Wildfire: Chapter 5

I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and inspected myself. I wore a pale green dress that clung to me and a pair of light black sandals with tiny sparkles. The sandals gave me about three extra inches of height. Rogan would still tower over me, but now I would be three inches closer.

My hair and Houston’s humidity never got along too well, so I straightened it, and it fell in a smooth, shiny curtain, framing my face. My makeup was perfect: mascara, blush, powder, lipstick; everything was just the way I wanted it. I always hated wearing foundation, and even my face cooperated today. No breakouts.

The dress was a little plain. I needed something sparkly to offset the low neckline. I didn’t have anything on hand, so it would have to do as is.

I checked my phone. Almost seven.

Last touch-up on the hair. A tiny squeeze of the perfume bottle and . . . done.

I grabbed my purse and clicked my way down the stairs from my loft apartment to the media room. Leon and Arabella were playing WWF on TV.

“Yeah!” my sister roared. “Take it, take it, take it.”

On the screen, her female fighter was smashing the chair over Leon’s beefy fighter’s head. Grandma Frida sat in the corner of the love seat, sipping tea.

I cleared my throat.

Everyone paused the game and looked at me.

“Eleven out of ten!” Arabella declared.

Leon held up two thumbs.

“Now this is a proper ‘you can’t have my man’ dress,” Grandma Frida said.

“Who is going to take her man?” Arabella asked.

Grandma Frida squinted her eyes. “Rynda Sherwood.”

“Grandma!” I growled.

“What?” Arabella whipped around. “Why didn’t I know this?”

“She isn’t trying to take my man. Her husband is missing. Besides, Rogan doesn’t want her, he—”

My phone chimed. Rogan. Yes!

I flicked my finger across the surface.

“Oh no,” Grandma Frida said. “Oh no, no, no. That was something bad. Did he cancel?”

“He didn’t cancel. He got held up.”

“You look worried,” Grandma Frida said.

“Mhm.” Nothing short of a true emergency would’ve kept Rogan. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.

“Did he say where?” Grandma Frida asked.

“No.” For all I knew, he texted me between throwing a bus at someone and bringing down an office building.

“I bet he’s with Rynda.” Grandma Frida set her cup on the table so hard it clinked. “You should call that woman and tell her to back off.”

“Yeah, you should call that bitch out,” Arabella said.

“First, she isn’t a bitch. She’s a client with a missing husband. Second, butt out of my love life.”

“Call her out,” Arabella said.

“Tell her Rogan is yours!” Grandma Frida pumped her fist.

“Don’t let her take your man!” Leon declared.

We all looked at him.

“I was feeling left out,” he said.

“Butt. Out. I mean it.”

I clicked my way out of the media room and headed toward my office. That was the only place they wouldn’t follow.

There was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he got held up. And when he showed up, I would ask him about it. If he got a lead and didn’t tell me . . . He would regret it. Cooperation went both ways.

Cornelius was still in his office, reading something on his laptop and drinking coffee, bathed in the soft yellow light of the lamp in the corner. His door was open. I knocked on the glass. “You’re still here.”

He looked up from his laptop and smiled. “Matilda is spending the night with Diana.”

Progress. A few weeks ago Cornelius’ sister barely acknowledged the fact that her niece existed. “Is it their first time?”

Cornelius nodded. “My sister is nervous.” He raised his phone. “I have six texts so far. I had to remind her that she’s a Prime and the Head of our House.”

Prime or no Prime, five-year-old girls were scary. I babysat my sisters when they were that age. It still gave me nightmares. “Are you nervous?”

“No. I have faith. They will work it out. But meanwhile, I thought I would read more on the case. I would like to be good at this. I like doing this, even if I have none of the qualifications to do it. At least not yet.”

“When I started out, I thought I had no qualifications.” I leaned against the wall. “I thought it would be like the movies or that TV show Justice and Code . I would be busting through doors wearing an armored vest and chasing people down. In reality, even cops rarely do these things. You know how most murders get solved? Someone reviews a hundred hours of CCTV camera footage, spends a week talking to people in the neighborhood, gets a few tips, and then quietly arrests his guy.”

