I was sitting in Rogan’s kitchen, drinking coffee and eating another bear claw. The bear claw was dipped in a thin sugar glaze that crunched under my teeth with every bite and then melted in my mouth. It was probably ridiculously bad for me, but I didn’t care.

Across from me, Rogan was drinking his coffee. Last night, after I was done going through my emails, Rogan decided that we both needed a bit of exercise before bed. He was very convincing. I could’ve used another hour of sleep today. Instead I was up, drinking coffee and wearing my semi-professional work clothes: jeans, a T-shirt, and a soft oversized sweater that was big enough to obscure my gun.

Heart, Rivera, and Bug sat around the island, drinking coffee and talking in low voices.

“Where are we with surveillance?” Rogan asked.

Everyone went silent.

Bug cleared his throat. “No sign of Vincent. He’s laying low. I’ve been keeping an eye on the Harcourts. No movement there. No sign of Brian.”

“Sturm?” Rogan asked.

“He went back to his house after the restaurant and hasn’t left.”

“Victoria Tremaine?” Rogan asked.

Bug shook his head. “If she’s moving, I can’t see it.”

It was unlikely that Brian was being held at Sturm’s house. Too obvious and too damning if Brian’s presence was discovered. Most likely Brian was secured somewhere else. Vincent, on the other hand, would be at Sturm’s house, because if I were Sturm, I’d want him on a short leash after his last fun outing.

Rogan looked at Heart. “Fortification analysis?”

“I’ve sent people out to install additional lightning rods,” Heart said, “but there is not a lot we can do against a tornado. This building is solid and has a basement, and so do the two others we designated as barracks. I had the three basements stocked with first aid, water, and rations. We’re installing reinforced doors. We’ll drill evacuation procedures today.”

“The warehouse?” Rogan asked.

“It’s properly anchored and the steel walls will bend rather than break apart,” Heart said. “Technically, it’s rated to withstand 170-mph winds. Practically, it depends on who you talk to. If you ask steel building manufacturers, they’ll tell you stories of people who survived F-4 in one. But nobody knows what will happen if Sturm spins off a tornado and then holds it in one place.”

If Sturm did that, our warehouse would crumple like an empty Coke can.

“We need a shelter,” I said.

Heart nodded. “There are issues with that. The ideal shelter would be sunken into the floor; however, it would require engineering and careful construction to do it properly, because the shelter has to bear the weight of the warehouse and soil. That will take time, which we don’t have. The other option would be to construct a reinforced shelter within the warehouse; however, the warehouse is filled with heavy vehicles. When picked up by a tornado, they will become airborne projectiles, which have a high probability of crushing any shelter within the warehouse.”

“So our best option is to run to your basement,” I said.

“Yes,” Rogan and Heart said at the same time.

“Great.”

“Sturm and I are both offensive mages,” Rogan said. “Defenses are our weak point, so whoever throws the first punch has the advantage.”

And we couldn’t throw the first punch. We had no proof and no probable cause. Neither could Sturm, for that matter, not if he was hoping to keep his public image intact. It would be an unprovoked attack either way. The question was, who would snap first.

“We’re installing an early warning system,” Rivera said. “He can create a tornado out of thin air, but he can’t mask the drop in air pressure and change in the air movement. We’ll have several sirens ready.”

“I’ll brief your mother this afternoon,” Heart said.

My phone chimed. It was a text from Leon. Fullerton is here.

“I have to go.” I jumped off the chair, carried my cup to the sink, rinsed it, and stuck it upside-down into the dish rack. Rogan reached out and I let him catch me as I walked by.

“What’s the plan today?” he asked.

“I’m going to keep digging. The clock’s ticking, and we need to come up with the ransom by tomorrow.”

“Where do you expect to go today?” He’d asked the question very carefully.

“I’m going to meet with Fullerton at the warehouse now, and then I’ll go to the hospital to speak with Edward. Depending on what he tells me, I may be out in the city longer. I’ll have to play it by ear. I will be home in time to get ready for my dinner with Garen.”

“About that thing you asked,” Bug said. “Three, but only one offers an unobstructed view of the street.”

He was talking about the cameras facing Memorial Drive. Curiouser and curiouser.

“What’s that about?” Rogan asked.

“I’ll explain when I have something solid.” If I explained it now, he might tell Rynda, and I wanted to be one hundred percent sure before I dropped that kind of bomb on her. “I’ll know more after I talk to Edward.”

