As a thief, I had let myself into my share of fine homes and had swiped more than a few valuable objects, but the luxe mansion still took my breath away, despite all the weeks I’d been living here. It was a good thing I wasn’t casing the place. I wouldn’t have known what to steal first.
“See you guys at dinner,” Devon said.
Felix and I nodded, and the three of us went our separate ways.
I headed up the stairs to my bedroom, which was just as finely furnished as the rest of the mansion. The front of the room was an entertainment area, with a black leather couch and matching recliners arranged around a glass coffee table, all of which faced a flat-screen TV mounted to the wall. A four-poster bed covered with a black-and-white-striped comforter and mounds of pillows took up part of the back wall, along with a white vanity table. Another table that featured a miniature ebony trailer, a grassy corral, and a small barn sat next to some French doors that led out to a balcony.
I sighed, went over, and started to plop down on the couch, when a sharp, twangy voice called out.
“Don’t you dare sit down on that!”
The front door on the ebony trailer slammed open, and something zip-zip-zipped through the air, rushing straight at me. A second later, a six-inch-tall man with shimmering, translucent wings attached to his back hovered right in front of me, his arms crossed over his tiny chest. Oscar, the pixie who took care of my room and, by extension, me. He must have been getting dressed for dinner because he only wore a white tank top, along with blue boxers and black cowboy boots. He never went anywhere without his boots on. He was a little redneck that way.
I groaned. “Not you too. Can’t I sit down on something? Just for a minute. It’s been a long day.”
“Not if I have to clean it up afterward.” Oscar regarded me with critical violet eyes, his nose twitching. “You smell like a fruit cobbler—and not in a good way.”
I pulled my sticky T-shirt away from my chest, wincing as another wave of too-sweet persimmon pulp filled my nose. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Sarcasm’s not going to help you with me, cupcake,” Oscar said, making shooing motions with his hands. “So instead of sitting down and getting something else dirty, you might as well strip off those nasty clothes and get in the shower. I’ll put you some fresh clothes on the hanger on the back of the bathroom door. Go on, now. Git.”
He zoomed back and forth in front of my face, like I was a cow he was trying to herd.
“Yes, master,” I grumbled.
Technically, pixies were monsters, since they weren’t human-size, but I’d always thought of them as miniature people. They were also the housekeepers of the world, hiring themselves out to mortals, magicks, and even other monsters in exchange for a place to live, protection, money, and more. Oscar and I had gotten off to a rocky start when I’d first moved in, but I now considered him a friend. He was also one of the few people who had known my mom, because she’d worked for the Family for years, until she’d had a falling out with Claudia Sinclair.
Oscar might not be much bigger than my hand, but he made up for his small size with plenty of attitude. He was the bossiest pixie I’d ever met, barking out order after order in his twangy, hillbilly voice to anyone who dared get within earshot. Over the past few weeks, I’d learned that it was better just to humor him in most things, like wearing the clothes he laid out for me and eating the food he brought up to my room when I was out on Family business and couldn’t get down to the dining hall for the regular meal.
So I obediently headed into the bathroom, shut the door behind me, stripped off my clothes, and took a long, hot shower to wash off all the blood persimmon juice that had soaked into my hair and skin. When I was done, I reached an arm out of the bathroom and grabbed the fresh clothes off the hook on the door.
I expected to find my usual T-shirt and cargo pants, but Oscar had put out a tight, sleeveless, sapphire-blue top, along with a pair of fitted black pants and matching heels. Apparently, he wanted me to dress up for dinner. I grumbled again, but I didn’t feel like arguing with him, so I put on the clothes with one substitution. I ditched the heels in favor of black sneakers.
I’d already dried my hair, so I plopped down in front of the vanity mirror and pulled my black locks back into a sleek ponytail before sticking two black lacquered chopsticks through it. The thin sticks might look like innocent hair accessories, but they were far more useful, since the hollow wooden tubes featured a set of lock picks. My star-sapphire ring completed the ensemble, along with my silver Sinclair cuff.