“Patience.” Cornelius mulled it over.

“A lot of patience. Being thorough and meticulous. Sometimes you end up following someone for weeks, just for a twenty-second shot of him working bench press, taken through a gym window, to prove that he is cheating on his workers comp.” I shrugged. “Most people would find it boring.”

“Is that why there are always books in your car?”

I nodded. “I still love it, even if it’s boring.”

“I think I might too,” he said.

I smiled, went to my office, and sat at my desk. The clock mocked me: 7:16. No new messages from Rogan.

Not good.

This whole mess with Rynda’s husband disappearing smelled bad. When I thought about it, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach, like I was standing somewhere high and peering over the edge. It was just too coincidental that her husband got kidnapped after her mother died.

In theory, it made sense. Once Olivia was out of the picture, her connections and influence vanished. Former friends now actively tried to distance themselves. House Sherwood was disoriented and trying to get its bearings in the new social climate. If Brian had enemies, it was the perfect time to strike.

That was precisely the problem. Brian had no enemies. His company was swaying back and forth, like a giant on sand legs. Even his direct competitor wasn’t interested in pushing it over.

Kidnapping for ransom was a rare crime in countries with robust law enforcement. In the US, it was extremely rare. The problem was retrieving the ransom. It put the kidnapper or their accomplice in direct contact with the family and law enforcement lying in wait. With all the different means for the Houses to track people, starting from hiring experts to using their own private security, kidnapping was too high-risk. Besides, the Houses would do everything in their power to avoid paying the ransom. It wasn’t about the monetary cost. It was the loss of power and influence.

You would have to be desperate to kidnap the Head of a House. Unless you were also a Prime. Or several Primes connected to a conspiracy behind the attempts to throw the country into a state of unrest so an empire could be created, a new Rome. The people behind it were tired of democracy. They chafed under the accountability and legal constraints that democratic society brought. They were already in positions of power because of their magic and wealth, but it wasn’t enough. They didn’t want to govern with their every step scrutinized; no, they wanted to rule with absolute power, never to be criticized or brought to answer for their offenses under the law. They wanted an empire, led by a modern-age Caesar.

Olivia Charles was one of those people. We’d stumbled onto this conspiracy when Adam Pierce attempted to burn down Houston, trying to destabilize it. When that failed, the conspirators concocted a different, less obvious plan. They engineered the assassination of a US senator, which Olivia Charles and David Howling carried out, and planned to use it to put political pressure on their opposition within the Assembly. When that didn’t work as planned, because Rogan and I interfered, they tried to use the incident to inflame unrest. In the end, both David and Rynda’s mother died for their cause. We still had no idea who Caesar was. Whatever Olivia and Howling knew had died with them.

Olivia Charles had been a pillar of the Houston elite. When she was involved with anything, including the secret conspiracy to overthrow the social order, she ran it. She wouldn’t settle for anything less. It would be beyond naive to cling to the notion that Brian’s kidnapping was an isolated incident, but I had to keep that possibility open. Dad always warned against jumping to conclusions too soon. That’s how mistakes were made, and in our line of business mistakes had real human costs: reputations, marriages, and sometimes lives.

I should check on Rynda. All of this was tying me in knots, and I was a stranger. Her husband had been kidnapped. In her place, I’d be losing my mind. I picked up my phone and dialed Rynda’s cell.

Ring.

Another ring.

Ring.

Something was wrong.

Ring.

Ring.

You’ve reached Rynda Sherwood. Please leave a message after the tone.

Shit. I jumped up and marched to the front of the office, where I’d left my spare sneakers in the break room.

“What’s wrong?” Cornelius asked from his desk.

I kicked off my shiny pumps and pulled the old shoes onto my feet. “Rynda isn’t answering her cell.”

“Perhaps she didn’t hear it ring,” Cornelius said.

“It’s the number Brian’s kidnappers used for their ransom calls. That phone is the most important thing in her life right now. She would have it on her at all times.” And I was the person she had trusted to fix it. She would take my call.

Cornelius got up and grabbed his jacket.

