“Not a chance. Nigel isn’t known for being understanding of trespassers.”

“I’m not trespassing; Quentin is.” I flashed Phaelan a grin of my own. “Besides, Nigel’s not home. If he were, I wouldn’t let Quentin within three blocks of here.”

“Then what the hell’s he waiting for?”

“Him.” I indicated the upstairs gallery. A tall, thin figure carrying a single lamp proceeded at a stately pace down the length of the second floor gallery, putting out lamps and candles as he went.

“Nigel’s steward,” I clarified. “His reputation is almost as nasty as his master’s. I did some asking around. It’s the same routine every night. He puts out all the lights before going to bed. Nigel won’t be back until just before daybreak. He’s out making housecalls. For some reason, his clients seem to think séances have to be done at night. Since Quentin’s the cautious type, he’ll wait until the steward gets to the servant’s quarters before he makes his move.”

Phaelan’s expression indicated I was in dire need of a life. I wasn’t entirely sure I disagreed with him.

“How long have you been staking this place out?” he asked.

“Just once. The rest came from a few well-placed bribes. If Nigel doesn’t want his people to gossip, he should pay them better.”

“Any idea what Quentin’s after?”

“Not a clue. But if Nigel holds it near and dear, you can bet it’s a short list of people who want it—or want to be anywhere near it.”

“So that explains your sudden maternal urges.”

“I’m just here to make sure Quentin doesn’t get in too far over his head.”

“I’d say he’s there already. You planning to follow him in?”

“Not unless something jumps out and starts killing him.”

“Then how are you…?” Phaelan began. Then understanding dawned. “How did you get him to take a tracking stone?”

“Who says I asked him?” I shrugged deeper into my cloak. “Better safe than sensed. And as an added bonus, Quentin gets to go inside where it’s nice and warm, and we get to stay here where it’s nice and smelly.”