He looked up and raised his index finger at me.
Fine. I would wait. I sat in a plush chair upholstered with a kilim rug.
De Lacy listened to his phone. He was in his early thirties, tall, lean, with a powerful frame shown off by a tailored vest he wore over a pale-blue shirt. A suit jacket hung over his chair. He looked like he’d been up for a while. His hair was tousled, and stubble sheathed his jaw.
His face was handsome in that traditional way of good breeding and money: square jaw, patrician nose, good cheekbones; all the features a child could inherit from generations of very rich men marrying very beautiful women. Sometimes the offspring of those families looked softened by the luxury they were born into. There was nothing soft about Benedict. His eyes were sharp and cold, two chunks of ice radiating intelligence and menace.
A trace of magic brushed against me, the hint of a glacial mind. My instincts screamed in alarm. I let it wash over me. I had become so good at suppressing my magic, I looked inert to others. The magic drenched me and withdrew. A Prime. Some sort of mental branch. Very strong.
If this was a private equity firm, I would eat my coat.
“Authorization granted,” he said, and hung up. His voice matched him, smooth and resonant, with a practiced quality to it, as if he’d spent some time with a vocal coach. “I see you found me, Ms. Baylor.”
I had no idea what he was, but he had no idea what I was either. If I let him think he rattled me, I might not get out of this alive.
“It was touch and go for a while,” I said. “I almost made camp in the Ottoman room but decided to press on.”
Benedict smiled. The small hairs on the back of my neck rose.
“Why are you here, Ms. Baylor?”
“I’ve been retained by House Etterson. It’s my understanding Sigourney Etterson had an investment account with your firm. Her records indicate she liquidated it. I’m attempting to locate those funds.”
“An admirable pursuit.”
“My client is in severe emotional distress after the death of her mother and sister. Her family home is gone, and she’s trying to pick up the pieces. She needs every dime of her inheritance to rebuild her House. We’re unable to account for the two million dollars. We would appreciate any assistance you could provide us.”
Benedict pondered me.
The next step would be to threaten him with a lawsuit if his firm failed to cough up the information. I didn’t want to push that far, not yet. I was alone in the office of an unknown Prime, asking uncomfortable questions and skating on thin ice.
Silence stretched.
Benedict turned his monitor sideways, so I could see it. On the screen Celia leaned forward and smiled at me.
“You come into my house, Ms. Baylor, and use magic on my staff. You can see how it presents me with a dilemma.”
I waited. Silence stretched.
“I find it interesting that you feel absolutely no pressure to fill the lull in the conversation,” he said.
“What makes you think I used magic? Perhaps Celia simply felt some compassion for the two young people who are now orphaned.”
Benedict smiled at me, a quick, precise baring of perfect teeth. “You’re right. I could blame Celia for her sudden attack of kindness. Unfortunately, Celia doesn’t understand the meaning of the word. She approximates human emotions the same way a chameleon mimics his environment to survive. I’ll be blunt: you intrigue me. You don’t taste like a psionic; they give off a mental stench they can’t mask. I don’t detect the sharpness of a telepath or the particular flavor of a dominator. You’re definitely not an empath. I tend to disturb them beyond their level of comfort. You almost taste like nothing, yet there is this slight hint of spice. A beguiling aftertaste.”
And he went right into creepy. “I think you give yourself too little credit, Mr. De Lacy. Empaths aren’t the only people you disturb beyond their comfort level.”
Benedict chuckled, got up, and strolled over to the window, where a blue crystal elephant stood on a small table next to a collection of matching heavy tumblers. The beast wore a delicate harness of gold that looked spun rather than forged and carried a decanter on its back, half full of what looked like whiskey. Baccarat crystal, antique, midnight shade of blue . . . a hundred thousand, maybe more.
He poured two fingers of amber liquor into a tumbler. “Whiskey?”
“Nine-thirty in the morning is a bit early for me.”
