Lukas's cellphone goes off, waking him. As he eases it out of his pocket, he glances at the other passengers. It's careless to fall asleep on public transport. Any one of these people could be the enemy. He checks the screen. Arthur.

"Hello?"

"We lost them. We had them caught and we lost them. Lord knows where they are now. What about you? You said that you thought someone had found you."

"He did," Lukas says. "But I got away. I doubt he'll follow me."

"Who was it?"

"Oxenstierna. And yours?"

"Carriedo and Køhler. And Bonnefoy. That last trick had his stench all over it." Lukas can hear the Englishman grinding his teeth. "Køhler had an obscene amount of magical texts as well. We checked his flat. He's cleared the place out."

Lukas closes his eyes briefly. All that knowledge. In the hands of the enemy. "Alright. I'll see if I can find them anywhere."

"Any bit helps. Thank you."

They hang up. Arthur doesn't ask where Lukas is heading now. Lukas doesn't ask where Arthur is either. Any loose information can be deadly. Lukas leans back in his seat. Køhler. The bookkeeper. He hasn't seen him since Prague. What a strange little reunion it will be.


Magical books are a problem. Old dogs can learn new tricks, if they have the right resources. Lukas's only comfort is that they don't have his particular talent, the one he and Arthur share. Only one person on their side has that ability, and it's vastly limited. Outside, the nighttime landscape flashes by.

Mathias gazes at the clusters of black umbrellas that cover the street. He stands in his own cluster with Antonio and Francis. They all look like unassuming men, standing shoulder to shoulder, wearing dark coats and elegant scarves (in the case of Francis).

"Ah," the Frenchman says, his eyebrows lifting. He points to a pair of young men approaching. Both of them carry deep red umbrellas, and are dressed very similarly in dark blue coats. Their most distinguishing feature are the mirror image curls that stick out from the sides of their heads like they refuse to be included with the rest of their hair. One is smiling; the other scowls at everything.

"Ciao," says the smiling one. "It's good to see you, Antonio. Francis." They all kiss cheeks. When the young man turns to him, Mathias nervously follows the ritual, brushing the side of his face against the young man's in what he hopes is a polite manner. He smells strongly of spices.

The scowling young man kisses only Antonio, who beams radiantly, murmuring something in Italian. The young man flushes.

"Feliciano, Lovino," Francis says. "This is Mathias. I don't think you've met yet. Mathias, this is Feliciano and Lovino Vargas." He helpfully indicates which is which.

Lovino continues to scowl. Feliciano nods and smiles. "Well, we'd better get going. I hope you don't mind sharing rooms. Not a lot of space."

"Not at all," Antonio says. "Come on, everyone."

They follow the Vargas brothers out of the public square.


The Vargas's have money. To be honest, Mathias does as well, but the Vargas's clearly spend theirs: hard wood floors, granite counter tops, nice leather furniture. The whole place is warded too. Mathias bets the twins never have to suddenly pack up and move. The enemy probably can't even find them.

It's a very homey type of magic, very comfortable. Even though it's a swank apartment, there are touches of humble living. A couple of pictures here and there, a paperback with a bookmark in it.

Feliciano takes Mathias's suitcase. "I'll put it in the guest room, okay? Great."

Mathias is a little reluctant to part with it, but he knows Feliciano is trustworthy. If Antonio trusts them, then he can. After all, they are on the same side.

Lovino leans on the counter. "So why did you come here?" he demands.

"We got chased out of our old digs," Antonio explains. "This is a safe place. Besides, I wanted to see how you're doing. I worry, mi querido."

Lovino's face turns red again. Mathias hides his smirk. Though Antonio has never mentioned it, there is, without a doubt, something between him and the young Italian. "Shut up," the Italian says. "So they found you. How are you sure you didn't lead them straight here?"

"They couldn't have," Francis says. "I made sure."

Lovino sighs and turns to the fridge. "Whatever. It would take a fucking nuclear warhead to get past our defenses anyway."

"You have to put a quarter in the swear jar," Feliciano says, reappearing in the room. "I heard it."

Lovino grumbles a bit more and digs through his pockets for a quarter. There's an enormous half filled jar on the counter next to a vase of flowers. Feliciano turns to Antonio. "I'm helping him stop swearing. It's not good for his blood pressure."

"I'm really proud of you, Lovino!" Antonio says, grinning.

"Cram it!"

Mathias smiles. After the events of last night, all this is a relief. But he can't rest yet. There's something he must do.


Old books have a distinct smell. Mathias likes the mingled scent of leather and old parchment, and the way the pages feel beneath his fingertips. He's always been a bookkeeper, even with no books to keep. Now that he has them, his duties weigh on him even heavier. So many new spells; so many ways they could go wrong.

The sad truth is that their "war" is little more than brief skirmishes and running. Always running. But with these grimoires in their possession, they could finally go on the offensive. Mathias is giddy with anticipation. He's not a particularly ambitious guy, but he does love the thought of finally making a stand. Because the other side is powerful. He takes a deep breath and opens the first volume.


Lukas has never had a particular fondness for any city, but this one is nice. Even if it is raining. He isn't bothered by the cold. He steps off the platform and looks around. What he needs is a empty lot, a place where he won't be disturbed. Urban life doesn't appeal to him.

It takes over two hours to find both a place to sleep and a place to perform a summoning. The hostel isn't the best, but it will do. The lot is much better. He ignores the warning sign on the fence and climbs over it.

The lot is mostly turned to mud by now, but Lukas can work with that. He smooths it out with the flat of his sneakers, then makes the necessary marks with a stiff piece of wire he found lying around.

He'll never forget the first time he met a jotun. It was completely by accident and it was wounded, hunched behind his house. It towered over everything and turned the air frosty cold (or, colder than before. It was the middle of Norwegian winter). Lukas had been six. To summon one of those was unnecessary, however. Jotuns are good for combat and protection. What he needs is information, a way to track those books. And if anything can smell magic, it's the fae.

They also like to talk a lot. Sometimes it's hard to shut them up. Lukas tries to drown them out to the best of his ability. Though he's favored by them, he knows that on their most base level, they are liars and cheats and will do anything to escape control. But they'll come when he calls.

The thing he summons is blue with shapely legs. It's hairless. When it opens its eyes, there are completely yellow, all the way through the whites. "What do you want?" it snaps.

Lukas ignores the irritable tone and says, "I need you to help me find something. Books of magic. You're to return to me and tell me where they are the moment you find them."

The thing turns over in midair, its yellow eyes never leaving Lukas's face. "I don't do things for free. The others might bow to your every whim, but I..." It trails off. Lukas holds an iron bar in one gloved hand.

"Go. Don't waste my time."