“Do you want to take backup?” Rogan asked quietly.

“No. I can’t run around Houston with armed guards, Rogan.” Especially if they were his armed guards.

“It’s better to have protection and not need it,” Heart said, sounding reasonable. “What’s the harm in taking a couple of people with you?”

“She doesn’t want to be seen with my people,” Rogan said. “She’s being watched. House Baylor must emerge as an independent House, not a vassal.”

Heart looked at him. “I thought that was settled.”

Rogan shook his head, barely. “No.”

“My apologies. I misunderstood the situation,” Heart said.

What were they talking about?

“I’ll take Cornelius with me,” I said. If I could pry him away from Zeus.

Rogan’s face told me he didn’t like it.

“My grandmother isn’t going to try anything in broad daylight, not after you took Dave apart. Sturm gave us forty-eight hours. I’m trying to find the thing he wants. It isn’t in his best interests to impede me, and I doubt he’d let Vincent out of his sight now. Trying to grab me off the street is risky and wouldn’t make sense. He already has all the leverage he needs. Bug will keep an eye on me and warn me if anything weird comes up.”

All the words I was saying made total sense, and they were bouncing off Rogan without making any impact. I had to redirect this before he thought up some creative ways to keep me safe and hamstring my investigation in the process.

The best defense is a good offense. “Where will you be today?”

“I’m going to see House Ade-Afefe in Austin,” Rogan said.

Ah. Now the paranoia made sense. He would be out of town, so if something happened, he couldn’t drop everything and rush over to my side to murder everyone in sight. “What kind of House is it?”

“They are weather mages,” Rogan said. “Very powerful House. We’ve done business before. I’m going to ask for help. I know who I want, but I doubt I’ll get her, so I’ll take whoever they’ll let me have. If they let me have anyone. I’ll be back in time for the dinner.”

Primes never did anything for free. “What will it cost you?”

For a second weariness claimed his face, then vanished so fast that if I wasn’t looking straight at him, I would’ve missed it. “It’s not the cost. I’ll have to explain the full extent of what we’re facing. I’ll have to do it in person.”

That meant explaining the conspiracy and the ramifications of picking a side. This was a no-way-back kind of decision. Once the choice was made, you were either against Caesar or with him. Either way, the choice wouldn’t be forgotten. What was it Sturm said yesterday? A man can often assume that he’s in the right, only to find himself unexpectedly on the wrong side of history. History was written by the winners. House Ade-Afefe would likely need a lot of convincing.

“Do you need me to come with you?” I asked.

“No.”

Yes, on second thought, bringing Victoria Tremaine’s granddaughter to deal with sensitive negotiations wouldn’t endear him to any House. It signaled he expected them to lie and he needed me to tell him when they did. My presence would shatter any illusion of trust like a wrecking ball swinging at a glass house.

“Okay,” I said. “Let me know if I can help.”

His arm was still around me, and he showed no signs of letting me go. His eyes brimmed with power, calculating, smart, and worried.

“Fullerton is waiting,” I reminded him quietly.

“He will wait.” Rogan reached for his laptop. “I want to show you something.”

I’d tell him I heard that line before but Bug, Rivera, and Heart were right there.

Rogan opened his laptop and clicked a file. An image of my mother filled the screen. She lay on the carpeted floor in some building, her gun pointing at a small perfectly circular hole in the window. Leon lay next to her. The Harcourt building loomed in the distance.

“Go to three alpha, three o’clock, ten mils,” Leon said.

The sector game. I remembered playing it in the kitchen when I was a child. You divided your field of vision into sectors by reference points. From doorway to table, sector one. From left table edge to centerpiece, sector two. From centerpiece to the right edge of the table, sector three . . . Then you moved on to depth. From the table to the island, sector alpha. From the island to the fridge, sector bravo. Then Mom would call out, and we’d identify. Salt on the left side of the table became two alpha, nine o’clock. When each of us got older, Mom took us to the firing range and the game got slightly more complicated.

Leon was playing it for real now.

“Contact,” Mom said. “Second window from the left. No target.”

“Bottom right corner. Little more to the left. Little more.”

Leon was breaking protocol. That wasn’t how you talked the sniper onto the target.

“Little bit more.”

He should be telling her to check parallax and mil. Once she got the mil, she would say it out loud, he would plug it into the ballistic computer, give the hold over, wait for the “Ready,” and then give wind call. None of that was happening. And my mother wasn’t correcting him.

“Fire,” Leon said.

