Ruby Fever

Chapter 12

Alessandro was waiting for me in front of the office with his arms crossed over his chest. He must’ve checked with Bern, and Bern told him exactly who I went to meet but not where, just like I asked him.

The best defense was a vigorous offense.

I parked the car, walked over to him, and brushed a kiss on his cheek.

“I’m not mad about your fiancée,” I told him and walked past him into the building.

It took him exactly three seconds to recover. By the time I sat down behind my desk, he was in the doorway of my office.

“You left the Compound.” He walked in and shut the door.

“I did.”

“I asked you to wait, and you left. And you didn’t take a protective detail with you.”

“I took Leon, Augustine, and about twenty MII employees. They secured the area prior to my arrival.”

I had discussed hiring MII with him while Konstantin had called home requesting permission for our deal with the Imperium. Originally, I wanted MII so we could pull all of Arkan’s hidden informants off the street at the same time. It was an operation that required manpower we didn’t have. Asking Augustine to put on a show for Christina’s benefit was last minute, but he enjoyed demonstrations of power and he was so good at them.

Alessandro shook his head. “That’s not the point. I didn’t want you involved in this.”

“Well, in that case, you should’ve told me. You never said, ‘Don’t go to meet my secret fiancée,’ Alessandro.” I spread my arms.

“She is not my secret fiancée,” he ground out.

“You may want to tell her that. During one of your secret phone calls, perhaps.”

He cursed in Italian.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“Because it’s my mess. My baggage. I never wanted the two of you to meet. In fact, I specifically told both Christina and my mother that she was not to come to the US.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I won’t allow my family’s scheming to affect what we have. I will handle it. She won’t bother you again.”

I rubbed my face. I didn’t even know what to do with that.

“I have no plans . . .” he began.

“You’ve been working yourself to a stupor for months so we could buy the Compound and then make improvements to it. This is my so-called baggage. This whole conflict is my baggage, because if I wasn’t the Deputy we wouldn’t be in this mess. So, you are allowed to carry my baggage, but I’m not allowed to carry yours.”

“That’s different,” he said.

“How?”

“It just is.”

“Well, let me know when you think of a way to explain it to me so my little brain can understand.”

“It won’t be an issue again.”

I wanted to shake him. “I’m mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I want it officially noted.”

“Should I prepare a document signed by two witnesses to acknowledge you being mad at me?”

“No, you should tell me when your family forces things on you. You should tell me when you’re having a hard time, because I love you and I know when something is wrong, and I worry. I didn’t go to meet her because I thought you were going off with her. I went there because we grabbed Arkan’s informant and she popped out of nowhere with an ‘I’m here for my fiancé’ announcement. I went to assess a threat. I had no idea—I still have no idea—if she is here because it’s a coincidence or because Arkan found a way to pressure your family and her presence is the result of a long chain of events he set in motion. You didn’t tell me anything. I get it that you think it’s beneath you to ask me for help or to accept help from me since I must be utterly useless and incompetent, but could you at least inform me of this kind of shit out of courtesy?”

He took a step back with his hands in the air in front of him.

My phone rang. I took the call and did my best not to snarl. “Yes?”

“The Spa called,” Patricia said.

The Spa, otherwise known as the Shenandoah State Correctional Facility, a white-collar prison for the rich and famous. Ice slid down my spine.

“There’s been an incident. Your grandmother was hurt.”

I marched through the central hallway of the Spa like I owned it. People saw my face and got out of the way. In all honesty, it probably wasn’t me. It was Alessandro looming next to me, looking like he would run over anyone who got in our way.

I’d called back to the Spa and had a conversation with a somber deputy warden which had taken twice as long as it should have because she was choosing her words like she was picking out the best apples at the market. My grandmother was attacked and injured. She was taken to the infirmary. She was also a little upset by the incident, so the Spa would be happy to waive the normal visiting procedures for my arrival. Translation: Victoria Tremaine is furious, so please, please, please hurry up and soothe her before everyone’s brains start leaking out of their ears, thank you.

I had hung up and announced I had to go to the Spa. Alessandro decided to come with me. We dropped our fight, grabbed the Bus, two Humvees, eight soldiers, plus Leon, and came here. Leon was currently staying with the convoy just outside the prison gates both because it needed guarding and because the Spa gave him “the creeps.”

Konstantin also wanted to come, but I nipped that in the bud. I wouldn’t put it past my grandmother to lobotomize him. I could just imagine the conversation with the Russian Embassy. Here is your prince. He can’t speak in complete sentences anymore, so dreadfully sorry . . .

We made a turn and walked into the infirmary. A prison guard stepped in our way.

“Prime Baylor to see Prime Tremaine,” I snapped.

“Second room on the right.”

We turned right, and Alessandro swung the second door open. My evil grandmother sat in a hospital bed. A bandage wrapped her head. Her makeup was flawless, her white kaftan blouse and white trousers pristine, and as she glared at me, her eyes were sharp and hard like two pale blue diamonds. Trevor, a human guard dog in an expensive black suit, stood by the bed, his face impassive. If you needed a faceless government agent with a short haircut, shades, and an unreadable expression, you needn’t have looked further.

