White Hot

by Ilona Andrews

  More chains spun out of the darkness, trying to contain me.

  No. You won’t bind me. You can’t control my mind. I’ll be free.

  I pushed. I had to win.

  The first chain snapped, breaking. Then another and another.

  Nobody controls me except me.

  The chains broke. The other glowing figure screamed. My magic reached out and gulped her in a single swallow. The cavern exploded around us, shattering.

  I opened my mouth and let my magic speak. “How do I open this door?”

  “There is a panel on the left side,” Olivia Charles’ wooden voice replied from some hidden speaker. “The code is 31BC.”

  The year the Roman Empire was born.

  Rogan opened the panel and entered the code. Something clanged within the wall. It slid aside a couple of inches and stopped.

  “Why didn’t the door open?” A low gnawing ache began within me. My magic still wasn’t at one hundred percent after I had drained myself down to nothing shocking David Howling. I was about to run out of power.

  “I’ve disabled the mechanism from the inside.”

  “We’re out of time.” Rogan raised his hand. “Are you clear?”

  I let go, pulling my magic back to me. “Yes.”

  The section of the wall trembled. Hairline cracks split it with a thunderous snap. The separate chunks of the wall shivered and streaked between us in a controlled starburst, revealing a small room. Inside it within an amplification circle stood Olivia Charles. Her gaze fastened on me. “You!”

  “Me.”

  Her gaze shifted to Rogan. “Enjoy your pitiful triumph. It won’t last.”

  I reached out and looked into her mind. Crap.

  “She’s been hexed,” I said. “She has what we need, but it will take a lot of time to pull it out.”

  “How much time?” Rogan asked.

  “Days.” It would take me that long to regenerate enough magic to take her hex apart.

  “No,” Cornelius said in his eerie voice, his word suffused with emotion. “She murdered my wife.”

  Conflict churned in Rogan’s eyes. We needed Olivia. We needed her badly.

  The muscles on his jaw locked.

  He’d promised.

  Rogan opened his mouth. “I stand by my word. She is yours.”

  “Let her go,” Cornelius told me.

  I released her. Another moment and I would’ve lost my hold.

  Cornelius looked at Olivia, his face pale. “You took Nari’s life away from her. You took my wife away from me. You took the mother from my child.”

  Olivia sneered at him. “What will you do, you pathetic little man? You’re not even a Prime. Will you summon a litter of puppies to lick me to death? Go on. Show me.”

  “When my grandfather came to this country,” Cornelius said, “he took a new name, one that would be familiar to his new countrymen.”

  Olivia crossed her arms on her chest.

  “Our real last name isn’t Harrison. It’s Hamelin.”

  A low sound like the noise of a waterfall came from behind us, insistent and oddly disturbing.

  “We’re not named for the place where we were born. We’re named for the place where years before Osiris serum was discovered our ancestor became infamous for his magic.”

  Cornelius opened his mouth and sang a long wordless note. A black wave burst into the room. It shifted and moved, charging forward, not uniform, but made of thousands of tiny bodies.

  Olivia Charles screamed, terror raw in her voice.

  Cornelius’ voice rose, commanding and beautiful. It reached right into your chest, took your heart into a cold fist, and held it still. The wave surged between us and swarmed Olivia, burying her body. She shrieked and flailed, but the rats kept coming, thousands and thousands of them, until she became a swirling mound of fur. There was nothing I could do but stand there and listen to her being eaten alive while the Pied Piper of Houston sang like an angel, mourning the love of his life.

  I sat in my office and watched the correspondents on Eyewitness News lose all cool over a still shot of Olivia Charles’ skeletal remains. How they had gotten it, I had no idea. Houston PD had that scene wrapped up tighter than a straitjacket. By the time we exited the building, my sisters were gone and the majority of the fortress guards with them. SWAT found them later, wandering through the brush, weeping, and telling stories of the girl and a thing that stole her. Nobody could adequately describe the thing, only that it was huge and monstrous, which was just as well. We’d dodged the bullet.

