His eyes narrowed. “You believe you’re a Prime?”
“It would save some time for the purposes of this discussion if you treated me like one.” Maybe he would listen to me. Maybe I could convince him and then I would take my camera and he would never have to confront what was on it.
A condescending smile played on his lips. “I’ll humor you. Go on.”
“Tomorrow Victoria Tremaine will walk into your office. She’ll crack your mind like a walnut. There is nothing you can do to stop it. If she chooses to be subtle, she’ll leave you with the capacity to reason. If she doesn’t like the way you look, the cut of your suit, or the color of your office walls, she’ll lobotomize you.”
Augustine’s eyes narrowed. He took off his glasses. “This is adorable.”
Nope. We’d have to do this the hard way.
“I was attempting to be magnanimous in my offer. Thus far, I have been exceedingly patient,” he continued. “You did show me the error of my ways, so let me give you this last bit of advice free. You spent some time in Rogan’s and my own company, and you believe you know how things between Houses operate, so you presume to take it upon yourself to explain it to me as if our roles were reversed and I was an ignorant dilettante.”
Here we go.
“You may or may not be a Prime. Your powers and abilities are open to debate. You’re an amateur with an inflated evaluation of your own abilities and importance. I have been a Prime all my life. I’m the head of a robust House with four living Primes, I run a multimillion-dollar international enterprise, and I have impeccable standing in the community. Victoria Tremaine is an old hag whose House is in decline.”
Okay, he’d moved from fact to complete exaggeration. I really made him mad.
“If I don’t feel like entertaining her presence, I won’t see her. If I do choose to allow her that courtesy, she’ll mind her manners and will do absolutely nothing to jeopardize her safety or I’ll have her ejected onto the street.”
I flipped the top piece of paper on the contract stack and pushed it toward him.
“The very idea that she would walk in here and I’ll simply tell her the contents of my mind is preposterous. Your presence in my office is preposterous. I have had enough.”
“Look down.”
Augustine glared at me, then at the paper. On it in neat numbers I had written out the routing and account numbers followed by his username and password.
“How did you get this?” he snarled.
“You told me.”
Augustine grabbed the camera, rewound the recording, and watched himself recite his password. His face lost all color. He held the rewind button and listened to himself again.
He dropped the camera and lunged across the table. I had no time to move. His hands clamped my shoulders and he jerked me to my feet. A furious grimace distorted his face and his features rippled as if the illusion threatened to slide off his face. “What else?”
“I took nothing else. Except your middle name, Julien. Feel free to check the record. I would let go if I were you. I have shocker implants and I don’t want to use them.”
He released me.
I sat back into the chair. “Dealing with Primes is new to me. I did manage to learn some things, including that Primes never divulge the full extent of our talents. Truthseekers are among the rarest of Primes. What most people believe to be our primary talent—determining if someone lies to us—is in fact a passive field talent. It’s a side-effect of being a truthseeker, something that we do casually with very little effort.”
Augustine was staring at me. Anger and worry warred in his eyes.
“Do you know how Rogan realized I was a Prime? Someone had tried to kill my grandmother. I thought it was him and so I locked him with my will and I forced him to answer my questions.”
I could only maintain that hold for a few seconds, because bending Rogan’s will was like trying to contain a tsunami, but for those few vital seconds I’d broken him.
I had never before seen a man’s mouth literally hang open. It was deeply satisfying.
“You’re right. I’m a new Prime. But Victoria Tremaine isn’t. I’m here to tell you that everything you heard about her is true. Every horror story and ugly rumor you’ve caught—assume she can do it. She hates my family and she’ll go to any length to hurt us and she is capable of horrible things.”
That conveniently skirted the full truth but wasn’t exactly a lie.
“If you refuse to see her, she’ll wait until an opportunity to be within earshot of you presents itself and destroy your mind. If you tell her everything you know, she’ll rummage in your head anyway looking for more. She doesn’t care about your Prime status, your connections, or the size of your business. She goes after what she wants and she gets it.”