“Do I not warrant knocking?” my grandmother demanded.

Alessandro turned and knocked on the inside of the open door.

“Yes, very clever,” Victoria Tremaine said.

Her eyes were clear, but her voice had lost some of its crispness. The attack shook her.

This was my fault. I had become so used to thinking of her as this terrifying, unassailable bastion of power that securing her safety had slipped right under my radar. That was what I had forgotten and so desperately tried to remember back in Bern’s Lair. My grandmother was a magical powerhouse. Looking at her now, I didn’t see that. I saw a woman past seventy who had been hiding her fragility for way too long.

Guilt gnawed at me. I had pulled my horrible aunt who didn’t give a damn about us off the street all the way in Mexico, but I had forgotten about my grandmother who was an hour away and actually cared if we lived or died.

I pivoted to Trevor. “What happened?”

“She was attacked in the garden,” he said. “A female guard hit her with a baton on the back of the head.”

“And her body is now cooling in the morgue,” Victoria said. “Problem solved. There was no need for them to contact you or for you to rush over here.”

I had thought Christina showing up was Arkan’s retaliation for us apprehending Matt. I was wrong. This was it. He’d targeted Victoria. He must’ve had it preplanned. It would’ve taken a single phone call and if the guard had been just a little bit quicker or hit a little harder, my grandmother would be dead right now.

I knew my grandmother. She had squeezed every drop of information out of her attacker before she crushed her mind. She wasn’t asking me questions, which meant the guard didn’t know much. She might not have even known who hired her. Right now, Victoria was likely trying to figure out which of her many sins had caught up with her.

I had to take her home.

“Grandmother, it isn’t safe here.”

Victoria scoffed. “Don’t be absurd.”

My phone chimed. A text message from Sabrian, our lawyer.

It’s done.

“We are taking you out of here,” I said.

“You forget yourself,” Victoria snapped. “Nobody takes me anywhere. I make the decisions, and I’ve chosen to stay here.”

She was betting that whoever hired the guard would try again. She wanted a second attack so she could figure out who was behind them.

“Signora Tremaine.”

Alessandro had slid into the Italian form of address, his voice considerate, firm, and reasonable. He must have decided that she would respond better to a formal approach and was using all the powers at his disposal.

“We are being targeted by Ignat Orlov,” he said. “This is not about you. This is about House Baylor. You are a vulnerability.”

Victoria pinned me with her stare. Her magic clamped me in a vise. “And why exactly is a former Russian assassin targeting your House?”

“That’s a private conversation, one I will be happy to have with you when we are safe in the Compound. Our lawyer has made arrangements for an emergency medical release.”

It took a lot of pulling, but she only had six months left on her sentence, and I had anticipated something like this. All the paperwork had been prepped, so plugging in the specific details took almost no time. The Spa was only too happy to get her off their premises.

“We have an armored vehicle,” Alessandro said. “We will transport you with minimal discomfort. As long as you remain here, you will be in danger and House Baylor can’t afford to lose you. We will not survive without your wisdom and guidance.”

The vise around my mind tightened. My grandmother’s eyes bored into mine. Holding her gaze was like trying to stare into the sun. It would burn your mind right through your eyes if you weren’t careful.

“You did not answer my question,” she said.

“Grandmother . . .” I started.

She leaned forward, looking like an ancient predatory raptor. “What are you hiding?”

She’d left me no choice.

“Trevor, Grandmother is in danger.”

Magic shot out of Trevor like an invisible fist and walloped Victoria. Her eyes rolled back into her skull, and she slumped onto the bed. Trevor scooped her up. The tendril of magic that connected us pulsed as I fed him a little more reassurance.

“Follow me please.”

We walked out of the infirmary, Trevor with my grandmother in his arms following two steps behind. The guard stood aside, averting his eyes, as if we were carrying a plague victim.

“You cooked Trevor?” Alessandro muttered in Italian.

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I did it little by little each time she sent him to talk to me.”

“There will be hell to pay when she wakes up.”

“I’m ready for it.”

I walked into my office, shut the door, sat behind my desk, and took a deep breath. We had settled Grandmother Victoria in a bedroom upstairs. She was still out. I was ready to resume our discussion about baggage and secret fiancées, but Patricia came and got Alessandro because there was some urgent security issue that required his attention.

That was fine. I could use some time to cool off.

I stared at my screen. So much had happened this morning and I’d had no time to process any of it.

My gaze snagged on the scented candle on my desk. Serenity and Calm. Yes, I would like some of that. I rummaged in my top drawer for the candle lighter until I found it, lit the candle, and stared at it. Normally the calm candles smelled of lavender, but this one was vanilla with a hint of cinnamon, a soothing warm aroma that made me think of baking and Nevada.

Nevada . . .

I tapped the keyboard and initiated a video call. I could’ve just used the phone, but despite replacing it, I was still wary. Not that calling through the computer was any safer, it was the same . . .

