Her gaze met mine, her green eyes haunted and filled with grief. Yet determination lurked in the deeper depths, and that worried me, if only because I didn’t understand it. “Can the situation get any worse?”

“The people who’ve contracted Vincentia are behind several murders, a kidnapping, and an explosion that wiped out at least one person and almost killed two others.”

“Guilt by association is not a chargeable offence in the UK.”

“It is if it can be proven that the associate had foreseen their accomplice would commit the crime.”

“She is a contractor. That ruling would not apply.”

I had no idea if that was true or not so didn’t bother arguing the point. “The thing is, one of the people kidnapped and almost blown up is a light elf on the council, and he wants revenge. Bad.”

“Light elves don’t do emotion.”

“Light elves don’t consider revenge an emotion but rather a duty.”

“As I said, she’s contractor, and that provides immunity from the actions of her employers. At worst, she would only receive a light prison sentence.”

“We are talking about a council hell-bent on catching everyone involved in both a major theft and a string of murders. And there are worse punishments than mere prison time.”

She studied me for a moment, then sniffed. It was a somewhat disdainful sound. “The council haven’t applied the red knife for centuries.”

The red knife was a symbolic and physical cutting of ties, and it was the ultimate punishment for a pixie. “There hasn’t been a situation like this for centuries.”

She didn’t say anything. Not for several minutes. Then she sighed and said, “I don’t know where she is, but I could call her—”

“No,” I cut in. “You mustn’t. It will only warn her that I know she’s involved—” I broke the rest off as my knives burned to life. Magic was being cast. I jumped to my feet and said tensely, “Who else is in this house, Aunt?”

She stared at me like I’d just gone crazy. “No one other than my guest. Why?”

I unsheathed a knife. The whole blade was alight and pulsing. “This is why.”

Her eyes widened. “The knives respond to you?”

“Obviously.” I ran around the table, drew the second knife, and stood behind her. The magic was reaching its peak; the spell was about to be unleashed. “Don’t move. Don’t touch me or attempt to control me, or goddess help me, I’ll use these fucking knives on you.”

Her eyes widened. “You can’t think—”

“Quiet.”

I raised the knives and crossed the blades. Their pulsing light flared and formed a shimmering dome of protection, purplish blue—an indication there was dark intent if not dark magic behind the spell.

A heartbeat later, that spell exploded into the middle of the kitchen, the force so strong the dome briefly buckled. A thick, yellowish gas crawled across the air, its putrid-looking fingers creeping across the dome’s surface, seeking a way in. I had no idea what it was, and absolutely no doubt that breathing it in would not be a good thing.