I sped down I-10. The beltway had been clogged all to hell, and the I-10 was a nightmare, but this time of day the surface streets were even worse. There were about eleven miles between our warehouse and Rynda’s house and I was driving like a maniac.

Cornelius took his cell from his ear. “Still no answer.”

We’d called Rynda three times in the last two minutes.

“Please try Edward Sherwood.”

“No answer on his cell.”

“Try BioCore.”

If people would just get out of my way, we could be there in fifteen minutes.

“I’m trying to reach Edward Sherwood,” Cornelius said into his cell. “It’s an emergency concerning his sister-in-law.”

A white truck cut me off. I braked, avoiding slamming into its back by two inches.

“Cornelius Harrison. She’s in danger. . . . I’m a Significant of a House. I’m telling you that the wife of the Head of your House is in danger. Do your duty and send assistance.”

Cornelius glared at the phone, incredulous. “Edward already left, and this idiot says he has orders to keep me from entering the building. He hung up on me.”

The traffic parted in front of me and I strong-armed my way into the right lane. We tore down I-10 and took the Wirt Road exit, flying through it like a bullet. I made a sharp right onto Memorial Drive and raced down the street. Trees flew past us, dark creepy shadows in the early night.

I pressed the voice button on my steering wheel and pronounced each word clearly. “Call. Rogan.”

My phone, tethered to the car’s stereo, obediently dialed Rogan’s number.

Ring.

Please answer.

Ring . . .

“Yes?”

“Rynda isn’t answering her phone.”

He swore. “Where are you?”

“Two minutes from her house.”

“Who’s with you?”

“Cornelius.”

Rogan swore again. “Why didn’t you take backup?”

“What backup, Rogan? Edward isn’t answering his cell either.”

“I have twelve people in my HQ.”

“They’re your people. I can’t just walk up to them and order them around.”

How exactly did he think that would work? Hi, I’m Rogan’s girlfriend, I need you to come risk your lives for his ex-fiancée whom you didn’t want to let into your base before . . . Yes, they would drop everything and rush right over. They were his people, not mine. They had no loyalty to me.

There was a pause. “I’m on my way. My people will be coming to back you up. Be careful. Don’t charge in there and get killed.”

The line went dead.

I made a left onto Rynda’s long, winding driveway. The headlights plucked a prone body in a Sherwood Security uniform from the darkness. He was sprawled across the driveway, hands outstretched. Something crouched over him, something furry, with a hunched-over back and paws that looked like hands with fingers and long claws. It glanced up. Two pairs of watery yellow eyes glared at me, set one under another on a nightmarish face above a mouth filled with a forest of needlelike deep-water teeth. Wet, bloody flesh hung from its jaws.

I rammed it. The armored CR-V slammed into the body, crushing the creature. The impact reverberated through the car. A wet thud hit the undercarriage. Something scratched at the metal. I slammed on the brakes, reversed, and backed over it. Bones crunched. I stomped on the gas pedal and we rolled over it again. If it was still alive, it wasn’t happy. I sped forward.

“Was that a summon?” I asked.

Cornelius swallowed, his light eyes opened wide.

“Cornelius?”

“Yes.”

A summoner mage had reached deep into the arcane realm and pulled that thing out and nobody knew how many more. Average and Notable level summoners could summon a creature but it vanished the moment they lost focus. Significants could summon several, and when Primes reached into the arcane realm, whatever they brought back stayed in our world permanently until they banished it back. Rogan and I had come up against summoned creatures before. They were hard to kill. I should’ve checked on Rynda sooner.

The front door stood wide open, spilling warm yellow light onto two bodies crumpled in the doorway. A man and a woman, their green uniforms stained with red. Something had eaten their lips and ears.

I slid the CR-V as close to the door as I could, shut off the engine and the lights, popped the glove compartment open, and grabbed my Baby Desert Eagle and a spare magazine. Twenty-four shots. I had my backup Sig in there too.

“Cornelius, have you ever fired a gun?”

“No. I don’t feel comfortable with guns.”

Scratch that idea. The last thing I needed was him getting uncomfortable and shooting me in the back by accident.

