Wildfire

“And now we have this.” He turned to the eight bodies laid out in a row. Each of them showed a single shot in the same exact spot.

“This is what we call a T-box kill. Do you know what a T-box is?”

“Yes.”

If you drew a vertical rectangle around the nose and a horizontal rectangle over the nose bridge that ended at the center of each pupil, you would get a T-shaped area. People thought that head shots were always lethal. They weren’t. Sometimes bullets bounced off a skull, or caused some brain damage but failed to kill the target. Sometimes they penetrated the skull but caused only a minor injury. But a shot to the T-box was always lethal. A bullet to the T-box scrambled the lower brain and brain stem, which control the automatic organ processes we require to live, such as breathing. Death was immediate. It was the surest and most merciful way to drop your target. The victim would never realize they were dying. Their last memory would be of a gun and then their brain would explode.

Leon had put one bullet into each of the eight people exactly between their eyes. Eight shots, eight instant kills.

A Harley-Davidson pulled into the adjacent parking lot. Its rider, in a black leather jacket and jeans, jumped off, pulled the helmet off her head, revealing a halo of black curly hair, and sprinted toward us. A black woman with medium brown skin, about thirty-five or so. A patrolman got in her way and she barked something at him and kept going.

“Did you line them up?” Sergeant Munoz asked. “Was this an execution?”

“No. This was self-defense. They were shot while running at us with their weapons out.”

Munoz looked at the corpses and back at me. “From how far away?”

“Don’t answer that!” the woman in leather snapped.

Munoz turned to her.

“Don’t answer anything.” She pulled an ID out and thrust it in front of Munoz. “My name is Sabrian Turner. I’m the legal counsel to House Rogan and future House Baylor.”

“We have multiple homicides. Your client needs to answer my questions.”

“You’re asking for information that’s privileged under the House Protection Act. And you’re doing it in the middle of the parking lot, where you can’t guarantee the information won’t be overheard. My client is under no obligation to disclose the exact extent and nature of her magic or the magic of her family members unless you can guarantee its confidentiality.”

Munoz clenched his jaw. “Your client isn’t a member of a House.”

“My client is registered to undergo the trials. Until she fails them, House protections and rights extend to her.”

“Excuse me,” I said.

“Under the same act, your client is supposed to offer full cooperation in cases where the safety of the public is in question.”

“What public? These people were hired by House Madero. This is House warfare.”

“Excuse me,” I said louder.

“I will be the judge of whether this is House warfare.”

Sabrian crossed her arms. “Oh really?”

“Hey!” I barked.

The two of them looked at me.

“There is a camera above us,” I said. “I’m sure it caught the whole thing.”

“We’ll get to that,” Munoz promised, and turned back to Sabrian. “Maybe I’ll just have to take your client somewhere more private.”

Sabrian narrowed her eyes. “My client will answer your questions when she chooses.”

“You should just get some swords and have it out,” I said.

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary, do you?” Linus Duncan said.

Munoz stepped aside, revealing Linus Duncan in a flawless black suit. A long blue scarf hung from his shoulders. He smiled, showing even white teeth against his dark beard, touched with silver. “After all, House Madero was involved, and we all know what that means. Excuse me.”

He stepped between Sabrian and Munoz and offered me his hand. I took it, and he helped me off the curb. “Ms. Baylor owes me a coffee. We’ll be in the hospital cafeteria if you need us.”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Munoz said.

The coffee shop was small and intimate, furnished in rich brown and soothing beige, and only a third full. Linus and I stood in a short line. He ordered espresso and I settled on an herbal tea. My hands were trembling slightly, the aftereffect of adrenaline and nerves.

We took our order number and sat at an isolated table by the window. From there I had an excellent view of the pandemonium in the parking lot. At least Leon was safe. I seriously doubted that anyone could get past Kurt to talk to him.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your day,” I said.

Linus winked at me. “Please. Invitations for a coffee with an interesting young woman are rare at my age. How could I pass it up?”

I smiled. Something about Linus made me feel at ease. You knew that he was sincere and whatever he told you wouldn’t be a lie.

The barista brought our drinks and departed.

Linus sipped the jet-black brew out of a small white cup and tilted his head from side to side, thinking. He must’ve decided the espresso was adequate, because he took another small sip.

“Shall we talk about your grandmother?”

“What is she like?”

“Victoria? Smart. Ruthless. Determined. She thinks she’s always right and frequently is. This”—he glanced at the window—“is very unlike her. She prefers to operate quietly. She must be getting desperate.”

“Why?”

“You’re family,” he said. “Family is all any of us have. You’re her hidden legacy, the future of her House. Her parents died when she was only twelve. She wanted a child so badly. I saw her shortly after James was born. She seemed happy for the first time since I’d known her. She practically glowed.”

“She was horrible to my father.”

“I don’t doubt it. She’s demanding and difficult. She holds herself to the highest standard and never stops to consider that perhaps not everyone possesses the ability or will to match hers.”

“This is the second time she attacked us.”

“When was the first time?” he asked.

“Two days ago. Dave Madero chased Rogan and me in his Jeep.”

He sipped his espresso. “How did it end?”

“Rogan broke Dave’s arms in five places.”

Linus smiled. “If Dave Madero chased the woman I loved, I would’ve broken his legs as well.”

“Oh, he tried. I asked him not to.”

“You should’ve let him. House Madero has waged a war on subtlety for the last fifty years. They understand brute strength and clear messages.”

“That is almost word for word what Rogan told me.” I drank my tea through a straw. It tasted sour, but it was better than the metallic coppery patina on my tongue.

Linus sighed. “Rogan is well-versed in House politics. He’s been playing the game for a long time. He was born into it, and his instincts are usually right. However, he’s in a delicate position. Pardon me for inquiring, but have you discussed your potential future?”

I coughed.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Linus fixed me with his dark eyes. “Allow me to hazard a guess: he pushed and you pushed back. He pushed harder, and you set some boundaries and refused to back away from them.”

I managed to make a word. “Yes.”

“That was likely a new experience for him.”

“Yes.” I had a sudden urge to crawl under the table. It felt like I was twelve again and my mom decided to have the Talk with me. “Do you know him?”

“I knew his father when he was Connor’s age. We had business dealings together, mostly military contracts. Connor was twelve at the time, and I could tell by the way they butted heads that the apple didn’t roll far from the tree.”

True. I tried to imagine two Rogans and failed.

“Rogan is very conscious of the fact that you’ll soon be the Head of an emerging House. As the Head of his own House, he has certain ethical obligations, and he can’t obviously steer your entrance into our society, because he cares about you and he wants House Baylor to emerge as an independent entity, not a vassal of House Rogan. As a man who loves you, he doesn’t want to impose his will on yours, even when it’s in the interests of your safety, because he wouldn’t allow himself to be treated that way. He knows if he pushes too far, you’ll leave him. Unfortunately, you’re obviously a target in both the physical and emotional sense of the word. People want to kidnap you, manipulate you, and take advantage of your inexperience. He sees all of it, so he’s fighting a powerful urge to shove you into full body armor, lock you in a windowless room, and stand guard by it until the trials are over. I sympathize. I once had to go through a similar thing.”