Sapphire Flames

Chapter 12

Abarca’s corpse hung from a telephone pole at the entrance to our street.

In the light of the early morning, his face was unrecognizable, a swollen purplish mass of flesh. The sun had just risen, painting pink light onto the buildings around the warehouse. The world looked bright and cheery. Abarca’s body swayed slightly in the breeze against this backdrop, his intestines hanging like grotesque garlands from a gaping wound in his stomach. They’d gutted him like a hog.

I hugged myself. It wasn’t that cold, but I couldn’t get warm despite a thick sweatshirt. Five minutes ago, I’d been sleeping in my bed, blissfully wrapped in a soft warm blanket, with Shadow curled against me. And then Mom knocked on my door and told me Heart needed to see me and it couldn’t wait. I knew it had to be bad, but I didn’t expect this.

Next to me Heart waited. He stood like he was ready to repel an assault, his feet planted, his broad shoulders straight, his muscular frame solid. Of Japanese ancestry, he was about my mother’s age or slightly older. Time didn’t apply to him, the way it didn’t apply to a granite crag. He was always battle-ready. His eyes, dark and smart, radiated calm. He had seen worse. I hadn’t. He knew that and he positioned himself to provide support. If I cried, he would offer me a shoulder. If I asked questions, he would answer them. And if I tried to do something rash, he would stop me.

“He was killed elsewhere,” Heart said. “They slit his throat with a serrated blade. Everything else was done postmortem. He was still using the cell phone you had issued to him, and the record shows a call from an unlisted number last night, at ten o’clock. His cell pinged from three towers north of Houston and then stopped. I sent a team to the origin of the signal and they’ve recovered his vehicle and possessions. They’re on the way back.”

“Do you think they lured him out of his house?”

“Yes. It appears he left to meet someone voluntarily.”

I hugged myself tighter. Yesterday, Abarca talked to me. He had opinions and if you asked him a question, he would answer. He was moving around, he was breathing. He was alive. He was a person. Now there was nothing.

“Why would they do this? He was out. He quit, he took his people and left.”

“Someone is trying to send a message,” Heart said.

“There is no escape?”

Heart nodded.

It didn’t matter if you quit, ran away, or got fired. Everyone associated with us was a target. Diatheke offered no mercy.

“What about the rest of his people?”

“As of now, everyone is accounted for. Abarca was the only casualty.”

I let out a breath. Diatheke must have considered the others beneath notice. They were grunts, none of them had magic, and a rash of sudden civilian murders would draw attention. Since they were no longer employed by us, killing them wouldn’t count as House warfare, and the Houston PD took civilian homicides seriously.

“You have two choices,” Heart said. “We can treat this as a civilian matter. He deserted. His employment ended the moment he left his post. We can notify Houston PD and let them take it from there. There will be questions, but ultimately this absolves your House of any further responsibility.”

“What’s the second option?”

“You can treat it as House warfare.”

If we pretended that Abarca died in the line of duty, it would save his reputation. While he worked for us, we maintained a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar life insurance policy in case of his death. That policy ended when he chose to terminate his employment with House Baylor.

Abarca had two children and a wife.

“He’s dead because of us,” I said.

“No.” Heart’s eyes held no mercy. “He’s dead because he ran.”

There was really nothing to say to that. “We’ll treat it as House warfare. Please notify his next of kin. I’ll authorize an insurance payout today.”

It wouldn’t fix anything. It wouldn’t give them back a husband or father, but it would help a little.

“Do I have your permission to take him down?” Heart asked.

“Yes. Please do.”

Heart nodded and pointed up at the corpse. Two of his soldiers, a man and a woman, jogged over, carrying a ladder. Heart turned and gestured for me to follow him.

“I need your help,” I told Heart.

He nodded.

“We’ve always made an effort to treat our security people well. We gave them good gear, good benefits, and we tried to accommodate their wishes, but they still ran. I want to make sure we don’t repeat the same mistake twice.”

“The only mistake you made was hiring George Abarca.” Heart stopped and turned to me. “Do you know why Abarca resigned his commission?”

“He told us that he wasn’t making enough money to support his family.”

Heart smiled. It was slightly unsettling.

“I’ve worked with some excellent officers. I’ve also worked with some officers like Abarca. They put in the time, they do an acceptable job, they get promoted, but they don’t serve. Their primary motivation is ticking enough boxes to earn the next promotion. They miss the point. It’s simple: you’re assigned a job, you learn that job, you strive to excel at that job, and then you train the person under you to do that job. You set standards. New job comes along, you do it all again. That’s it.”

“Abarca wasn’t like that?”

“No. When I met him, George Abarca was assigned to a schoolhouse, training new officers. He was comfortable. About that time, the Army had started an initiative to actively recruit Significants and Primes. Because of their unique abilities and needs it was decided that the easiest way to integrate them was to build a small unit around each such officer, complementing their strengths and compensating for their weaknesses.”

“Like they did for Rogan?”

