Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 105: Lyre: Time-Locked

LYRE

The trail’s not cold. It’s frigid. Cryogenically sealed in regret and futility.

I knew this place would be empty before we even turned onto the access road, but thoroughness is one of the many lessons learned over agonizing centuries. It means checking every lead, even the ones that reek of wasted time.

Better to knock out the possibilities now, before they come back to spirit you into another dimension for three weeks, four days, seventeen hours and eleven minutes.

Those are memories I’d rather not revisit. Or experience again.

Jack-Eye gets out first, stretches his long frame like he’s been folded into an origami wolf for too long. The others follow. And me? I’m too irritated to even open the damn door.

I already know what’s inside.

Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I stare at the front door, wondering exactly how hard the restrictions would hit if I went on a rampage here.

It’s tempting. Oh, so fucking tempting.

But being without power while trying to chase down the asshole trying to reanimate Isabeau would be a stupid decision, so I have to calm down before I lose my shit.

Deep breath.

Meditation was never my strong suit. Too impulsive, too fiery, too much

—the excuses are endless, but it all boils down to the same basic issue. It doesn’t fit with my personality.

Still, I borrow from it a little to cool the rage flowing in my blood.

Deep, deep, deep breath.

Gotta do it in the car, because sucking in a lung full of death and bloody arcana’s only going to raise my blood pressure more.

Finally centered and in control once again, I slip out of the car, pretending like nothing awful’s about to happen.

front of me, straightening his shoulders

Well. That’s unexpected.

wolf might be cowering, but his human half still maintains some functional instincts. Huh. Good to see he’s still

which means he has the

Royal Dumbass makes

but it’s still strange and wrong to my senses. The rot stench hangs in the air, thick as syrup, but the magical

a loody crime scene wiped free of fingerprints and

A deliberately manufactured void.

My stomach clenches.

and residue behind. Magical evidence. A mystical

This? This is nothing.

This is Reaper-level sanitization.

an angel-descendant,

the familiar pattern of a time-anchor spell forming beneath my skin. Arcana flows from my fingers to the air around this place, weaving itself into

dings. Right

one who brought them here; protecting them shouldn’t be a fucking plausibility issue. Of course, basic logic tends to mean nothing to the team of

feel the anger simmering beneath his deceptively mild

In some ways

door swings open without so much as a creak, of course. They’d never allow something so

snap. To Jack-Eye and the others, nothing has changed. They’re frozen in place, suspended between

of suspended time. Colors fade just slightly. Sound dampens. All momentum bleeds away into perfect

steps out, and I fight the urge

and eyes like black mirrors, reflecting everything and absorbing nothing. He’s wearing the

living. I guess they could use it in a battle against divinity, but those are all strictly regulated,

for balance, I see," I say

curves into a smile, but it doesn’t disturb a single muscle in his face. Creepy to humans, normal to those

arms, letting my weight shift to one hip. "Stop playing around. Why are you here

voice carries the exact same inflection it did three centuries ago, which is none. Monotone

shed, raze the evidence, do whatever administrative ass-covering you need