Mom squeezed the trigger. The window shattered.

Leon laughed quietly under his breath.

“Did she hit the target?” I asked.

“The best we can figure out,” Rivera said, “the bullet struck something inside the building, made an almost ninety-degree turn, and took out the shooter at the other side. Leon can literally shoot around corners. The kid is magic.”

“Two bravo, six o’clock,” Leon said. “A little to the left.”

I would’ve never gotten away with that “a little to the left.”

Wait. We all had made trips to the range, including Leon. My mother knew. She had to have known about his magic before any of us. It would’ve come out at the range. When I had told her my big revelation about Leon’s talent, she had already figured it out.

Well, I was an idiot. Mom and I were overdue for a talk.

Another shot rang out.

“How many confirmed kills?” I asked.

“Thirteen,” Heart said. “It’s difficult to determine exactly, because as Rivera said, your cousin lines up shots that kill people two rooms over. Your mother fired twenty-one times. Your cousin laughed or smiled seventeen times, so we estimate the actual kill count at seventeen.”

Leon smiled when he killed people. I rubbed my face. “Maybe if I can get him some therapy . . .”

The four men at the island stared at me.

“He laughs when he kills people. He thinks it’s funny.”

“I don’t care if he laughs,” Rivera said. “As long as he’s next to me shooting out, I’m good.”

Rogan glanced at him. Rivera clamped his mouth shut.

“He isn’t laughing because he’s killing someone,” Rogan said gently. “He’s laughing because he’s finally using his magic. This is what he was born to do. In the moment the bullet hits the target, he doesn’t feel small, or weak, or useless, because it works. He would laugh the same way if he was shooting at sandbags. Think about how it felt when you used an amplification circle for the first time.”

When I sent my magic into the circle and that first rush of power came back, surging through me, twice as potent as before, it felt like I had learned to fly. Leon had wanted magic so badly. He didn’t even realize he had it.

“I hope you’re right.”

“Ask him.”

“I will.”

Rogan closed his laptop. “Please take Leon with you.”

“You want me to bring my baby cousin with me in case I get into a firefight?”

“Please consider it,” Rogan suggested.

“I’ll think about it.”

Rogan studied me. His power uncurled around him and wound around me, as if it too didn’t want to let me go.

“Be careful out there,” the dragon said.

“I’ll bring my sword and shield,” I murmured, brushed a kiss on his lips, and headed to the stairway.

Rynda stood on the stairs, just out of sight. She hurried up, pretending that I caught her walking up the stairs, but I would’ve heard her moving. No, she’d waited on the steps until I was leaving.

“How are you this morning?” I asked.

“I still don’t have my husband,” she said quietly.

“I’m working on it.”

“I know.”

There didn’t seem to be much left to say after that, so I took the stairs down.

On the bottom floor, to the left of the open doors, someone had rigged a big-screen TV. Sergeant Teddy sprawled in front of it. Matilda sat in the crook of his paw, a big bowl of trail mix on her lap. Jessica and Kyle leaned against Sergeant Teddy’s side. I rubbed my eyes to make sure I wasn’t seeing things.

On the screen, Bear in the Big Blue House sang a song about cleaning. Matilda picked some dried apples out of the bowl. Sergeant Teddy opened his mouth, and she put the fruit on his tongue. The enormous grizzly chewed. The children watched the show, content.

I snapped a picture with my phone and went home.

Fullerton waited in my office, as lanky and grim as I remembered. I stopping humming “Come on everybody, let’s clean up the house,” nodded at him through the glass, retrieved the cooler, and brought it to my office.

“I’ve received a request from House Sherwood,” Fullerton said. “Specifically, from Rynda Sherwood. She asked me to give you my full cooperation and assistance.”

I opened the cooler and let him look inside. “Could you sequence the DNA and determine if this ear belongs to Brian Sherwood?”

“Yes.” Fullerton looked at me, his long face thoughtful. “Is time of the essence?”

“Yes.”

“Do you require confirmation or proof that would stand in a court of law?”

“Confirmation will be sufficient.”

Fullerton pulled back his suit sleeve and held his hand above the ear, fingers splayed. Magic pulsed from him in a short, controlled burst. He raised his hand and tugged the sleeve back. “The ear doesn’t belong to Brian Sherwood or any other member of House Sherwood.”

I knew it. “Are you certain?”

“I’m never wrong,” he said.

“Thank you for your services. Please bill me.”

“I will,” he said.