“There are seven creatures in the house,” Cornelius said. “I feel them moving.”

“This is an armored car. You’re safe here.”

“I’m not staying behind. I have to at least try to be useful.”

“I thought animal mages had no power over summoned creatures.”

“I never tried to make friends with one.”

“I don’t think they want to make friends.” I was pretty sure they wanted to kill us and devour our corpses.

“I’d like to come,” Cornelius said. His mouth was a thin firm line. His jaw muscles were locked. His gaze was direct. I knew that look. I’d seen it before on Rogan, Leon, and my own father. It was the look of a male who’d made up his mind and would not allow logic, reason, or arguments to interfere with his chosen course of action. If I left him in the car, he would follow me. I couldn’t really stop him and I had no time to argue.

“Stay behind me.”

He nodded.

I slipped out of the car, brought my gun up, and walked to the door, forcing myself to pay attention to the bodies. The guards were dead. Very dead, beyond all help. Someone had taken their weapons. The odor of blood hit me, salty and awful, mixing with something else, an odd stench that reminded me vaguely of ozone during a storm. I swallowed down bile and stepped over the corpses into the brightly lit foyer.

Blood marred the expensive marble tile, bright red against the soft cream hues. A few long, fading out smudges—someone had slipped frantically in his own blood, trying to get away. A bloodstain with feathered edges, as if someone had pressed a paintbrush against the floor—someone’s bleeding head met the marble tile. A long swipe—whoever had fallen here was dragged into the living room and he or she had tried to grab on to the floor with bloody hands. Please don’t let it be Rynda or the kids. Please.

I padded along the wall, avoiding the bloodstains. I was so glad I dumped my pumps for the sneakers. Best decision of the night.

The vast living room opened in front of me. The overturned Christmas tree lay on the floor, pointing like an arrow toward the center of the room, where, twenty feet away, two creatures crouched on their haunches over another dead body splayed out on the Oriental rug. About five feet long from head to the base of a prehensile tail, they had the build of a sleek greyhound, but there was something simian in the way they sat on their haunches, picking at the body of a young man with their black paw-hands armed with long white claws. Their stiff, greyish-blue fur stood straight up like bristles on a boar. Their heads, round and crowned by bat ears, swiveled toward me.

The man they were eating looked barely twenty. Death had frozen his face into an expression of utter horror. He had known he was about to die. He probably felt it as they ate him alive. Anger swept through me. They wouldn’t be eating anyone else.

Summoned creatures or not, they looked similar enough to our animals, which meant their eyes were close to their brain. Brain was an excellent target.

I fired.

The gun roared. The first shot tore into the left creature’s muzzle. Missed. The second took it in the right top eye. The bat-ape stumbled back.

I turned and fired at its friend. Bullets punched into the second beast’s face, ripping through bone and cartilage.

Two shots.

Three.

The bat-ape collapsed facedown.

The first beast jerked on the floor, gripped in spasms, painting its own blood onto the rug. I carefully stepped over the body and put another bullet into the back of its skull just in case it decided to get up. Six rounds gone.

Cornelius touched my shoulder, pointed to the right, toward the kitchen, and held up one finger.

Something thumped above us. Echoes of faint voices floated down.

If we went up the stairs and the thing in the kitchen decided to follow, we’d be in a lot worse shape. Being attacked from the rear wasn’t fun.

I moved into the kitchen, slicing the corner. A dark shape leaped at me from the kitchen island. I squeezed off a single shot before the bat-ape landed on me. My back slammed against the floor. All of the air rushed out of my lungs. The beast tore into my shoulders, pinning me down. The awful mouth gaped open, the needle teeth like the jaws of a trap about to enclose my face. The odor of ozone washed over me.

Something smashed into the beast, knocking it off me. I rolled on my side. Cornelius stepped over me and bashed the beast’s head with a frying pan.

The bat-ape tried to rise.

He bashed it again, then again, bringing the frying pan down like a hammer. Blood splattered the walls. The bat-ape shook and lay still.

Cornelius straightened. I got off the floor and looked at the mangled corpse. Cornelius hefted his frying pan, pondering the body.