  Lenora demanded Rogan’s and Cornelius’ presence for a debriefing and mounds of paperwork. I wasn’t invited, for which I was grateful. I went home, hugged my sisters, ordered pizza, and fell asleep on the couch before it arrived. It was afternoon now—I had slept straight through the morning and would’ve slept longer, but Grandma Frida got worried and put ice on my face to make sure I “wasn’t in a coma.” It was time to settle with my client, who was due to walk through my door at any minute. He’d spent the entire day today moving out.

  I hadn’t heard from Rogan. No calls, no messages, nothing. It was less than twenty-four hours without contact, but I had the most unsettling sense of déjà vu. He couldn’t disappear on me again.

  As if on cue, Cornelius walked through the door separating the office from the rest of the house and knocked on the glass wall of my office.

  I clicked off the broadcast on my laptop. “Please, come in.”

  He came in and sat in the chair.

  “How do you feel?” I asked him.

  He thought about it. “Relieved. The anger is gone. All I have left is grief. Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

  “You’re welcome. I’m glad that you’re relieved.”

  “If I can ask, why the change of heart?” Cornelius said. “You were adamant before that you didn’t want to contribute to the killer’s death.”

  “David Howling sent a death threat to Matilda.”

  Cornelius sat up straighter. “Why was I not told?”

  “Because it was designed to throw you off balance. I was concerned about your mental state. You weren’t sleeping and you kept carrying mysterious sacks into odd places.”

  “They were grain sacks,” Cornelius said. “Rats need a lot of food to grow from a mischief to a swarm.”

  “Mischief?”

  “That’s the proper term for a group of rats. A pack of dogs, a murder of crows, a mischief of rats. They are misunderstood creatures. In reality, they are intelligent colony animals. Studies have proven that rats will feed caged companions before eating, themselves, for example. But people have an instinctual fear of them, so I kept the exact method of my revenge to myself. And no, I wasn’t unhinged.”

  “It was my call and I made it.”

  He nodded. “Please continue.”

  “When Howling confronted Rogan and me in the circle, he assured me that he didn’t enjoy child murder and that he would tie that loose end with minimal pain.”

  Cornelius locked his jaw. “Did he?”

  “I realized that as long as he and Olivia Charles lived, your daughter wouldn’t be safe. I also realized that Olivia would never permit herself to be captured and interrogated. I don’t know why, but their devotion to this new Caesar is absolute. When Howling spoke about his new vision, his face lit up. They truly believe they are patriots. Patriots don’t turn state’s evidence. They become martyrs. I could wash my hands of it and let you and Rogan do the heavy lifting or I could come and help. I chose to help and I’ll live with my decision.”

  I opened the file and handed him the bill. “This is your final bill.”

  He looked at it for a moment. “That’s it?”

  “Yes. You will see the final breakdown of hours and expenses below. The dress charge has an explanation. Due to the circumstances beyond my control, I was unable to return the dress in a timely manner, so I was charged an additional fee of two thousand dollars. Because these circumstances happene
d as the direct result of the investigation, the surcharge was passed onto you. With your $50,000 deductible applied, your final bill comes to $7,245 even.”

  Cornelius pulled out his checkbook and wrote a check to me. Usually I didn’t deal with checks, but I had no doubt that his would be good.

  “Thank you.”

  I signed the receipt and passed it to him. He looked at it. “Somehow it just doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “You could pay more, if you want, but I suspect you may need that money. What will you do now?” I didn’t add “since your wife is dead.” Nari had been their primary breadwinner.

  “I’ll find a job,” he said. “I was hoping to ask you for one.”

  “Me?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen what you do. I believe I would be an asset.”

  I blinked. Nobody outside my family had ever asked me for a job before. If I could get him, I’d dance with joy. Between the birds, the cats, and the ferrets, we could expand our surveillance while minimizing the risk. We’d take in twice as much money.