“Have there been any inquiries on our account?”

“No. I would’ve immediately notified you. Is there a particular inquiry you’re waiting for, Ms. Baylor?”

“Yes. House Rogan.”

Fullerton paused, his face thoughtful. “You can receive requests for the genetic profile. You can also make them. They wouldn’t be honored until after your trials and the formal establishment of your House, but they can be made now. Good evening, Ms. Baylor.”

I saw him to the door, packed the cooler back into the fridge, and walked to Cornelius’ office. He wasn’t in it.

I could request Rogan’s profile.

What if he said no?

More importantly, did I really care if his genes aligned with mine or did I just want him the way he was, without any qualifiers?

Yes. I just wanted him.

I returned to my office and checked my laptop. Bern wasn’t up on the family network. I pushed the intercom. “Does anybody know where Bern is?”

“He left with Cornelius to check something out,” Leon responded.

“Where is everybody?”

“Your mom is with Grandma helping her in the motor pool. The control freak and evil incarnate are in the control freak’s room.”

Control freak and evil, huh. Someone was sore about something.

“What are they doing in there?”

“They won’t tell me. Something happened on Instagram. I looked at their accounts, but I can’t see anything.”

Ah. Leon had the curiosity of a cat. When you locked him out, it drove him nuts.

Everyone was busy. It was just me and Leon. The stars had aligned. I sighed.

“Come to the office.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here.”

I unlocked the small gun safe I kept hidden in the bottom drawer of my desk and took out my Sig 210 and a magazine.

Leon sauntered into my office and flopped into my client chair, a picture of teenage apathy.

I showed him the magazine. “Eight rounds, 9mm.”

Leon’s eyes lit up. He leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the gun.

“Manual safety. The barrel is machined from a solid block of steel. It’s an older gun, but it’s durable, reliable, and it’s very accurate. That’s what I practiced with and that’s what my dad shot.”

I pushed the gun and the magazine toward him. He swiped it off the table, slid the magazine into the gun, and sighted the hallway with it, all in one blink. One moment the gun was on the table, the next it jumped into his hand.

“Get a holster,” I told him. “And a zip-up hoodie. I shouldn’t see the gun under your clothes. I’m going out and you’re my backup.”

He leaped out of the seat and took off. I sighed. This was probably the wrong thing to do. Leon would turn seventeen in twelve days, right behind Catalina, who would be eighteen in three. I still needed to buy them both a gift. The way this was going, Catalina would end up doing trials right on her birthday. All the holidays were screwed up this year. First Christmas, now her birthday, and probably Leon’s birthday. Ugh.

In a year, Leon could legally enlist in the military, where he would be given a firearm and conditioned to use it. In a year and a half, he could be out in the field, killing people left and right. Nothing magical happened to separate your eighteenth birthday from your seventeenth. You became an adult, but you didn’t feel like one.

It’s time he knew. We couldn’t shelter him forever.

I pulled out my phone and texted Bern. Where are you?

Asking about what lead would spark a chain reaction of explanations, and knowing Bern, he’d start with him getting up this morning and then spend the next twenty minutes presenting it in a logical fashion.

I texted Arabella. What’s going on with you two?

Who the heck is Alessandro Sagredo and why did his name sound familiar?

I pulled my laptop closer and typed in the name. Alessandro Sagredo, second son of House Sagredo, Antistasi Prime . . . Oh. He was the Italian Prime the Office of Records was bringing in to test Catalina’s magic.

So he followed her on Instagram. What’s the big deal? He’s going to test her in the trials. Tell her it’s nothing weird.

Leon reappeared, wearing a loose blue hoodie. He was lean bordering on skinny, and the sweatshirt hung on his sparse frame. He could’ve hidden a bazooka under there and I wouldn’t be able to tell.

I fixed him with my serious stare. “You’re going as my backup. I don’t expect trouble, but if it happens, you shoot only when I give you the order. If you fire before I give you permission, I’ll never take you with me again, and I’ll make sure you don’t get anywhere close to a gun for the next year and a half. Do we understand each other?”

Leon frantically nodded.

“Good.”

The head of Edward Sherwood’s guard detail stared at me. He was a stocky, muscular man who looked like he could run through a wall, and he was doing his best to be intimidating. I had a feeling I was supposed to wilt under that stare.

“We won’t be surrendering our firearms,” I told him.

“Then you won’t see Mr. Sherwood.”

“Please ask him if he will see us anyway. This matter concerns his brother.”

