I fell in line behind him. The tunnel’s ceiling remained low enough that he had to hunch his shoulders and lean forward at that uncomfortable-looking angle again.

“And tomorrow?”

“I think we’d be best served by doing as Nialle suggested and contacting this Castell.”

“Without knowing anything about her? That could be dangerous.”

“Every move we make from now on is likely to be dangerous.”

That was a statement I certainly couldn’t dispute, given we still had no idea who was really behind any of this. Just because we suspected the parents of the women murdered by the Annwfyn were the ones seeking the Claws didn’t mean we were right. We hadn’t yet found any confirming information, though that might change over the next couple hours, given Sgott and Cynwrig Lùtair were currently in the process of interviewing them.

If they could find them, that was.

As the stone underfoot became more slippery, I concentrated on where I was putting my feet in an effort to avoid ending up on my butt. The water trickling past my boots looked as foul as the air smelled, and while I did have a stash of spare clothes at Lugh’s, I didn’t have any shoes—something I’d better remedy if I was going to be spending more time there.

It took twenty minutes to get back to the museum, though the map didn’t lead us directly into the main building but rather to an old stone staircase. Lugh pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket, used an old-fashioned and rather rusty-looking one to open the heavily stained wooden door at the top, and ushered me through. We came out into the Doric-style portico situated on the opposite side of the parking area to the museum.

“This way,” he said, and took off quickly.

I hurried after him. We moved around the right of the gorgeous old building and through an ornate metal gate that led onto Grosvenor Road. From there, it was a quick cab ride to the old power substation he’d converted years ago. When compared to the lovely old terraces that lined the rest of the street, it was a particularly uninspiring and rather ugly single-story, brown brick building, but it had one thing they did not—plenty of storage space. In a city as old as Deva, that was as rare as hen’s teeth.

He punched the access code into the security system’s screen sitting to one side of a grimy black wooden door. When it clicked open, he stepped to one side and ushered me through. The building’s foyer was large and airy, with only two doors leading off it; the one on the left went into the accommodation portion, while the one on the right into his office and the storage area. I went left, into the large and airy combined living and kitchen area. Unlike my place, these areas were spotlessly clean and tidy. He might be messy at work, but he was pin neat when it came to his home and even his private life—to the point where he hadn’t had a serious relationship for a good ten years now. The few women he had dated never made back it back here to his sanctuary.