Wildfire

by Ilona Andrews

  “And me?” Her voice was deceptively mild.

  “Your only son ran away when he was still a teenager. You never had another child, probably because you can’t. Without heirs, House Tremaine will die with you.”

  Victoria’s face showed no emotion. Nothing at all, as if she were carved from rock.

  “You looked for him and terrorized everyone you thought might be connected to his disappearance. But you went too far, and you were made to stop. You wanted the freedom of looking for your son. You wanted access to every database, every information bank, every person you decided to question without such pesky limitations as criminal code or rulings of the Assembly. You wanted more power. What you did is treason. My father wouldn’t stand for it and neither will I. I want nothing to do with you.”

  I got up, turned away, and took a step.

  “The middle one is a siren,” Victoria said behind me. “Like her grandfather. But the youngest is neither a siren, nor truthseeker. She is something else. Something you can never let out.”

  Catalina and Arabella. I spun around.

  Victoria pointed at the chair. “Sit.”

  I sat.

  “I had twelve miscarriages. It runs in the family, something you may need to worry about in the future. We get one offspring per generation, and we count our lucky stars if the child survives. I was my mother’s ninth and final pregnancy. She died when I was twelve. My father followed her two years later. I am House Tremaine. Alone. I wanted a child. The future of the House required it, but I wanted one. And that child would need to be a strong one. A weakling would be killed. The father had to be a Prime. I tried with three different Primes, each carefully chosen, cajoled, seduced, bribed. Whatever it took.”

  Her hands curled around her cup like talons. Old pain flared in her eyes.

  “Why not marry?”

  “Because the man I loved died three weeks into our engagement. He was a precog from the House Vidente. He never foresaw his own death. His business rival commissioned the hit. He was shot as we were walking out of the theater.” She brushed her cheek. “It took me a long time to stop seeing the blood on my skin. It went away, finally, after I killed the last of them.”

  “You killed the entire rival House?”

  “Yes. All of them, the husband, the wife, the children. Their dog.”

  Ice claws pierced my spine.

  “For me, there was only one man. But my child required a father. I tried twelve times before I finally saw the writing on the wall. It had to be an in vitro fertilization. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to convince a Prime to donate his sperm? How afraid they are that their precious DNA will grow legs and take off into the world? You can seduce a man into your bed and tell him comfortable lies about how much you desire him and how your contraception is flawless, so he comes inside you, but ask him to ejaculate into a tube and you can’t hide the true purpose of that request. They realize that you intend to have their child, and they run, because they’re cowards.”

  I should have walked away, but I couldn’t now. I had to know. “What did you do?”

  “In the end, I found one. Formerly of House Molpe. They call themselves something else now. I suppose Molpe was too on the nose. The Office of Records is delighted to call Catalina’s talent siren. They think they are clever and came up with something new, but the truth is, your grandfather’s family called their magic that for generations.”

  “How did you convince him?”

  She grimaced. “Money. They’d excised him. He was a siren, a true Prime, terrified to use his talent because it brought him nothing but misery.”

  “I thought the siren talent only manifested in females.”

  “They’d like you to think that, but no. Believe me, I checked. I had far too much riding on it. The father was the lesser hurdle. I also had to find a surrogate. She had to be a Prime. Anything less than a Prime, and I ran the risk of lessening the child’s magic or her failing to carry to term. I couldn’t afford either. Finding a Prime surrogate was impossible.”

  Oh no. Oh my God, no. “You didn’t.”

  She smiled for the first time, a quick parting of lips and a flash of teeth. “I did.”

  “How?”

  “Blackmail and money. Two of the oldest levers one presses when trying to move people to her purpose.”

  I just stared, horrified.

  “Your father wasn’t just special. He was one of a kind. There will never be another. I had them neuter her.”

  “What?”

  “She’s kept under constant sedation. That’s the only way they can keep her contained. She never knew the pregnancy happened. The cost was astronomical, but it was worth it.”

  “That’s horrible. You are horrible.”

  “I am.”

  She sipped her tea.

  “Your father was a triple carrier. His own magic failed to express, which was expected. I never held that against him. I had enough magic for us both. His real value was in the children he would produce. I always had faith that the genes would sort themselves out. But to do that, to be a successor, he had to be shaped and molded. There were lessons he had to learn. Practical, useful lessons that would keep him alive after I was gone. He hated them, and he hated me for teaching them.”

  Considering what I just heard, those lessons wouldn’t have been the gentle kind. “He left.”

  “He did. I underestimated him. He kept his spine so well-hidden. I pushed and pushed, expecting him to learn or break, but he did neither. He planned his escape and executed it so well that even all of my power couldn’t find him. I was so proud. My son had outsmarted me. I should’ve expected it, but I was so focused on making sure he survived. I had so much to teach and I was in a hurry.”

  “You’re a monster,” I told her.

  “An abomination. I believe that’s the preferred term.”

  I flinched. She smiled again.

  “I see you’ve run into it.”

  “I can’t believe you did that.”

  “I would do it again.”

  “What?”