Nevada appeared on the screen. Her hair was in a loose braid. She sat on the large couch in the situation room on the second floor of their house. The computer screen offered me a nice view of her and a small slice of the coffee table. She must’ve taken the call on her tablet.

Somewhere out of view Bug was likely perched in front of a cluster of monitors. Arthur had fallen asleep next to Nevada, and his dark head was on her lap. Someone had put a soft crocheted blanket over him. Connor’s mother made them for her grandson. He had one in every color.

“Hey,” my sister said.

“Is now a bad time?”

“Not at all. Bug is the only one here, and he has headphones on.” She raised a mug to her lips and sipped from it.

“What are you drinking?”

“Milky oolong. It’s soothing. You would like it. I’ll bring some over once this thing is done.”

“Thank you for your help with Matt.”

“You’re welcome, but you don’t have to thank me. I like to make sure the DA office owes me. Keeps them out of trouble.”

“Did you get anything good?”

Nevada smiled her scary truthseeker smile. “The man was a treasure trove.”

I had run out of neutral things to talk about. It was time to get to the point.

“Linus is still unconscious.”

Nevada sighed. “He is a tough man. As long as he’s still breathing, there is hope.”

“He left a USB. One of those ‘If you are watching this, I am dead’ recordings.” Which was currently cooling its heels in Bern’s dehydrator, because I was stupid enough to drown it.

“Mhm,” Nevada said.

“He says he’s our grandfather.”

Nevada sipped her tea.

“You don’t seem surprised,” I pointed out.

“I thought he might be.”

“Because he paid a lot of attention to us without any logical reason?”

She shook her head. “How well do you remember Dad?”

I was twelve years old when our father died. “What do you mean?”

“Do you remember his face?”

I tried to recall it. I remembered his presence, I remembered what it felt like when he was in the room, his blond hair, but his face was . . . smudged. Guilt bit at me. I had forgotten my dad’s face.

“On the server, there should be a folder under Photos that says Mom and Dad’s Wedding,” Nevada said.

I split the screen in half, searched for the folder, found it, and opened a slideshow. Mom, smiling, in a white dress, so young looking. She looked like a kid, like she was one of us. For some reason that was slightly disturbing. And Dad next to her, blond, almost pretty rather than handsome, grinning. The memories came flooding back from my childhood. I remembered his face now.

Nevada shifted forward slightly, reached for her phone, and messed with it.

My phone chimed.

Arthur stirred. The remote on the coffee table rose into the air. Nevada plucked it, put it back, and stroked my nephew’s hair, soothing him back into sleep.

“He still manipulates objects in his sleep?”

“Yes. He stopped throwing them, for which I’m grateful. Look at your phone.”

I checked the text. She’d sent me an image, a photograph of a young dark-haired soldier grinning, a strange firearm in his hands . . .

“Linus!”

Nevada nodded.

The resemblance was unmistakable. Dad looked like Linus 2.0, the blond edition. A little shorter, a little more delicate in the face, but the same eyes, the same nose, the same grin.

“I came across it two years ago,” Nevada said. “Linus and Connor are two of the main donors for a veterans’ charity. The charity had a project they wanted to discuss in person, so Connor and I went, and while there, they showed us a wall of pictures from donors who had been in the service. I was looking at it and here was Dad with dark hair. It was such a weird moment.”

I stared at the image on my phone. So it was true. Part of me had doubted it and low-key hoped that Nevada would tell me it was ridiculous.

“Why didn’t Linus tell us?”

“I don’t know. He must have his reasons. Dad’s birth was complicated.”

Victoria Tremaine couldn’t carry a child to term, but she desperately wanted one. She had to rely on artificial insemination and a surrogate. According to her, she paid a Prime to serve as the father, but was unable to find a Prime willing to serve as a surrogate, so she committed a monstrous crime. She had the embryo implanted into a comatose Belgian woman, the original Beast of Cologne who had lost her mind during her last metamorphosis.

Our father carried the biomarkers for four sets of magic: the truthseeker from his mother, the siren and hephaestus talents from his father, and the Beast of Cologne metamorphosis from the surrogate in whose womb he grew. Feto-maternal microchimerism was the reason for Arabella’s powers.

Complicated didn’t even begin to describe it.

“There is another aspect to all of this.” Nevada reached over behind the tablet and held an object in front of the screen. Part of it was a wooden contraption that looked familiar.

“Is that a yarn swift?”

“Yes. The core of it is.”

The yarn swift was a modified wooden umbrella that held the skeins of yarn so they could be wound into balls. But this one had coils of thread, and some weird wire bent into hooks, and more weird rainbow thread stretched in loops over the hooks.

“Arthur made it,” Nevada said.

“What?”

“We were busy discussing something, and he was in his swing right next to us. He stole his grandmother’s yarn swift and her craft box while we were talking, and then Connor noticed him building this thing in midair.”

Well, it was certainly colorful.

“He’s built things before. Small things that made no sense.”