“Just like that. Rogan served as a test case for the program and I was assigned as his NCO. Abarca wanted badly to work with Rogan, but Rogan was a crucial asset and access to him was tightly controlled. At the end of Rogan’s training, command staff announced the formation of a new section within the schoolhouse dedicated to working with high-caliber magic users. Abarca wanted that command. He’d decided it would be very good for his career. He had put in his time schmoozing the colonel in charge, he’d made sure he was well liked, and he felt it entitled him to the post.”

“He didn’t get it?”

“No. They brought in Captain Swan, a Significant with a lot of combat experience. He shared a common background with the trainees, and he’d put in more time in combat. Abarca blew up in the colonel’s office. I was in Sergeant Major’s office at the other end of the building and I heard it. We all heard it. Enlisted, officers, students. The next day he resigned his commission.”

The light dawned. “It was never about us, was it? We were a stepping-stone to Rogan.”

“I suspect so. I don’t know if he was motivated by money or if it was the prestige, but Abarca wanted into Rogan’s inner circle. He had sent his résumé to us three times. I imagine he thought working with you would be the doorway to Rogan’s confidence.”

“Except we hired him specifically to keep our independence from Rogan.” It all made sense now. “So, when Mom told him he would be let go for doing a bad job and that the people he wanted to impress would be replacing him, he couldn’t handle it.”

“Now you understand.” Heart fixed me with his direct stare. I felt a strong urge to stand straight and very still. “A unit is only as good as its leader. That’s why a good leader holds herself to the highest standard. It’s not about being liked or being fair. It’s about deciding what your goal is and doing what is necessary to achieve it. Especially when it’s difficult. What happened to Abarca wasn’t the result of your actions. He made his choices. Don’t let it cripple you. You still have a job to do.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t mention it. We will build a new security team around a strong leader. I have someone in mind. With your permission, I’ll extend an invitation to interview to her and her wife. She’s a talented soldier, but she comes with some baggage.”

“Everyone comes with baggage,” I told him. “Please invite her to interview.”

“Good,” Heart said, and smiled.

I was in the kitchen, chopping up a mango, when Alessandro sauntered in and parked himself by the kitchen island. He wore a dark suit with a crisp white shirt and a conservative black tie. His jaw was clean-shaven, his hair tamed. His shoes cost more than the rest of his outfit combined. A long cashmere scarf, snow white and unadorned, hung from his neck, thrown up there almost as an afterthought. A Prime; successful, elegant, confident. Someone to be taken seriously. He would give Augustine a run for his money.

At the kitchen table Arabella raised her eyebrows and elbowed Runa. Prime Etterson raised her head from her laptop and did a double take.

I kept chopping. “Is that your I’m-going-to-see-Linus-Duncan outfit?”

He took a long look at me, inspecting my award-winning ensemble of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt covered by a pink apron with a frilly ruffle. “Is that yours?”

I rolled my eyes, slid the chopped-up mango into a plastic bowl already containing minced onion, garlic, cumin, ginger and other spices, and picked up plastic gloves.

Alessandro eyed the assortment of cooking ingredients in front of me, taking in honey, apple cider vinegar, and small orange peppers. “What are you doing?”

“I’m waiting until 8:00 a.m. before I call him.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because he’s Linus Duncan. I have no idea when he gets up.” I put the gloves on and began slicing the peppers. “Maybe he does yoga in the morning, maybe he swims, maybe he sleeps in. Eight o’clock seems like a reasonable time to call out of the blue demanding that he drops everything and sees us. Seven forty-five, not as much.”

“I understand that. I’m asking why you’re chopping little bell peppers first thing in the morning.”

Because my cousins pitched a fit when we ran out of their favorite taco sauce.

“She cooks when she’s nervous,” Arabella volunteered.

I stopped chopping and looked at her. My sister giggled. “You look just like Mom.”

“Are you afraid of Linus Duncan?” Alessandro frowned.

“No. I told you, he’s a family friend.” Of course I was afraid of Linus. Who wouldn’t be?

Alessandro leaned forward, invading my space, and hit me with a seductive smile. “So why are you nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Do I make you nervous?” Alessandro purred.

My sister choked on her coffee.

“No.”

Leon walked into the kitchen, saw Alessandro, growled “For fuck’s sake!” and walked out.

Alessandro laughed, reached over, and stole a piece of one of the little orange peppers.

Arabella’s eyes got big. Runa opened her mouth and Arabella clamped her hand over it.

I gave Alessandro a sweet smile. “That’s not yours.”

Take the bait. You know you want to.

“Give me back my pepper. I mean it, Alessandro. You can’t have it.”

Three, two, one . . .

Alessandro winked at me and popped the pepper into his mouth. His gorgeous jaw moved.

He froze. His expression locked into a harsh mask.

“Don’t you want to say something suave?” I asked. “Go ahead. Flirt with me.”

A red flush washed over his face.

“What’s the matter, Alessandro? Do I make you nervous?”