  “Look how wonderful it turned out. James made not one but three—three!—children. All of them Primes. He did so well. House Tremaine will go on. All I have to do is convince you to see things my way. And we’ve just established that I can be very convincing. What will it take, Nevada?”

  “The answer is still no.”

  “You will do as I say.” The power of her magic clamped me. I shrugged it off.

  “No, I won’t.”

  Victoria laughed. She actually laughed. “You’re everything I ever wanted.”

  My phone chimed. I checked it. A text from Bern. Get out of there.

  I jumped to my feet.

  Five men walked into the restaurant, guns drawn. “On the floor,” the lead one ordered. The hostess dropped down. On my left, the two chefs behind the sushi bar hit the floor.

  “Hands where I can see them,” the leader ordered.

  They hadn’t fired, so they wanted me alive. I held my hands up and glared at Victoria. “Really?”

  She was looking past me at the men. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Alexander says he’s sorry,” the lead man said. “He needs the girl. This is for the cause. He said you would understand.”

  “Oh no, my dears,” my grandmother said. “This isn’t about the cause. This is about family.”

  Magic snapped out of her. When I clamped people with my will, my magic turned into a vise, a net that smothered and bound them. Victoria turned hers into a blade and stabbed the leader with it. He cried out, a weak fading sound, his eyes rolled back into his skull, and he collapsed.

  I jerked my Baby Desert Eagle out.

  In the same instant, the man to the left of the leader yelped and clawed at his eyes. The man on the right fell to his knees and hit his head on the floor.

  I got off four shots before I realized the two remaining targets stood completely still. My bullets ripped into their chests. Slo
wly, they toppled over. Five dead bodies lay on the floor. There was nobody left to kill.

  Someone shoved me from behind. I stumbled forward. The sound of shattering glass cut at my ears, impossibly loud. I swung right, toward the broken window. A man stood with his rifle up, taking another shot. A Ford Explorer exploded out of the parking lot and smashed into him. The shooter went down, a rag doll under the wheels. Bern drove over him, his face bloodless, reversed and backed over the body.

  I turned to Victoria. A dark wet stain spread through Victoria’s shoulder. She’d pushed me out of the way. The bullet with my name on it had torn into her instead.

  “You need an ambulance.”

  She grimaced. “I’ll be fine. I have a private physician.”

  “You’ll bleed out. You need paramedics now.” I grabbed my phone to dial 911. “Why did you do it?”

  “Because you’re my granddaughter, you idiot.”

  My phone died. What the hell, I had fully charged it in the car . . .

  “Wait . . .” Victoria turned pale, looking at something past me.

  I glanced over my shoulder. A darkness spread through the restaurant, expanding from the entrance, climbing over the walls, claiming the space. An ancient darkness that took me into its maw and made me still.

  Michael from the Office of Records walked into the restaurant. He still wore the sharp suit and a crisp shirt, blindingly white against his tattooed neck. His hands burned with blue fire.

  He didn’t look like a gangster at a funeral today. He looked like the twenty-first century Grim Reaper.

  “I didn’t break the rules,” Victoria squeezed out through her clenched teeth. Sweat broke out on her forehead. She strained, locking her teeth again.

  Nothing happened.

  I tried to grab hold of my magic. It flowed out of me. The darkness pounced and devoured it. It hurt. The pain ripped a gasp out of me. Oh, it hurt.

  Michael held up the phone. On it the Keeper of Records smiled. “But you have, twice indirectly and now in public. It is time for punishment, Victoria. So sorry.”

  Michael raised his right hand. The blue fire leaped across the space and splashed onto my grandmother.

  Victoria Tremaine screamed.

  The blue fire poured on.

  Victoria slid off the chair and dropped to the floor. They weren’t just hurting her. They were killing her.

  I heard my own voice. “Stop! Please stop!”

  “Michael,” the Keeper of Records said.

  The blue flames ebbed. Victoria strained to breathe, her skin ashen.

  “Are you asking us to stop, Ms. Baylor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s my grandmother. She saved me. I don’t want to start our House with her death.”

  The Keeper of Records considered it. “Is it a formal request, Ms. Baylor?”

  “Yes.”

  “The Office of Records will grant it, provided you will grant us a favor in return in a place and time of our choosing.”

  “Don’t take it,” Victoria squeezed out, her hand on her chest, blood dripping from her fingers.

  “I agree.”

  “Very well,” the Keeper said. “We will see you at trials, Ms. Baylor.”

  The phone went black.

  Michael opened his mouth. “A mistake.”

  He turned around and walked away, taking the darkness with him.

  In the distance sirens wailed, getting closer.

  An ambulance shot into the parking lot and screeched to a halt. Paramedics ran out, carrying a stretcher through the broken window.

  I crouched by Victoria. “If I peer under Vincent’s hex, will I find your name there?”

  “Yes.”

  “You should run, Grandmother. I won’t shield you from the consequences.”

  She bared her teeth at me. “I’m too old to run. Do what you have to do.”

  My phone flared into life and screamed at me. Bug.

