“Tighty-whities,” I murmured. “I’m thinking we’re dealing with an older gent.”

“Especially since said whities are more yellow than white. The man needs to employ some bleach.”

“Says the man who does none of his own washing,” I said, voice wry.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know the basics, dear Bethany.”

He motioned me on. There was no obvious spell on the next door, and the knife remained inert. And yet... something was off.

The closer I got to the door, the more that sensation of wrongness grew. Power tickled across the outer reaches of my senses, a caress that was familiar and yet not.

I reached for the doorknob, but a heartbeat before I gripped it, I saw it.

Pixie dust.

I swore, and Mathi immediately said, “What’s wrong?”

I glanced at him, my expression grim. “The knob is covered in pixie dust.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

There were two kinds of pixie dust—the gold stuff that was generally nothing more than the detritus from the magic smaller pixie lines used to fly, and which could, in certain circumstances, be reshaped into a spell that was a lot more dangerous.

Though not deadly. Never deadly. No pixie line was immune to the blood curse for causing unwarranted harm to others.

The other kind was blue and was found in ancient forests under a special type of mushroom that only sprouted during a blue moon. It was generally used to replenish the dust trees from which both the Malloyei and Gadahn pixies—the two lines that used magic to fly—drew their power, but it could also be used as a spell augmenter and rejuvenator.

“Any idea what its function is?” Mathi squatted to study the knob but made no move to touch it. While elves were immune to the “obedience touch” of we Aodhán women, they could be affected by pixie dust. “I’m not seeing the usual glitter that accompanies reshaping.”

“That’s because it’s blue and means it’s been deliberately placed here.”

I squatted beside him. The hall wasn’t exactly wide, and my leg pressed against his. Heat flared between us, and I once again found myself restraining the instinctive urge to do more than just press. I mean, seriously, my hormones needed to be bitch-slapped. It wasn’t as if they were starving for attention or touch these days. Not with Cynwrig around.

A knowing smile tugged at Mathi’s lips, but he didn’t otherwise react. “If there was a pixie spell on that door, wouldn’t your knives react?”

“I honestly don’t know.” I somewhat tentatively raised the knife and touched its point to the knob. Nothing happened. “Maybe they were never designed to respond to pixie spells. They are a rarity these days and generally mild in nature.”

“If there’s a pixie spell on this door, I’m thinking it’s not mild.”

And I was thinking he was right. I rose. “The door hasn’t got a lock, and the knob doesn’t look particularly strong. I think the best way around the situation is for you to kick the door in.”