Magic Triumphs

She had known where he was, and she didn’t tell me.

I realized the room was silent. Everyone was looking at me, including d’Ambray. He must’ve asked me a question.

I took a stab in the dark. “I need to think about it.”

“We should adjourn,” Ghastek said.

“Great idea!” Phillip reached toward the pile of armor on the table.

“No!” Luther slapped his hand away.

“Do not touch me.”

“This is the best evidence we have so far!” Luther said. “You’re not getting your paws on it.”

“It’s not,” Saiman said, turning to Ghastek. “He has a live specimen.”

Luther and Phillip swiveled to Ghastek. Luther opened his mouth and struggled to form words, but nothing came out.

“He’s had it for twenty-four hours and he didn’t notify anyone,” Saiman snitched.

“The yeddimur is the property of the People,” Ghastek said.

The three experts screeched in unison, like they had suddenly turned into harpies.

“Enough,” Curran roared.

Silence claimed the table.

I turned to Luther. “You’re the leading expert on infectious magic.” I looked at Ghastek. “You’re the leading expert on magic virus–induced transformations.” I turned to Saiman. “You have a wide variety of expert knowledge across several fields.” I glanced at Phillip. “You’re a professional skeptic terrified for your reputation. Work together.”

Ghastek looked taken aback. “You want me to . . .”

“Share,” I said.

He blinked.

“Work together. Publish a joint paper afterward if you want, I don’t care. Just get me something we can use.”

Curran rose to his feet. I got up and we walked out.

Behind me, Hugh murmured, “That went well.”

“Give them time,” Elara said.

“Steed,” Hugh said.

I stopped. One wrong word to Christopher and I would murder him. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Barabas. His eyes had gone bright red.

“You’ve survived,” Christopher said.

“You know what they say about me. Hard to kill. I have some things to apologize for.”

“Come by the house,” Christopher said. “303 Forest Lane. We’ll talk.”

I forced myself to resume walking.

Curran and I got into the Jeep. I chanted at the engine until it turned over, and we drove out of the parking lot. It had rained while we were inside. The city seemed annoyed, like a cat who’d gotten wet.

“Am I crazy?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“That did just happen?”

“It did.”

“Julie went and got him after Kings Row.”

“It appears so.”

The city rolled past us.

“He walks up to Christopher and says ‘hi,’ and Christopher says, ‘Come by my house’?”

Curran didn’t answer.

“He put Christopher into a cage and nearly starved him to death, and now it’s all forgive and forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” Curran said, his face grim. “I remember Mishmar.”

I’d almost died in Mishmar, because Hugh had teleported me there and tried to starve me into compliance.

“I remember Aunt B,” I said.

Curran didn’t say anything.

“What the hell did he ask me?” I asked.

“If you would accept his help.”

“I feel like I’ve gone nuts.”

“Join the club,” he said.

He braked, thrusting his arm in front of me. The vehicle screeched to a stop.

“What is it?”

“Look.”

Straight ahead a large post-Shift building sat on the corner of the city block. The lights were on and in the glow, I could see people sitting at the desks, phones to their ears. It had to be almost ten o’clock. Who would be calling anyone at this hour . . .

My brain finally noticed the sign illuminated by the feylanterns: SUNSHINE REALTY.

I turned to Curran. “Can we? Can we please?”

My husband’s eyes flared with gold. “Oh yes.”

We left the car running and headed to the door.

“The whole body or just the head?” he asked, cracking his knuckles.

“Just the head.” I pulled magic to me. “Freakier that way.”

Curran tried the door and swung it open for me. Oh goody. Unlocked. I walked in. My husband followed.

A young blond woman looked up at us from her desk. “Hi, there. My name is Elizabeth. Are you here to sell your house?”

“Elizabeth, is the owner in?”

“He is!” She put an extra spoonful of sugar into her voice.

“Can you get him for us?” I asked.

“Who should I say is here?”

“Tell him it’s Kate Lennart.” The first pulse of my magic shook the building. “Daughter of Nimrod.” A stronger pulse. People looked up from their desks. “Blood Blade of Atlanta and her husband, the God-King Curran Lennart.”

The whole building resonated, as if someone had struck a giant gong.

Curran’s human face broke and a monstrous lion head appeared on his shoulders. My husband roared.

* * *

• • •

WHEN WE GOT home, Curran went to Derek’s house and I went across the street. George opened the door and held her finger to her lips. I snuck after her upstairs.

“Where have you been?” George whispered. “Derek said the Conclave broke up an hour ago.”

“We had to make a stop.” We didn’t kill anybody. After Curran roared, everyone cleared out and then we had a discussion with the owner about appropriate phone marketing etiquette, calling hours, and the meaning of “take us off your calling list.” He walked away on his own power without a scratch on him, but I was confident the unwanted calls would stop.

Conlan was in his room, asleep on the bed. Martha lay next to him, curled up around my son.

“Let Mom have him tonight,” George said. “She lost him yesterday. She needs this.”

I didn’t want to leave him. I wanted to pluck him out of the bed, take him home, and snuggle with him to reassure myself he was okay. But he was asleep and so was Martha. I escaped the house without waking anyone.

As I crossed the street, I saw wet tire marks leading up Christopher and Barabas’s dry driveway. The lights were on.

I should wait. It was late. Even by shapeshifter standards.

No, screw it. I marched to the house and knocked on the front door.

Barabas opened it and stepped aside. “It’s for you.”

Christopher walked out of the kitchen, a cup of tea in his hands. He was barefoot and wearing sweatpants and a simple dark T-shirt. His eyes were clear—no hint of Deimos—and his pale hair framed his face like a silk curtain. “Come in. Tea?”

“No.”

“I’ll get you some chamomile,” Barabas said. “You look like you need it.”

“Right now, I’d have to drown in calming tea for it to do any good.”

“I’ll fix you a cup.” Barabas went into the kitchen.

I slipped my shoes off, walked into the living room, and sat on the sofa. Christopher sat in a big blue chair. There was a quiet elegance about Christopher, even when he slumped barefoot in a chair.

“Go ahead,” he said.

“He put you in a cage. He starved you for weeks. You were covered in filth. I don’t know of any person, aside from Raphael, who has the right to want to kill him more than you. And you invited him to your house. Help me understand this.”

Christopher looked into his cup. “Do you want to kill him?”

I sighed. “No. I don’t. I should, because his centurion killed Aunt B, because he broke Curran’s legs, and because of Mauro. Curran probably will kill him given a chance. But right now, all I want is to understand you.”

“Hugh kidnapped you and starved you nearly to death. Why don’t you want to kill him?”

“Because I met my father. I’ve trained all my life to murder him, and when we met, I put it aside. My father has the impact of a supernova. He had Hugh since he was a small child. He shaped and molded him, and Hugh had no defenses against that. It was never a fair fight. My father bears a lot of responsibility for Hugh d’Ambray. That said, Hugh is a butcher.”