Celtic Fire September (Rogue Angel, Book 50)

Celtic Fire September (Rogue Angel, Book 50)

Alex Archer, Steven Savile

Language: English

Pages: 160

ISBN: 2:00307131

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

The theft of a whetstone from a Welsh museum and the murder of a curate during a grave robbery seem, at first, like random crimes. But the troubling deeds are linked by a precarious thread. An unusual collection of rare and scattered British antiquities has become a target—and the relics' value lies in something much more dangerous than money…

Annja Creed, archaeologist and host of television's Chasing History's Monsters, is in the U.K. when her mentor, Roux, interrupts her sojourn with news of the thefts. He's certain that the thirteen Treasures of Britain are wanted for their rumored power. Roux tasks Annja with locating and protecting the treasures before the wrong person finds them, meaning she must stand against a woman fueled by madness and the fires of her ancient Celt blood—and a sword as powerful and otherworldly as Annja's own.

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back from his trip until at least lunchtime. Like their dad he was always disappearing somewhere, but that was the nature of his job; people needed him to fight their technological fires. It didn’t matter if it was their websites, their databases, their security protocols or whatever else he did; if it was to do with computers he was every bit as much a wizard as Myrddin Wyllt. That thought led her to stretching out on her bed without even getting undressed, and pretty soon she’d drifted into

plan. Besides, I wanted to do this on my own. I wanted to make you proud of me. I wanted to make him proud.” She wasn’t sure why she said that. She hadn’t thought of their father for days, for weeks even. But that was her dad; he was like a specter that loomed over the pair of them, ever present even when he wasn’t there. She saw the way that Geraint looked at her when she mentioned him, but let it pass. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear about it.” He raised both palms in

considered the prospect that he’d see it not as the beginning of some grand adventure they could go on together, but rather her catching their father’s particular madness. The sooner the stone was out of sight, the better—that much was clear. The best place for it was in their father’s study. Geraint never went in there. He wasn’t interested in reading the volumes and volumes of notes that made up Dad’s journals, the vast quantities of used and battered books he used as his

whetstone and the murder of the curate must have happened no more than a couple of hours apart, despite the distance between the two sites. Could the same person really have committed both crimes? Was there even enough time to drive between the two places? It had taken her, what, the best part of two and a half hours to get from Caerleon to St. Davids. Though admittedly she hadn’t floored it all the way because she didn’t know the roads. Someone who did could probably have shaved ten minutes,

to drive past him before coming to a halt a few yards ahead. Metal barriers lined the side of the road. They were the only indication of the sheer drop down to the valley floor below. Owen Llewellyn kept the car in gear, kept his left foot holding down the clutch and revved the engine, ready for when she got out of her car and tried to talk him into coming in peacefully. Chapter 21 Annja could see the driver, but there was no sign of him getting out of his car. She didn’t like that

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