She didn’t sound right.

“And this thing makes sense?”

“It functions,” my sister said.

“In what way?”

Nevada raised the mutilated yarn swift straight up and squeezed a part of it. The band of blue thread snapped into the air. The yarn swift turned, firing the thread loops at an alarming speed.

It wasn’t thread. Oh. Oh!

“Are you telling me Arthur built a rubber band machine gun out of the yarn swift and some thread?”

“And some pushpins.”

Linus had to physically assemble the weapons. Yes, his magic made components snap together but only in a very narrow range. If he was truly a hephaestus mage, Arthur would be able to levitate parts to him . . . Oh my God.

“Are you okay?” She didn’t look okay.

Nevada pondered the rubber band gun. “No. It’s the pushpins that did it. They are sharp. He isn’t supposed to have them. He bent them into little hooks, see?”

“At least he didn’t use them as ammo.” I probably shouldn’t have said that.

“My son can barely speak, but he built a working firearm with tensile release and moving parts. We’ve got the telekinetic part down. We know what milestones to look for. We know the danger signs. We don’t know anything about hephaestus magic. Linus needs to wake the hell up. Soon. For his sake and ours. And when he does, you can’t kill him, Catalina.”

She looked really frightening for a second. I pulled back from the screen on pure instinct. “Why would I want to kill him? Are you hiding things from me?”

“Are you hiding things from Arabella?”

Touché.

“Sometimes older sisters have to keep things to themselves for the greater good. Promise me that you won’t kill Linus. I need him to help my son.”

“I promise not to kill Linus when he wakes up.”

Nevada nodded, satisfied, and put the rubber band gun down.

We looked at each other.

“But jokes aside, should I tell Arabella about the grandfather thing?”

My older sister sighed. “Why?”

“I feel like she should know.”

“What’s worse, losing a family friend or losing a grandfather you never knew and living with a lifetime of regret and unanswered questions?”

I thought about it.

“You’re right,” I said. “It just feels like lying.”

“Arabella is still trying to deal with Mom getting hurt and the nightbloom. It’s a lot.”

“How do you know about the nightbloom?”

Nevada leaned closer, her eyes intense and wide, and whispered, “I know everything.”

The screen went black.

I jumped out of my chair and headed straight out the office door and toward the main house. I needed to cook something in the worst way.

I popped the tray of chicken thighs into the oven. I had marinated them in a mixture of soy sauce, the juice of two limes, my homemade sweet chili sauce, and some spices for an hour. Most people thought that a proper marinade only happened overnight. In reality, for most meats, an hour was plenty.

Around me the kitchen of the main house was quiet. Kitchens were my sanctuary. And I really needed a sanctuary right now.

I washed the heirloom tomatoes, put a cutting board on the island, and took out my favorite cleaver.

My phone rang. Agent Wahl. Finally.

I took the call.

“The Bureau took this case as a favor,” Agent Wahl said.

Straight to the point.

“So far, I’ve had to process a dummy crime scene and then give a dummy press conference about it. In the past forty-eight hours, I’ve been glamoured, blown up, poisoned with toxic air, and cussed at by my partner.”

“You also stopped breathing for a bit.”

“Tell me something good, Prime Baylor, because my patience is wearing thin.”

“Would you like to get even?” I pulled up the draft of the email I had written this morning and sent it.

“I don’t get even, Prime Baylor. This is not a schoolyard fight. I’m an agent of the law. I detect illicit activity and stop it.”

“Have you checked your inbox?”

There was a long pause. I put the phone on speaker and started chopping my tomatoes.

“Is this legitimate?”

“Yes.” I had just handed him half a billion dollars’ worth of illicit activity. Arkan’s US accounts complete with evidence of money laundering, tax evasion, and payments to and from people on international watchlists. Konstantin delivered and then some.

“Do I want to know how you got hold of it?”

“Let’s say it was an anonymous tip. If you scroll down, there are notes at the end of the file. Point three is of particular interest.”

If you followed the trail of financial bread crumbs outlined in point three, you would find a record of payments from Arkan to Luciana Cabera.

There was another pause.

“Explain this to me.”

“How secure is this line?”

“As secure as it can get.”

That was debatable but I had to cooperate with him to get what I needed. “Five years ago, a group of Primes financed Arkan’s theft of an Osiris serum sample.”

“Go on.”

The tone of his voice told me that he understood the gravity of the situation. Anything regarding this theft had to be handled with kid gloves. The National Assembly and the US government had never acknowledged that the theft had taken place because the international ramifications would be disastrous. This was a massive show of trust on my part, and he understood and appreciated it.

“Luciana Cabera was part of that group.”

“Okay, I see where she sent him several payments years ago.”

She had done it very carefully, but Arabella and Bern were very good at untangling complex financial threads.

“I also see the trail of payments to her from the same account. What are those?”

“Dividends.”

Arkan had shared profits from his sale of the modified serum. He had five investors total. Connor and Nevada unknowingly took out two when they destroyed the conspiracy several years ago. Linus, Alessandro, and I removed two others. Cabera had been the only remaining investor.

