Chapter 3
Aidan, annoyed and impressed and curious, crossed arms. Let magical braided horsehair swing from one hand. He’d known he could find the pooka; he could find most people. Part of that heritage; and he thought, as he generally thought, that at least it was useful. He did not enjoy deploying the death-omen part of his gifts—the locating-people sense was tied to that, in a fuzzy way—but that’d been useful too. He tended to have decent foresight. Premonitions. Chances to avoid a specter or two. For himself, for those around him. Especially people close, physically and emotionally.
It had and hadn’t been enough to help Elena. Or the other agents they’d lost before he and Len had arrived. Len said he shouldn’t blame himself: he couldn’t’ve done more. He knew she was wrong. About her i