“But you don’t like guns?” I whispered.

“This is different,” he whispered back. “This is how an animal kills. This feels more real.”

My new employee was a closet savage, but I wasn’t going to complain. I would take this surprise savagery and be grateful. “Thank you.”

He gave me a solemn nod.

I left the kitchen and crept up the stairs. Cornelius followed me.

“Any luck with making friends?” I whispered.

“No. Their minds are very primitive. It’s like trying to bond with an insect. All I feel is hunger.”

Ahead, the staircase turned in a grand sweep. A low eerie growl came from deeper within the house. All of the tiny hairs on the nape of my neck rose. A voice floated back, urgent, female, but too low to make out the words. Rynda.

We rounded the bend and I moved deeper into the house toward the sound. I glanced at Cornelius. He held up four fingers. Four creatures. I only had four bullets left in this magazine. I’d need a lot of firepower in a hurry. I ejected the magazine, slid it into my pocket, and put my spare in. Thirteen shots, twelve in the magazine and one in the chamber. I’d have to make them count.

A short hallway turned to the left, bringing me into the second living room.

“. . . bleeding out. There is no need for violence,” Rynda said. Her voice trembled.

“Give me the file and all your problems go away.” Male voice.

“How do I know that you won’t kill us?”

“You’re playing for time, thinking that whoever fired that gun downstairs is going to rescue you.”

I pressed my back against the wall by the doorway. I couldn’t see into the room, and once I got in there, I’d have to act fast.

“I’ve been doing this a very long time. Nobody is coming to save you, Rynda.”

Cornelius closed his eyes and opened them slowly. They were very blue and luminescent, almost catlike.

“Your knight in shining armor is clutching at his guts on your floor. Apparently, you don’t care.”

A man moaned.

“Stop it!” Rynda yelled.

“Keep going the way you’re going and I’ll make you watch as they eat him alive.”

“Leave him alone!”

“Fine. Pick a kid. I’ll do one of them instead.”

“You wouldn’t dare, Vincent.”

“You know perfectly well that I would. Just give me the fucking file. This mother’s last stand is getting tiresome. Here, I’ll pick for you. That one.”

“Mom!” a little girl screamed.

I lunged into the room. Someone pressed pause on the world, the room crystal clear in a split second. On the left, a dark-haired man in black clothes with his arms crossed on his chest. The summoner Prime. Vincent.

A creature waited next to him, indigo blue, with a spray of ghostly black and paler blue rosettes and spots across its fur. At least two and a half feet tall at the shoulder, six feet long, with a thick neck crowned with a fringe of tendrils, a short wide muzzle with dagger teeth, and wide paws as big as my hand. It reminded me of a tiger.

Two bat-apes crouched by Vincent, one by his feet and the other on the table behind him. On the right, fifteen feet away, the third bat-ape sat over Edward’s body. Edward lay on his back on the blue rug. A wet wound gaped in his stomach. The third bat-ape was digging in it with its claws. Edward’s eyes were open and filled with pain.

Rynda stood behind Edward, her arms around her two children, her face a bloodless mask.

If I killed Vincent, it would cure everything that was wrong with this picture.

“Run!” I barked, and fired.

The world snapped back to its normal speed in a roar of gunfire. The bat-ape by Vincent’s feet jerked upright, throwing itself into the path of the bullet meant for the summoner. I’d missed by a tiny fraction of a second.

I pumped three bullets into the bat-ape. Its head jerked with each impact, but it still stayed upright.

Four.

Five.

Rynda didn’t move. She just stood in the same spot like a deer in headlights. Damn it.

The creature by Edward leaped over his body and charged me. I pivoted and put six bullets into its skull. It toppled over. I spun back. The first bat-ape sprawled on the floor, dead. The last bat-ape had taken its place, blocking Vincent.

Only one shot left. I put it into the bat-ape’s left lower eye, ejected the magazine, brought the other out . . .

“I wouldn’t,” Vincent said.