Augustine finally closed his mouth. His eyes turned dark. “Why are you here?”
“Because I want to shield your mind.”
“You want to hex me?” He clenched his teeth. “Hexes take weeks.”
“No. I want to create the appearance of a hex. When I opened Mr. Emmens’ mind to find out what Adam Pierce was after, I got a good look at how it was structured. The hex forms barriers within your mind, tapping into the very essence of your magic, and then wraps it all in a hard shell, rooted deeply in your psyche. If you use brute force to smash the shell, you will kill the mind that fuels it. You can only peer under it, carefully and slowly, guessing at the contents. The stronger the magic user, the harder it is to break the hex. If you let me, I’ll imitate this shell in your mind. You’re a Prime with a huge magic reserve and the shell will appear to be impenetrable. If Victoria Tremaine probes your mind, she’ll encounter the shell. Breaking it wouldn’t be an option—you would die and take your secrets with you. Probing further would require too much time and preparation, likely a magic circle and some knowledge of the answer to the question she is asking. She’s looking for my identity, which is a very specific piece of information. She can’t just sit and pick at your brain indefinitely. You would feel it. She’ll realize that it’s out of her reach.”
“How long will this fake shell last?”
“A few days.” It was a guess on my part. The book I’d been studying claimed that a false wall could last up to a couple of months if done correctly. Given that I had never attempted it before, a few days was a more likely estimate. “And I’ll need your help to make it. You have to open your mind and want for the shell to be formed in the first place.”
“Have you ever done this before?” he demanded.
“No.”
He leaned back, exhaling frustration. “What are the risks?”
“I could damage your mind.”
“What does that mean, Ms. Baylor?”
“I don’t know. But it is the only scenario I can think of that doesn’t end with you dead,” I said.
“Will I be assassinated if I decline?”
There was no point in lying. “Yes.”
“Why do you care? Wouldn’t it be easier to simply murder me?”
Because I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. Because that’s not who I am. He wouldn’t understand. I had to give him a reason he could wrap his mind around, something calculated that would spare his pride. “Because should there ever be a House Baylor, it will need powerful allies.”
Minutes stretched.
Augustine put his glasses on the table. “Rogan called me half an hour before our meeting.”
I’d asked him not to kill Augustine. I didn’t ask not to call. “What did he say?”
“He said that when you make a sequence of wrong choices, eventually you’re left with no choice at all. I thought he was speaking about Howling at the time. I realize now he managed to meld a rebuke and a death threat into a single sentence.”
Augustine faced me, his gaze direct.
“We’re sitting here because of my hubris. I made a sequence of poor decisions. I allowed you to interrogate a serial killer against my better judgment,
knowing that you were circumspect about your magic and realizing the full extent of your possible exposure. I did this because Cornelius is my friend and our respective social positions precluded me from offering him a handout and would’ve prevented him from accepting one, but I wanted you to take his case. I also allowed my name to be connected to that interrogation, because the idea of being associated with a truthseeker appealed to me. Then I made a deliberate choice to offer you an unfair contract. I could’ve treated you as what you are—a young, talented Prime with a rare skill set—but I chose instead to attempt to take advantage of your inexperience. Then, I resorted to manipulation to win a pissing match with Rogan, even though I had realized at that point that while my interest was purely professional, he was emotionally invested. And so here we are. You, my former employee, would like to violate my mind, and if I don’t allow it, my best friend will murder me.”
“Augustine . . .”
He held up his hand. “Please. I’ve known Rogan a lot longer than you. I understood the phone call. I’ve miscalculated this gamble and badly. I’m being saved by your inexperience and the fact that you haven’t yet learned to eliminate problems with a brutal preemptive stroke. If this situation occurred five years from now, I would be dead.”
“Augustine . . .”
