The buds snapped open. A riot of flowers blanketed the tree, the delicate blossoms in all shades from white to intense pink so dense, you couldn’t see the leaves. A sweet scent filled the room.
Edward closed his eyes and breathed in, deeply.
The azalea bloomed harder, as if trying to comfort him.
“Put the guns away,” I murmured.
The security chief slowly lowered his weapon.
“He nearly killed his own children, the fucking moron,” Edward snarled. “He almost murdered his wife. He almost killed me. He ruined the future of our House. Now, when people talk of Sherwoods, they’ll think of murder, treachery, and conspiracy.”
His eyes snapped open.
“Fourteen years. Fourteen years I kept BioCore afloat. I pulled it back from the brink of bankruptcy after our senile asshole of a father drove it into the ground. I kept it afloat when Brian’s research stalled, because he needed time for himself, because he was too overwhelmed and under too much pressure. That little fucker, what the hell does he know about pressure? We all shielded him from it since he was a baby. I kept the creditors at bay. I made deals. I put my own future on hold to keep the House afloat. Olivia was only marginally connected to us, and the effect on our business was catastrophic. Olivia’s betrayal hurt us, but given time, I would’ve pulled us back from it. But now it’s over. He is the fucking Head of our House. His involvement will get out. Rynda’s already a social pariah. With her husband and her mother connected to this mess, nobody will believe she’s innocent. There is no way to overcome the taint. It will strangle the future of his children. He’s finally killed us. We’re done.”
I didn’t know what to say. That was decades of resentment spilling out.
The room was quiet as a tomb.
“Colin,” Edward said.
“Yes, sir?” the chief of security asked.
“Inform my mother that in light of the recent events, I’ll be assuming leadership of the House. What’s left of it. Explain to her that the golden child has driven us into the ground. Also, advise her to prepare for the BioCore bankruptcy filing.”
“Yes, sir.”
The security chief stepped out into the hallway.
Edward looked at me.
“I need to find out why,” I told him. “Could he have done it for money?”
Edward shook his head. “Rynda is independently wealthy. Last night she offered to bail out the company. She views all of our current problems as her fault.”
“Did you take her up on it?”
“No.”
True.
“Not only that, but I made sure that our personal wealth was at least partially shielded. If . . . when BioCore goes under, Brian will still have ample funds to live his life in comfort. Not extravagantly, but in comfort.”
“Is it possible that he did it to keep BioCore afloat?”
Edward laughed.
“I take it that’s a no.”
“No.”
Brian had very few ambitions. That left only one possible motive. “Did your brother ever express dissatisfaction with his marriage?”
Edward sighed. “He came to me about a year and a half ago and told me he wanted to divorce Rynda. He said his children were defective.”
Well. “What did you tell him?”
“I told him I would pretend I never heard what he said. Then I explained that Jessica and Kyle were his children and that as a father, he was supposed to love them unconditionally. He was supposed to protect them and take care of them. That they couldn’t be discarded or traded in for a new model like last year’s car. If he couldn’t bring himself to be proud of them, because they didn’t have the kind of magic talent he was hoping for, he still couldn’t abandon his responsibilities. I also reminded him what a charmer our father was, and how tragic it would be if Brian turned into our old man.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me what would happen if he did it anyway. He said that the marriage was stressing him out.” Disgust dripped from Edward’s voice. “I reminded him that Olivia Charles had powerful friends. The effect on BioCore and his social standing would be devastating. I also told him that if that idiocy ever came out of his mouth again, I would retire and leave the running of the company to him, so he could fend for himself. That last one did it.”
“Is social standing that important to him?”
“Yes. Our parents made sure we had clearly defined roles. He is a brilliant researcher, and I’m his older brother, destined to be his caretaker. He doesn’t like when people talk about him in any way other than his assigned role. He tolerated Jessica because she is, in all likelihood, a Prime empath like her mother. But Kyle conflicted with Brian’s view of himself. Brian was a gifted Prime herbamagos, therefore his son would also be a gifted Prime herbamagos.”
If Rogan and I ever married and our children weren’t Primes, would he resent me? My heart squeezed itself into a tiny painful ball.
“My brother isn’t stupid. He knows perfectly well that his position as the Head of the House lets him float through life. Doors open. The maître d’ always finds his reservation, and if one hadn’t been made, a table is miraculously found anyway. People treat him with respect. Everyone minds his feelings. He doesn’t have to deal with investors and creditors. He doesn’t have to make painful decisions about firing people. He delegates his problems to me and his wife. Kyle threatened that. What happens when Brian retires? Who takes over? Does BioCore even have a future? It calls the very essence of who Brian is into question. There is nothing worse than a failing vector. The stigma of it is like poison. It stains the whole House.”
I’d heard the term before. A failing vector meant a person whose ancestors possessed potent magic, but who fails to pass it on to his children, so the family’s magic grows weaker with every generation.
“Do you think Brian is a failing vector?”
“I don’t care,” Edward said. “But no. I think Kyle will come into his own. And even if he doesn’t, he’s a bright child. Anyone who talks to him for longer than a minute can see it. My mother never cared much for children, even her own, but Olivia saw it. She adored him. She framed every painting he made.”