Benedict raised his glass to his lips. “I’ve been up for twenty-two hours. You and this whiskey are a pleasant diversion at the end of a very long day.”
The way he said it set my teeth on edge. Every woman had an instinct that warned her when things were about to spin out of control, and that instinct took in the way he looked at me and started screaming. I had to get out of this office.
I reached deep down and pulled Victoria Tremaine’s granddaughter out. Surprisingly, it was easier than I remembered.
“Since we agreed on being blunt, I hope you don’t mind if I indulge.”
“Please.” He invited me with a sweep of his hand.
“I came here with a simple request for information, and instead I’ve been kept waiting, given the runaround, and now we’re here in your multimillion-dollar man cave, while you are going out of your way to be gauche and vaguely threatening. Why, I can’t imagine.”
He laughed.
Right. I rose. “Mr. De Lacy, thank you for this incredibly frustrating and fruitless visit. Your time is valuable but so is mine. I’m done. I’ll see you in court.”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, Ms. Baylor.” He stared at me. A shockwave of alarm punched through my spine. “I simply must know what you are. Fortunately for me, there is an easy way to find out.”
Power splayed out of him, piercing my senses. I saw it through the prism of my magic, a dark, churning cloud, erupting from him like a nest of dark serpents. It hung around him, streaked with flashes of purple and red. Phantom mouths snapped the air with ghostly fangs, melting and re-forming, each cluster of darkness a living, malevolent thing wanting to bite and tear with those awful teeth.
Fear slammed into me. Every fiber of my being wanted to flee.
Benedict smiled at me from within that seething cloud. The mouths snapped, reaching for me.
The elephant decanter next to Benedict exploded. Glittering shards of blue crystal rained down on the rug and the table. Behind it, a hole gaped in the window panel. A sniper shot, most likely from the top of the high-rise apartment under construction across the street.
The serpent nest folded in on itself, sucked back into Benedict. He chuckled. “You have interesting friends, Ms. Baylor.”
I had no idea who’d shot the decanter. Right now it didn’t matter. I had to get the hell out of here, before De Lacy decided it wasn’t funny anymore. The sniper had saved my life.
“Perhaps you simply have incompetent enemies. My friends wouldn’t have missed. Good day, Mr. De Lacy. I’ll show myself out. Please have one of your minions meet me at the elevator.”
He raised his glass in a kind of salute. “Say hello to Montgomery for me.”
He thought I worked for Augustine. I had no idea why, but I’d sort it out later.
I turned and made the long trek to the door. My knees shook. If nobody met me at that elevator, I would have to go back in there. I reached into my pocket. My fingers closed about a reassuring length of chalk.
If I did get trapped, I would make my stand by the elevator. No matter what kind of hell he fermented inside him, I could draw an arcane circle faster than he could, and once I had that boost, my chances shot up. He liked surprises? Well, I would give him one he would never forget.
I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The elevator stood open, the same Asian man waiting inside with the same serious expression.
A few moments later, the elevator released me into the lobby. No sign of the receptionist.
I crossed the floor. My heart was beating
too fast. I reached the doors.
Please be open.
The door swung open under the pressure of my hand and I walked back into the sunshine.
Chapter 7
I was on Katy Freeway, driving home, when I noticed a tail. It would have been harder to spot it if they weren’t driving two IAG Guardian light-armored personnel carriers. The Guardian was a favorite among the Houses that had to transport their private armies, and Grandma Frida had worked on about a million of them.
The Guardian resembled an SUV that had been kidnapped by a paramilitary organization and force-fed steroids. Armored enough to withstand multiple hits from high-power rifles and light machine guns, the Guardian came equipped with off-road capabilities and could be customized to mount light and heavy machine guns. The goons chasing me had opted for a toned-down “city profile” without all of the scary protruding barrels. They religiously changed lanes when I did, and when I slowed to fifty-five miles an hour, which would cause any sensible Texan to blow by me, they hung back and waited.
Benedict De Lacy didn’t like losing his decanter.
