at your side again soon.’ He tilted his head, regarding Lachlan in an appraising fashion. ‘Until then, someone will need to go in his stead.’
‘Go where?’ Lachlan asked warily. ‘This is to do with Bryce, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Have you heard of the Blue Men of Minch?’
A memory twigged in Lachlan’s brain—of a page from Cam’s notebook, which Lachlan had spent hours poring over. ‘Are they the… mermen?’
‘Indeed. Their territory spans the waters off the north-eastern coast. Their palaces are situated within the middle of the strait which is called ‘the Minch’ by humans.’
‘I see.’ Lachlan had a vague understanding that one of Cam’s witchly duties was to keep in contact with the mermen of Minch, but it didn’t seem to be a frequent arrangement. The last time he’d travelled to meet them was before he and Lachlan had met.
‘What does Bryce have to do with mermen?’ he asked.
The Wulver’s answer was gut-wrenchingly simple. ‘I believe he has murdered one of them.’
‘Why would he…’ Lachlan stopped, feeling his stomach churn as the obvious reason caught up with him.
Arran growled sympathetically. ‘I have tracked what I think are Bryce’s movements these past months. Have my packets been reaching you? I have little more than an inkling that he was behind these random house fires and strange incendiary accidents,’ he said. ‘But this incident, a death by fire for a merfolk far from the ocean… I feel it stinks of Bryce.’
‘What happened to them?’ Lachlan probed reluctantly. A part of him didn’t want to know the details.
‘He was young, perhaps a teenager. His burned body was found by humans in the hills, in the middle of a charred pit.’ The Wulver grunted derisively. ‘The police assumed he had built a bonfire that caught on his clothes. Stupid. There was no debris to suggest such a thing.’
A charred pit. Just the kind of mark that a vortex of fire might leave after consuming a person alive. Fighting back bile, Lachlan closed his eyes against the memory of Cam about to be consumed by the same awful fire. Swallowing it down, he croaked another question. ‘Did they… Was he returned to his family?’
Arran nodded. ‘The Minchmen quickly got wind of it and recovered his body before there might be any autopsy. Doubtless they are running their own investigations.’ He cocked his head. ‘I am curious as to why they have not yet sent for the witch. This matter should be a Walker’s concern.’
‘How long ago was it?’
‘Three days.’
Lachlan breathed out heavily. ‘What do you need me to do?’
Arran thumbed the lip of his cup, holding Lachlan in a thoughtful stare. ‘You must speak with the Minchmen. Learn as much as you can about the boy who died. Why he was so far from home, what he may have been doing prior to his death. Anything that might give us a clue as to Bryce’s movements, and his motives.’
Lachlan muttered a sound of disgust. ‘We know what his motives are.’
‘Do we?’ The Wulver lunged forward suddenly—Lachlan fought the instinct to recoil, which was difficult when you had a literal wolf in your face. ‘All weknowis that he has been using the Walker bloodline to fuel his immortality. We know he does this with the fire magic in his own blood. But as for human lives? A mercreature’s? Why has he taken so many victims, and so fast? When previously he only claimed a life every twenty years or so? Why would he risk revealing himself this way? Tell me that!’
Arran’s upper lip curled into an animal snarl as he spoke. Lachlan’s eyes flicked from the Wulver’s bared canines to his pointed claws, which were digging into the tabletop.
Arran blinked, perhaps abruptly realising how aggressive he appeared. He sat back in his chair, pulling his claws under the table, and growled an apology. ‘I’m sorry. It pains me that I’ve yet failed to avenge Cam’s parents. Amelie and Evan were my friends.’ His brows drew together, making him appear unusually downcast. ‘I do not have many of those.’
He looked away, his amber eyes filled with a sorrow Lachlan recognised.
‘I understand,’ Lachlan replied quietly. ‘It’s hard to form relationships with people you know you’ll outlive. Which makes the ones you do have, all the more cherished.’
The Wulver huffed softly and sipped his tea. For a moment Lachlan felt they shared a kindred appreciation of one another’s existence.
‘I have made no sense of Bryce’s actions on my own,’ Arran continued. He met Lachlan’s gaze again. ‘You have observed much in your own long lifespan, old monster. I expect you understand humans better than I. What does this behaviour speak of, to you?’