“Can you freeze these accounts?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes, I can. It will take time and the right people.”

“How much time?”

“To do it carefully? Two days, maybe three. If you want it done ASAP, twenty-four hours.”

“I would take option #2 if possible. Will you tell me when it’s done?”

“Of course, Catalina.”

Catalina, even. First-name basis.

“You’ll need to prepare,” he warned me. “Arkan’s reaction will be significant.”

“That’s the plan. Also, MII is working on pulling the rest of Arkan’s moles off the street. They are planning a coordinated strike. Would you like to assist?”

“Let me make something clear: the FBI will not be assisting MII. Montgomery International Investigations will be assisting the FBI with this matter. We will take the lead on this. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

There was a tiny pause.

“Also,” Wahl said. “In the interests of trust and continued cooperation, there has been an event in Alaska.”

What did that mean?

“Take care.”

He hung up. Okay then.

Did he mean Sanders? That was the only operative Arkan had in Alaska, and we already knew that Arkan had pulled him out. Sanders was on his way here, and he had personal reasons to want Alessandro and me dead.

I dumped the chopped tomatoes into a bowl. Yellow tomatoes were next, followed by minced onion, cilantro, salt, and a bit of lime juice.

Arabella walked into the kitchen and plopped into a chair. “I came to tell you that the payment to the Office of Records has been issued.”

“That was fast.”

“It was only fourteen separate cases. I contacted everyone, wired the money, and had them sign off on it absolving us of all responsibility. The parking lot repairs will be handled by the Office of Records directly, so I issued them a lump payment.”

When the occasion called for it, my sister could be so efficient, it was scary.

“Also, imagine my surprise when I went to check on Linus and found our evil grandma passed out in the next bedroom. Trapped in an arcane circle. It was very considerate of you to give her access to the suite’s bathroom.”

It was a very elaborate arcane circle. It had taken forever to develop it, and I had tested it on both Nevada and Alessandro along the way. Everything in that suite had been designed to contain my grandmother. I even had a dumbwaiter installed two months ago during the latest round of renovations so we could feed her.

“I’m sorry. There wasn’t time to tell you about it.”

“You asked me to defend the Compound. You can’t put a dragon in the spare bedroom and not tell me about it.”

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“Are we going to be having soft tacos?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Will there be steak?”

I opened the fridge, took out the giant marinade container, opened it, and showed her several pounds of skirt steak soaking in my patented fajita marinade. It involved onion, pear, spices for a bit of heat, garlic, Worcestershire sauce, lime juice, and a dash of soy sauce, all put through a blender.

Arabella’s eyes lit up. “You’re forgiven.”

“How badly did that bill hurt our budget?”

“It’s a significant unplanned expense, Catalina. Our emergency fund is wiped out. We don’t have to go on a ramen diet just yet. Maybe a baked potato diet.”

“Potatoes are cheaper than ramen.”

“Not if you factor butter, salt, cheese, and preparation time into it.”

I split my pico de gallo into two bowls and started on peeling mangos. The family was evenly split on mango pico. Half of them loved it, the other half claimed it was an abomination, and both halves would be upset if their needs were not met.

A distant explosion of barks floated to the kitchen.

Arabella groaned.

The barks got closer, then died. Konstantin strode into the kitchen and landed in the chair next to Arabella, his expression tortured. Rooster padded close to him and lay down at his feet. The prince put his hand on his face. Even exasperated, he remained shockingly handsome. If Grandma Frida was around, she would be snapping pictures left and right. For “posterity.”

“Welcome, Your Highness and Faithful Hound,” Arabella declared.

Konstantin gave her a dark look.

Rooster wiggled on her belly, scooting a little closer, her gaze fixed on Konstantin’s face.

“This infernal dog,” the prince growled.

“If you don’t change shape, she’ll stay quiet,” my sister told him. “In your place, I would be grateful. She’s the only one here who likes you.”

“I didn’t try to change shape. I brushed my hair out of my face.”

“Uh-huh.” Arabella rolled her eyes.

Konstantin turned toward her. “Why is it you don’t like me?”

“Aside from my mother getting hurt, and my sister being hurt, and my grandmother being hurt, I have four hundred and seventy-two thousand reasons. Also, you think you’re better than everybody. Maybe at home you are, but here you don’t hold a candle to Augustine.”

Of all of us, Arabella ended up interacting with MII most often. Occasionally we passed cases to them, and they reciprocated. She was the one who handled the administrative and financial arrangements, and she had developed a certain respect for Augustine and his deep-water shark ways. They shared an instinctual understanding of money and power and the best ways of using one to get the other. Augustine treated Arabella as a promising younger sister.

“This Augustine, is he an illusion mage?” Konstantin asked.

If he had done any homework at all on us, he knew exactly who Augustine Montgomery was.

“Yes, and he is better than you,” Arabella said.

Konstantin shook his head. “No illusion mage alive today, anywhere, is better than me. That’s not arrogance, that’s a fact.”

