Prologue

Prologue

It wasn’t right what they were doing. The faces of the victims shouldn’t have been splashed across every news outlet in London like that.

But for once I’d been glad the press had absolutely no respect for the dead. Those eyes, once filled with mischief as we’d played hide-and-seek in the Court’s sprawling gardens now stared blankly back at me from the wrinkled paper I’d pulled from the recycling bin.

The air around me practically crackled with the magical tension my presence always seemed to provoke these days as I marched back into the labyrinthine corridors of the Court.

My mind raced back to happier days as I ran my fingers along the walls, distracting myself as I read the imprints stored there, helping me to ignore the whispers and sidelong glances that followed in my wake.

I was determined to make them, well him, listen to what I had to say.

I’d stepped inside his office, righteous fury propelling me forward, my chin held high despite the butterflies dancing a tango in my stomach. I was briefly amused as surprise and then wariness briefly crossed his face before he managed to control it, returning to a careful neutrality.

"Raven," he’d said, his tone as stony as his face. "To what do I owe this... unexpected visit?"

A flicker of sympathy had crossed his face, when he learned of my relationship to the victim but no, after everything that had happened last year, he wasn’t going to let me onto the official investigation.

No way, no how. Just no. I’d even begged.

And when that failed to move him, the fucker had me escorted off the premises when I threatened to go it alone.

But that was then.