“Thank you for your time.” I rose.
He looked at me, his eyes haunted. “Have you told Rynda?”
“Not yet.”
“It might break her. I want to be there.”
“I’ll do my best to make sure you’re there, but I can’t promise anything. I don’t know what will happen.”
I left the room. Leon trailed me.
I wanted to take a shower to wash the stress off.
“He’s in love with Rynda,” Leon said. “His whole face lit up when he talked about her.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he marry her? Why did she marry Brian?”
“Probably because Brian was the Head of his House, and Olivia Charles wouldn’t have seen Edward as a winner. She was very proud.”
We took the elevator down to the lobby.
“If we become a House, you’ll be the Head of House Baylor.”
“Yes.” And what joy that would be.
“We’d be a serious House,” he said. “You’re a Prime, Catalina is a Prime, Arabella is probably a Prime. Bern might be a Significant. We’d have four higher-tier magic users.”
“Mhm.” He’d obviously given it some thought.
“Are you going to marry Mad Rogan?” Leon asked. “You’d both be Heads of the Houses.”
Um. “He hasn’t asked me.”
I walked through the doors outside and blinked against the bright sunshine.
“Maybe you should ask him,” Leon said.
If only it were that easy. We headed to my car. The parking lot was half-deserted. I had parked on the side because the lot at the front entrance and ER was full.
“You just want to be related to Mad Rogan.”
“No,” he said, his dark eyes serious. “I want you to be happy.”
“I’m sorry?” I stopped.
“I want you to be happy,” he repeated. “He makes you happy.”
“Rogan and I may not be compatible.”
Leon looked like he had bitten into a lemon. “Like . . . sex . . . ?”
“Children, Leon. He’s a telekinetic and I’m a truthseeker. Our children might not be Primes. You saw how Brian dealt with it.”
“Does Rogan care?”
The last time we openly talked about it, Rogan told me that even though I thought it didn’t matter, it would. “I don’t know. He said he doesn’t—”
My phone rang just as a massive armored truck swung into the parking lot in front of us. A Vault vehicle flashed in my head. Grandma had worked on one before. It looked like an armored security truck from the outside and a stretch limo from the inside. Seating capacity of twenty-five. Shit. We’d never make it to our car. The hospital and Sherwood’s security was our best bet.
“Run!” I barked, and sprinted toward the hospital. Leon shot past me like I wasn’t even moving.
Magic punched the ground in front of me. The blast knocked me back. I stumbled.
A man popped into existence two feet from me. He was almost eight feet tall, slabbed with muscle and naked. His skin was bright red, the bright red of the biological armor of House Madero, and he had Dave Madero’s face. But that couldn’t be right, because Rogan had broken Dave like a toothpick.
Someone had teleported him flashed in my head.
The man’s hands clamped my shoulders. He jerked me off my feet. My bones groaned.
“House Madero says hello, bitch!” He shook me like a rag doll. “Where is your boyfriend? He hurt my brother!”
Not Dave. Frank or Roger Madero.
“Where is he?” He shook me. My teeth rattled in my skull. “Your grandma said to bring you alive. She didn’t say in one piece.”
That was too much. All the stress, worry, and fear combusted into fury inside me and burst into an inferno. He had my shoulders but he didn’t have my hands. I jerked my forearms up and clamped my fingers on his face. Pain flared inside me and rolled down my arms, turning into pure agony. Lightning shot out of my fingers and sank into the armored skin.
Madero screamed.
Welcome to the shockers, bitch. Someone snarled like a pissed-off animal and I realized it was me.
Madero howled and dropped to his knees. I clung on to him. My nails cut into his skin, drawing blood. His armor was failing.
The pain was almost too much to take.
Madero ran out of air. His scream broke into weak, desperate yelps, his voice hoarse.
A glowing light swung into my view. I had to let go, or I would spend all my magic and die.
I jerked my hands away. Madero collapsed at my feet, facedown, convulsing.
I reeled back. People were running from the truck toward us. The world was swimming, out of focus. I’d spent too much magic.
My cousin thrust himself into my view, his gun in his hands. “Now?”
“Now!” My hand found my Baby Desert Eagle.
Leon fired. There was no pause. He didn’t wait to sight. He didn’t breathe. He jerked the gun up and fired all eight shots in what felt like a single second.
Eight people dropped. Four remained. For a moment they paused, shocked, then spun around and dashed back to their truck.
I thrust my gun up, lined up a shot, and took it. The truck’s front left tire shuddered. Another shot, another tire. The four fleeing attackers veered away from the vehicle, running deeper into the parking lot.
I exhaled.
None of the eight bodies moved.
Madero lay at my feet, breathing like he was about to have a heart attack. He’d shrunk some and his skin turned an almost normal color.
“Five,” I said.
Leon looked at me, wild-eyed.
“House Baylor will have five higher-tier magic users. This is what you do, Leon. This is your magic.”
Leon stared at the eight bodies in the parking lot. “Oh my God. Oh my God. They’re dead. They’re dead dead.”
“Yes.”
He spun to me. “I killed them.”
