Diamond Fire

“Are there any bottles left?” Leon asked.

Valentina reached under the counter and pulled a heavy bottle out. Leon grabbed the bottle by the neck and smashed it against the wall. The bottle held.

“Hey!” Carlos yelled.

I held up my hand. “We’ll reimburse you.”

It took Leon two more tries before the bottle finally broke.

Panting a little, he held the bottle out to me. “Two hundred, like this?”

I turned to Valentina. “If you’re just kids breaking in to steal some wine, you’d grab a few bottles and get out. This took a lot of time and effort. The question is why.”

“Yes, why? Why would anybody do this?” Valentina asked.

“Two possible reasons,” I said. “First, they were covering up the sound of what they were doing, and second, they counted on you concentrating on the loss of the wine. Our contract with you specified that you were to call us immediately in case of any complications. Why didn’t you call us?”

“We called the police,” Carlos said.

“You don’t understand,” Valentina said, her face plum red now. “We came in and there were piles of glass on the floor. All this wine, the smell . . .”

And she had wanted to clean it up as soon as possible, to erase the desecration of their beautiful kitchen.

“It’s misdirection.” Leon nodded at the broken glass on the floor. “Smashed bottles, broken glass, expensive wine on the floor, everything smells, everything is stained and sticky. You see this and if nothing else appears disturbed, you just concentrate on cleaning things up.”

I looked at Valentina and Carlos, and my insides tried to squeeze themselves into a tight painful ball. There were things I had to say now, harsh and unkind things, and I had to say them to two people who were already desperate and traumatized. I felt mean and shitty. But it was my job. I promised I would do it.

“You’re in breach of contract,” I said. “You were hired by House Rogan. This is House business. Normal rules do not apply here. We were crystal clear when we went over the contract with you. My sister and I sat at this table and read the contract to you paragraph by paragraph and you said you understood and you signed it. First, you failed to set the alarm.”

Carlos sucked in a lungful of air, about to say something, but Valentina put her hand on his arm.

“Second, you failed to notify us of the break-in. The contract specifically spells out that we are to be informed in the event of any problems prior to any contact with law enforcement, unless it’s a life-threatening emergency. Third, you cleaned up, destroying the evidence.”

Nobody said anything.

Valentina bit her lip. “If you cancel everything now, we will be ruined.”

I knew exactly what she was thinking. She was looking into the future and seeing the death of her business. And I was the person who decided if it lived or died. I had never wanted to teleport more in my entire life. If I could, I would have run away and pretended this never happened.

“Is there anything we can do to fix this?” Valentina asked.

“It depends,” I said. “I would like access to your computer. I will be able to tell you more depending on what we find. Under the terms of our contract, I cannot compel you to grant me access. You can refuse.”

“And if we do?” Carlos asked.

I raised my hands. “We walk away.”

“Go ahead.” Valentina waved at a desktop in the corner by a small desk.

I activated the recording function on my phone. “This is Catalina Baylor. Today is April 20th. I am here with Valentina Krueger, owner of Valentina’s House Catering. May I have access to your business computer?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Leon headed for the desktop. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Did you shut the computer down before you left?”

“Yes,” Valentina said. She sounded like she expected us to hit her with a baseball bat. “We shut it off every night before we leave.”

“What was the last thing you worked on?” Leon asked.

“Fishmonger list,” Valentina said.

“Well,” Leon said. “Somebody turned it back on at the time of the break-in and accessed the Rogan Cake file.”

Crap. I turned to Valentina and Carlos. “Can I have your cell phones, please? I don’t need you to unlock them, I just want you to put them on the table over there. And not touch them, until I give them back to you.”

“Oh my God.” Valentina’s eyes got big. “They tampered with the cake. But it’s not even put together yet. We just started the sponges yesterday.”

“Phones, please,” Leon said. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something in the way he said it that communicated that disobeying him was a very bad idea.

Two phones landed on the metal table.

“I would like you to go to the pantry and review your inventory. Do not touch anything. If something looks wrong, if it has been moved, or the lid is not on just right, tell me immediately. Please keep the pantry door open, so I can see you.”

The two bakers went into the pantry. I dialed Rogan’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

“I believe someone poisoned your wedding cake. How would you like me to proceed?”

In half an hour, Rogan’s troops, assigned to Mrs. Rogan’s house, arrived in two armored cars. New Braunfels was only half an hour from Mountain Rose, but it felt like it took them forever. I spent the time trying to figure out who might have wanted to poison Nevada’s cake. Rogan and Nevada had made plenty of enemies when they stopped a conspiracy by several prominent Houses to seize power in Texas. Most of these enemies were dead or in jail.

When Primes killed someone in revenge, they wanted the whole world to know about it. They didn’t delegate. They wanted to look into your eyes as their magic choked the life out of you. Poison just seemed so mundane. And, because we had just become a House, none of the Primes could legally attack us for the next three years.

Besides, a lot of Primes would be attending. The guest list read like the Powerful and Influential page on Herald. Whoever poisoned the cake would have killed members of Houston’s magical elite. There would be no place for them to hide. It didn’t feel like a politically or financially motivated attempt. It felt like hate. Blinding hate, so powerful, it made you forget about your own safety.

I had made a list of suspects. One name kept coming up. Someone who hated Rogan. Who was jealous, hateful, and reckless.

Rivera was the first one through the door. Behind him came a woman in the loose fatigues a lot of Rogan’s employees wore. A baseball cap was pulled down tightly on her head. The rest of the crew secured the perimeter, spreading out through and outside of the bakery.

The woman took off her ball cap. She was about my age, redheaded, with skin so pale, it almost glowed. One of my grandfathers was black, and we weren’t sure about the other. Both of my grandmothers were white, and all the genes mixed together gave me a naturally tan skin and dark brown hair. A lot of my friends were paler than me, but this girl had epic levels of paleness. It’s like she didn’t even know what the sun was. How did she survive in Texas?

“Runa Etterson of House Etterson, Magus Venenata.” She stuck her hand out at me.

Venenata was Latin for poison. Runa was a poison mage and she was smiling at me and holding her hand out. She could probably poison me by just breathing in my direction.

“Catalina Baylor. Of House Baylor.” I shook her hand.

She grinned at me. “Aha, took you a second. Don’t worry, I only poison random strangers on Tuesdays.”

“Today is Tuesday,” Leon said.

“Oops. Well, that’s okay. You told me your name, so we’re not strangers. You should be safe.” She turned to Leon. “But I don’t know who you are. No promises.”

“This is my cousin, Leon.”

“Nice to meet you, Cousin Leon. So, where are the potentially poisoned goodies?”

I led her to the refrigerators and opened the doors. Tubs of frosting and fondant in every color filled the shelves. Runa rubbed her hands together.

“Come on, guys, don’t just stand there. Grab a spoon and let’s get busy.”