His eyes teared.

I took pity on him. “Welcome to Texas. That ‘little bell pepper’ on fire in your mouth is called a habanero. The bathroom is down the hall, first door on the left. Don’t be a hero, Alessandro. Spit it out. I don’t have time to take you to the hospital.”

“Dibs on holding his hair while he pukes,” Runa announced.

“Fine,” Arabella said. “But I get to rub his back and make ‘there, there’ noises.”

Clearly, she and Runa were the same person.

Alessandro turned on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.

I held it together until I heard the bathroom door close and laughed. Runa put her head down on the table and squeaked. My sister giggled, making snorting noises.

“That was evil, Catalina,” Runa managed between howls of laughter.

“I told him to give it back. He saw me put on gloves.”

“He did,” Arabella moaned.

“Did you see the look on his face?” I laughed so hard, I cried a little. Some of it was probably a hysterical reaction to everything that had happened since Augustine dragged me out of bed three days ago, but I didn’t care. It felt so nice.

Leon walked back into the kitchen and slid a piece of paper on the island. “While you’re in a good mood.”

I swiped at my tears with my forearm and focused on the words. The purpose of this letter is to request full reimbursement for my personal property destroyed on January 6th by an employee of House Baylor Investigative Agency . . . Blah, blah, blah . . .

“Twenty-three thousand dollars?!”

Leon took a step back. “Remember, I’m your favorite cousin and you love me.”

“We only got paid seven thousand for the Yarrow job. You put us sixteen thousand in the hole. How, Leon?”

“I can explain. I got to the house to confront the accountant lady, and her husband ran out in his pajamas and started screaming that she locked herself in the panic room with their baby.”

“And you called the cops. Because that’s what we do when we find ourselves with a hostage situation. We defer to law enforcement, don’t we? Because they have authority and jurisdiction and experienced hostage negotiators, right, Leon? Because we can’t assume responsibility for resolving a hostage crisis since we don’t know what we’re doing. Because we don’t want anyone to die, and we don’t want to be sued.”

Leon raised his hands. “Who hasn’t been sued?”

“Us! We haven’t been sued. And we aren’t getting sued if I can help it. Did you call the cops?”

Alessandro chose that moment to wander back into the kitchen. He looked pale, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hands shook a little.

“You had to be there,” Leon said. “I made an executive decision. Time was of the essence.”

“Bullshit. It takes twenty minutes to drive from our house to that subdivision. You called here, convinced Grandma and Arabella to bring Brick over, and waited for twenty minutes for them to arrive. And then the three of you thought it would be a grand idea to drive Brick through the house. Literally!”

“It sounds bad when you put it that way,” Leon said. “But we saved a hostage.”

“No, you put the life of a child in danger.”

Arabella stirred. “Technically, it wasn’t exactly a child.”

I turned to Leon. He sighed, looking resigned, and held up his phone. On it a middle-aged white man clutched a giant orange cat.

“What is that?”

Leon visibly braced himself. “It’s Tuna. Also known as Baby.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

Leon backed away.

I dropped the knife and grabbed a habanero. “Come here.”

“What has gotten into you?” Leon backed away, keeping the island between us. “You’re always so calm and reasonable . . .”

I chased him around the island. “I’m trying to solve a murder and a kidnapping, a consortium of assassins is targeting us, we had to hire the most expensive private army in the country to keep us alive, I have no idea how to pay for any of it, and instead of making money, you decided to put us deeper in the hole. For a cat in a domestic dispute.”

“I didn’t know it was a cat until we busted down the door. He said baby, not fur baby.”

We made a full circle around the island. I stuck my hand out at Arabella. “Hold him.”

My sister shook her head. “I’m not involved.”

“You rode in Brick. You’re involved. I’m the Head of the House and I’m ordering you to hold him down so I can stuff this pepper up his nose.”

Alessandro moved into my path, put his hands around my waist, and picked me up. Everything stopped. He was holding me effortlessly five inches above the floor. He was touching me.

Leon made a break for the doorway.

“Put me down,” I growled.

“No, you’ve gone mad with power.”

“Alessandro!”

“It’s eight fifteen,” he said. “We have bigger fish to fry. Call Linus. Or I can keep holding you just like this. I don’t mind.”

Runa put her hands to her mouth, making a funnel with her fingers, and dramatically whispered. “Door number two.”

The fight went out of me. “I’ll make the call.”

Alessandro lowered me back to the floor. He held on to me for another long breath and slowly let go. I marched to the cutting board, dumped the chopped habaneros into the bowl, and pulled my gloves off. “Arabella, please put this into the food processor, pulse on high for three minutes, pour it in a pan, and simmer it for ten. Don’t let it burn. Also, I’m taking your Mercedes for this trip.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

I made a face at her and reached for the phone.

The moment we got into the car, Alessandro morphed back into a killer. The slick veneer of polish he projected in the kitchen dissolved into calm alertness. He wasn’t on edge, but he was ready, his magic coiled and simmering just under the surface. Right now, he was lying back in the passenger seat, his eyes closed. We were making our way west, to Cat Spring, a tiny town about an hour out of Houston.