“It’s quite humbling. I have worked and schemed, and I’ve managed to manipulate myself into a place where I have no choices left to me. I suppose there is a lesson in there somewhere.” He opened the top drawer of his desk and put a piece of white chalk on the table. “Do it. Let’s get this over with.”
An hour later I walked into the night. Cold wind cut right through my clothes. Fatigue wrapped around me, pulling me down to the ground like an anchor. I had sunk all of my reserves into the shell on Augustine’s mind. And now I would have to drive home. I didn’t want to drive. I wanted to lie down right here on the pavement and close my eyes. It looked kind of soft and inviting. Definitely better than staying upright . . .
Okay, I needed to get home.
I surveyed the parking lot. A lone Honda waited in the parking spot. Rogan leaned against it.
I walked over. “Where is Melosa?”
“Home by now.” He held the passenger door out to me. The thought of taking the keys briefly flashed before me. No. As tired as I was, I’d probably wrap the Honda around the nearest tree. I slid into the passenger seat. He got in next to me and drove out of the parking lot.
His magic filled the cab, brushing against me, the beast with sharp fangs, ready to lash out. For once I didn’t pull away. I had none of my own left. It curled around me like one of Diana’s panthers—dangerous, volatile, but for the moment calm.
The city rolled past my window. I was turning into someone else. Augustine said in five years I would’ve just killed him. A few months ago it had seemed like an impossibility, something I would never do. Now I could see the slippery slope of decisions that would lead me there. They all would be hard decisions, made for the sake of a friend or for the protection of my family, and each one would come a little easier until the things I promised myself I’d never do would become the default. Would I even recognize myself in five years? I was looking into my future and all I could see was a black hole and a woman in a dress like armor.
Tension radiated from Rogan. A grim coldness gripped his features, petrifying them into a harsh mask, like the faceplate of some ancient helmet. The magic intensified, wrapping tighter around me. Visions of blood and ash swirled before me, and beyond them, a harsh cold darkness . . .
I reached out and put my hand on his arm. He startled and glanced back at me.
The interior of the car wavered and another place pushed itself into my mind. A lodge, all soft electric light, amber wood, and glass, beyond which white mountains rose, the sharp lines softened with snow and the velvet cushioning of distant trees. Winter ruled outside, cold and severe, but inside, within the lodge, comfortable warmth saturated the air. I sat on a huge bed, the sheets silken and soft under me. A white blanket wrapped around me, soft as a cloud, and so deliciously warm. I smelled hot chocolate. I felt completely and utterly content. My life and all its problems remained far behind, and here, at the edge of the world in the snowy wilderness, I didn’t have to worry about anything.
I stirred and the illusion rippled. I was still in the car, Rogan was driving, and my hand still rested on his muscular forearm. He was projecting. It had to be a memory, probably from childhood. I didn’t know if he was doing it on purpose or if it was an unconscious side effect of him remembering it, but I had a choice. I could reject it and stay in this car, miserable and feeling sorry for myself, or I could let myself sink into the place where I was safe and warm while winter raged outside. I held completely still and welcomed it.
We didn’t say anything until he parked before our warehouse. The lodge melted into thin air. I unbuckled my seat belt. I would have to go inside and explain to my mother that she wouldn’t have to kill Augustine. I would have to explain what I’d done. It seemed so daunting right now.
Rogan turned the car off and reached out. His fingers wrapped around my hand, reassuring and trying to forge a connection between us.
“Did you send me the books?” I asked quietly.
“Yes.”
I leaned across the seat and kissed him. Time stopped and for a few blissful moments there was nothing except Connor, intoxicating and irresistible, the taste of him, the scent of him, the raw male power in his arms, and the tender seducing touch of his lips . . . And then I was out of the car and gone before the power of that kiss wore off.
Chapter 13
I opened my eyes to the blinking lights and loud beeping of my alarm. I slapped it down and swiped my phone off the night table. Three text messages: Rogan, Diana Harrison, and the third from an unknown number. I clicked Rogan’s first.
