Burn for Me

“I can’t believe you,” my mother snarled.

“You can stop yelling at him,” I said. “It was my call.”

Mom spun around. We stared at each other.

“Tomorrow you will go to MII,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but it had about as much give in it as a steel beam. “You’ll tell them you’re off this job.”

I braced myself. I’d known this moment would come sooner or later, and I’d been dreading it. “No.”

My mother squared her shoulders. “Fine. Then I will do it.”

Mother had lost her license four years ago. She blamed herself for it. If anything happened to me, she would blame herself as well. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to stir up all that guilt and heartache, so I tried to keep my voice as gentle as possible. “You don’t have the authority to speak for the firm. The agency is in my name.”

The kitchen went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Catalina’s eyes were as big as saucers.

My mother’s face turned into a cold, flat mask.

“The decision is mine,” I said. “I’m the one licensed. We are going after Pierce.”

“How are you going to contain him?”

“I don’t have to contain him. I met him and I’m talking him in.”

“How is that working for you?” Mother asked. “Because you looked half dead when I found you on the doorstep.”

“That wasn’t Adam Pierce. That was Mad Rogan.”

Mother recoiled. Leon made a choking noise.

“I thought he was out,” Bern said.

“He’s in. Apparently he does care about his cousin.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Mother’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you have any idea what kind of fire you’re playing with?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It’s just money.”

“It’s not just about money.” My voice went up. “It’s about our family. I won’t let them push us around just because they feel like it. I won’t let them uproot us. They don’t get to do it.”

“Nevada!”

“Yes, Mother?”

“We can start over!”

“And how long will that take? Without equipment, without a house, without our client database? You know most of our business comes from word-of-mouth recommendations, and those recommendations are for Baylor Investigative Agency. MII will take our name. When our phone is disconnected, and our website is down, people will assume we’re out of business and move on. It will take years before we rebuild. The answer is no.”

“It’s not worth your life!” my mother snarled. “If you’re doing this out of some misguided obligation to your father . . .”

“I’m doing it for us and for me. When I took over, the business had slowed to almost nothing. I built this agency on the foundation you and Dad made. It’s my business now because I worked my ass off for six years to get it running. I sacrificed for it, and I love it. I love what I do. I love our life. It makes me happy and I’m good at it, and nobody, not you, not Grandma, not MII, or Pierce, or Mad Rogan is going to take it away from me!”

I realized I was screaming and clamped my mouth shut.

Shock slapped Mom’s face. The kids sat frozen. Bern kept blinking.

Grandma Frida set her coffee cup down with a clink. “Well, she is your daughter.”

Mother turned and walked out of the room.

I faced the kids. “Bed. Now.”

They took off.

Bern got up. “I’m going to go too.”

I landed next to Grandma Frida. I felt all raw inside. Fighting with Mom was always difficult. She used to drive me insane. I would scream and she would counter with these perfect, logical arguments. And then I grew up and realized how brittle she was.

Grandma glanced at me. “You look like hell.”

“Mad Rogan sedated me, kidnapped me, chained me in his basement, and then tried to pry information out of me with a spell.”

Grandma Frida blinked. “Did you give him what he wanted?”

“No. I broke his spell.”

Grandma Frida looked into her cup. “Your mother will get over it. She knew you’d butt heads sooner or later. Hell, if you didn’t, I’d take you to have your head examined. Your mother survived in that hole in the ground for two months. She’s more resilient than you give her credit for.”

That didn’t make me feel any better. “Grandma . . .”

“Yes?”

“When you said you knew someone who could install shockers, did you mean it, or were you kidding me?”

Grandma Frida set her coffee back down. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“That bad?”

I had been beaten up before and I’d been shot at four times. But what happened today bothered me more. “When I get into a fight, I know I can cause damage. When I am shot at, I can shoot back. But this . . .” My hands curled into fists as I struggled to find the words. “I had no chance. His magic was off the scale. I felt it when he picked me up. It was like looking into an outer space shot of a supernova. It made me feel helpless. Vulnerable. Like nothing I did would even make a dent in him.”

Grandma sighed.

He could’ve killed me. He could’ve cut my head off while I was chained up, and there was nothing I could’ve done about it. I caught myself before I told that to my grandmother. “I need a way to have a fighting chance.”

“You can walk away.”

I shook my head. “Oh no. No. Maybe before he attacked me, but not now.”

“You have to be very sure, darling. Once they go in, they stay in forever.”

“How likely is it to kill me?”

“Less than one percent of the bindings go wrong, and if Makarov installs them, you won’t have an issue. But bindings aren’t your biggest problem. It’s using those bastards. Do it wrong, and it will kill you.”

“Then I’m sure.” The next time Mad Rogan came near me, he would be in for a hell of a surprise.

“Let me make a call.” Grandma rose.

I got up and went to look for my mother.

I checked the living room, the media room, and the hiding room, which had started out as a spare bedroom but had turned into another hangout room. I checked the door to Mother’s bedroom and found it locked. Knocking didn’t seem to produce any result. Calling “Mom . . .” in a sad, conciliatory voice didn’t work either. I gave up and headed to my bedroom.