Alessandro could look like multiple people. There was Instagram Alessandro, meeting my family, charming and harmless. There was sexy Alessandro, flirting and too hot for real life, posing on my bed and petting my dog. There was Alessandro the Count, in an expensive tailored suit, and Alessandro the Prime, frighteningly competent, his power an impenetrable wall wrapping around him at the trials. None of them was a lie. He put them on like clothes to match the occasion.

But his default was this, a relaxed but ready killer. Assassin in repose. That’s what he was when he didn’t have to be anything else. I wondered if anyone besides me ever saw him like this.

They probably did. Just before he killed them.

“How many people have you killed?”

He glanced at me. “Why is that important?”

“I just want to know.”

“There is no upside to this conversation. How do you quantify it? What’s the right number? More than ten? More than twenty? When do I become a monster, banished from family meals?”

What brought that on? “Do you even know how many people you’ve killed?”

“Do you?”

“Three with my sword in Keystone. Three more upstairs on my orders, so I didn’t do it myself, but I was there. Another two at the escalator. And Lawrence. So, nine.”

“Impressive. If you keep going like this, in a couple of years you might catch up to me.”

“Is that based on the average number of people killed per week?”

He looked at me.

“I’m just asking because an average year has roughly fifty-two weeks, two years would have a hundred and four and at a rate of nine murders a week, it would amount to nine hundred and thirty-six . . .”

“Does your brain ever take a break?” he asked.

It did every time he said my name, or he touched me. Or propositioned me in my bedroom while I was wearing a towel, but he didn’t need to know that. “Do you ever answer a direct question?”

“Yes.”

Touché.

A ranch-to-market road wound its way through copses of oaks. We took a smooth turn and the trees on the left parted to reveal a picturesque lake, perfectly smooth like the surface of a mirror.

My phone chimed a triumphant little note. I knew that sound. That was Alessandro’s Instagram alert chime. I reached for the phone, but he grabbed it first. He really was ridiculously fast.

“Give me back my phone.”

“I thought so. You have an alert that tells you when I post.” He looked unbearably smug, like a cat who had just licked the steak left to rest on the counter and gotten away with it.

“I have many accounts on alert.”

“You follow your sisters, your cousins, your grandmother, and me.”

I really hated technology. “How did you even find my profile?” I’d made sure to not post pictures of myself or link it anywhere.

“I looked at Nevada’s friend list.”

The road forked, and I took a left onto a small private drive. An iron gate seated into a stone wall blocked access. Usually wrought-iron letters announced the name of the property, but there was nothing above the gate except a sign that said private property. The gate swung open and I maneuvered the Mercedes through.

“So let me get this straight, the great Alessandro Sagredo took the time to look for me on Instagram, and when you couldn’t find me, you looked up my sister and went through her friend list one by one until you figured out which of her three hundred–odd followers belonged to me?”

“Yes.”

People in glass villas shouldn’t throw boulders, Signor Sagredo. “And why would you do that?”

He gave me his wolfish grin. “I wanted a picture for the frame on my nightstand.”

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.

Alessandro shook the phone at me. “Don’t you want to see what I posted?”

When I got my hands on that damn phone, I would throw it out the window. Then I would stop the car and go look for it, because all my contacts and business things were on there, but throwing it would make me feel so much better.

The road turned. A grand driveway rolled out in front of us, flanked on both sides by enormous mature live oaks. Their branches, green despite winter, braided above the road into a beautiful canopy. At the end of that long green tunnel a giant house waited.

Built with beige stone, Duncan’s mansion sprawled at the top of a very low hill like a medieval fortress. Its lines managed a nod to both a Spanish castillo and a Mediterranean villa, but it was unmistakably Texas. Thick walls, terracotta tile roof, circular driveway, enormous mission-style doors; everything about it said Southwest and wealth. One look at the house and you knew it was custom built to match one person’s vision. There was no other house like it.

Alessandro blinked. “What did he call it on the phone?”

“His little ranch.”

He swore.

“Before we go in there, I need to warn you. Linus Duncan is a Hephaestus Prime,” I said. “Named after the Greek God of weapon smithing.”

“I’ve dealt with Hephaestus Primes before.”

“Not like him. He can make an antitank grenade launcher out of scrap metal in seconds and explode our car with it. You have to be on your best behavior. There are weapons everywhere in that compound.”

Alessandro smiled.

“I mean it, Alessandro. You’re too vain to die.”

He reached over and grasped my left hand, his face solemn, his eyes earnest. “Tesoro mio, I’m always on my best behavior.” He brushed his lips against my fingers.

“Stop that! I’m serious.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll mind my manners.”

We reached the driveway and passed through a second set of gates, standing wide open. I parked and we got out.

The tops of two short towers rising from the second story split and twin turrets slid out, bristling with barrels. Behind us identical turrets emerged from the wall.

