Chapter 61

Even more frightening was the danger this message implied. The Queen had expressed interest in me; Moriarty had been interested in Holmes, too. I swallowed.

"Moran, it is." I managed to keep my voice steady. "I'm going to stash the feather someplace safe."

"Where would that be?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not asking because I intend to steal it," he said. "But you weren't exempt from its thrall. Is anywhere 'safe?'"

"Your experience was completely different to mine. The feather itself didn't tempt or compel me, touching it didn't do squat, and in fact, I hadn't cared about it at all until I engaged with the magic it released inside Omar."

My fingers tightened on the pouch. Why was it different for me? Combine this with the fact that there was no record, official or anecdotal, of blood magic, and the universe could take this special snowflake status it was hellbent on conferring on me and shove it up its ass.