“Augustine can turn invisible,” Arabella said.

“Impossible,” Konstantin said.

“No, I’ve seen it,” I told him. “So to speak.”

Konstantin frowned.

“Let’s see it.” Arabella planted her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Do it. Turn invisible.”

The prince narrowed his eyes.

Leon floated into the kitchen and smiled, his face happy and dreamy. “What smells so good?”

“Sweet chili chicken.”

The smile on Leon’s face grew wider. “Soft tacos?”

“Soft tacos with sweet chili chicken and skirt steak, regular tacos with marinated shrimp and beef chuck, queso, hot and mild salsa, pico, both kinds, sautéed bell peppers, grilled corn, salad, rice, beans, and chips.”

Leon rubbed his hands together. “Serious question: On a scale from one to ten, how upset are you? Is it about a seven or eight?”

“Eleven,” I told him.

“Fantastic.”

Konstantin looked at him. “Why does it matter how upset she is?”

“She cooks to relieve stress,” Leon told him. “Eleven means we’re going to get all the food.”

I handed him the steak container. “Go make yourself useful.”

Leon saluted, did an about-face, and headed outside to the charcoal grills.

A sharp wail of outrage tore through the house.

Arabella rose. “That’s my cue.”

Konstantin glanced at me, a question in his eyes.

“Our evil grandmother is awake,” I told him.

“I’m going to talk to her,” Arabella said. “She likes me. All grandparents like me.”

“Don’t let her out of the circle,” I called after her.

“Catalina, I wasn’t born yesterday.” She walked off, humming to herself.

“You put your grandmother into an arcane circle?” the prince asked.

“Yes.”

The kitchen was quiet again. Just me and Konstantin. I finished the pico and put it in the fridge. I would need a dessert of some sort. Something easy. A pie. An apple and maybe a chocolate. Alessandro loved chocolate . . .

“One thing puzzles me,” Konstantin said.

“Mmmhmm.” Did I have any heavy cream in this fridge? And if I did, how old was it?

“You can have your pick of men. Any House, any country. Why Alessandro? What’s the attraction?”

I took the container of heavy cream out, set it on the island, and retrieved Granny Smith apples from the fruit drawer. This was a dangerous question.

“Why do you ask?”

“I find it puzzling.”

In my mind, Konstantin and I crossed our verbal rapiers.

“A few years ago, Alessandro was the god of Instagram. He is incredibly handsome.”

“He is,” Konstantin agreed. “And charming.”

“That too. Maybe I’m just smitten.”

“I don’t think so.”

Konstantin had rearranged himself in the chair. His pose was languid, yet elegant, and at the same time alluring. There was nothing specific in the way he sat that communicated seduction. It was the air around him. If Gustave Courbet was resurrected in this kitchen, he would’ve demanded canvas, paint, and brushes and refused to leave until the painting was complete.

This wasn’t a coincidence. He didn’t just happen to sit like that. Konstantin was a Prime and his appearance was as integral to his magic as my songs were to me. He wanted me to think of sex when I looked at him. It could have been simply habit. It could be calculated, or it could be vanity. Perhaps getting me emotionally engaged served as additional insurance. Perhaps he really was planning to recruit me to the Imperial side. That last thought was alarming.

“You and I are similar,” Konstantin said.

“How so?”

“We are both planners, forced into it by both natural inclination and circumstance. Our families have a similar structure. My older brother is a lot like your Nevada. Smart, competent, slightly scary, with a strong sense of responsibility. Arkadiy fully committed himself to becoming the next Duke. He is our father’s creature through and through. If he had any thought of taking the wheel and steering his life in any other direction, it has long been smothered by duty and destiny. He loves me and cares for me. Although I don’t know if he does it out of genuine affection or because that’s what an older brother should do. Arkadiy strives to be exemplary in every aspect.”

I had no doubt that Nevada genuinely loved me and Arabella and not out of obligation. But this wasn’t about me. This was about gathering as much information about Konstantin as he was willing to give.

“And your younger brother?”

The prince smiled. “He is very much like your Arabella. Mihail never met a rule he didn’t want to rebel against.”

He pronounced the name as Mee-high-eel and as he said it, a little distaste slipped through. Not on the best terms with the younger brother, are we?

“Sometimes his rebellion is justified; other times I think he does it because he’s bored, or because he has fallen into a pattern and that is the way he is comfortable interacting with life. He has a temper, a real one, and the longer he holds it in check, the more violently it eventually explodes. He is two years older than you, but if our parents, Arkadiy, and I perished, he would run our House into the ground in six months.”

Arabella did have a temper, but she was also willing to listen to reason.

“And you?” I asked.

“I’m the mediator. I intercede and soothe. I listen, I flatter when I must, reassure when it’s needed, I threaten, I plan, I take steps, and so on.”

“So what does any of this have to do with Alessandro?”