“You’re not getting into that hospital room armed,” he said.

“The last time I saw Mr. Sherwood, I was armed, and I put myself between him and the creature that was trying to eat him.”

“We’re aware of your role, Ms. Baylor. House Sherwood is grateful for your assistance.”

It was time to pull out the big guns. “Before I arrived to the incident that resulted in this situation, my associate called to House Sherwood and informed your head of security that we believed Rynda Sherwood was in danger. We were told to mind our own business.”

The guard’s ice-cold composure cracked a little. “That person is no longer employed by House Sherwood.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. It’s very disheartening when you try to offer important information only to be brushed off. Please ask Edward if he would see us anyway. It’s important and urgent.”

The man stared at me. A switch clicked in his head. That’s right, the last time your people blew me off, your Prime was hurt and your chief of security was fired.

“Please wait here.” He turned around and walked down the hallway, leaving us in the waiting room under the watchful eyes of a man and a woman in House Sherwood uniforms.

Leon winked at them. They remained stoic.

My phone chimed. Cornelius. I answered the call. “Yes?”

“We’ve gone through Brian’s receipts,” Cornelius said. “On December 21st, he stopped at Millennium Coffee House. Brian doesn’t drink coffee or tea. Millennium Coffee House is located near the intersection of Gulf and the 610. He drove fifteen miles. There are sixteen coffee shops that are closer to BioCore.”

It made no sense for him to drive fifteen miles in Houston traffic for a coffee he doesn’t drink.

“Was he alone?”

“No. The barista remembered him because he ordered a fruit tea and then made a fuss because she wrote Bryan with a Y instead of Brian with an I on his cup. He met a man there. They sat outside and spoke for about forty-five minutes. She could see through the window. We showed her some pictures, and she picked Sturm out.”

And the pieces had fallen into place. “Thank you.”

“Does that help?”

“It’s exactly what we needed.”

“Fantastic. Here is Bernard.”

“Nevada?” my cousin said into the phone.

“Yes?”

“Bug and I tracked Brian’s logins. Someone used his credentials to log into his home network on December 21st. According to their emails and Rynda’s Facebook, they spent the evening with her mother-in-law and Edward.”

“Is there any way to trace what was accessed? Did they copy anything?”

“No. To a computer system, opening a file and copying it is pretty much the same thing. It doesn’t record the difference. All I can tell you is someone who wasn’t Brian Sherwood had complete access to his network.”

“Thank you.”

“We’re going home.”

“Be careful.”

“We will.”

I hung up.

The head of security emerged from the hallway. “He’ll see you now.”

Edward lay in a hospital bed, his skin only a couple of shades darker than the stark white of the sheets. Sunlight streamed through the open drapes, falling on a beautiful bonsai tree on the table next to him. A compact woman, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail, waited discreetly in the corner, watching me and Leon like a hawk. She carried a Beretta. Leon parked himself next to her, looking like he didn’t have a care in the world. She gave him a once-over and dismissed him.

The head of security stood guard by the door and showed no signs of moving.

I pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a man who dodged a bullet,” he said quietly. He touched the controls on the armrest of the bed, and it slowly moved to bring him into a semi-sitting position. “Have you found Brian?”

“No.”

“How’s Rynda?”

“She’s holding up.”

“She came to see me last night.” He reached out and touched the leaves of the bonsai.

“Did she bring the tree?”

“Yes. Satsuki Azalea, seventy-two years old. Flowers from May to June. The blossoms are beautiful pink and white. They have a really diverse range of flowering patterns, even on the same tree. I’ve wanted one for a while, but I’ve been so busy lately. She remembered.” He smiled, then caught himself. “Thank you for saving her and the children. And me. Us.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Anyone in my place would’ve done the same.”

“I doubt it.”

There was no easy way to say it. “How much do you trust your security people?”

I had to give it to him; even on his sickbed Edward managed a glare. “I trust them.”

“What I’m about to say can’t go past this room.”

“Say whatever it is.”

I kept my voice low. “Alexander Sturm is involved in the kidnapping of your brother.”

A heavy silence descended. Every time Sturm’s name was mentioned, people paused.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. We can’t prove it yet, but we’re certain.”

“But why?”

“Alexander Sturm and Vincent Harcourt are part of a conspiracy that involved Olivia Charles. They belong to an organization of Primes that’s trying to destabilize Houston so they can put their leader in power. They call him Caesar. Adam Pierce was also part of this conspiracy.”

