Oscar snorted. “I wouldn’t have thrown them at you. I would have smashed them in your face.”
I had to admire his fighting spirit, since I was almost ten times his size.
“You do not bring Tiny anything,” Oscar snapped. “No berries, no fruit, no treats of any kind. He’s my pet, not yours, and you’d do well to remember that.”
I bent down so that I was eye-to-eye with the pixie. “Listen, pal, you may not like me, and that’s fine. I don’t much like being saddled with you, the world’s smallest, honeybeer-swilling redneck cowboy, either. But Tiny and I don’t have any problems, and if I want to bring him treats every single day of the week and twice on Sundays, then I will do exactly as I please. You got that?”
Oscar put his hands on his hips. “You better watch your tone with me, cupcake. I can make your life miserable.”
“Really? How so?”
His eyes narrowed to slits so thin I could just barely make out his violet glare. “Itching powder in your bed. Fleas on your clothes. Garbage tucked into the toes of your ratty sneakers. All the usual pixie tricks.”
“Do your worst, pal. Do your worst.”
“Oh,” he snarled. “I will.”
“Promises, promises,” I mocked him.
“Why, you . . . you . . . you!”
That was all Oscar sputtered before he fluttered over to his front porch, wrenched open the door, stalked inside, and slammed it shut behind him so hard that the entire trailer rattled on the table.
In the corral, Tiny kept right on munching on his last strawberry, as calm as ever, totally used to Oscar’s snits. I had a feeling I was going to have to get used to them, too.
I was too riled up to go to bed, so I opened one of the doors leading to the balcony and stepped outside.
The sun had set while I was arguing with Oscar, and day was slowly giving way to night. Down in the valley, the lights on the Midway were already flashing, pulsing like a neon heart—
Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Thud.
The sounds came again and again, drifting out of the mansion from somewhere above. I cocked my head to the side, listening.
Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Thud.
Unless I was mistaken, someone was hitting something—repeatedly. Well, why should they get to have all the fun?
I glanced around the balcony and discovered a staircase built into this side of the mansion, zigzagging from one level to the next. It would have been easy enough to climb the stairs, but I walked over and took hold of the drainpipe instead.
The pipe was made of stone that had been hollowed out; it ran from the top of the mansion all the way down here before snaking around the balcony and continuing its downward journey. I gave the stone a vicious shake, but it didn’t so much as rattle. The only way this drainpipe would come away from the wall was if you took a sledgehammer to it.
I wrapped my hands around the stone, which was still warm from the day’s heat. Then I drew in a breath and started climbing.
The drainpipe was narrow and worn smooth with age, wind, and weather, but I gripped the stone with my fingers and toes and scurried up it like a chipmunk climbing a tree. Nothing I hadn’t done before. In fact, this drainpipe was much sturdier than many I’d snuck up on my jobs for Mo. Besides, it was better to see how fast I could climb it now, when nobody was chasing me. It was always good to think ahead.
It didn’t take me long to climb from one level to the next and reach this part of the mansion roof. I hooked one leg over the iron railing that separated the roof from the steep drop below, then the other one before letting go of the drainpipe. Grinning, I swung there for a moment, like a kid hanging upside down on a monkey bar, before pulling myself upright and perching on the railing.
This section of the roof formed a terrace that was open on three sides and overlooked the mountain below. At the top of the terrace, a couple of lawn chairs sat close to the iron railing, along with an open cooler filled with bottles of water and juice embedded in ice. Old-fashioned iron streetlights towered at each one of the four corners of the terrace, and a hammock had been strung up between one of them and the wall.
But the most interesting thing was the elaborate series of metal pipes that jutted out from the wall, almost like construction scaffolding. The iron pipes zigzagged this way and that, reminding me of some elaborate jungle gym, especially since punching bags of different shapes and sizes dangled from some of the posts.
Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Thud.
Someone was working the heavy bag in the middle of the pipes, which accounted for the sounds. The bag swung toward me, and a fist plowed into it from the side, sending it spiraling away once again.
And that’s when I saw him.
Devon.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He was wearing black gym shorts and a T-shirt that stretched tight across his muscled chest. His green eyes blazed, and his mouth was an unforgiving slash. He must have been hitting the bag for a while, because sweat had beaded at his temples, turning his hair more black than brown in places. It looked good on him, though. I was beginning to think everything looked good on Devon Sinclair.
The bag arced back toward Devon, and he hit it with a brutal one-two combo, then another one . . . then another . . .
He kept hitting the bag over and over again, working himself to the point of exhaustion. But he kept slamming his fists into it, even as his punches started to lose a little bit of their brutal pop. And I realized something about Devon, something that his quiet exterior had hidden so far.
He was fierce.
And I liked it.
I liked him.
Much more than I should have.
I should have climbed back down the drainpipe, but I stayed where I was and watched him, admiring the bunch and flex of his muscles, his quick, precise footwork, and the way he kept his gaze focused on the bag, as though it were a real enemy. Devon could definitely hold his own in a fight.
He showed no signs of stopping his assault on the bag, so I decided to end it for him.
