Sailing Away. Thursday, August 6th 1332hrs.

  Sailing is a big thing in Boston. We’re a harbor town. Or harbor city. A harbor whatever.

  Point is, people here like the ocean, and I was no exception.

  Most of the time.

  Turns out afternoon sailing is a lot more fun when it involves sunscreen, fruity drinks, and maybe some shrimp cocktail. Less so when it involves scary wraiths and the imminent risk of death.

  We sailed into open waters, fleeing as fast as our little pontoon boat’s motor could manage. It wasn’t very fast. Certainly not on par with a speed boat or anything, but it proved enough to outpace the wraiths. I watched from the deck as they drew up along the shore, their robes billowing in the wind as they watched us sail downriver.

  I stayed there until long after they’d faded from sight. Then I turned my attention to our party.

  Tobin was nursing some heavy bruises along his knuckles. He was wet, covered in pond muck, and there were deep scratches down his chest courtesy of the wraith’s gauntlets. All that said, he was alive, and alert, and for the moment didn’t seem in need of immediate medical attention.

  Alberad, as far as I could tell, hadn’t sustained any injuries, but no sooner had the boat sailed onto the river then he dropped onto the seat, brought his knees up to his chest, and wrapped his forearms around his legs. He kept his gaze down and rocked himself gently.

  I rose to my feet and came up beside him, placing one hand on his shoulder and giving a gentle squeeze. He flinched slightly at my touch, then raised his face to meet my gaze and offered me a tight-lipped smile. I nodded and didn’t push any further. I’d been around enough trauma to recognize when someone was teetering on the brink of shock. Being chased by sword wielding wraiths, it seemed, was enough to bring someone right up to that edge. Especially since he’d probably thought the most exciting thing that was going to happen today involved his lunch.

  I wish I could have said something to ease his misery, but I’ve never been anywhere near that eloquent. Best I could do was to offer a friendly gesture and let him know he wasn’t alone. Hopefully he could find some comfort in that.

  Either way, I had bigger problems to worry about. Starting with our rescuer.

  I took a minute to study him as I straightened and made my way back to the rear of the boat. He was still dressed in his form fitting shirt which showed off the curves of his upper body and athletic shorts. Around his waist, he wore something that strongly resembled a police officer’s duty belt. There was no gun, something like that would have drawn too much attention in Boston, but I spotted a retractable baton, currently closed to its smallest form, as well as three pairs of plastic zip ties, a tourniquet, a pair of glow sticks, and what looked like a portable police scanner.

  Not the sort of things your average civilian carries around with them.

  Of course, battling wraiths and coming to my rescue wasn’t the sort of thing an average civilian does either, but that’s beside the point.

  Our rescuer felt my gaze and glanced over, offering me a half-smile, half-smirk as he reached into one of the cubbies and came up with a folded towel. He extended it toward me and said, “There’s a dock a little more than a mile upriver. We can pull in there and…” His voice trailed off as I drew my pistol and aimed it at his forehead. “That’s not very grateful, now is it?”

  “Call me a cynic, but I have a hard time summoning gratitude when something smells like a setup. I saw you back at the apartments. You’ve been hunting us.”

  “Give a man a touch of credit, love. If I were hunting you then you would already be dead. Ergo, I wasn’t.”

  “Then what were you doing? Who are you?”

  “Ah, there’s a good question. We haven’t had proper introductions yet.” He switched the towel to the opposite hand and extended his other. “Easton Howes.”

  I made no move to shake, and after a moment he dropped his arm back to the steering wheel. “Not too trusting I see.”

  “Again, setup.”

  “Fair enough, but you’re mistaken. I wasn’t hunting you. I was guarding you. Or, more accurately,” he motioned off to my side. “I was guarding the ring.”

  My eyes started to slide sideways toward Tobin, but I yanked them back at the last minute. First rule of holding someone at gunpoint is that you really don’t want to look away. Especially when dealing with someone like Easton. I didn’t know much about him, nothing really, but he was fast and creative. I didn’t want to risk going hand to hand against him with my pistol in the mix.