When I finished, I headed over to the table next to the patio doors where Oscar’s pixie house sat. Most folks would have thought that the ebony trailer was some sort of dollhouse, despite the fact that the roof was missing several shingles, the porch sagged like a wet newspaper, and several tiny honeybeer cans littered the front steps. A grassy yard led over to a corral and a barn, also made out of ebony, making the entire table look like a diorama of some western dude ranch. Rustic, people would say, if they were being kind.
Behind the fence, Tiny, Oscar’s pet tortoise, was lying on his back, his green legs sticking up in the air as he snoozed the day away in a sunspot. Tiny cracked open a black eye at the sound of my footsteps, but when he realized that I didn’t have any lettuce or strawberries, he went back to his nap. I tickled one of his feet, making him snort and rock back and forth on his shell before he settled down again.
The trailer’s front door slammed open again, and Oscar hopped down the creaky porch steps and strutted out onto the lawn. He held his arms out to his sides and turned around.
“Well?” he drawled. “How do I look?”
While I’d been getting dressed, Oscar had been doing the same. His sandy mop of hair was slicked back under a black cowboy hat, and he wore a pair of new, creased black jeans and a white button-up shirt with black trim, along with his usual cowboy boots. I squinted. Were those black pearl buttons on his shirt? Probably, knowing Oscar.
“Nice,” I said. “What’s the occasion? And why did you make me dress up too?”
He grinned. “You’ll see. Bet you can’t beat me to the dining hall!”
Oscar zipped over to the bedroom door, opened it, and flew away before I could answer him.
I looked at Tiny. “Have you been feeding him sugar again?”
The tortoise just snorted again.
I went down to the dining hall, which was one of the biggest rooms in the mansion. Tall, skinny windows lined the back wall from floor to ceiling, showing off the deep, dark evergreen woods that surrounded the mansion. Sunlight streaming in through the glass made the chandeliers overhead sparkle even more than usual, the crystals painting rainbow patterns on the black-and-white Persian rugs that covered the floor. Long tables that could seat more than thirty people each clustered together in the middle of the room, while still more tables were set up along one of the walls, each one covered with food.
I headed straight for the buffet tables to see what the pixies had whipped up tonight. Their excellent home-cooking was one of the best perks of living at the Sinclair mansion. Tonight’s menu was one of my favorites—grilled steak with horseradish mashed potatoes and a summer salad of ripe tomatoes, crunchy cucumbers, and tangy red onions that the pixies grew up in the greenlab. I heaped a plate full of steak, potatoes, and salad, along with dates that had been stuffed with gorgonzola cheese and wrapped in bacon, which was my absolute favorite food. Bacon made everything better.
A guy swaggered up next to me. “You gonna leave some of those for the rest of us?”
My fingers curled a little tighter around the tongs I was using to pick up the dates. “Vance.”
“Lila.”
Vance Groves was one of the top Sinclair guards with Talents for both speed and strength. At twenty, he’d already been serving the Family for a couple of years. Vance patrolled down on the Midway, and he was one of the few guards who actually enjoyed strutting around in the cheesy black cloak and feathered cav
alier hat, both of which he was wearing right now. He thought that the ren-faire gear made him look oh so dashing, and he was absolutely right about that. With his golden hair and blue eyes, Vance was seriously handsome, something he took great pride in. He was always posing for photos with the giggly tourist girls—and then slipping them his phone number afterward.
Vance also thought that he was the best fighter in the Family, something I’d disproven over and over by disarming him every time we sparred together. Vance didn’t like anyone beating him at anything, especially not a newbie recruit like me, and he went out of his way to annoy me every chance he got.
Vance sneered at me, snatched the tongs out of my hand, and started piling the bacon-wrapped dates onto his plate.
“You don’t want to do that.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“You’re watching your weight, remember?” My voice was oh so kind but loud enough for everyone around us to hear. “Good for you, trying to get rid of your potbelly. Not to mention that male pattern baldness that’s starting to set in. But hey, the hat covers that up, right?”