Nobody except family knew where I would be today. The two vehicles weren’t behind me when I’d left Diatheke, so they must’ve bugged the Element while I was inside.
When the sniper shot the elephant, he or she had given Benedict a sign that I had backup. Diatheke wasn’t what it seemed, and Benedict probably hated any kind of spotlight. If the sniper and I were on the same team and I failed to exit the building, there would be consequences. Benedict had decided on a wiser course of action—let me leave and hit me en route with a team that couldn’t be traced to his firm.
Two Guardians, maximum carrying capacity of ten people each. I didn’t know who rode inside, but they would likely be good at killing.
We had ten soldiers, of which only six were currently on duty. Considering the recent examples of their battle readiness, twenty professional killers would tear through them like they were tissue paper and move on to the warehouse. Bern hadn’t checked in, so he and Runa were still out. Arabella had planned on leaving to talk with Halle’s friends in person, so right now the warehouse sheltered Ragnar and Matilda with only Grandma, Mom, and Leon.
If I called Abarca right now and told him that I was being followed by two armored personnel carriers, would he even believe me?
I couldn’t go home.
I had to defend my family. I had to kill the strike team. That’s what Heads of Houses did.
Suddenly everything was clear. I felt cold and calm, oddly flat, as if all the emotion drained out of me and only my mind remained.
I couldn’t fight twenty people at once. They would simply shoot me before I had a chance to open my mouth. My power worked best when my targets could both see and hear me. Benedict wasn’t an idiot and he’d watched me work on Celia, so it was highly possible the people riding in the Guardians wore ear protection.
Given a couple of days to prepare, I could open this car window and sing the crews of the Guardians and everyone else within hearing range into blindly doing my bidding. At this distance and with my song amplified by magic, no earplugs would save them from my voice. However, once I did that, I’d have an adoring mob on my hands and no way to escape it. The longer they remained beguiled, the stronger my magic affected them. Eventually they would rip me to pieces. The two times I had used my magic to its full extent, my sisters had evacuated me right after I was done.
No, this called for a subtle approach. I needed a place to hide, somewhere secluded and out of the way, where they would be forced to fan out and search for me and I could stagger them.
Where could I find that in the middle of the city?
In the rearview mirror, the two Guardians stayed about three car lengths back. The heavy traffic didn’t permit much maneuvering, but an opportunistic sporty-looking Subaru wove in and out between cars, trying to squeeze a few extra feet here and there. It slid behind me and promptly rode my ass.
Keystone Mall.
Fifty years old and looking every bit of it, Keystone Mall sat near the new 290/610 interchange. It had been dying since I was a kid. Hurricane Ike had killed its Macy’s a decade ago, leaving the mall with just one anchor store—JC Penney, which bit the dust last January. The mall closed shortly after. Bayou City Fright Fest had rented it this last Halloween for their annual Haunted House and Arabella dragged me to it. We spent seventy dollars apiece to wander through the dilapidated husk of a building, while zombie clowns jumped out at us from every dark corner. It had been horrible, and I didn’t talk to her for two hours after that. Predictably, she’d loved it.
If I got out of this alive, I would thank her.
I dropped my speed by about five miles an hour. The Subaru looked for a way to pass, but the lane to the left of us was clogged with big rigs. He settled for getting within a hair of my bumper. Perfect, stay right there.
The exit sign for 762B flashed by. One mile.
The Subaru honked at me. You stupid jerk. All the lanes are full. Even if you get in front of me, where do you think you’re going to go?
The exit lane peeled off the freeway to the right. One, two, three . . .
I wrenched my wheel to the right, cutting into the exit lane mere feet from the black impact barrels cushioning against a head-on collision with the concrete barrier. The Subaru slammed on its brakes out of sheer surprise. Behind it, the Guardians screeched, trying to avoid plowing into the smaller vehicle.