  Besides, I didn’t need to look at Tobin’s face to know what he was thinking.

  Until now, we believed we were the only ones who knew about the ring. Even those in the know, like Alberad, hadn’t realized it was out in the open until we showed him.

  The wraiths knew, obviously, because they were hunting it. Which was something I probably should have stopped to consider before now. I would have, if there had been time. But things had been unfolding rapidly since Tobin first got in my car, and I hadn’t had a minute to catch my breath.

  Until now.

  By all accounts, Milo’s uncle Cyprus was the ring’s rightful owner. If it was as valuable as everyone seemed to think, then I had to conclude that the only reason he would risk letting it out of his sight was because he feared he could no longer protect it.

  The fact that the wraiths had tracked the ring to Milo and Tobin suggested they’d gotten the truth out of him, likely by force. Which probably explained why he wasn’t answering the phone. A heavy feeling took form in my chest, aching as I realized the implications of what that meant going forward.

  No one was coming to save us.

  For good or bad, whatever happened from here on out was up to us.

  Mind you, none of this explained Easton Howes involvement. How he knew about the ring, or what plans he might have going forward.

  Easton watched my face closely, eyes shining with amusement as I worked my way through it.

  “Don’t strain yourself, love. Suffice to say, there are other factions at play, and you don’t have enough information to even begin to piece it together.”

  “How about offering me a friendly hint?”

  “Pretty sure I just did. Filling you in on all the rest though,” he shook his head, “Not part of my job description.”

  “What is your job then? You said you were hired to guard the ring?”

  “In part,” he said. “Some of it depends on you. You see, unlike those fellows with the swords back there, I want you to have it. Or, better said, my employer does. He’s taken quite the shine to you. Thinks you might do alright for yourself. Of course, he’s not the type to leave things to chance. That’s why he hired me. I’m to keep an eye on things, and, when necessary, help nudge them in the right direction.”

  I considered his words. Something about them irked me. It wasn’t just the smug undertone that grated on me, or maybe it was, but there was more to it. Ever since I’d started at Blue Moon, I felt like I was constantly fumbling in the dark, always trying to stay one step ahead of the knowledge gap. I didn’t like it, and I certainly didn’t like having it dangled in front of my face like a carrot.

  Annoyances aside, some of what he said tracked. If he’d wanted the wraiths to get us, all he had to do was nothing. Mind you, that didn’t necessarily mean he was on our side. He could be playing us, figuring it was easier to dispatch us and take the ring for himself. If that were the case, I’d be better off pulling the trigger and dumping his body in the Charles.

  I couldn’t do that though.

  Not because it would almost certainly end with me in handcuffs and a life sentence, but because of who I was.

  I was a police officer. My job was to help people. And I’d seen enough to know there were good Samaritans out there who would lend a hand when called upon.

  But Easton Howes wasn’t one of them. I felt it, deep in the pit of my stomach. But just because he wasn’t a good guy didn’t necessarily mean he was a bad guy. There was a lot of gray in this life, and I couldn’t just get rid of him because it was convenient. Especially since he might be telling me the truth.

  I dropped my arm and holstered my pistol. “Your employer got a name?”

  Easton smiled and tossed the towel to me. I caught it, and wiped at my face, thankful in that moment that I no longer had long hair.

  “Most people do but I’ll let him introduce himself when you meet.”

  “And when will that be?”

  He smiled. “He’s expecting us shortly. Fair warning, he’s a peculiar sort, but he’s very excited to meet you.”

  The All-Seeing Eye. Thursday, August 6th 1400hrs.

  We sailed upstream and round the bend before eventually docking along the northern side of the river. From there, we made our way into Cambridge on foot.

