More white stars began to flash in front of my eyes as I thought about the rest of that day. Me getting emotional was a sure way to trigger another unwanted trip down memory lane, so I forced myself to blink and blink, and breathe and breathe, until the white stars had faded away and my heart wasn’t racing like one of the go-carts the tourist rubes loved to drive.
I didn’t want to remember anything else. I wasn’t going to let myself remember anything else.
Not tonight.
I whipped around, stormed back into my room, and slammed the balcony door behind me, as if cutting off my view of the Midway would somehow ease the ache in my heart.
I woke up the next morning and got ready like it was just another day—and not the first day of what was left of the rest of my likely short life.
I stuck my chopstick lock picks through my ponytail and put on my best pair of gray cargo pants, a light blue T-shirt, and blue sneakers. I also grabbed my backpack and transferred a few supplies from it into my pants pockets, including some quarters. Of course, I could have put on my blue spidersilk coat and my ironmesh gloves, but I didn’t want Claudia to see them and get suspicious about where they had come from. Besides, I had a feeling it was going to be better to blend in with the crowd here as much as I could.
As a final touch, I slid my black leather belt with its throwing stars through the loops on my pants, before buckling my mom’s scabbard to the belt. I didn’t know if or when someone here might give me a weapon, but I wanted her sword with me. Besides, I was supposed to be Devon’s bodyguard, so I might as well look the part.
I picked up her sword and stared at the star carved into the hilt of the black blade, tracing my finger over the shape, before doing the same to the other stars etched into the weapon.
“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, sliding the sword into the scabbard.
I went over and peered at the pixie house, hoping to get the introductions out of the way, but it was as dark and silent as before, although it seemed as if several more honeybeer cans now littered the yard. If Oscar had gotten his drink on last night, I hadn’t heard him. Tiny had rolled over onto his back, his chubby, dark green legs sticking up into the air as he enjoyed his morning nap. I thought about turning him right side up, but he seemed content, so I left him alone—
Music suddenly blasted out of the trailer, making me jump in surprise. I didn’t recognize the song, but it was loud, twangy, and not at all what I wanted to listen to this early in the morning. I waited, wondering if Oscar might finally deign to step out of his trailer, but the pixie didn’t appear. Tiny’s legs twitched, and he swayed from side to side on his shell, almost as if he were grooving to the music in his sleep. I winced. That made one of us.
But the music’s volume kept increasing, a clear, go-away-right-now sign, so I turned toward the closed, locked door. No one had knocked on it during the night, and no one had tried to come inside. If they had, they would have had a hard time of it, since I’d grabbed the chair from the vanity table and wedged it under the doorknob. Something I always did whenever I was sleeping in a strange, new place.
But I hadn’t heard any sounds in the hallway last night, at least none that had been loud enough to wake me. I cocked my ear toward the door, but I was greeted with silence, except for Oscar’s insanely loud music. So I guessed it was up to me to go out and greet my new Family.
Yippee-skippee.
I moved the chair out of the way, opened the door, and stepped outside.
I headed down the stairs, craning my neck from side to side, trying to see all the smooth marble floors, gleaming windows, and sparkling chandeliers at once. As I wandered from room to room, and floor to floor, I thought about picking up a few things to add to the stash of silverware that I’d put in one of the vanity table drawers in my bedroom. A crystal candelabra perched on a fireplace mantel. An ivory box sitting on a table. Silver bookends shaped like the hand-and-sword crest. But I resisted the urge to tuck away some items for a rainy day. For now.
As I strolled down to the ground floor, I also made careful note of the mansion’s layout. Windows. Doors. Hallways. Balconies with steps leading downward. Trellises full of roses winding up from one level to the next. The drainpipes attached to the exterior walls. I made a mental X in my mind of any spot and anything that could help me make a quick escape.
I was a bit surprised that no one appeared to put a stop to my not-so-secretive scouting, but after a few minutes, I realized why—because the mansion was empty.