Vance’s eyes bulged with anger, and his mouth dropped open, but only strangled syllables escaped.
I gave him a sweet smile, slipped the tongs out of his hand, and piled the rest of the dates onto my plate so that he would have to wait for the pixies to bring out another tray.
I slapped the tongs into his chest. “Later, Vance.”
His fingers fisted around the utensil like he wanted to brain me with it, but I was already grabbing a glass of sweet iced tea and striding away.
I put Vance out of my mind and carried my food over to the table where Devon and Felix were sitting, along with a tall, muscular man with onyx skin and black hair peppered with silver threads. Oscar was hanging out with some of the other pixies at a table next to the windows.
Devon and Felix were dressed in nice shirts and black pants, just like me, but the man was a completely different story. He sported white linen pants and a lime-green Hawaiian shirt patterned with exploding volcanoes spewing scarlet lava. The garish combination of green and red made him the most colorful thing in the room. White flip-flops covered his feet, while a white straw hat was hooked on the back of his chair.
Mo Kaminsky, my friend and fence, looked at me as I pulled out a chair and sat down next to him. “So, kid, whatcha got for me today?”
I reached into my pocket, drew out the small stone statue of a Fenrir wolf that I’d swiped on my way to the dining hall, and set it down on the table. “And you?”
Mo grinned, reached into one of his own pockets, and drew out a crystal paperweight shaped like a tree troll.
I grinned back. “Nice.”
Felix eyed the statue and the paperweight. “Um, aren’t those supposed to be in one of the downstairs living rooms? Don’t you guys ever get tired of stealing stuff?”
Mo and I looked at each other, our grins widening. “Never,” we said in unison.
Every day, Mo and I each swiped some trinket from somewhere in the mansion, then brought it to dinner to see what our spoils were, so to speak. Last week, we’d both gone for a pair of silver bookends in the library. He’d gotten one and I’d snagged the other. Of course, since we both officially worked for the Family now, we weren’t actually stealing the items. If we had been, Mo would have been taking the pilfered goods down to the Razzle Dazzle, his pawnshop, and either fencing them to one of his shady contacts or foisting them off on some unsuspecting tourist—for twice the items’ value.
Every day after Mo and I showed off our spoils, we switched items and tried to figure out where the other person had gotten their trinket from so we could return it to its proper place. I didn’t mind putting everything back . . . too much. It was a fun game and it kept my skills sharp. But I’d been so busy helping Devon with the tree troll and other Family problems the past few days that I’d fallen behind and had a backlog of shiny knickknacks sitting on the vanity table in my bedroom.
So Mo slid the Fenrir wolf statue into his pants pocket, while I slipped the troll paperweight into mine. Then, we both resumed eating as though we hadn’t stolen anything at all. Mo and I weren’t exactly troubled by things like sticky fingers and guilty consciences.
Felix eyed my plate. “You and the bacon again—it’s like a disease or something.”
I picked up one of the bacon-wrapped dates. “How can something that tastes this good possibly be wrong?”
Felix groaned, but I grinned and popped the date into my mouth. The bacon and fruit combined for a rich, smoky-sweet flavor, while the gorgonzola cheese added a bit of creaminess. A perfect little bite and so good that I polished off the others on my plate, went back to the buffet, and got several more.
Vance Groves glared at me as I walked by, since he was sitting close to the buffet, but I ignored him and returned to my table.
Dinner was fun and boisterous, with Felix and Mo competing to see who could outtalk the other. Felix told Mo all about our tree troll problem, while Mo chattered on about all the odd items that people had pawned at his shop today. The two of them barely shut up, except to take a bite of food every now and then. As much and as fast as they talked, it was a wonder there was enough oxygen in the room for both of them at the same time.
Since I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, I concentrated on my food, which was just as delicious as it looked. The steak was perfectly cooked with a black-pepper crust, while the crispy, cool crunch of the salad offset the slow burn of the horseradish in the buttery mashed potatoes. I washed everything down with the sweet iced tea.
