By Alex Archer, Steven Savile
The robbery of a whetstone from a Welsh museum and the homicide of a curate in the course of a grave theft appear, first and foremost, like random crimes. however the troubling deeds are associated by means of a precarious thread. An strange choice of infrequent and scattered British antiquities has turn into a target—and the relics' price lies in anything even more harmful than money…
Annja Creed, archaeologist and host of television's Chasing History's Monsters, is within the U.K. while her mentor, Roux, interrupts her sojourn with information of the thefts. He's definite that the 13 Treasures of england are sought after for his or her rumored energy. Roux initiatives Annja with finding and maintaining the treasures prior to the incorrect individual unearths them, which means she needs to stand opposed to a girl fueled by way of insanity and the fires of her historical Celt blood—and a sword as robust and otherworldly as Annja's personal.
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Extra info for Celtic Fire September (Rogue Angel, Book 50)
Roux could kill her if she failed. She walked a whole circuit of the home. there has been no signal of her—no freshly trodden course, no path of blood. not anything. while she had reached the some distance part of the home she heard the sound of a automobile engine beginning. Annja ran, her arm throbbing because the singed fabric rubbed opposed to the scorched pores and skin underneath. She gritted her the teeth and driven on during the ache, relocating as quick as she might, yet she used to be too gradual. She came over the part of the home simply as a vehicle disappeared down the force. there has been no time to waste. She raced to the Porsche, middle sinking as she observed that one among her tires used to be flat. She kicked the tire in frustration; it used to be a multitude. The rubber were melted away, evidently via the sword. Awena had bought one over on her, and break up with the sword, so technically she’d gotten over on her. Annja felt her cellphone vibrating, yet she had no purpose of answering it. She wasn’t able to converse to Garin and admit she’d failed. No, she’d busy herself with anything actual to paintings her frustration out on, then she’d consult Garin. possibly. regardless of the wear, altering the wheel was once fairly basic. not one of the warmth had fused the nuts so it used to be purely a case of having her palms soiled. performed, Annja slipped again contained in the apartment to scrub up ahead of leaving. getting into a stranger’s apartment uninvited, even if it used to be empty, used to be unusually eerie; there has been not anything yet chilly silence expecting her the place lifestyles must have been. The sounds of her footsteps echoed again to her. She used the kitchen sink to wash her fingers, then made up our minds to take one other glance within the examine. there has been no means of understanding the place Awena had long past, or while, if ever, she could go back now she knew Annja was once onto her. She’d taken the sword, however it was once uncertain she’d taken the whetstone given its sheer weight and the inability of time she’d needed to circulation it. something used to be for certain—she had a solution to the puzzle of 1 felony doing crimes at destinations. Awena used to be retaining it within the relations. Owen had discovered the sword, his daughter the whetstone. even if she was once partially liable for it, the sheer devastation wreaked in Owen Llewellyn’s research was once surprising. A breeze pulled the curtains throughout the is still of the window. the cloth snagged on the teeth of damaged glass nonetheless stuck within the wood window body. first and foremost she notion she was once flawed and that the lady had someway come again and recovered the massive whetstone, since it wasn’t at the table the place it were. yet then she observed it, mendacity amid the torn pages of journals and papers at the flooring at the back of the table. The Whetstone of Tudwal Tudglyd was once better and heavier than she’d anticipated. It took all of her power to lever it up sufficient simply to slide her hands underneath, by no means brain raise it. Grunting, Annja heaved it up onto the table. there has been a full-length reflect at the wall in the back of the door. Annja didn’t are looking to examine any lingering harm the burning sword may have left, but she couldn’t aid it; she may suppose the tightness of pores and skin around the part of her face and her arm ached bone-deep.