“Like your family, mine is loud and filled with strong personalities. We function as a unit because once a plan is laid out and agreed on, all of us stick to it. Even Misha, despite his relentless fight against all orders, does as he is told in a crisis. I’ve worked with Alessandro before. Alessandro rejects all plans except his own. He doesn’t rebel, because to rebel against authority one has to recognize it exists in the first place. My distant cousin is an army of one, a world unto himself. He might put himself on a leash for a short while, but he will never let you hold it, and when he decides to charge, all bets are off. In short, if I had to work with him on a daily basis, he would drive me insane within weeks.”

“But you did work with him.” Not that Alessandro told me anything about that—yet another thing we would have to discuss. It just seemed like the logical assumption.

“Briefly, three years ago.” Konstantin leaned forward. “I’ll be blunt. The Imperium would move heaven and earth to recruit a Prime of Alessandro’s caliber. Yet, we’ve made no effort to do so. He’s a liability.”

He was making Alessandro sound like an irrational, petulant man-child. That was so wildly off the mark, it wasn’t even funny. Alessandro was perfectly willing to follow Linus’ orders. He’d changed after Arkan almost killed him, but it was mostly about setting his priorities straight, not altering the core of who he was. There was more there that I would have to dig up.

“So, I ask again, what’s the attraction? Help me solve this puzzle.”

I shrugged. “You saw the Alessandro he wanted you to see and drew the conclusions he wanted you to draw. I see a different Alessandro.”

“How do you know the Alessandro he shows you is the real one?”

Because he loves me. I smiled at him. “I trust him.”

“That’s not an answer.”

I ignored him.

“He is so much trouble, Catalina. Is he worth it?”

“Yes,” I told him. “He is.”

You could always tell how good the meal was by how much talking was done at the table. The family stayed quiet for an entire ten minutes, so the dinner was a resounding success.

Now everyone was on the second helping or the fourth taco, if you were Leon, and the conversation slowly restarted.

“You hired Augustine?” Mom asked.

“We hired MII,” I told her.

“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Leon bit into his taco.

“It’s coming out of the Warden budget.” I glanced at Arabella, hoping to prevent another explosion of financial outrage. “Hopefully.”

“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” Arabella said, giving Konstantin a dirty look.

“These tacos are delicious,” the prince said. “The chicken especially.”

He rolled some shredded cheese into a ball and dropped it on the floor for Rooster. She snarfed it off the tile without ever taking her eyes off him.

“Rooster will not respond to bribes,” Cornelius informed Konstantin. He had been trying to rest and recuperate from his injuries. His color was good and Matilda at his side was smiling.

“Pass the mango pico, please,” Runa asked.

“Blasphemer,” Grandma Frida told her. “Pico is pico, it’s not a fruit salad.”

“Can we not start that again?” Mom asked.

The conversation floated around the table like playful currents clashing and winding around each other. In this happy little pond, Alessandro was a dark gloomy rock jutting next to me. The waters of banter flowed around him, while he remained silent. It didn’t stop him from consuming a record number of steak tacos. They were his favorite.

Augustine Montgomery walked in. He was wearing his normal persona, a marble demigod in his early thirties, tall, lean, with perfect features and light blond hair. Konstantin glanced at him. The two illusion Primes stared at each other.

Leon whistled a vaguely Western tune.

“Nice scar,” Konstantin said.

“So is yours,” Augustine told him.

Arabella got up and pulled a chair out for Augustine. “Please join us, Prime Montgomery.”

“I’d be delighted.” Augustine sat down and began loading his plate. “It’s done. The FBI was positively giddy.”

Great.

“What’s done?” Mom asked.

“We’ve removed all of Arkan’s operatives embedded in the state,” I said. “He is flying blind. Konstantin provided the intelligence, Matt the snitch confirmed it, and the MII and FBI jointly apprehended everyone.”

“The FBI called it Operation Beartrap.” Augustine rolled his eyes and bit into his taco. “The food is delightful as always, Catalina.”

Konstantin looked at me. “Does everyone come to your house to eat?”

“Sometimes,” I told him. I had made enough to send plates to our guards. When I’d told Leon that my upset level was at eleven, I wasn’t lying.

My phone vibrated. I glanced at it. A text from Patricia.

We have a guest.

A video followed. I muted the phone and tapped play. Julian Cabera, the younger of Luciana Cabera’s brothers, in our office. A slack expression claimed his face. He’d clenched his hands into a single fist, staring at the floor.

“Problem?” Alessandro asked.

I showed him the phone and turned to the family. “Something’s come up.”

Alessandro rose.

“Leave the plates,” Arabella told us. “We’ll clean up. You cooked. It’s only fair.”

“I didn’t know you helped with dinner, cousin,” Konstantin said.

“No, but he made it possible,” Leon said.

Bern turned to Konstantin. “You should speak less.”

“The lack of respect for the crown is appalling.” Konstantin grinned. “I love it.”

His smile was bright, but it didn’t touch his eyes.

We hurried out of the house and down the path. The heat of the day showed no signs of abating. The air was still and ominous somehow, the way it felt before a thunderstorm.