Alessandro arched his eyebrows, a calculating look in his eyes.

“No,” I told him.

The tall mahogany and wrought-iron doors swung open. An older man strode out wearing jeans, a sweater, and a black cook’s apron. Tall and still athletic, with a Texas tan and a wealth of wavy hair that used to be black and now was mostly silver, he cut a striking figure. His features were bold and handsome: square jaw, large nose, lively hazel eyes under the sweep of wide brows. He saw me and smiled, his teeth even and white. The warmth from that smile sparked all the way to his eyes, making the crow’s feet at their corners stand out. His whole face lit up, as if I had brought him a gift he’d always wanted.

Linus Duncan raised his arms. “My dear, finally. I made fajitas. I used your guacamole recipe. I think I’ve got it, but it might need a pinch of salt.”

“You said he was sort of a friend,” Alessandro murmured.

“I might have understated. He’s more like a favorite uncle we’re all scared of. Best behavior. You promised.”

I ran up the three steps to the front doors and hugged Linus.

Linus’ Houston mansion was elegant and refined, with exquisite molding, frescos, and ten-thousand-dollar chandeliers. At the ranch, however, Linus went full Texas. Everything was stone and mahogany and huge fireplaces.

Alessandro squinted at the deer antler chandelier and drawled in a perfect imitation of a local, “Teeeksus.”

I elbowed him and hissed, “Stop it.”

Ahead of us, Linus turned. “People expect it.”

We followed him through the great room and a sunroom to the outside, to a massive patio of Oklahoma stone and a state-of-the-art outdoor kitchen. Padded chairs ringed a table filled with all the things fajitas required, shredded cheese in a pretty bowl, grilled peppers, guacamole, sliced tomatoes, chips, salsa, and queso. An enormous chiminea outdoor fireplace lorded over it all, the fire blazing in its hearth.

Linus headed for the grill, opened it, hooked a skirt steak with tongs, and flipped it over. “Almost there.”

An odd-looking turret slid out of the chimenea’s side and pointed itself at Alessandro with a soft whirl. He took a step to the right. The turret turned, tracking him.

“Is that really necessary?” I dipped a chip into the guacamole. He was right. It did need a pinch of salt.

“It is. He’s a dangerous man and it greatly distresses me to find him in your company.”

Alessandro gave him his wolf grin.

“The turret is fully automated. Nullifying me or it will have no effect on its ability to explode your handsome head.” Linus brushed some marinade over the meat.

I added some salt to the guacamole and mixed it.

“Yes,” Alessandro said, his voice breezy. “But it’s just one turret.”

“Do you see what he’s doing?” Linus turned to me and waved his tongs. “He’s goading me into revealing my weapon placement.”

A loud clang echoed as two dozen assorted turrets and automated guns slid from the walls of the house, the roof, and the ground. A dozen red dots danced over Alessandro’s chest and back. He stopped moving.

“I never understood why you have laser sights on automated turrets,” I said, arranging chips in a bowl.

“It’s a warning. It communicates that standing still is the wisest course of action.”

The turrets slid back, all except the one in the chiminea.

“Catalina is very dear to me.” Linus moved the steak onto a cutting board. “I think of her as family. Should you harm her in any way, I’ll skin you alive and roll you in salt.”

“And lime?” Alessandro asked.

“If you wish.”

“She has nothing to fear from me, but I do wish you would try.”

“Ahh, the arrogance of youth.”

“Ahh, the overconfidence of old age.”

“Are the two of you finished?” I asked.

“My dear,” Linus said, “we’re just getting started.”

Linus pulled three frosted bottles of Corona out of the mini fridge built into the outdoor kitchen and brought them over. “The steak needs to rest.”

I opened my beer and sat down.

Linus passed a bottle to Alessandro, took a wedge of lime from the table, and squirted the juice into his beer. “What are you doing in my city?”

“I didn’t see your name on it when I landed.”

“That’s because I have no need to announce it. You arrive, you don’t introduce yourself, and now you’re here in the company of this bright, capable young woman who is entirely too intelligent to risk being involved with you.” He gave me a pointed look. I knew that look. It said that he wasn’t mad, just disappointed.

How did I get myself into these things?

“I’m here on business, the young lady and I have a professional arrangement, and what happens between us outside of it is none of your concern.”

My beer went down the wrong way. I coughed, and the two of them turned to look at me with identical concerned expressions on their faces. I waved my arm at them. “Please carry on with your manly posturing. It’s very entertaining.”

Linus rolled his eyes and took a swallow from his beer. “It’s not about posturing. It’s about courtesy. Manners matter. They separate us from savagery and cut down on unnecessary violence.”

“You’re being a bit harsh with him. He’s a guest.”

“No, you’re a guest. He’s a guided missile and I want to know where he’ll explode.”

I had to defuse this before it turned ugly. Experience said that Alessandro would do anything to avoid answering questions about himself. I turned to Alessandro. “How is it that he knows what you are, and I don’t?”