The feline beast snarled, a strange sound that was half pissed-off tiger and half the deep bellow of a sea lion. The fringe of bright blue tendrils, six inches long, rose in a collar around its throat, the thickened ends glowing with bright blue. His huge maw gaped open, his dagger teeth an inch from Rynda’s daughter.

“This was fun,” Vincent said. “Drop the magazine.”

I opened my hand and let it fall to the floor.

“Put the gun down.”

I crouched and lowered the weapon to the floor.

“Kick it.”

I gave the Baby Desert Eagle a nudge with my foot. The gun slid across the floor to the left side. If I threw myself down, I’d be able to grab it. If I could get close enough to Vincent, I could shock him.

The last bat-ape, Vincent’s new meat shield, crouched, revealing the summoner. Vincent was about Rogan’s age, handsome, dark brown hair, a square jaw, dark eyes, and the perfect amount of scruff on a dimpled chin—generations of all the right genes in all the right places.

If I lunged at him, the bat-ape would tear me apart.

Vincent rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I have to say this. You there, dashing male secretary! Drop the frying pan.”

The pan clattered to the floor behind me.

Vincent smiled.

That languid, assured smile told me everything I needed to know: none of us would walk out of here alive. He would kill me and Cornelius, then he would finish off Edward, Rynda, and the kids. Vincent was one of those people who derived pleasure from wielding power over others, and there was no greater power than life or death. He would toy with us, like a cat with an injured bird, then he would kill us.

“The next time someone tells you to run, Rynda, you should take their advice,” he said.

I should’ve been terrified, but instead I was angry. “Takes a lot of balls to terrorize two children.”

He glanced at me. “Another idiot with moral scruples. What is it today? Would you like to volunteer instead?”

“Yes.” I had only one shot at this. I pushed my magic out and gripped him in its fist.

Shock slapped Vincent’s face. He tried to move and couldn’t. His mind writhed in the grip of my will. Holy shit, he was strong.

I shook, straining to hold him, trying to claw at his mind. His will clashed with mine. It was like trying to hold a fire hose with the full blast of water jettisoning out of it. He was a Prime and his power was off the charts. It took all of my willpower to contain him. I couldn’t even move.

I had to ask questions. If I didn’t, he would overpower me. Questions would force him to conceal the truth and drain some of his power.

My voice came out deep, every sound dripping with magic. “What’s your name?”

Damn it. Should’ve asked something more useful.

His face shook with the effort of trying to break free.

The two summoned animals stared at him, confused.

My hold was slipping.

Now, Cornelius. Now. Do something. Rynda, run. Save yourself. Come on.

He bared his teeth. He let his creatures feed on people. He was going to murder Rynda’s children, who had no say in any of this. Rage erupted in me, boosting my magic. My will crushed Vincent’s.

A raw, guttural snarl tore out of him. “Vincent Harcourt.”

Pain blossomed at the base of my neck and rolled down in a heavy wave, like molten lead. My teeth rattled. The strain ground down my bones, as if someone took a cheese grater and drew it across my spine.

“What do you want from Rynda?”

The world wavered. Blackness swirled in the corners of the room, threatening to expand and swallow me. I couldn’t pass out. I had to hold on to consciousness.

Beads of sweat dotted Vincent’s hairline. A tremor shook him. His mind opened slightly, and within its depth, I sensed the solid wall of a hex. I had done something like that before, but I had created the illusion of it. This was the real thing, a trap saturated with magic.

“Her . . .”

My power brushed against the hex, and I almost recoiled. It felt familiar. It was set by a truthseeker.

“. . . mother . . .”

My grip slipped. Agony exploded in my brain, and I stumbled back from the impact.

“You fucking bitch,” Vincent snarled.

The bat-ape charged me, swiping with its hand. I jerked back, but its claws grazed my leg, painting a red-hot line of pain across my left thigh.

The massive cat-thing jumped in front of me, shockingly fast, knocking the bat-ape aside. The smaller creature flew from the impact, landing on my gun. It tried to rise, but the cat-monster pounced. A massive paw rose, claws flashed, and the cat-monster ripped the bat-ape apart with a single swipe. Thick red blood poured on the floor.

“What the fuck!” Vincent snarled.