“I think you’ve killed it already,” I called out.
Startled, Devon let the bag swing back toward him instead of hitting it again. He grabbed it and peered around the side. His mouth turned down at the sight of me.
“Oh. Lila.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so glum about it.”
He shrugged, headed over to the cooler, and grabbed a bottle of water, again making the muscles flex in his arm. Yeah, I totally ogled that part of him once more—along with his chest, shoulders, and legs. All of him, really. Devon was definitely easy on the eyes, and I was all too happy to take advantage of that.
He straightened back up. “You want something?”
“If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I never pass up free food or drink. A water would be great.”
He tossed me a bottled water, then plopped down in one of the lawn chairs. He stared out into the darkness before putting his foot up against the second chair and sliding it toward me.
“You can sit.” He hesitated. “If you want.”
This time, I was the one who hesitated, but I didn’t have anything better to do. At least, that’s what I told myself as I went over to him. It wasn’t because some strange part of me wanted to know more about him. No way. Not at all.
The chair squeaked when I sat down, but it held my weight. Devon propped one foot up on the railing. I did the same, and we sat there in silence, drinking our water and staring down at the flashing lights of the Midway.
“So,” I finally said. “This is your hideout? Your super-secret clubhouse?”
“Something like that.”
“I like it.”
He grunted.
We kept drinking our water. The view from the roof was even more impressive than the one from my balcony, especially since the fireflies had come out for the night, their quick yellow flares addi
ng to the rainbow glow from the Midway.
I was happy to sit and enjoy the view, but Devon kept glancing my way.
“What?” I asked. “Do I have a bug in my teeth?”
“No. It’s just that Felix is the only other person who ever comes up here. You’re much quieter than he is.”
“You mean I’m not running my mouth like I’m driving a racecar. That boy never shuts up.” I rolled my eyes. “I bet he even talks in his sleep.”
Devon’s lips curved into a smile, and he let out a low laugh—the first deep genuine laugh I’d heard from him. Such a simple sound, but it completely transformed him. In an instant, he went from scowling at the stars to that hot spark flaring in his eyes. The one I found much too interesting for my own good. And I realized that I liked making him laugh, I liked seeing that spark. Devon took life way too seriously. He needed to lighten up. If nothing else, that would make the next year I was stuck here far more pleasant.
But his laughter faded away, and he eyed me again. “Why did you come up here?”
“I was out on my balcony, and I heard you murdering the bag. So I decided to investigate.”
He glanced at the wall. “But how did you get up here? I locked the door behind me.”
“Drainpipe.”
His eyebrows furrowed together. “Drainpipe? You climbed up the drainpipe? From your balcony? But that’s, like, four stories.”
I not-so-modestly shrugged. “It’s a thing I do.”
“And why are you staying?” His voice dropped to a low whisper.
“Because of the quiet.”
He frowned. “The quiet?”
“I’m not . . . used to being around a lot of people. The mansion, everyone here, the noise in the dining hall, it’s taking some getting used to.”
The faint bit of claustrophobia I’d been feeling was as much of a weakness as I was going to admit. Even then, I didn’t like showing that part of myself to him. I was here to do a job, nothing else. But for some reason, I had a hard time remembering that.
“Grant says he can’t find any record of where you’ve been living,” Devon said. “No apartments, no hotels, nothing.”
So Claudia hadn’t just taken Mo at his word; she’d had Grant investigate me. Well, that was smart of her. I wondered what Grant had managed to uncover, and what he and Claudia had thought about it, but I had no way of knowing. Apparently, it hadn’t been bad enough to make her reconsider her plan to strong-arm me into protecting Devon.
“Grant says that you’re not in the foster care system, either. What happened to your parents?” Devon asked, seeming genuinely curious.
I shrugged again. “My dad was never in the picture. He died before I was born.”
Which was one of the reasons my mom had left town, not that I was going to tell Devon that or any more about myself than absolutely necessary.
“And your mom?”
“She died, too.”
He must have heard the cold chill in my voice that told him to drop it because he changed the subject. “You should leave. Get out of here. While you still can.”
“What do you mean by that?”
He sighed. “You should take off, Lila. Forget about staying here. Forget about the Family. Forget about me.”
And I realized what he was really saying. “You don’t like me being your bodyguard.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard. I can take care of myself,” he said in a stiff voice.
“But you don’t have a Talent,” I pointed out, not trying to be cruel, but just stating the obvious. “You don’t have any magic. And most everyone else in all the other Families does. Surely, you can understand why your mom would want you to be protected.”
“I can take care of myself,” he snapped. “I don’t need magic to knock the sneer off Blake Draconi’s face.”
No, he didn’t. Not with the way he’d been waling on the punching bag earlier.
My eyes narrowed. “Is it because I’m a girl? Is being protected by a chick some threat to your precious manhood ? Because if that’s the case, then you need to get over yourself, dude.”
“It’s not because you’re a girl,” he snapped again. “I’m not some sexist pig. Not like Blake.”
I wouldn’t call Blake a pig so much as a monster, but I got his point.