No Family members lounged around in the upstairs living rooms, chatting to each other. No pixies zipped through the air, carrying trays of food from one floor to the next. No kids played pool in the game room or watched a movie on the massive TV.
It seemed as if the Sinclair Family was quite a bit smaller than I’d thought.
I reached the ground floor and continued with my wanderings. I stopped in a corridor and sniffed. That smelled like . . . bacon. Lots and lots of bacon. My stomach rumbled in anticipation. Reginald never did bring me anything to eat last night, and I’d had to make do with the cookies and apples I snatched from the school lunch line yesterday.
Drawn by the siren scent, I walked down a hallway, which opened up into an enormous dining hall. Tall, skinny windows lined the entire back wall, stretching from the floor to the ceiling and providing a view of the deep, dark, evergreen woods that flanked the grounds. Sunlight streamed in through the glass, causing the crystal chandeliers to glisten and gleam like diamonds. In between the chandeliers, gold and silver paint swirled across the vaulted ceiling. A series of long tables that could easily seat thirty people each took up the middle of the room, with black-and-white Persian rugs peeking out from underneath them.
There were actually some people here, although not nearly as many as I would have expected. A few folks in business suits laughed and talked with several guards, who were dressed in more practical black boots, pants, shirts, and cloaks, their swords propped up in the seats next to them and topped off with their cavalier hats. Other people sat in groups of ones and twos, glancing around nervously as if they’d never been here before. Several pixies fluttered through the air, their translucent wings shimmering with opalescent fire, as they put out steaming platters of eggs, bacon, and pancakes on the buffet tables along the right wall.
Everyone focused on me, the new girl, and the clatter and clank of dishes slowly stopped, as did all the conversations. It was like I was right back in high school. But I ignored the curious stares and whispers, grabbed a plate, and helped myself to as much breakfast as I could pile onto the white china. I took a seat at the end of the table closest to the food, away from everyone else, and dug into the spread.
A female pixie zipped by and deposited a glass of orange juice by my elbow. I mumbled my thanks through a mouthful of bacon, which was as salty, crispy, and delicious as it smelled.
The food was way better than I expected. The scrambled eggs were light and fluffy, while the blackberry pancakes were tart and sweet. I’d always known that pixies were excellent cooks, but I never expected anything like this. Then again, I lived on granola bars for breakfast, lasagna lunches at the rube high school, and greasy takeout burgers for dinner. Anything homemade was a treat to me, and I quickly polished off one plate of food and went back for seconds.
I’d just sat down again when a shadow fell over me. I looked up to see Grant Sanderson standing on the opposite side of the table, dressed in black pants and an expensive white polo shirt that highlighted his muscled chest. He didn’t look like he’d put any real effort into his appearance, although he was still as handsome as ever. He was probably one of those guys who could roll out of bed looking gorgeous.
“Oh,” he said. “You’re here already.”
I shrugged and kept eating.
Grant fixed himself some food and took the seat opposite mine. He picked up his fork, but he tap-tap-tapped it against his plate instead of digging into his food. Fool. It was criminal to let that much b
acon get cold.
“So I’m sure you have some questions about how things work around here,” he finally said.
I shrugged again and focused on my pancakes.
“Well, I’m the Sinclair broker,” Grant said. “That means I’m responsible for managing all of the Family’s business interests and any problems. Customer complaints, crimes against the tourists, scuffles with members of other Families.”
In every Family, three positions were the most powerful—broker, bruiser, and butler. Since Grant was the broker, that meant he was one of the most important people in the Sinclair mob, equal to Devon as the bruiser and Reginald as the butler. The only person with more power would be Claudia, as the head of the entire Family.
Grant waited, as if expecting me to be impressed, so I decided to grease his wheels.
“You seem very young to be in such an important position.”
His shoulders puffed up with pride. “Twenty, actually. The youngest broker ever in the Family.”
I thought about pointing out that at nineteen, Devon was even younger and in an equally important position, but I held my tongue. For a change.