“The pact is made,” Cornelius said, his voice distant and otherworldly.

“The hell it is. It’s mine!”

Magic snapped out of Vincent, gripping the cat.

I dove left, trying to push the bat-ape off my gun. The heavy body refused to move. My hands slid in the blood.

Cornelius and Vincent stood face-to-face, the cat creature crouching by Cornelius. Magic churned between the two men. I couldn’t see it, but I felt it.

I put my legs into it, heaved the beast aside, grabbed my blood-soaked Baby Desert Eagle, and spun around, scrambling to grab my magazine.

Cornelius opened his mouth and sang out a long note that sounded like the howl of a cat.

Vincent clawed the air with his hands. The magic swirled away from Cornelius, sparking in the empty air. A dark knot of smoke formed above the floor, shot through with lightning. He was about to open another portal.

I slapped the magazine into the gun. Got you, you bastard.

Rynda screamed. Power erupted from her in a torrent and slammed against Vincent.

I fired. The gun roared twice.

He jerked a fraction of a second before I squeezed the trigger, his face contorted with raw panic, and went through the window in an explosion of glass shards.

No.

I jumped to my feet and ran to the window. A well-lit backyard stretched into the night, the pool perfectly still. My first shot had grazed his shoulder. My second had gone wide. I was aiming for his head. If Rynda hadn’t done whatever she did . . . It didn’t matter. Vincent was gone.

Rynda collapsed on her knees in front of Edward’s body. The kids wailed. Edward raised his head and tried to say something.

Rynda grabbed his hand. “Don’t speak. It will be okay.”

The blue cat creature rubbed its head against Cornelius’ hand.

Vincent got away. I wanted to throw my gun against the wall. I didn’t, but I really wanted to. Instead, I pulled out my phone and dialed 911.

Rogan’s people beat the paramedics by four minutes and they brought Dr. Daniela Arias with them. When they found us, I was pressing Cornelius’ bundled jacket against Edward’s wound, the kids were wailing despite Rynda’s best efforts to calm them down, and the monster cat was making demonic noises Cornelius claimed was a form of a purr. Cat wasn’t an accurate description. There was something feline about it, something reminiscent of the broad powerful tiger, but its nose was a complicated thing of four nostrils, and the fringe of tentacles that ringed its neck moved on its own. The beast looked at me with an understanding, as if it was a lot smarter than any Earth animal. It was just odd. Really odd and unsettling.

Rogan’s people stabilized Edward, moved all of us into the upstairs living room, which was free of the nasty-smelling corpses, assigned a man with a Beretta tactical shotgun to guard us, established a perimeter, and began a systematic sweep of the house and the grounds. Cornelius and his new pet went to help.

While they did that, I called home, told Bern what happened, and then did a quick search on Vincent Harcourt. Vincent, the only son and heir apparent of House Harcourt, Prime, Summonitor, which was the official term for summoner mages. No convictions, no criminal records, worth around fifty million dollars. Summoning didn’t have great applications in the real world, but the Harcourts clearly had done well for themselves.

Rynda held Edward’s hand until the paramedics took him away.

“He’ll make it,” Daniela said. “The damage wasn’t significant. The main danger is infection.”

“Thank you,” I told her.

She squinted at me.

Dr. Arias and I didn’t see eye to eye. She’d tried to warn me that my relationship with Rogan was a very bad idea, and I didn’t listen to her advice. I’d also threatened her. Considering that Daniela was at least eight inches taller than me and built like a woman who could stop a horse in full gallop by grabbing it, in retrospect, threatening her wasn’t one of my wiser decisions. But I wanted to be with Rogan and I wouldn’t let anybody stop me.

And he was still missing in action. Worry gnawed at me.

“Is any of that blood yours?” Daniela asked.

“Some.”

“So you have an open wound and you’re covered in blood from the arcane realm.”

“Yes.”

“Were you planning on letting me know about it?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Right now.” She would kill me for sure.

“How is it that nobody else has any blood on them?”

“Uh . . .”

She reached into her bag and pulled out a giant bottle of water and another of alcohol sanitizer. “Let’s see it.”