“So what is it then? Are you pissed because I got Blake to back off and you didn’t? Because there was nothing you could have done. If you had tried, one of the Draconis would have skewered Felix with his sword. Grant, too. The only reason they didn’t come after me was because they didn’t know me. Because Blake is a sexist pig, and they didn’t realize that I was a threat.”
“You’re not the threat.” He sighed again. “I am.”
“What do you mean?”
Instead of answering me, Devon surged to his feet before crushing the water bottle in his hand, turning, and hurling it over at the scaffolding. The bottle hit the heavy bag and bounced off. Devon gave the crumpled plastic a disgusted look.
I got to my feet. “What’s got you so upset?”
He snorted. “You never give up, do you? You’re as bad as Felix, always trying to get me to talk about things.”
“In this case, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Devon whirled around, his eyes glinting with anger. “Do you think I want you here?” he growled. “Do you think I want you to die for me like Ashley did? And all the others before her?”
I couldn’t have been more surprised than if he had slapped me across the face. The words hung in the air like the fireflies around us, winking on and off and bringing a fresh flare of pain with every bright burst of light. Devon let out a bitter laugh, and I thought of all the guilt, grief, and sorrow I’d seen in his heart. And I realized that it was for them—Ashley, his other bodyguards, all the people who’d died protecting him over the years.
Including my mom.
“And do you know what the sad part is?” he growled again. “I really can do it. I really can take care of myself. I’m as good with my fists and a sword as any of the guards. That’s why my dad made me the bruiser and put me in charge of the guards before he died. I can beat anyone in the Family in a fight. Well, except maybe you.”
I started to make some snide comment about his faint praise of my skills, but I decided to let it slide. This one time.
“So what’s the problem?”
“My mom. If she would just let me—” He clamped his lips together, as if he was about to tell me something he shouldn’t.
“If she would just let you what?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. “Forget it.”
Devon paced around the roof before turning back to me. He sighed, and all of the anger leaked out of his body, like a balloon slowly losing air.
“I don’t care what my mom told you or promised you or threatened you with,” he said. “I’ll take care of it. I swear. But you need to leave now before it’s too late. Please, Lila? Please just leave. Before I get you killed.”
Devon gave me a final haunted, wounded look before unlocking the door, stepping through to the other side, and disappearing into the dark of the mansion.
I stayed on the roof, thinking about Devon’s words and all the emotions flashing in his eyes. Anger. Guilt. Grief. Fear.
But once again, that fear wasn’t for himself—it was for me. He truly meant what he’d said. He wanted me to leave because he really thought I would get killed being his bodyguard.
He was probably right about that.
But for the first time, I actually wanted to stay, and not because Claudia was paying me or threatening me or using Mo as leverage. I wanted to stay to prove Devon wrong. I wanted to show him it wasn’t his fault that he was a target. That this was the life he’d been born into and that there was nothing he could do to escape it.
Just like I couldn’t escape it now, either.
I wanted him to stay safe. I wanted to show him that I could survive anything the Draconis or any other Family threw at me.
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More than that, I needed to do it, in the same way that my mom had. Mo was right. I was just like her—a fighter, a soldier, a protector. For the first time, I realized why she’d gotten off that park bench when Devon and Claudia had been attacked. Because she had wanted to save an innocent boy. And now, I did, too.
Damn it.
But the first step to protecting Devon—and myself—was finding out who wanted him dead. I thought back to the attack at the Razzle Dazzle. No doubt Grant had been investigating that as well. I’d have to ask him what he’d found out, if anything. And I’d ask Mo, too. He might come up with some leads that Grant had missed.
It was just like casing a house to rob or sizing up a tourist to pick-pocket. You analyzed risk versus reward, you looked for weak spots, and you figured how to get in and out with no one being the wiser. Easy peasy. I’d never failed on one of my jobs for Mo, and I wasn’t about to start now.
Satisfied with my plan of attack, I left the roof, climbed down the drainpipe, and went back to my room for the night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next few days passed by quietly, and I quickly fell into a routine.
Down in the dining hall by nine to eat as much breakfast as I could stuff myself with, then following Devon whenever he left the mansion, usually with Grant and Felix along for the ride. Once Devon was finished with his daily rounds, it was back to the mansion to spend some time training Felix in the gym or exploring the grounds. I finished up by grabbing dinner in the dining hall with Felix and annoying Oscar by slipping Tiny some berries, lettuce, and other treats when I went back to my room for the night.
Devon didn’t say much to me, but every morning, he seemed disappointed when I showed up for breakfast, as if he’d wanted me to sneak off in the middle of the night. But I wasn’t going anywhere. Not until I knew he was safe. It’s what my mom would have wanted, and I’d be damned if she’d saved him all those years ago just for him to die now.
So I nosed around the Sinclair mansion, casually chatting up the guards, pixies, and visitors to see if anyone had a beef with Devon. The mystery man had to have some way of tracking Devon’s movements; otherwise, the attack at the Razzle Dazzle never would have happened. And what better way to get that info than to have an inside man spying on Devon?