Grant stared at all the empty seats around us. “Such as it is.”
I finished off the last of my pancakes and pushed away my plate. I’d go back for thirds in a minute. But if Grant was in such a chatty mood, then who was I to stop him from spilling secrets?
“I get the suits and the guards,” I said, gesturing at the people at the appropriate tables. “They obviously work for the Family. But who are the other people?”
I pointed to some of the ones and twos who were keeping to themselves.
“Oh, those are folks who’ve come to see Claudia,” Grant answered. “Problems they’re having, favors they want, petitions to become part of the Family. That sort of thing. They wait in here until she can meet with them in the library.”
So the Ice Queen deigned to see her noble subjects after all. I wondered if she made them bow to her as well. Probably.
“Okay,” I said. “But why is the rest of the mansion so . . . empty?”
Grant glanced over at the buffet, but all the pixies had gone back to the kitchen to get refills and no one was sitting at our end of the table. He leaned forward.
“You know that Lawrence, Devon’s dad, was murdered several months ago, right?” he said in a low voice. “It was all over the news.”
Total understatement. Lawrence Sinclair had been attacked and stabbed to death after leaving a New Year’s Eve party that the Ito Family had hosted. Something that had strained the already tenuous relations between the two mobs.
“Yeah, I heard about that. So what? Being the head of a Family isn’t exactly a safe job.”
“So people have been leaving the Family ever since,” Grant said. “Everyone knows that Victor Draconi ordered the hit on Lawrence. He’s got the Ito Family in his pocket, and it was probably easy to get them to do his dirty work. Rumor has it that Victor has his eye on the Sinclair Family and that he’s planning to make a move against Claudia. Take over her businesses on the Midway, muscle her out of contracts, things like that. And that’s before he goes in for the kill.”
Grant leaned forward a little more, and his voice dropped even lower. “People are saying that he plans to force Claudia to renounce the Sinclair name, disband the entire Family, and give everything she has over to him, including the mansion. Either that, or—”
“He’ll kill her,” I finished in a flat voice. “And everyone else from the Sinclairs who won’t join him.”
Grant frowned, as if surprised by my knowledge. “Yeah. And that’s why people have been leaving. Nobody wants to be associated with a Family that’s in as much trouble as the Sinclairs are.”
“So why do you stay?”
I tried to use my soulsight, but his gaze kept skittering away from mine before I could get a lock on his feelings. Although for some strange reason, his eyes seemed to darken the longer I stared at him, as if his black pupils were bleeding into the blue of his irises.
Grant wet his lips. “I stay because I—”
“I’m going out today, and that’s final.” Devon’s voice sounded in the hallway outside.
“You were attacked, Devon.” Claudia’s much calmer tone drifted into the dining hall. “And at least one of those people is still out there.”
Footsteps clattered on the marble, and mother and son appeared in the open doorway. Claudia wore another elegant pantsuit, this one a cool white, while Devon had on a black polo shirt and khakis.
“I know that,” Devon said, his voice harsh. “Believe me. I was there. And so was Ashley.”
I didn’t need my Talent for sight to see his fisted hands, the muscles standing out in his arms, and how tightly his jaw was clenched.
“I’m not going to hide in the mansion,” Devon said. “I did it enough after Dad died. I’m through sitting around. I’m not afraid of the Draconis or the Itos or any of the other Families, and I plan to show them that. I need to show everyone I’m not a coward.”
Claudia’s stern expression softened. “You aren’t a coward, but you’ve been through a lot this year. We all have.” She hesitated. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“It’s a risk I have to take, that we all have to take by being Sinclairs,” Devon said.
Claudia reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
“Besides, you know why I have to go,” Devon said, his voice taking on a sour note as he pulled away from her. “You’re the one who set it up, after all.”
Claudia’s mouth puckered. Devon turned and looked into the dining hall.