Alessandro saluted Linus with his beer. “My apologies. I should have come by. It was rude of me.”

Ta-da. It worked.

“Apology accepted. What’s done is done.”

Linus rose and began carving the steak.

“You’re not an assassin, are you?” I asked him.

“No.”

“Just checking. Lately it seems like everybody is an assassin.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes.” I had to do it quick, like ripping off a wax strip. “Is there a reason why Diatheke would try to hire Sigourney Etterson to kill you?”

Linus stopped cutting.

A long moment passed.

“There are certain things in life that are just not done,” he said, his tone measured. “Abandoning a wife and three children after soiling the family name is one of them. I was always fond of Sigourney. She had been dealt a lousy hand and she handled it with grace.”

“Is that why you chose her as the Gold Staff?”

“Yes. It was a small thing I could do for her. So, to answer your question, Diatheke tried to hire her because if she came to visit me, I would let her in. I might share food with her, like we’re doing now. I would not suspect her. She was my friend. I take it she refused?”

“She did,” Alessandro said.

“Did she hire you?” Linus asked.

“Yes.”

Linus turned to me. “And your part in this?”

“Halle is missing. Someone, probably Diatheke, killed Sigourney and planted a second corpse at the scene before burning the house to the ground. I suspect Diatheke is holding Halle hostage, for whatever reason. Runa hired me to get her back.”

Linus shook his head. “Sigourney should’ve come to me . . .”

“She had a history with Diatheke,” Alessandro said. “Years ago.”

She might not have wanted Linus to know about it.

Linus threw the knife on the table and stepped away from it. An odd expression claimed his face, a mix of sadness and rage. He stared at the knife for a long breath, not really seeing it, then his face relaxed into his familiar friendly expression. He imposed it over his grief like a mask. The effort of will it had required must have been staggering.

“Have you made any progress?” he asked.

“We know that someone called Magdalene is involved and possibly holding Halle.”

“The name doesn’t ring a bell. What else?”

“Diatheke tried to kill you,” Alessandro said. “There is that.”

“We were hoping you could tell us why.”

Linus smiled. “My dear, on any given day there may be a number of people trying to kill me. I didn’t just put together my arsenal for your visit. It’s a necessity.”

Alessandro leaned forward, his expression harsh, his gaze focused. “Benedict operates in your city. You know him. He’s calculating and careful. Trying to eliminate you is a risky move. If he failed, it would put the firm into your crosshairs, and they bend over backward to avoid drawing official attention. The reward must have outweighed the risk. This is more than just money. What would he have to gain from your death?”

“That is the question. I’ll have to think on it. Let’s eat. The food is getting cold.”

He brought the meat to the table. We passed things around, putting together our fajitas.

“By the way,” I said, sprinkling cheese on top of the meat. “Have you ever heard of warped mages?”

Affable Linus vanished in a blink. His gaze pinned me, his eyes iced over and focused. Fear punched through my spine in an electrifying jolt. He was looking at me like he was about to hurt me. I sat very still.

“Did you kill one?” Linus’ voice snapped, harsh and commanding.

I looked into his eyes and knew with absolute certainty that I had to answer the question. “Yes.”

Magic flared around Alessandro. His eyes sparked with orange. “Don’t take that tone with her.”

“Did you take pictures?”

“No.”

Linus looked at me as if I had been unforgivably stupid.

“It was running around in ‘your city’ and we killed it.” Alessandro leaned forward, the Italian Count forgotten. “A thank-you is in order.”

We could never do this again. Putting Linus and Alessandro into the same room was like throwing a mongoose and a cobra into a pit.

“How could you not have taken pictures? Your generation takes pictures of everything.” The cold hardness in Linus’ eyes didn’t ease. It was like being face-to-face with an attack dog, expecting a charge but not knowing what would set him off. One wrong word and we would meet a hail of bullets.

“There wasn’t time. Besides, we kept his bones.” I braced myself.

Linus paused. “Where are they?”

“In the warehouse.”

“Where in the warehouse?”

“They’re in a plastic bin, locked in the weapons cage.”

“Who else knows?” Linus asked.

“Just the two of us. Well, the three of us, now.”

Some of the tension eased from his face. Linus pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number.

“Go to the Baylor warehouse. There will be a plastic bin with bones waiting for you. I need you to identify them. Don’t wait, do it there. Call me when you’re done. Once identified, transport the bones and secure them in the Scroll vault. On my authority.”

Linus ended the call. “Catalina, call your family and tell them that Mr. Fullerton from Scroll is coming to pick up the bones. He’ll need complete privacy.”

I let out a breath, took out my phone, and called Bern.

“Yes?” my cousin said.

“There is a plastic bin in the cage. Please get it and take it to the conference room. Mr. Fullerton from Scroll is on his way to you. Please show him the bones when he arrives. Please don’t tell anyone and don’t ask any questions.”

“Will do.”