I hiked up my dress. Three bright scratches tore across my left thigh. “Just scratches. Also shoulders.” I was pretty sure the claws had punctured me.

Daniela sighed and got out a syringe sealed in plastic and a vial.

“What is that?”

“Antivenin. The creatures secrete venom on their claws. Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“It should.” She tore the plastic off the syringe and stabbed it into the vial through the seal on top. “It will hurt in about ten minutes if the venom is neutralized.”

It hurt like someone stabbed me with a hot poker. My thigh was on fire. My shoulders burned. It took her about fifteen minutes to thoroughly sanitize my wounds and seal them with a skin adhesive. None of it was deep, but it hurt like hell.

Then she started cleaning my hands and legs. By the time I was released, I felt like I was scrubbed with one of those green scouring pads used to get dried-on crust out of pans. My skin was clean. My dress was another story. There was no way to expose the shoulders without taking it off completely. We had to cut it. That hurt almost as much as the antivenin.

“Done,” Daniela said.

“Thank you.”

She squinted at me again.

I got up and moved to where Rynda and the children sat on the love seat. The kids were curled up around her. Kyle had finally fallen asleep. She’d covered him with a blanket. Jessica was almost there too, her face sleepy, her eyes closing, tucked into the corner of the couch.

I sat across from them on a footstool, trying not to wince. Rynda glanced at me. She looked like she’d been through hell and back.

“Walk me through it,” I told her.

“Right now?”

“Yes, please.”

“We were getting ready for bed. I went to use the bathroom and while I was in there, Jessica came and told me that Kyle ran away. We started looking for him. That was when Edward arrived.”

Her voice broke. She sniffled.

“He wanted to apologize. He felt bad, because he thought Brian was just off on one of his hiding sprees. He helped me look for Kyle. We found him in Brian’s office. He refused to go to bed, because he wanted to wait until his daddy got home. I heard gunfire downstairs, so I locked the door. Then one of those things went through the window. Edward grabbed a chair and hit it. It ripped into him and then he collapsed on the floor. Then Vincent came.”

Truth. “Who is Vincent?” I already knew, but it didn’t hurt to have her take on it.

“Vincent Harcourt of House Harcourt. We went to school together. He was a bully and he grew up into a despicable bastard.”

“That’s a bad word,” Jessica said, her voice sleepy.

Rynda kissed her hair. “He is a very bad man.”

“What did he want?”

“A file. He wanted one of my mother’s files. I told him I don’t have any of her files. The estate is still in probate. I don’t even have access to her house. He didn’t believe me. He said he knew for sure I had the file.”

“Do you have any idea what he might be talking about?”

She shook her head. “No. He had one of those things snap its teeth an inch from my children’s necks. I would’ve given him everything.”

“Did your mother interact with Harcourt?”

“I don’t know, okay!” Rynda’s voice rose. “I don’t know what my mother was involved in. Everyone assumes I do, but I don’t know anything! She didn’t share. She didn’t ask for my advice. Will you just leave me alone? Just for a few minutes, for the love of God!”

Truth.

“She saved your life,” Daniela said over my shoulder. “She’s trying to find your husband. Maybe you could stop being uncooperative for a few minutes and make an effort?”

Rynda opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

I could’ve hugged Daniela. She’d break me in half, but it would be worth it.

“I thought we were going to die,” Rynda said in a small voice. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“What happened at the end?”

“I emanated. He felt everything he made me feel. All my fear. All of my desperation. I don’t do it often. It’s a very violent thing to impose your emotions on others. I just couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

“Thank you.”

I stood up.

The guard at the door stood straighter. Rogan walked into the room.

Rynda ran past me and threw her arms around his neck.

Oh for goodness’ sake. Really?

“It was awful,” Rynda said.

“You need to pack,” Rogan said, gently hugging her back. “I’m taking you and the kids out of this house.”

“Okay,” she said.

He didn’t say anything else. She stood for another long moment hugging him, then her hands dropped, and she took a step away.

Rogan turned to me. He took in my sneakers, my ruined bloodstained dress, the bandages on my legs, and then I was in his arms.