Wildfire
The Harcourts glared at me.
“Who is this idiot?” Alyssa demanded.
His wall was strong. Hard, dense, heavy, like granite. But granite was also brittle. Hit it the right way and it fractured. I needed to hit it the right way.
Like a wave. A wave that battered the pier.
I felt an urge to draw a wave within the circle. I had never seen that anywhere before. But I needed it. I needed the pattern. The magic wanted it.
I crouched down and let it flow through me. The white line stretched from the tip of my chalk, a perfect sine wave all the way along the inner boundary of the circle.
Ella Harcourt gasped.
Magic punched me, strong and pure, like a clear mountain spring.
“Where is Vincent?” the voice that came out of my mouth didn’t belong to a human being.
Liam stared at me, his eyes horrified. Owen’s will fought mine, and I sent the first wave into him. It smashed against his mental wall and cracked it.
“A Tremaine!” Ella jumped to her feet, disgust and horror on her face. “You brought a Tremaine here? Are you out of your mind? This is too much even for you!”
“Oh God.” Alyssa clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh God.”
Liam turned white.
“I love my father.” Alyssa swallowed, words coming out too fast. “He’s the only one I have. Please, please don’t take him from us. Please!” She spun around. “Mom!”
“We’ll tell you whatever you want,” Ella said. “Just make that abomination release my husband.”
Rogan turned to me. “How would you like to proceed?”
They were looking at me, a mixture of panic, disgust, and utter desperation on their faces. I was the monster in the room.
“Abomination?” I asked. “You forced hundreds of creatures from another world into a needless slaughter to protect your sick psychopath. He let his summoned creatures eat people alive. I watched one of them dig in Edward Sherwood’s stomach for juicy tidbits while two children hugged their mother, too scared to cry. Your precious Vincent called me and promised to murder my mother, my baby sisters, my cousins, and my grandmother. But I’m an abomination? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you even human?”
Owen moved within the grip of my magic. Words came out of him slowly, with great effort. “House . . . Harcourt . . . no . . . ill will . . . to . . . your . . . family.”
Liam covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled.
“Let him go,” Alyssa begged. “Please let him go.”
Ella Harcourt took a step back. “Please.”
I pulled my magic back to me. Owen collapsed in his chair, breathing deeply.
They all crowded around him, as if trying to shield him from me. I felt sick.
“Where is he?” Rogan asked.
“We don’t know,” Ella said.
“She’s telling the truth,” I told him. “Vincent kidnapped Rynda’s husband. He wants something from her. What?”
Owen shook his head. “We don’t know.”
Damn it.
“He didn’t do this on his own,” Rogan said. “Vincent isn’t one for elaborate schemes. He prefers brute force. Someone is pulling his leash. Someone with enough power to keep him in check.”
“I agree with you,” Owen said.
“So you know who that is?”
The patriarch of House Harcourt drew himself up straight in the chair. “Do you think that if I had any idea where my son is or who he is with, I wouldn’t have taken steps? We don’t serve other Houses. We stand on our own. Do you think I would allow my heir to fall under the influence of another Prime?”
“Alexander Sturm,” Liam said.
Everyone looked at him.
“He’s with Alexander Sturm. Sturm has a collection of medieval swords. He owns an Oakeshott XIIIa sword, a Grete War Sword. It’s a precursor of a Scottish claymore. The one Sturm has is supposed to be the true sword of William Wallace. Vincent sent me a picture of him with it two days ago.”
Owen and Rogan swore.
Chapter 8
I sat in an armored carrier. Outside, Rogan’s ex-soldiers were loading the grinder’s cylinders onto the transport. It took twelve of them to safely lift and carry one. Rogan lingered with the Harcourts. Apparently, there were some papers to sign. We all had engaged in a massive slaughter, and now we had to formalize it. That part of House warfare never made sense to me. I’d never forget the moment when Rogan and Cornelius bargained over who would retain the right to kill Cornelius’ wife’s murderer and then drew up a contract spelling out their agreement.
Even inside the vehicle, the air smelled like gore. If I bent forward, I could see the remains of the bodies.
Rogan climbed into the carrier and sat next to me, leaning against the bulkhead, his helmet off, his eyes closed. For a while we sat next to each other.
“Did you get the papers?”
He nodded. “They signed a no-retaliation agreement. They legally acknowledge that they were at fault and promise to not pursue the matter further.”
“Is it going to stick?”
“Yes. If they break it, the sanctions from the Assembly will be severe.”
I nodded and looked away.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No.”
“Tell me.”
“Do you think they made these monsters up out of nothing, or is there an actual place, another world, they pulled them from?”
“Nobody knows.”
“So much death, Connor. For so little.”
He reached over and squeezed my hand.
“Is that how people will see me?” I asked. “An abomination.”
“That’s how they see your grandmother. About two decades ago Victoria Tremaine went on a rampage,” Rogan said. “It was before my time, but I asked my mother and she remembers it.”
I glanced at him.
“What?”
“Your mother? I thought you were estranged?”
He frowned. “No. I talk to her every week.”
“Why isn’t she . . . involved in all of this?”
He shrugged. “She doesn’t want to be. My mother survived more assassination attempts than several heads of state put together, played the House politics, and after my father died and I came back to take over, she decided that she was done. Can you blame her?”
I glanced at the bloody pile of animal body parts. “No.”
“As I said, my mother remembers your grandmother’s reign of terror. Victoria Tremaine cut a wide swath through the Houses. Primes would disappear and then turn up babbling like idiots, their minds fried. People would be snatched off the street, hauled before her, and interrogated. Those who survived called it mental rape. It took them a long time to recover. Some never did. My mother thinks Victoria must’ve made a deal with the feds, because they let her go on unchecked for far too long. Rumors said she was looking for something, but nobody who’d managed to escape her claws was in any shape to talk about it.”
“She was looking for my father.” The timing was about right.
“I think so.” Rogan stretched his shoulders. Something popped in his chest. He grimaced. “You’re not Victoria, Nevada.”
“But I am. Did you see how they looked at me?”
“Yes. They are afraid of you.”
“Terrified. They are terrified and disgusted.”
He grinned, a dragon baring his fangs. “Yes.”
He didn’t seem upset by that. I’d terrified the Harcourts. I was the terrible abomination, and they were willing to spill their darkest secrets just to keep me out of their minds.
Oh.
“Is it going to get around?”
“Possibly. Your name was on the Verona Exception packet.” He looked unbearably pleased with himself.
It would get around. By tonight, the movers and shakers of Houston would know that future House Baylor took their root from Victoria Tremaine. The number of Houses who were considering taking us down once our grace period was done just got cut by a good percentage.
“She will be livid. Now everyone will know that we’re rebelling against her.”
“Livid, yes. Also proud,” Rogan said. “You walked in and made a combat House with four Primes submit without lifting a finger. Your grandmother will quite enjoy that.”