  If. That was a huge if.

  “I would love if you worked for us.”

  “I sense a but,” he said.

  “You’re a member of a House and your magic is incredible. I can’t possibly pay you your worth.”

  “How do you normally handle your payroll?” he asked.

  “It depends on the case. Bernard is paid by the hour. He doesn’t typically see a case through from the beginning to the end. Usually his services are required on an as-needed basis. Sometimes my sisters take individual cases and earn commission upon successful resolution. The firm takes thirty percent of the fee, the contractor takes seventy. We provide dental and medical.”

  “I would work on commission,” he said.

  “It wouldn’t be that much money to begin with.”

  “I have a cushion,” he said. “In fact, you provided me with one. I came into the office prepared to write a check for half a million.”

  “I thought I explained our fees.”

  “Yes.” He smiled. “But I didn’t expect you to stick to that arrangement.”

  “Well, this is one point you will have to take into consideration. What you quote to the client is what you get. We have rules. Rule One, we stay bought. Once we’re hired, we don’t switch sides. Rule Two, we don’t break the law unless there are extremely unusual circumstances. Rule Three, at the end of the day we have to be able to live with our choices.”

  Cornelius considered it.

  A loud thumping came from outside. When Rogan finally did show up, I would have to discuss the whole turning-this-area-into-an-army-camp thing. At some point I would have to return to normal business without all this racket. If he showed up. Worry squirmed through me. Maybe he’d changed his mind.

  No. This was just anxiety talking.

  “Agreed,” he said. “When can I start?”

  It was Wednesday. I’d need at least a few days of downtime.

  “Next week,” I said.

  “Until next week, then.”

  He got up and offered me his hand. I stood up and shook it.

  “I’ll let myself out.”

  He left and I sank back into my chair. We’d just acquired our first permanent employee.

  I heard the door open. The thumping noise blasted into the room. This really was too much.

  “Nevada!” Cornelius called, trying to out-scream the mechanical roar. “I think this is for you!”

  What now? I got up and stepped into the hallway.

  An odd-looking military helicopter sat in the middle of the intersection, its spinning blades blasting the street with man-made wind. Rogan was walking toward me.

  What . . .

  He closed the distance and grabbed my hand. “Come on.”

  “Come on where?”

  “You said you wanted to see the lodge.” He grinned.

  “I have no clothes.”

  He winked at me. “You won’t need clothes.”

  Heat warmed my cheeks. “I need to tell my family . . .”

  “You can call them from the air.”

  “But . . .”

  His blue eyes laughed at me, warm and light. “Come with me, Nevada.”

  I clamped my mouth shut and ran with him to the helicopter.

  Epilogue

  Nevada rolled a heap of snow into a ball. Her smile practically glowed. He’d never seen anyone so happy to play in the snow. It was a wonder the stuff didn’t melt around her. She was like spring, warm and full of life and promise. When she was with him, he couldn’t feel the cold.

  They’d had three blissful days of nothing but snow, good food, hot fire, and even hotter sex. He could stay in this lodge forever. He knew they couldn’t, and thinking about going back brought dread. It would be like coming back to a war.

  Relax, he told himself. She’s right here, safe and happy. Her family will want to see her on Christmas, and he would have to take her back, but for now they could play in the snow.

  He had already bought her present.

  The snowball hurled through the air and hit him in the chest.

  “Really?”

  “Bring it,” she called, her eyes shining.

  He raised his hand, shaping the magic around him. A barrage of snowballs broke free from the snowy bank behind him, streaked across the air, and pelted her. He kept the hits gentle, breaking the snowballs a fraction of the moment before they hit her. She stumbled and landed on her back in the snow, laughing.

  “Not fair!”

  “I’m Mad Rogan. I don’t do fair.”

  His phone chirped. He took it out and flicked his finger across it. A message from Bug.

  Cold gripped him.