The conference room had an excellent security camera concealed in the smoke alarm. Whatever Fullerton did with the bones, I wanted to know about it.

I put the phone down and looked at Linus. “What’s going on?”

“The proverbial shit has hit the fan and now we’re all getting splattered with it. Let’s eat. We will know more once Fullerton calls. While we’re eating, tell me everything about the warped mage. Don’t leave anything out.”

Fullerton called twenty minutes later. By this point, we had finished eating. Linus answered the call and walked away to the house.

While he was on the phone, Arabella, Runa, and Leon simultaneously texted me three different pictures of the same helicopter landing in front of our warehouse followed by their versions of “What the hell is going on and why wasn’t I told about it?”

If I had told them about it, Fullerton would find them playing beer pong with Lawrence’s bones. There was no better way to prank my sister than to hand her a box with a glitter bomb inside and tell her to not open it. She never met a secret she could resist.

I didn’t even know Scroll had a helicopter. Scroll was an independent entity that worked for everyone but answered to no one. Why was Fullerton obeying Linus without question? Why did I have a feeling that everything had just gotten dramatically worse?

We already had an assassin firm gunning for us. How much worse could it get?

“What exactly is your relationship with Linus Duncan?” Alessandro asked.

That was an excellent question. I got the plastic lids for the bowls from their spot in the outdoor kitchen cupboard and began putting the food up.

“He served as a witness to the formation of our House. There is an old tradition among the Houses that a witness also acts as a guide and adviser. Like a godfather or godmother but for the entire family. Linus takes it seriously.” I hadn’t realized until ten minutes ago how seriously.

“It’s more than that.”

“What are you implying?” Because if he was implying what I thought he was implying, he needed to backpedal real fast or I would stuff his head into that chiminea.

“Not that.” Alessandro looked at Linus, then looked at me, then looked at Linus again, opened his mouth . . .

“What is it?”

Alessandro started to speak and clamped his mouth shut, staring behind me. I turned around. At the house, Linus was looking straight at us. He shook his head once with deliberate precision and went back to his phone call.

“Sono un idiota,” Alessandro muttered.

And he’d just called himself an idiot. While I agreed in principle, he hadn’t done anything particularly stupid right this second. Something obvious must’ve occurred to him and I wanted to know what it was.

“Do you want to enlighten me?”

“Never mind,” he said. “Your godfather is walking over, and he looks unhappy.”

At least unhappy was an improvement over homicidal.

Linus marched toward us. “Come with me.” It didn’t sound like a request.

“Do you want me to bring the food to the kitchen?”

“Leave it, please.”

We followed him into the study, a place of floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves, leather chairs, and original art on the walls. The air smelled of aromatic cigars. Linus shut the doors. A metallic click announced the lock engaging. Great. Now we were locked in.

Next to me, Alessandro was still, but ready, his magic coiled like a python about to strike.

Linus strode to his desk and placed a palm on the glass plate within it. A drawer slid open from the wall. Linus walked to it and retrieved a wooden box about a foot long and half as wide. He set the box on the desk.

“Do you want to find Halle?”

What kind of question was that? “Yes.”

“And you, do you want to find Sigourney’s killer?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Alessandro said.

“You two have stumbled onto a uniquely dangerous secret. There are three types of people who have this knowledge: the soon-to-be-dead, the criminals, and the Wardens. The only way for you to avoid the first two categories is to accept my authority.”

Alessandro bared his teeth.

“I’m trying to keep you alive, you young idiot,” Linus snapped.

He picked up the box and opened it. Inside on black velvet lay a simple dagger with a wooden grip and a wooden crest with a staff carved in its surface. A tiny clear jewel marked the top of the staff. Above it, a banner reading In ministerium hominis curled along the edge. In the service of man. And that wasn’t ominous. Not at all.

“Catalina, place your hand on the seal,” Linus ordered.

I hesitated. He was about to swear me in, and I had no idea to what. I wanted to call Rogan, or Arrosa, or someone to ask them for advice. If I asked him for a lifeline, he would probably explode.

“Catalina,” Linus said, “I have your best interests at heart.”

I met his gaze. “And if I don’t do this, will I walk out of this house?”

“Of course. But if you don’t do this, I cannot protect you from what follows.”

“Protect me from what?”

“The combined might of the National Assembly.”

Cold shot through me. Nobody could take on the entire National Assembly, not Rogan, not Linus, no one.

What do I do?

“Your safety is very important to me,” Linus said. “I’ll do everything in my power to shield you; however, my power has limits.”

“He really does have your best interests at heart,” Alessandro said. “He’s invested in your survival.”

“Be quiet,” Linus told him.

“I’m trying to help.”

Things were moving way too fast and there was no time to acclimate. There was no opportunity to make an informed decision. I just had to do the best I could and hope I didn’t screw it up.

“If it wasn’t for you, she wouldn’t be in this mess,” Linus said.

Alessandro raised his eyebrows. “I’m curious, have you ever attempted to prevent her from doing what she wanted to do? I’d be delighted to hear how it went.”