Every so often, I’d look up to find Devon staring at me, a thoughtful expression on his face. He’d been a little cool and distant the past few weeks, ever since I’d told him that I didn’t want to take our friendship—or whatever this thing between us was—to the next level. We’d been so busy with the troll in the square and then finding that poor, murdered monster behind the dumpster that today had been the first day things had felt somewhat normal between us. At least, until he looked at me the way he was right now.
I felt the same way about Devon that he did about me, but I didn’t plan on sticking around here forever. As soon as I figured out what Victor Draconi was plotting against the other Families and found a way to finally make him pay for my mom’s murder, I was on the next bus out of Cloudburst Falls. I didn’t know where I would go or what I would do, but I’d figure it out . . . eventually.
Besides, I already cared about Devon way too much. I didn’t want to get my heart broken when whatever was between us finally ended.
And it would end.
Every good thing in my life had so far, and there was no reason to think that Devon would be any different. Yeah, yeah. I know that folks always say that it’s better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all. Bullshit. Those people hadn’t loved and lost all the things that I had—my mom, my innocence, my childhood. At seventeen, I’d already had enough hurt to last a lifetime.
So I ignored Devon and focused on my food. I’d just popped the last of the bacon-wrapped dates into my mouth when Claudia Sinclair strode into the dining hall.
Claudia was Devon’s mom and the leader of the Family—the big cheese, the top dog, the head honcho. And she looked the part, with her fitted black pantsuit, stiletto heels, and expensive but understated jewelry. A silver cuff flashed on her right wrist, a bit wider, thicker, and brighter than everyone else’s, further marking her as the boss.
Claudia was quite beautiful, with auburn hair and expressive features. It was only when you looked into her green eyes that you saw the strength, determination, and coldness lurking beneath her smooth, polished surface.
Claudia ate most of her meals in the library, which doubled as her office, since she always had some sort of work to do. But even more surprising than her presence in the dining room was the wide smile stretching across her face. It made me more nervous than if she’d stormed in here snarling at everyone.
<
br /> Reginald followed Claudia into the dining hall, along with Angelo Morales, Felix’s dad. Claudia took up a position at the front of the room, with Reginald and Angelo flanking her.
A pixie zipped over and handed Claudia a glass of sparkling apple cider, along with a fork. More pixies fluttered through the room, depositing a glass next to everyone’s elbow. Oscar flew over with my apple cider, grinning and leaning up against the glass, which was taller than he was.
When everyone had been served, Claudia tink-tink-tinked the fork against her glass, and the room hushed.
“What’s going on? What are we celebrating?” I asked Mo.
He winked. “Just wait and see, kid. It’s a Sinclair tradition.”
Everyone faced Claudia, and she looked out over her Family members, the pixies who kept the mansion spotless, the guards who patrolled down in the Midway, the folks who worked at the banks, museums, and other businesses. Her eyes met mine and my soulsight kicked in, letting me feel her rock-hard strength and determination—and sly satisfaction.
Oh, yeah. Claudia was definitely up to something.
She stared at me another moment, then looked out over the dining hall again. “As you all know,” she began, “the Tournament of Blades, the annual contest that all the Families sponsor and participate in, will begin in the morning. It’s one of the summer’s most popular events with the tourists, and this year’s crowd looks to be larger than ever before.”
Several woot-woots of excitement rang out, including some from Mo. I rolled my eyes. He didn’t care about the tournament so much as he did about all the people it would bring into the Razzle Dazzle to buy the junk he had for sale.
“Every year, Reginald, Angelo, and I select those who will represent the Sinclair Family in the tournament and announce them here, at dinner, the night before the competition starts,” Claudia continued. “The tournament requires a unique combination of speed, strength, smarts, and fighting skills, all of which we take into account when making our selections. Tonight, I am happy to share those names with the entire Family.”
Dark Heart of Magic Page 5