Edward gaped at me.

“Sturm is under the impression that Olivia hid something in Brian and Rynda’s house. Something vital. He wants it back, but he refuses to state clearly what he’s looking for. He wasn’t happy with our failure to find the ransom, so he sent a severed human ear to Rynda to try to convince us to expedite our efforts.”

“Dear God.” Edward tried to rise.

“Please don’t get up,” the head of security said. “Please, sir. We need you to get well.”

Edward lowered himself back onto the bed.

“On December 21st, your brother visited Millennium Coffee House about fifteen miles from BioCore. He met Sturm there.”

I let it sink in.

Edward frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. We found an eyewitness who picked Sturm out of a photo lineup.”

“Brian had no reason to meet Sturm. BioCore doesn’t do business with Sturm Enterprises. And if he wanted to meet him, why go alone? Everyone knows Sturm’s reputation. Why didn’t he tell me about it?”

Those were excellent questions. “Later that night, when Brian and Rynda met you and your mother for dinner, someone used Brian’s credentials to log into his home network.”

He didn’t say anything.

“Brian’s kidnapping occurred in seconds. The people who perpetrated it were efficient and professional. Brian is predictable. He drives the same route to work and back at about the same time every day, along Memorial Drive, which is mostly wooded. There are three cameras along the route Brian takes to work, but only one offers an unobstructed view of the road.”

Edward still didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if he had connected the dots or not.

“They managed to force him to stop at the exact spot along his route where his kidnapping was guaranteed to be recorded. Thirty feet in either direction, and the crime would never have been caught on camera. It’s highly unlikely that a crew that efficient hadn’t done their homework and didn’t know where the cameras were located. It’s also interesting that once they tapped his bumper, Brian drove into the guardrail, conveniently marking the location of his kidnapping.”

Edward’s eyes turned dark. It was time to deliver the final blow.

“When Rynda asked Brian if he was okay, after the ear was delivered, he stated that he was in pain. When she asked him if his wound was treated by a doctor, he said it was. We contracted Scroll to perform a DNA analysis on the severed ear. It doesn’t belong to your brother.”

Edward looked up. His face tightened. His jaw set. He stared at the ceiling as if he were going to burn a hole in it with his gaze. His hands curled into fists, crushing the sheets. Edward Sherwood was monumentally angry, and he was doing all he could to contain his rage.

I waited.

He unclenched his jaw. His voice was a low growl. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

The bonsai creaked. Its trunk thickened, its branches thrust up, growing. Roots writhed under the soil.

“I’ll strangle him with my bare hands.”

Buds formed on the branches.

“I always knew he was a coward. But this is . . .” He shook with fury.

The ceramic planter cracked and burst. Pieces of it showered my clothes. Behind me Leon must’ve moved, because the security chief drew his gun.

The azalea spread its roots, grasping the table like some monstrous octopus. It had quadrupled in size, its branches hanging over the bed.

“This is beyond anything he’s ever done before. That scumbag. That cowardly, weak scumbag.”

The buds snapped open. A riot of flowers blanketed the tree, the delicate blossoms in all shades from white to intense pink so dense, you couldn’t see the leaves. A sweet scent filled the room.

Edward closed his eyes and breathed in, deeply.

The azalea bloomed harder, as if trying to comfort him.

“Put the guns away,” I murmured.

The security chief slowly lowered his weapon.

“He nearly killed his own children, the fucking moron,” Edward snarled. “He almost murdered his wife. He almost killed me. He ruined the future of our House. Now, when people talk of Sherwoods, they’ll think of murder, treachery, and conspiracy.”

His eyes snapped open.

“Fourteen years. Fourteen years I kept BioCore afloat. I pulled it back from the brink of bankruptcy after our senile asshole of a father drove it into the ground. I kept it afloat when Brian’s research stalled, because he needed time for himself, because he was too overwhelmed and under too much pressure. That little fucker, what the hell does he know about pressure? We all shielded him from it since he was a baby. I kept the creditors at bay. I made deals. I put my own future on hold to keep the House afloat. Olivia was only marginally connected to us, and the effect on our business was catastrophic. Olivia’s betrayal hurt us, but given time, I would’ve pulled us back from it. But now it’s over. He is the fucking Head of our House. His involvement will get out. Rynda’s already a social pariah. With her husband and her mother connected to this mess, nobody will believe she’s innocent. There is no way to overcome the taint. It will strangle the future of his children. He’s finally killed us. We’re done.”