  Founded over four hundred years ago, Cambridge was a quintessential New England city, boasting historic buildings with old world charm and a seemingly endless array of pubs, cafes, and bookstores. Similar to Boston, space here came at a premium, but the various squares made careful use of their design and allowed for a healthy number of oak and maple trees.

  Easton led the way, directing us down various streets and alleyways. I shivered as we walked, struggling to shed the cold despite the fact that it was summer. Eventually I realized it wasn’t just the water. I was tired, bordering on exhausted, and coming down hard from the adrenaline dump. I was also hungry again, which might seem odd, since we’d just eaten not long ago, but hear me out. Using exercise as a coping mechanism meant I was perpetually operating at a calorie deficit. So even on the rare days where I managed to squeeze in lunch, the food never seemed to stick.

  A quick glance back revealed Tobin and Alberad were in similar states. They followed mechanically, their gazes fixed down toward their own feet rather than the surrounding buildings. One look was all it took for me to know they were strung-out and exhausted.

  In other words, easy meat.

  I drew in a breath and shook myself awake. Anyone who’s ever gone to war knows that exhaustion is a weapon in and of itself. I wasn’t about to get caught in a wraith’s net because I was too tired to see the strands closing in. I forced myself to stand up tall and start paying attention.

  Easton had led us inland to the tune of two miles, and we now found ourselves on the outskirts of Concord Square. Something had changed though. Where once his steps had been certain, he hesitated at every intersection. The more I paid attention, the more erratic his directional choices seemed, until I began to suspect that he was purposefully leading us in circles, possibly in an attempt to keep us disorientated.

  If so, it was a fool’s errand. Exhausted or not, New England was my home, and it wasn’t so large a place that I couldn’t find my way back if given enough time and motivation. As we continued on, however, I began to suspect there might be more to it then just trying to keep me off-balance. He paused at every intersection, scanning the nearby Brownstones and noting the cameras affixed to the streetlights and building corners. Once I made the connection, it was easy to predict which way we would be going. He kept us in the cameras’ blind spots, angling us wide to avoid their view.

  I waited until we turned onto the next street and moved up beside him. “You think someone might be hunting for us?”

  He snorted and cast a sideways glance my way. “You think they’re not?”

  I shook my head. “Not the wraiths. Someone else.” I pointed toward the traffic light located at the end of the block. “Those cameras operate on a state network.”

  “Networks can be hacked, assuming one has the means and the motivation.”

  “And our enemy does?”

  “No clue. Best to assume they do though. If I were hunting the ring, the first thing I would do would be to give myself an all-seeing eye of the city. We need to avoid their gaze if we want to have any hope of keeping it in our possession.”

  I grunted but didn’t argue. What he said made sense, even if it slanted toward paranoia. Then again, when dealing with sword-wielding wraiths, maybe paranoia was the way to go.

  My gosh, did I really just say that?

  Just goes to show how fast things can change. One minute you’re busting jaywalkers and trying to figure out who’s been stealing their neighbor’s mail. The next, you’re battling goblins, leprechauns, and spooks of all sizes. Guess it’s true what they say about God laughing at our plans.

  We wove our way through the city, zigzagging back and forth for another few miles before eventually cutting through Joan Lorenz Park. We passed beneath the Latin School stone entryway and skirted wide around the kid’s playground before arriving at our intended destination.

  “Uh, hold on,” I said as we came to the entryway steps. “We’re going in there? Seriously?”

  Easton narrowed his eyes. “Something the matter?”

  “Well, yeah. It’s a library.”

  “And?”

  “And there are almost certainly going to be people inside.”

  “I should hope so.”

  “No, I mean innocent people. Civilians. Bystanders. The wraiths are still out there. If they can track us, we might be putting them at risk.”

  Easton shook his head. “No fear on that count, Sergeant. My employer has already taken the necessary steps to limit any potential bystanders. See for yourself.” He motioned toward the front doors, and I glanced over his shoulder to see the sign posted out front. It read “Closed for Fumigation.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Alright then. I guess we can proceed.”