We found Julian in the conference room, alone. Patricia favored a specific method when dealing with Prime visitors. She led them into a building, locked it, and watched them through security cameras. It minimized casualties.

Julian jumped off his chair the moment we walked through the door.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” He looked frantic. “I called the FBI, and they sent me here. They said you would handle it.”

“What’s going on?” Alessandro asked.

“It’s Kaylee.” Julian dragged his shaking hand through his hair. “I think my niece has lost her mind.”

Just what we needed right this second.

“What happened?” I asked, keeping my voice soothing.

“Four hours ago, Maria called from Sunnyside.”

“What’s Sunnyside?” Alessandro prompted.

“Um, it’s an estate, my parents’ estate, out in Sugar Land.”

Sugar Land was one of many small municipalities swallowed by Houston as it expanded, about twenty miles southwest of the city center. It started out as a sugar plantation in the nineteenth century and slowly grew into an enclave of affluent mansions and spacious upper-middle-class houses offering suburban bliss at a premium price.

“This morning, Kaylee left to visit her grandparents. We thought it would help her with her grief. Maria said that Kaylee went into the study with her grandfather and grandmother. After half an hour she went to check if they wanted anything, and the doors were locked. Maria went to knock and saw Ahmad, he’s my father’s nurse, slumped on the floor. He wasn’t breathing. She said there were thick black veins on his face . . .” Julian clenched his hands into fists.

Kaylee had attacked again. I expected to grab her once Arkan’s siege of the Compound was over, but she wasn’t giving us a choice.

“Then Maria knocked, and she said it was like her brain had exploded. She saw a sharp light and her ears started bleeding. She remembers someone laughing and she thought it was Kaylee.”

Julian drew a long shuddering breath and stared at me. “I’ve sensed her mind before. Something is very wrong. She doesn’t feel like a halcyon. She doesn’t feel like anything I know.”

“What happened next?” I asked him gently.

He swallowed. “Yes, um, I told her to get everyone out of the house. Elias decided to drive down and see if he could reason with her. He called me three hours ago and told me he was in the driveway and then the call cut off. I’ve called his cell, I’ve called the house, there is no answer. I don’t know what to do.”

He slumped back into the chair, defeated. “I don’t understand. She was never a mean child. She had no magic. We all knew it, but Luciana didn’t want to discuss it, so we just didn’t. She was so loved by everyone, the whole family. And she loves her grandparents. When Mother was in the hospital for a heart bypass, Kaylee stayed with her in recovery. And then a month ago Luciana announced that Kaylee had awakened. We were all so happy for her . . . how did it come to this?”

“Please excuse us for a moment,” Alessandro said.

We walked out into the hallway, shut the door, and walked to the other end, out of Julian’s earshot.

“He isn’t lying,” I said. “His hands are sweating, he’s breathing rapidly, his voice is elevated, and he keeps losing his train of thought. He is in genuine distress.”

“Agreed. However, it’s still a trap. He may not know it, but this is a setup designed to draw us out of the house. You, specifically.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Kaylee didn’t just decide to attack her ailing grandparents out of the blue. Her grandfather is on oxygen, and her grandmother uses a walker to get around. They’re both halcyons and aren’t a threat to her in any way. She went over there and took hostages, because you are our best chance at getting the hostages out alive. She’s trying to lure you to that house.”

Because with me there, we wouldn’t have to shoot our way in. I could sing the hostages and their takers right out.

The last two times I tried to use my wings, they came out black. What if I couldn’t sing again? What if instead of beguiling, I would screech and rip through their minds the way I had done with Gunderson?

I should have gotten that USB back from Bern. It had to be dry by now, but there was no time.

“What do you want to do?” he asked.

“We can’t ignore it. Julian might not know it, but he just made an appeal for help to the Office of the Warden. We are duty bound to offer assistance.”

“True,” Alessandro said.

“You are my Sentinel. What’s your assessment of this threat?”

“If we go, Kaylee will try to kill you,” he said. “She will have backup, although I don’t know who. Likely someone who can counter me.”

“How likely is Arkan to attack the house looking for Smirnov while we’re gone?”

“Very.”

I took a mental roll call of our available fighters. “We will need Cornelius and Matilda to contain Konstantin if he goes rogue, so Cornelius is out. Besides he is still recuperating. Involving Augustine means negotiations and waiting for his people to return from dealing with Arkan’s moles and that will take too long. Besides, this is a Warden matter. Do you want to take Leon with us?”

Alessandro shook his head. “No. I watched him grill the steak. He almost dropped the meat twice. He is hiding it, but those arcane vines he pulled off the car poisoned the hell out of him. Dr. Patel pumped him full of antivenom and you know what that does to the body.”

“And Runa is still half asleep.”

Alessandro nodded. “Arabella is the only one operating at full power.”

We fought and we won, but everyone was hurt and tired. We’d paid a toll. We would likely pay another before this was over.

“It’s you and me,” I said. “It will have to be enough.”

“It always has,” he agreed.