“Because we keep destroying the research and sending them back to the drawing board.”

“That’s not nice.”

“Myrkálfar have never been nice.” His eyes glimmered in the storm-held night. “Or did you not get that memo?”

“Obviously not.” I motioned him forward. “After you, my dear thief.”

He stripped off his coat and shoes, leaving them to the side of the bifold door, out of the way but still undercover. He stepped inside and then paused, obviously scanning the area for sensors and alarms, then gave me a nod. After stripping off my own coat and shoes, I stepped into the spacious combined kitchen and living area. The floor was polished concrete, and there was no sign of heating—no fireplace or radiators—suggesting the extension might have an underfloor system. There were two doors on the right—one led into a laundry and the other, which was closer to the kitchen, looked to be a pantry. The wall to our left was lined with bookcases. I walked across, but it was too dark to read the spines.

I glanced at Cynwrig. “Will it be safe to use the phone’s light?”

“Out here it should be, but keep it dim. I’ll go check the rest of the house and make sure it’s safe.”

As he disappeared through the door that led into the main section of the house, I dragged out my phone and turned on the flashlight app. After dimming the light, I lightly ran my fingers across the rows of lovely old books. I had no idea whether the codex would react to my presence or my touch, but given evoking the power of both the knives and the Eye involved the latter, it was probable that the codex would too. Unless, of course, by using it, Vincentia had somehow tuned it to her energies.

But if that was what had happened, why was it only partially active?

We wouldn’t know until we found the damn thing.

I finished inspecting the last bookshelf, then quickly looked around the rest of the room. As expected, no sign of the codex.

I walked to the junction between the old cottage and the extension and pressed a hand against the doorframe. It was new, so while its song was stronger, it didn’t hold the weight or memory of the older building. I skimmed the twin rivers of power, looking for any alterations that might have been made—spaces created within the building’s frame or hidden under floorboards, perhaps. There didn’t appear to be any, and that was rather unusual in a pixie-owned house. We generally did love our little nooks.

I glanced up as the floorboards hummed. A second later, Cynwrig appeared.

“Anything?” I asked.

“No physical alarms or sensors. I’m not magic sensitive, so if there are any magical alarms here, I’ve probably sprung them.”

He didn’t seem overly concerned about the prospect, so I kept my own fears in check. Dark elves might not be magic sensitive, but they could see the ebb and flow of earthly energies—particularly at night—and many spells interfered with that. Besides, they’d hardly be the dominant force in black market trade if they could be easily stopped by a spell or two.