To make matters worse, he knew very little about the curse on the hungry blade.
And that worried him.
“I need to warn Aura not to let anyone else touch that sword. As soon as it’s in her possession, it needs to go in the lead-lined box we gave to the crew.” He turned to face her. “Will that work?”
“Your guess is as good as mine, sir.” She lifted her chin a notch. “From all we know about the Tyrfing, the lead should contain the magic.”
Their containers were usually made of iron. It had a long history of repelling magic, especially in Celtic lore. Hanging horseshoes over doors for good luck sprouted from the same myths, and behind every myth and legend were truths that science often found inconvenient.
In the case of the Tyrfing, the occult division had advised him to use a lead case instead. Because the cursed blade could cut through any material, lead was suggested as an alternative. Lead was such a dense metal, it could even hold radiation. They were counting on the dense molecules to contain the Tyrfing as well.
But there were suddenly too many unknowns with this damned relic. He should’ve been the one retrieving it. He never would have tapped Henderson for this mission if he had known about this new twist.
“Can you check into any past histories with the blade and see how it finds the chosen one?”
“Yes, sir.”
She walked away before he could voice his frustration that the Department 13 archive hadn’t included any mention of a chosen one. Dr. Charlotte Sinclair was a gifted maritime historian, but he shouldn’t have learned this important fact about the Tyrfing from her.
Why hadn’t it been mentioned in their records?
It was an unacceptable oversight.
He opened the paper file, scanning names of the agents who’d first cataloged the blade. Wilson, Hearst, and Graneer, all legends of the department.
Could they have missed such an important detail?
He continued to skim the file for anyone else who’d come in contact with the cursed blade since it had been logged into the vault. One jumped out at him.
“Agent Mamon?”
He frowned and jotted down the name. Demonology wasn’t David’s strong suit, but Mammon was universally recognized as the demon representation of greed.
King Svafrlami’s greed had led him to trick the dwarves and force them to craft the Tyrfing. He stared at his notes. Eight years ago, this Agent Mamon had signed the register to inspect and clean the Tyrfing. Could a demon have infiltrated their ranks? He checked the dates of the annual vault inventory and frowned.
The cleaning had taken place right before the inventory. The usual protocol was to clean and inspect the relics during the inventory. Why do it a week early?
His gut churned with dread. Could the Tyrfing have been missing for eight years before they’d discovered it was gone?
He needed to find Agent Mamon. Now.
Chapter Fifteen
“Land ho!” Drake shouted.
Greyson straightened his polo, unsure if it was the clothes or the destination on the horizon that made him uneasy. Probably both.
He tied his hair back in a ponytail and added a baseball hat bearing the logo of a country club in Savannah that Aura had brought along.
She stood beside him, in her khakis and pastel polo with the same insignia as his cap. She seemed a million miles away. Her expression was impossible to read. Maybe this was her usual concentration before an undercover mission? He didn’t know.
“Everything all right, Aura?”
She squeezed his hand. “I’m Amber now. We can’t slip. Things can get dangerous, fast.”
He looked her way, wishing he could hear the thoughts running through her mind. “This sword is going to be a great addition to our collection, Amb.” He was careful to infuse just the right touch of southern drawl to his voice.
Her lips curved ever so slightly. She’d noticed his effort. But beyond that, there was no reassurance from her. None of the intimacy he’d enjoyed earlier, when she’d confided in him about her feelings, or her ex-partner, the demon. It was making him nervous, and he didn’t fucking tolerate nervousness.
He stared ahead. The Glasgow harbor loomed before them, unrecognizable since the last time he’d been here. Lifetimes ago. The roads were paved now, and massive artistic sculptures lined the port, along with warehouses and industrial cranes.
He shook his head slowly. “Nothing like I remember.”
She looked his way. “You’re thirty-two, and we’ve never been to Scotland.”
“I know,” he snapped. This was going to be tougher than he’d realized. He rubbed the back of his neck.
A hand clasped his shoulder. “I thought we had a landlubber stowaway on board.”
“A what?” Aura asked.
Captain Flynn gave her a condescending smirk. “Someone who keeps his feet on the land. The opposite of a pirate, lass.” He focused on Greyson, his gaze moving from his feet to the top of his head. He chuckled. “Welcome home, Greyson.” He turned to face the harbor, and his grip on Greyson’s shoulder tightened. “Do you think they’ll remember you?”
He wasn’t even a footnote in history, and Flynn fucking knew it. He was dicking around with him, and he was in no mood. Greyson knocked his hand off. “No.”
“They remember your grandfather.”
Greyson glared at the captain. “How would you know?”
He chuckled. “Unlike a few on our crew, I know how to use Google. They found his sunken ship recently, and some of his lost treasure. Captain William Kidd is still their most notorious Scottish pirate.”
“I don’t give a shit.” Greyson clenched his jaw, trying to repress the memories of the rope digging into his neck. He still remembered the boos and hisses from the townspeople yelling that nothing good had ever come from the Kidd family. “I’m only here to retrieve the Tyrfing.”
The captain’s gaze flicked to Aura and back to Greyson. “Is that the only reason?”
“Aye,” Greyson growled with anger in his eyes.
The captain focused on Aura. “I suppose you’ll be leaving us soon.”
She nodded eagerly. “Yeah, once we dock in the U.S., I’ll be taking the relic back to the vault at Department 13.”
Greyson had known that had been the plan since the beginning, but hearing her confirm it so quickly…hurt. He hadn’t realized he’d been expecting her to change her plans. This wasn’t a real relationship. He had no right to expectations.
Somewhere along the way, he’d apparently grown hopeful, hungry for more of her time. Having her in his life had been at times frustrating and, at others, the best thing he’d ever known. Images of firing the cannons with her filled his head—target practice, sitting in the crow’s nest. He’d never shared a kinship or a passion like that with anyone, not even his crew.