I didn’t know what to say. That was decades of resentment spilling out.

The room was quiet as a tomb.

“Colin,” Edward said.

“Yes, sir?” the chief of security asked.

“Inform my mother that in light of the recent events, I’ll be assuming leadership of the House. What’s left of it. Explain to her that the golden child has driven us into the ground. Also, advise her to prepare for the BioCore bankruptcy filing.”

“Yes, sir.”

The security chief stepped out into the hallway.

Edward looked at me.

“I need to find out why,” I told him. “Could he have done it for money?”

Edward shook his head. “Rynda is independently wealthy. Last night she offered to bail out the company. She views all of our current problems as her fault.”

“Did you take her up on it?”

“No.”

True.

“Not only that, but I made sure that our personal wealth was at least partially shielded. If . . . when BioCore goes under, Brian will still have ample funds to live his life in comfort. Not extravagantly, but in comfort.”

“Is it possible that he did it to keep BioCore afloat?”

Edward laughed.

“I take it that’s a no.”

“No.”

Brian had very few ambitions. That left only one possible motive. “Did your brother ever express dissatisfaction with his marriage?”

Edward sighed. “He came to me about a year and a half ago and told me he wanted to divorce Rynda. He said his children were defective.”

Well. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him I would pretend I never heard what he said. Then I explained that Jessica and Kyle were his children and that as a father, he was supposed to love them unconditionally. He was supposed to protect them and take care of them. That they couldn’t be discarded or traded in for a new model like last year’s car. If he couldn’t bring himself to be proud of them, because they didn’t have the kind of magic talent he was hoping for, he still couldn’t abandon his responsibilities. I also reminded him what a charmer our father was, and how tragic it would be if Brian turned into our old man.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked me what would happen if he did it anyway. He said that the marriage was stressing him out.” Disgust dripped from Edward’s voice. “I reminded him that Olivia Charles had powerful friends. The effect on BioCore and his social standing would be devastating. I also told him that if that idiocy ever came out of his mouth again, I would retire and leave the running of the company to him, so he could fend for himself. That last one did it.”

“Is social standing that important to him?”

“Yes. Our parents made sure we had clearly defined roles. He is a brilliant researcher, and I’m his older brother, destined to be his caretaker. He doesn’t like when people talk about him in any way other than his assigned role. He tolerated Jessica because she is, in all likelihood, a Prime empath like her mother. But Kyle conflicted with Brian’s view of himself. Brian was a gifted Prime herbamagos, therefore his son would also be a gifted Prime herbamagos.”

If Rogan and I ever married and our children weren’t Primes, would he resent me? My heart squeezed itself into a tiny painful ball.

“My brother isn’t stupid. He knows perfectly well that his position as the Head of the House lets him float through life. Doors open. The maître d’ always finds his reservation, and if one hadn’t been made, a table is miraculously found anyway. People treat him with respect. Everyone minds his feelings. He doesn’t have to deal with investors and creditors. He doesn’t have to make painful decisions about firing people. He delegates his problems to me and his wife. Kyle threatened that. What happens when Brian retires? Who takes over? Does BioCore even have a future? It calls the very essence of who Brian is into question. There is nothing worse than a failing vector. The stigma of it is like poison. It stains the whole House.”

I’d heard the term before. A failing vector meant a person whose ancestors possessed potent magic, but who fails to pass it on to his children, so the family’s magic grows weaker with every generation.

“Do you think Brian is a failing vector?”

“I don’t care,” Edward said. “But no. I think Kyle will come into his own. And even if he doesn’t, he’s a bright child. Anyone who talks to him for longer than a minute can see it. My mother never cared much for children, even her own, but Olivia saw it. She adored him. She framed every painting he made.”

“Thank you for your time.” I rose.

He looked at me, his eyes haunted. “Have you told Rynda?”

“Not yet.”

“It might break her. I want to be there.”

“I’ll do my best to make sure you’re there, but I can’t promise anything. I don’t know what will happen.”

I left the room. Leon trailed me.

I wanted to take a shower to wash the stress off.

“He’s in love with Rynda,” Leon said. “His whole face lit up when he talked about her.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t he marry her? Why did she marry Brian?”

“Probably because Brian was the Head of his House, and Olivia Charles wouldn’t have seen Edward as a winner. She was very proud.”

We took the elevator down to the lobby.

“If we become a House, you’ll be the Head of House Baylor.”

“Yes.” And what joy that would be.