“If you had kept Sigourney from dying, none of this would be necessary,” Linus growled.

“She died while I was in the air over the ocean. Perhaps, if you had been a better friend, she wouldn’t feel the need to hire—”

“Enough.” I put my hand on the seal. I didn’t really have a choice.

“By the power vested in me by the National Assembly of the United States, I, Linus Duncan of House Duncan, Warden of the State of Texas, hereby appoint you, Catalina Baylor, to the office and responsibilities of Deputy Warden of the State of Texas. Do you swear to give your loyalty to and obey the orders of the National Assembly and its appointed representatives?”

He paused.

“Yes.” That seemed like the only reasonable answer.

“Do you swear to faithfully and honestly fulfill your duties to the best of your ability?”

“Yes. I swear.” To fulfill the “I don’t know what duties” by “I have no idea which means.”

“Do you swear to never directly or indirectly reveal matters pertaining to the Office of the Warden and any investigation or inquiry undertaken by it unless questioned by a Warden or testifying before the National Assembly?”

“What if I’m subpoenaed by a court of law?”

“You’ll have to plead the Fifth.”

“I could lose my license.”

“You could lose your life.”

“Would the National Assembly provide me with legal representation?”

Linus smiled. “In the two hundred years the Office of the Warden has existed, no Warden or Deputy has ever been called to testify about matters of the office in a civil court. But, should such a thing occur, yes, the Assembly will provide you with defense and you can be assured it will be vigorous.”

“I swear.”

Linus took the dagger out and held it to me. “Cut the thumb of your right hand. Not a deep cut. We just need a drop of blood.”

I took the dagger and pricked my thumb. A drop of blood swelled.

“Place it on the gem.”

I put my bloody thumb onto the jewel crowning the staff. Magic swirled from the seal. The wood cracked and a glowing gold tendril slipped out of the gap, curling and growing like a grapevine. It hovered over my forearm, spiraling. So beautiful.

The vine dived at my forearm and pierced the skin. I yelped and dropped the dagger. Agony gripped my arm, scorching me. The world went dark, and against that midnight blackness the glowing vine burned in a fiery ring . . .

My eyes snapped open. I blinked away the tears.

I tried to stand. The floor wasn’t there. Also, there was a metal robot arm clutching me. Was I still passed out and hallucinating?

“There, she’s awake,” Linus said. “I told you.”

I twisted to look over my right shoulder. Alessandro wore a reinforced exosuit. The power armor towered above me, bristling with weapons. He was holding me with one armored arm and pointing the other at Linus. Four laser sights lit up Linus’ chest with a raspberry glow.

“Are you all right?” Alessandro asked, his voice deepened by the armor.

“Yes. How?”

“He won’t tell me how, but this is one of my suits,” Linus said. “They’re stored fifty feet under us in an armored vault and taken out only for special occasions. Quite remarkable, really.”

Alessandro gently set me down. The power armor whirred, split along the seams, and hydraulics lowered Alessandro to the floor. He stepped out and brushed imaginary dust off his suit sleeve.

He’d tried to save me from Linus. I was unconscious for barely a minute, maybe two, and the two of them had nearly murdered each other.

“It’s not polite to play with other people’s toys,” Linus told him. I couldn’t tell if he was upset or amused. Either way, it wasn’t good.

Alessandro shrugged. “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

“This wasn’t one of those times.”

“I’ll make that determination for myself.”

My arm hurt like hell. I rubbed it, expecting a brand or a burn, but no blemishes marked my skin.

“Normally you would undergo weeks of training, but there’s no time.” Linus stood next to me and raised his arm. “Think of your magic as a bubbling fountain and use it to push the vine to the surface.”

A double circle appeared on his forearm, formed by a vine with tiny leaves. In the middle of the ring a five-point star glowed, outlined with vine shoots.

I raised my arm and concentrated. Slowly, hesitantly, the vine shifted within my arm, a dense elastic ring. It was an odd feeling, not pain exactly, but discomfort and a sense of wrongness. I wanted to claw at my arm until I got that thing out of me.

“Push harder. You are a Deputy Warden. You now outrank every law enforcement officer in Texas, except for me. You can take over any investigation at will. You can compel testimony from all members of the Texas Assembly. This is your badge. This is authority. Believe in your right to wield it.”

I focused on the vine within my arm, sending a current of magic underneath it. It shone through my skin, a single ring containing a star within. I held it for a long second and let it fade.

Linus turned to Alessandro and held out a tablet. Alessandro took it and scanned the contents. He glanced at Linus and pressed his thumb to the screen. The tablet chimed.

“I just hired him as your bodyguard until this investigation is complete. He doesn’t have the same power as you do, but it should shield him from most of the ramifications.”

Linus poured himself a couple of fingers’ worth of whiskey from a decanter, drank it, and stared at the exosuit. “Well, that’s settled. The real question now is how am I going to get it back into the vault without damaging the floors.”