  Easton smiled. “After you.”

  I nodded and made my way up the steps of the Cambridge Public Library.

  The Cambridge Library always struck me as two buildings fused together through some scientific disaster. The east wing had a high-tech, modern aesthetic, with clean lines and large glass windows that allowed for lots of natural light. It was the sort of building you could have erected in any major university in America, and it would have fit right in.

  The west wing, in contrast, looked like something out of a medieval fairy tale. The exterior was comprised of historic brick, the entrance lined with sandstone columns. There were looping archways, cathedral windows, and a full-on turret tower.

  Guess which wing we went in through?

  The inside of the west wing matched the outside aesthetic, with dark shelves and arched ceilings lined with painted murals. The air smelled like old ink, and the chandeliers were arranged in circular patterns overhead, casting their reflections onto the worn hardwood floors as we walked.

  Easton led us through the entryway lobby and through a series of hallways before coming up beside an old wooden stairway. He started up the steps, and I followed close on his heels, Tobin and Alberad bringing up our rear. At the top we turned left and made our way past several administration offices before arriving at the private conference rooms where a man stood waiting.

  In his late fifties, he stood at easy attention, his hands clasped behind his back. His demeanor was reminiscent of someone who’d made their living tending to the needs of others, and even as I thought it, I noted the silver tray on the table beside him. It contained a long-necked teapot along with four upturned cups.

  “Good afternoon, Bentley,” Easton said by way of greeting.

  “Master Howes,” Bentley said, his voice somehow managing to capture that perfect combination of professionalism without the induction of any warmth. “Would you care for a drink, sir?”

  “Depends on what kind of drink you’re offering.”

  “Only tea, I’m afraid.”

  Easton made a face. “I’ll pass. Are they ready for me?”

  Bentley nodded toward the far wall, where a pair of double wide, hardwood doors with golden script flowing along the sides stood. “Through there, sir. They’ve requested your charges remain outside until called.”

  Easton grunted and turned to me. “Wait here, I’ll be back shortly.”

  I considered arguing but ultimately decided against it. Whoever Easton’s employer was, they clearly knew more about the ring than we did. I could be patient, at least in the short term.

  Easton disappeared through the doors. Once he was gone, I made my way over to the nearest table and dropped into the chair. Exhaustion settled over my shoulders, and it was only through sheer will that I kept my head up. Tobin and Alberad joined me after a moment, settling in silently.

  We were in a sorry state, and Bentley took one look at us and immediately set about serving our drinks. Clear steam rose as the dark liquid filled the cup, and he wiped the end of the tea kettle clean with a spotless white napkin before setting the cup in front of me.

  The New Englander in me had hoped for coffee. Instead, I found myself gripping a cup of herbal tea, the warmth spreading through my hands and up my arms. I debated leaving it at that, but fatigue and hunger won out, and I brought the rim up to my lips, savoring the notes of cinnamon and lavender as they worked to diminish the river’s cold.

  Tobin and Alberad followed my lead, sipping at their own cups. First tentatively, then more eagerly, until we were all nearing the bottom of our cups.

  Tobin finished his first, then set his empty cup down with a sigh before turning to me. “What do you think’s waiting for us through those doors?”

  I glanced over at Bentley before answering. He caught my look and gave a polite smile before pointedly taking several steps back so as to be out of ear shot. It seemed a practiced gesture born by a man who respects other people’s privacy, but I’d been around too long to take anything at face value anymore, and I brought my cup up and used it to block the view of my mouth before I spoke.

  “Not sure. Easton’s employer, presumably. Beyond that, I would just be guessing.”

  Tobin nodded, and then raised his empty cup, mimicking my actions. “Supposing you’re right. What do you think they want?”

  “Can’t say.” I turned to Alberad. “You’d probably know more about that than I would.”

  Alberad blinked, and then hastily set his cup down, rubbing his fingers together in front of him. “Perhaps a bit, but I’d prefer not to speak out of turn.”