  I swiped my fingers across it to answer.

  “Get on the freeway! Get on Katy now!” Bug screamed into the phone.

  “What’s going on?”

  Something thumped and Catalina’s voice filled the phone. “Vincent kidnapped Kyle and Matilda! He has Matilda!”

  I sprinted to the car.

  Chapter 12

  “Which way on Katy?” I barked into the phone.

  “West!” Bug answered.

  Bern made a hard right, cutting off a Honda. The driver laid on the horn, but we were already speeding through the entrance lane. It was 11:00 a.m. Rush hour traffic. Bern merged into the densely packed lane, and we chugged forward at a breathtaking thirty miles per hour.

  Adrenaline pounded through me. My skin felt hot, my whole body wound so tightly, I was like a loaded gun just waiting to pull the trigger. He took the children. That fucking scumbag. I’d twist his head off.

  “What am I looking for?” I put the phone on speaker.

  “A white truck,” Bug said.

  You’ve got to be kidding me. “Make, model?”

  “Chevy Silverado. Anywhere from 2011 to 2015.”

  The second most common truck in Texas. “That’s it?”

  “All I’ve got to work with is a shot from the side.”

  I craned my neck. My vision, kicked by adrenaline could see three white trucks. Yelling at Bug about it would do no good. He was doing the best he could.

  “What happened?”

  “Edward showed up and wanted to talk to Rynda. Catalina volunteered to watch the kids. Kyle, Jessica, and Matilda wanted to play in the evac basement. We set up a fort for them in there so they wouldn’t be scared during the tornado drill. Jessica wanted to go to the bathroom, and Catalina took her, because Jessica was too shy to go upstairs by herself. Kurt was watching the kids. That dick fucker summoned something that could dig. It tunneled under the basement, broke through the floor, and grabbed Kyle and Matilda.”

  Cold gripped me. “Kurt?”

  “He didn’t make it.”

  Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Poor Kurt. Poor Leon.

  “Catalina found him when they got back down there. By the time it got to me, all I caught was Vincent speeding off from Hammerly onto Sam Houston. I tracked him all the way to I-10, then lost him.”

  “You sure it was him?” Bern asked.

  “I saw the white cat in the window.”

  Matilda never went anywhere without that cat.

  We passed Addick’s Road.

  “Where is Rogan?” I asked.

  “Look above you,” Bug said.

  I dipped my head to look out the windshield. A helicopter was flying low overhead.

  “That tunnel would’ve taken awhile,” I thought out loud. “Vincent had to have watched us drill for tornados. He would’ve tunneled under there in advance and waited. He knew the exact moment.” All of which meant Vincent Harcourt or his people were watching us, or someone betrayed us. Rogan would just love that.

  “Good strategy with the truck,” Bern observed in a detached way.

  “Yes. Vincent knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun Rogan, so he didn’t try.” Even if Vincent had a helicopter of his own, nothing would stop Rogan from getting into striking range.

  “Why Matilda?” Bern wondered.

  “Because Jessica wasn’t there. Whatever creatures he sent probably knew they had to grab the boy and the girl, so they did.”

  Minutes dripped by. Bern wove in and out of traffic with inch-narrow margins of error. Asking Bug if he had anything was pointless.

  “Think he’s dumb enough to take the HOV lane?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t,” Bern said. “He’d be trapped in it.”

  A row of white metal poles separated the High Occupancy Vehicle lane from the rest of the traffic. The HOV traffic moved faster. Fewer cars, more visibility. I’d hide in the slow-moving right lane or in the middle. I’d want to exit if things got too hot.

  The helicopter veered left.

 
“What’s going on?” I said into the phone.

  “A white truck took the exit to Barker Cypress. The camera caught something white in the window.” Bug’s voice vibrated with tension.

  “Should I take the exit?” Bern asked.

  To exit or not? Swinging off the highway onto the side street was a good strategy. It would get Vincent away from the focus of our search.

  “Nevada?”

  The exit waited just ahead. I would get off the highway in his place, but I wouldn’t do it with the chopper overhead. Too risky. And if it was the right truck, Rogan would handle it.

  “I need an answer,” Bern said.

  “No. Stay in the lane.”

  We crept forward. This was awful, even for Houston. Something had to be going on ahead, roadwork, an accident, some disaster to account for this crawl.

  “The truck sped up,” Bug reported. “They are chasing it down.”

  Greenhouse Road.

  “I’m getting the feed now. It’s the right truck.”

  If Bug said it was the right truck, it was the right truck. He had one of the best visual recognition capacities on the planet.

  It just didn’t feel right.

  The Fry Road exit veered off ahead.

  Bern looked at me. I shook my head. We would stay put.

  I wanted to run, punch, scream, do something, but instead I had to sit. We rolled forward.

  A blue flash dashed by me on the shoulder. I stuck my head out of the open window. Zeus.

  “Follow the cat! Bern!”

  He swung the car onto the shoulder and barreled down the lane to the symphony of outraged honking, between the line of cars and the waist-high concrete barrier bordering the edge of the highway.