“We’d be a serious House,” he said. “You’re a Prime, Catalina is a Prime, Arabella is probably a Prime. Bern might be a Significant. We’d have four higher-tier magic users.”

“Mhm.” He’d obviously given it some thought.

“Are you going to marry Mad Rogan?” Leon asked. “You’d both be Heads of the Houses.”

Um. “He hasn’t asked me.”

I walked through the doors outside and blinked against the bright sunshine.

“Maybe you should ask him,” Leon said.

If only it were that easy. We headed to my car. The parking lot was half-deserted. I had parked on the side because the lot at the front entrance and ER was full.

“You just want to be related to Mad Rogan.”

“No,” he said, his dark eyes serious. “I want you to be happy.”

“I’m sorry?” I stopped.

“I want you to be happy,” he repeated. “He makes you happy.”

“Rogan and I may not be compatible.”

Leon looked like he had bitten into a lemon. “Like . . . sex . . . ?”

“Children, Leon. He’s a telekinetic and I’m a truthseeker. Our children might not be Primes. You saw how Brian dealt with it.”

“Does Rogan care?”

The last time we openly talked about it, Rogan told me that even though I thought it didn’t matter, it would. “I don’t know. He said he doesn’t—”

My phone rang just as a massive armored truck swung into the parking lot in front of us. A Vault vehicle flashed in my head. Grandma had worked on one before. It looked like an armored security truck from the outside and a stretch limo from the inside. Seating capacity of twenty-five. Shit. We’d never make it to our car. The hospital and Sherwood’s security was our best bet.

“Run!” I barked, and sprinted toward the hospital. Leon shot past me like I wasn’t even moving.

Magic punched the ground in front of me. The blast knocked me back. I stumbled.

A man popped into existence two feet from me. He was almost eight feet tall, slabbed with muscle and naked. His skin was bright red, the bright red of the biological armor of House Madero, and he had Dave Madero’s face. But that couldn’t be right, because Rogan had broken Dave like a toothpick.

Someone had teleported him flashed in my head.

The man’s hands clamped my shoulders. He jerked me off my feet. My bones groaned.

“House Madero says hello, bitch!” He shook me like a rag doll. “Where is your boyfriend? He hurt my brother!”

Not Dave. Frank or Roger Madero.

“Where is he?” He shook me. My teeth rattled in my skull. “Your grandma said to bring you alive. She didn’t say in one piece.”

That was too much. All the stress, worry, and fear combusted into fury inside me and burst into an inferno. He had my shoulders but he didn’t have my hands. I jerked my forearms up and clamped my fingers on his face. Pain flared inside me and rolled down my arms, turning into pure agony. Lightning shot out of my fingers and sank into the armored skin.

Madero screamed.

Welcome to the shockers, bitch. Someone snarled like a pissed-off animal and I realized it was me.

Madero howled and dropped to his knees. I clung on to him. My nails cut into his skin, drawing blood. His armor was failing.

The pain was almost too much to take.

Madero ran out of air. His scream broke into weak, desperate yelps, his voice hoarse.

A glowing light swung into my view. I had to let go, or I would spend all my magic and die.

I jerked my hands away. Madero collapsed at my feet, facedown, convulsing.

I reeled back. People were running from the truck toward us. The world was swimming, out of focus. I’d spent too much magic.

My cousin thrust himself into my view, his gun in his hands. “Now?”

“Now!” My hand found my Baby Desert Eagle.

Leon fired. There was no pause. He didn’t wait to sight. He didn’t breathe. He jerked the gun up and fired all eight shots in what felt like a single second.

Eight people dropped. Four remained. For a moment they paused, shocked, then spun around and dashed back to their truck.

I thrust my gun up, lined up a shot, and took it. The truck’s front left tire shuddered. Another shot, another tire. The four fleeing attackers veered away from the vehicle, running deeper into the parking lot.

I exhaled.

None of the eight bodies moved.

Madero lay at my feet, breathing like he was about to have a heart attack. He’d shrunk some and his skin turned an almost normal color.

“Five,” I said.

Leon looked at me, wild-eyed.

“House Baylor will have five higher-tier magic users. This is what you do, Leon. This is your magic.”

Leon stared at the eight bodies in the parking lot. “Oh my God. Oh my God. They’re dead. They’re dead dead.”

“Yes.”

He spun to me. “I killed them.”

“Yes.”

Leon’s expression crumbled. He bent over and vomited onto the pavement.