“Yes.”
Leon’s expression crumbled. He bent over and vomited onto the pavement.
Chapter 10
Once Leon finished throwing up, I told him to go inside and tell the hospital staff we needed help. It took six people to load Dave 2.0 onto a gurney and wheel him into the ER.
A hospital administrator, a plump Hispanic woman in her mid-forties, ran up to me, her face pale, her mouth a thin, tense line. “Should I call the cops?”
What would Rogan say? “It’s House business.”
She straightened. Some of the frantic agitation went out of her face. I’d said the magic words absolving her of all responsibility.
“I’ll notify the authorities,” I said. “Please see to the wounded.”
“What wounded? Everyone is dead.”
“See to my cousin, then.”
She turned around to where Leon sat on the curb. His skin had acquired a sallow greenish tint.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll do that.”
I walked over to Leon, crouched, and hugged him. He didn’t struggle or make disgusted noises. A really bad sign.
“You did great,” I told him.
“It wasn’t real before,” he said quietly.
“When you lined up shots for Mom?”
He nodded. “It’s real now. I killed them. They’re dead because of me.”
I had to fix this now, or it would cripple him. “No, I killed them. I ordered you to shoot, and you obeyed my order. This is on me, not on you.”
His hands were shaking.
“Leon, these people were attacking us. If you didn’t stop them, they would’ve dragged me off to Victoria Tremaine. They might have killed you. Our whole family would be in danger. You did the right thing. You didn’t run away. You saved me, and Mom, and Grandma, and your cousins and your brother. You saved all of us.”
A man in hospital scrubs came up and wrapped a blanket around Leon. I gently tucked the blanket around him.
“You did great.”
He looked up at me. “I did.”
“Yes. Mom will be so proud. My dad would be so proud. You defended us.”
“Okay,” he said.
Victoria would pay for this. I would make her pay.
“Did you get sick?” he asked.
“The first time I shot someone? I felt sick.”
“But did you throw up?”
“I didn’t have time. The building exploded and I passed out. But if I’d had a chance, I would’ve thrown up for sure. The first time I saw Rogan kill someone, I almost got sick on him. We were in the Pit and he dropped a building on this scumbag. Just cut a chunk of the building off and crushed him with it. It took me a long time to get over it.”
“Is it always this bad?”
“No. You grow numb to it.” The sound of David Howling’s neck breaking popped in my ears. Leon didn’t need to know about that. He didn’t ever need to know how that felt. I would move heaven and earth to make sure he never found out.
Two armored SUVs pulled into the parking lot and ejected Rivera and six of Rogan’s people. The cavalry had arrived in record time, but they were too late.
They raced toward me, Rivera barking orders. “Guard here, here, and there. I want no blind spots. If something aims for this parking lot, I want to know about it before it gets here.”
People peeled off from the group. He crashed to a halt before me. “Are you okay, Ms. Baylor?”
Define okay. “Everything is fine.”
“Where is Frank Madero?”
It took me a second to remember that he would be in constant contact with Bug and Bug would’ve identified Frank the moment he popped into existence. “In the ER.”
“Should we take him into custody?”
“No.”
Rivera looked uncomfortable. “Do you w
ant guards on his room?”
“No.” He wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon.
“Bug said there were survivors. Do you want us to chase them down?”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
The four remaining ex-military badasses looked almost desperate.
“The Major was very specific.” Rivera’s face had the expression of a man walking across hot coals. “We’re supposed to render assistance and keep you safe. We weren’t here.”
Now it made sense. Rogan told them to guard me and they let me get attacked and got here after the fight was over. That’s why they were sweating bullets.
“When the Major returns, you can tell him that you did your job. There was an altercation, it’s over now, and I’m safe. If he asks about details, tell him to ask me.”
Rivera didn’t look convinced.
I sighed. “Would you like to render some assistance?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly did Rogan say you could help me with?”
“Anything you need.”
“Please gather the dead people and identify as many of them as possible. Someone teleported Frank in front of me, and it would be good to ID the teleporter mage. Please follow whatever protocol Rogan uses and notify the authorities that a violent confrontation took place between House Madero and Baylor family. If we could get Rogan’s legal department involved, it would be great, because I need to be home in the evening, and I can’t spend the rest of the day in the police station being interrogated. I also need phone numbers for the Madero family and Victoria Tremaine. I’d like new tires for the Vault. It’s worth two hundred and fifty grand and we’re going to take it home to my grandma. And once everything has been taken care of and the authorities release us, I would appreciate an escort home. That should keep the Major happy.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
In less than a minute Bug texted the two phone numbers, one for House Madero, ruled by Peter Madero, and the other for Victoria Tremaine’s rented penthouse office suites at Landry Tower. I sat on the curb next to Leon and watched Rogan’s people move the corpses.
Madero or Tremaine first? Tackling Madero would be simpler. I’d looked them up after Dave’s attack. House Madero consisted of Peter Madero, the patriarch, who was in his seventies; his daughter-in-law Linda; and her sons David, Frank, Roger, and fourteen-year-old twins, Ethan and Evan. Roger was married and his wife was pregnant.
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