I tore down the exit lane at top speed, caught a green light on Old Katy Road, made a left, then a right onto Post Oak Road, and sped north. It wouldn’t buy me much time, but hopefully it bought enough.
I crossed the railroad tracks and drove straight into Keystone’s parking lot. At night, it had looked scary. The daylight stripped the horror mystique from it and now it just seemed grim and sad, gazing at the world with dark, empty windows. I parked near the entrance, jumped out, and popped the back hatch.
A large metal safe box waited for me. Grandma Frida had bolted it to the floor in the back, so there was no chance of it being stolen. I keyed the code into the lock. It popped open and I flipped the lid. A row of blades lay on black fabric, secured by leather straps. Two pistols rested in the top corners, a Glock 43 for the times I needed a subcompact for concealed carry and a Beretta APX.
Unlike Leon, my mom, and Nevada, I couldn’t rely on my magic for flawless targeting when it came to guns, but Mom made sure that all of us knew how to handle a firearm. My accuracy was decent. I was a simple, no-nonsense shooter and the Beretta was a simple, no-nonsense gun, designed for daily use by the military and law enforcement. Roughly seven and a half inches long and five and a half inches tall, the gun weighed twenty-eight ounces empty and had a six-pound trigger. Firing it felt very deliberate; it was solid, and the heavy but crisp trigger guaranteed I wouldn’t accidentally discharge it.
I grabbed a tactical belt, put it on, and clipped the black nylon holster to it. The Beretta went into the holster. I had opted for the .40, which gave me fifteen rounds, and the spare magazine in the built-in holster pocket brought my ammo count to thirty.
The sword was next. I had a choice between a tactical saber, a machete, or a gladius. I went with the gladius. Solid black, with a sixteen-inch double-edged blade of 80CRV2 steel, it weighed a pound and a half and let me cut or thrust with equal efficiency.
A canister of mace was last, just in case.
I locked the box, locked the car, and ran to the front doors. Logic said that whatever security this place had, if it had any, would clear out the moment the two Guardians pulled into the parking lot. They would take pictures of the license plates, submit a report, and let the cops and insurance company sort it out.
The door was locked. I smashed the butt of the gladius’ hilt into the lower glass pane of the entrance door. The glass panel fractured. I cleared it with my blade and ducked through. The interior door took another couple of seconds and I ran into the gloomy old mall.
The inside
of the Keystone Mall smelled of dust and decay. On my right, an entrance to an old movie multiplex gaped open, a black hole in the pale marble wall bordered by ornate plaster columns. The theater was a deathtrap. It was sectioned off from the rest of the mall, and the only way in or out lay through that entrance in front of me. The individual theaters had emergency exits to the outside, but I didn’t want to go outside. I wanted to stay in the mall and force them to fan out, searching for me.
I moved on.
A little farther, on my left, lay the food court, a large space with fast-food shops on one side. In the corner between the restaurants, a narrow tunnel led to the restrooms. The cheap plastic dining tables were still there, bolted to the floor, but all the chairs were gone. The air smelled of old corndogs.
Another dead end.
I passed the food court and paused at the top of the frozen escalator. The mall lay in front of me, a long narrow rectangle, two stories high and anchored by Macy’s on the left end and JC Penney on the right. Weak daylight sifted through the dirty panes of a slender skylight, illuminating the little shops lining the sides; the has-been shoe stores and fashion boutiques. Without merchandise, they were little more than bare rectangles with a single back room sectioned off from the main space. No place to hide there.
The two anchor stores were my best bet; they were large and confusing. Of the two, Macy’s would be more open, a vast expanse of waist-high counters with barely any interior walls. JC Penney offered more partitions and better places to hide. Plus it had Sephora. The name-brand cosmetics store had its own shop in the middle of JC Penney’s ground floor, a separate retail space defined by distinct black and white walls. Some Sephoras had three entrances, others had two, but in any case, it was a good place to set up an ambush.
I ran down the dead escalator and sprinted to the right.
Sapphire Flames Page 10