House Howling disavowed David. Lenora will see us this morning at eight. You and I are going alone. Cornelius’ dispensation specified that he must stay behind to protect Matilda.
So Cornelius got his blessing after all, but not exactly in the way he wanted. I clicked his sister’s text message. My brother rarely draws attention to himself. Don’t underestimate Cornelius. He’s a dangerous mage and he loves his wife enough, still, to sacrifice every animal he bonded with in her name. I hold you personally accountable for the safety of my niece.
Great. She’d known me for a whole five minutes and she already held me accountable.
I clicked the last text message. A picture of David Howling, smiling, holding a drink with his left hand and shooting with the index finger of his right. I’ve played this game before. I typed back, Cute.
Come on, text me back.
Nothing. Probably used a burner phone.
You’d think there would be some savagery in David’s eyes. Some indication that he was a cold, calculating killer, but no. They were warm and calm, their color a very pale hazel. His face was relaxed, his smile genuine. What makes you tick, David?
The message was sent to me, but it was really for Rogan. I forwarded it to him.
The response was instant. Cute.
Ha! Evil minds think alike.
Someone knocked. “Who is it?”
“It’s me,” Catalina said through the door.
“Come in.”
My sister stepped inside and carefully closed the door behind her. Her face was pale, her lips pinched together. “What happened?”
She sat on my bed and offered me a tablet.
“Is that Matilda’s?”
She nodded. “Matilda has an email address. Her mother would send her cute cat pictures from her work. She knows how to check her email and this showed up this morning.”
I glanced at the tablet. A video clip. Okay. I tapped it.
David Howling’s smiling mug filled the screen. “Hello, Matilda.”
Oh, you sonovabitch.
“I heard your mommy had to go away.”
Fury punched me.
“Do you miss your mommy? I’m so sorry that she went away. It’s not right when mommies just go away like that. But don’t be sad. You will see her very soon. I’ll make sure of it.”
He pointed his index finger at the screen, winked, and pretended to shoot. The video stopped.
The world had gone red and for a second I couldn’t even see.
“She is four years old.” Catalina’s lips trembled with barely contained rage.
“Has Cornelius seen this?”
“No.”
“Talk to Bern and tell him to scrub that email out of Matilda’s email box and off the server. This was designed to make all of us lose it and do something rash.”
Cornelius was already not in a good place. This email could push him over the edge.
Catalina grabbed the tablet. “You kill him, Nevada. Kill him, or I will. He isn’t touching one hair on Matilda’s head.”
“I will,” I promised her.
Thirty minutes later, showered, dressed, and suitably armed, I climbed into the passenger seat of Rogan’s Range Rover. Melosa nodded at me from the back seat. Normally I’d hide my gun in a canvas bag or a purse. Today I didn’t bother. My Baby Desert Eagle rested in a hip holster. Its magazine held twelve rounds, .40 S&W, and I’d brought two spare magazines, in the interior pocket within the lining of my jacket.
We drove downtown in silence, Houston sliding past our windows under an overcast sky. Lenora Jordan’s new HQ was a far cry from the marble elegance of the old Justice Center. Rogan had leveled it while trying to save Houston. The new Justice Center had been raised by one of the larger Houses as a business high-rise and bought by the city of Houston three days before it was set to open.
The new Justice Center was built with polished sunset-red granite, its facade a complex pattern of rectangles and triangles of insulated tinted glass. When the sun caught it just right, the entire building glowed, its tint changing with the time of day and color of the sky. Sometimes it was fiery orange, sometimes almost purple, and sometimes red. It stabbed at the clouds, a sharply cornered, massive obelisk taking up the entire block between Travis and Capitol streets. A meaner, leaner, harder tower, a monument to Houston’s resolve, daring any enemies to take a shot at it. People called it the Spire. The name fit.