  He didn’t see Nevada until she was on top of him. She knocked him off his feet and landed on his chest. Her lips closed on his, and he kissed her, while his mind feverishly cycled through a dozen different strategies.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “You were here with me and now you’re not. What is it, Connor?”

  He opened his mouth to tell her it was nothing, greedy for a few more hours of bliss, and then remembered who she was.

  “Bug identified the shell company that tried to buy your mortgage.”

  Nevada pushed her hat back. “And?”

  “We thought it was Augustine. It’s not. The shell corporation belongs to House Tremaine. Your grandmother knows, Nevada. We have to go back. Your family is in danger.”

  Acknowledgments

  We’d like to thank our editor, Erika Tsang, for her guidance, understanding, and continued belief in the story.

  We are very grateful to our long-suffering agent, Nancy Yost, who puts up with us despite our shenanigans and the wonderful team of NYLA, especially Sarah Younger and Amy Rosenbaum.

  Special thanks to Andrew Suh and Chris Burdick for their advice regarding firearms. All errors of fact are our own and were made despite their help.

  We would also like to thank the following readers who generously donated their time to read the early draft and offer feedback: Nicole Clement, Robin Snyder, Jessica Haluskah, Shannon Daigle, Kristi de Courcy, Sandra Bullock, Joe Healy, Omar Jimenez, Kathryn Holland, Laura Hobbs, Jan and Susan, and others.

  Finally, we would like to thank our readers. Sorry you had to wait for so long.

  An Excerpt from Wildfire

  Keep reading for a sneak peek of

  WILDFIRE,

  the thrilling conclusion to the Hidden Legacy series

  Available August 2017

  Wildfire

  When life hits you in the gut, it’s always a sucker punch. You never see it coming. One moment you’re walking along, worrying your little worries and making quiet plans, and the next you’re rolled into a ball, trying to hug yourself against the pain, frantic and reeling, your mind a jumble of scared thoughts.

  I paused with my hand above the lock’s keypad. This morning I was at a mountain lodge playing in the snow w
ith the most dangerous man in Houston. Then Rogan’s surveillance expert texted him, and here I stood, six hours later, my hair a mess, my clothes rumpled from being under a heavy jacket, in front of the warehouse that served as my family’s home. I would have to go inside and break the ugly news, and nobody would like what was going to happen next.

  The main thing was not to panic. If I panicked, my sisters and my cousins would too. And my mother would do her best to talk me out of the only logical solution to our crisis. I’d managed to keep a lid on my emotions all the way from the lodge to the airport, during the flight on the private jet, and through the helicopter ride from the plane to the landing pad four blocks away. But now all my fears and stress were boiling over.

  I took a deep breath. Around me the street was busy. Not as busy as it had been a few days ago, when I was helping Cornelius Harrison, an animal mage and now an employee of the Baylor Investigative Agency, find out who murdered his wife, but still busy. Rogan’s views on security were rather draconian. He was in love with me and decided that my home wasn’t assault proof, so he’d bought two square miles of industrial real estate around our warehouse and turned it into his own private military base.

  Rogan’s people wore civilian clothes, but they weren’t fooling anyone. They didn’t wander or stroll. They moved from point A to point B with a definite goal in mind. They kept their clothes clean, their hair short, and they called Rogan Major. When we made love, I called him Connor.

  A dry, popping sound came from the street. The memory of Olivia Charles’ bare skeleton punched me. I heard the crunch her bones made as they clattered onto the concrete floor. A wave of anxiety drowned me. I let it wash over me and waited for it to recede. Finding Nari’s killer had been an ugly and brutal mess.

  I didn’t want to walk back into that world. I just . . . I just wanted a little bit more time.

  I made myself look in the direction of the sound. An ex-soldier was coming my way, in his forties, with a scarred face, leading an enormous Kodiak bear on a very thin leash. The bear wore a harness that said Sgt. Teddy.