His jaw clenched a little tighter when he realized that everyone inside was watching and had heard every single part of their conversation. But he squared his shoulders and stepped inside the room anyway. I couldn’t help admiring him a little for that.
My stomach rumbled again, and I decided to make the most of the awkward silence that had descended over the dining hall.
“Well,” I said in a bright voice, getting up and heading back to the buffet table. “If I’m going to be on bodyguard duty today, then I’m definitely going to need some more breakfast.”
Claudia fixed herself a plate of food and stopped by the table where Grant and I were sitting.
“Grant, will you please make sure that Devon gets to his appointment?” Claudia said. “And Lila, too.”
She might be paying me to be her son’s guard, but she didn’t trust me. Not if she was sending Grant along to babysit me. Smart woman. Claudia gave me a chilly look before she left the dining hall. I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out at her.
Devon fixed himself a plate and took the seat next to Grant, focusing on his food and avoiding everyone’s eyes. A minute later, Felix wandered in, grabbed all the remaining bacon off the buffet, and plopped down in the chair next to me. The four of us ate in silence for several minutes.
“You know when we went to pick up Lila yesterday, I’d forgotten how cute your new bodyguard was going to be, Devon,” Felix drawled in his typical, flirty voice. “Please tell me that you don’t plan on keeping her all to yourself.”
Devon’s hand tightened around his fork, but he didn’t respond to his friend’s teasing. Instead, his lips pressed together and his face looked even grimmer than before. His eyes met mine, his guilt punching me in the chest. I wondered if it was because Ashley was dead—or he knew that I was going to end up that way, too.
“Maybe I’ll just have to steal her for myself.” Felix winked at me.
Grinning, I leaned closer to him and dropped my hand down behind his back. “Do you not remember how easily I kicked your ass yesterday, pretty boy?” I said in a sweet tone. “I could slice you up like a pizza before you knew what hit you.”
I leaned away from him and tossed his wallet onto the table. “Besides, I don’t date guys who can’t hang on to things.”
Felix’s mouth gaped open, and he slapped his hand to his back pocket. “How did you do that
? I didn’t feel a thing!”
“No, you didn’t,” I said in a smug voice. “Even if you did, you would have just thought I was grabbing your ass.”
To my surprise, Devon let out a low chuckle, which made his green eyes light up with amusement. It was the happiest I’d seen him. Despite my conflicting feelings, I found myself smiling back. We stared at each other, and his laughter slowly died. So did my smile. We both focused on our food again.
Felix kept up a steady stream of chatter all through breakfast, pointing out people and pixies at the surrounding tables, and telling me a bit of gossip about each one. I pretended to concentrate on my food, but I took in everything. I’d already scouted out most of the mansion, and now it was time to learn about the people inside it, too. Just in case things went badly for me here. Finally, though, Felix wound down, and the four of us finished eating.
“Well,” Devon muttered. “I suppose we should go and get this over with.” He looked at Felix. “You need to come, too. Especially since she’ll be there.”
I wondered who the mysterious she was, but I was polishing off the last of my hash browns, which was much more important than asking a useless question.
Felix rolled his eyes. Whatever Devon was plotting, he didn’t want any part of it.
“Please,” Devon said, a faint, almost desperate note creeping into his voice. “You know how awkward it will be if you’re not there. Besides, she likes you. Everyone likes you.”
“So true.” Felix grinned at his own popularity. “Fine. I’ll go with you. But you totally owe me for this.”
“Done.”
Devon sounded so much like Mo that it made my heart squeeze. But he wasn’t Mo. Devon Sinclair was the reason my mom was dead, and I needed to remember that. Not think about how his hurt and heartache felt so similar to mine.
Grant went to get one of the SUVs out of the garage and bring it around to the front of the mansion. Felix claimed that he needed something from the greenlab, whatever and wherever that was, and both of them hurried off, leaving me alone with Devon. Well, us and the pixies who were picking up the empty food platters and hauling them away.
Cold Burn of Magic Page 11