Cold Burn of Magic

by Jennifer Estep

  I’d never seen someone’s lips actually curl with disgust before, but that was the only way to describe Claudia’s expression.

  “Mo Kaminsky? The Sinclair Family broker? My broker ? I don’t think so,” she spat out.

  “It’s going to be Mo,” I snapped right back at her. “You need someone you can trust, and so do I. Like it or not, that person is Mo. Besides, he knows everyone, and he’ll be able to make deals that you never dreamed of. Not to mention ferret out information about what Victor is plotting.”

  Claudia grumbled, but she nodded.

  We hammered out a few more details, each of us demanding things from the other, and neither of us giving up an inch more than we had to. Finally, though, we’d covered all the major points, including my new and much improved salary. Claudia particularly winced when I told her how much I wanted, but I had her by the throat just as much as she had me.

  “So do we have a deal?” Claudia finally asked.

  I stared at her outstretched hand, once again wondering what I was getting myself into. But like it or not, I was stuck, and so was she.

  So we shook on it, sealing our devil’s bargain.

  Claudia and I walked back to the mansion, then split up. She went to go call Mo and tell him what we’d agreed to. I wandered through the halls, going from one room to the next, and brooding. But I kept running into people who wanted to hear all the gory details about the fight with Grant and the lochness, so I eventually retreated back to my bedroom. I propped my mom’s sword up by the nightstand, took off my suit, and threw on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Oscar fluttered around, making snarky comments and trying to cheer me up, but I wasn’t in the mood for that, either.

  Just after sunset, I found myself out on the balcony, staring down at the flashing lights of Cloudburst Falls. It was the same view my mom would have seen every night, living here at the mansion. I wondered what she had thought about them—Claudia, the Sinclair Family, Victor Draconi. I wondered if she would be happy that I was here now, following in her footsteps, whether I wanted to or not.

  Several soft scrape-scrape-scrapes caught my attention, along with a few muffled curses, and I glanced over. That sounded like someone trying very hard not to fall and not really succeeding at it.

  Sure enough, a second later, Devon came sliding down the drainpipe. Well, sliding was a bit generous. He hit the balcony so fast his knees buckled, and he landed on his ass. But he let out a soft laugh and pushed himself onto his feet, so I knew he wasn’t hurt.

  “How do you climb up and down that thing?” he asked, brushing his hands off and walking over to me. “It’s so much harder than it looks.”

  “Practice,” I quipped.

  He must have been up on the roof, working on the heavy bag, because sweat had beaded at his temples again. He wore black gym shorts and a T-shirt that stretched across his chest in a delicious fashion. I remembered the feel of his body next to mine last night, his fingers curled around mine, his breath kissing my hair. And I wanted to feel those things again right now and more—so much more.

  “What are you doing?” I asked to distract myself from those treacherous thoughts.

  He grinned. “I thought I’d come down and see you for a change.”

  My heart warmed at his words. That was probably the oddest but most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me. But I forced myself to look away from him and turn back to the railing.

  Devon hesitated at my less-than-warm welcome, but he came over and stood beside me, putting his elbows on the stone ledge. We both stared down at the flashing lights, which seemed to burn brighter tonight than ever before.

  “We haven’t had a chance to talk about what happened,” he said. “But I wanted to say thanks. For saving my life.”

  “Just doing my job,” I muttered. “I’m your bodyguard, remember?”

  He winced. Neither one of us said anything for a few minutes.

  “Are you okay?” he asked. “About what happened?”

  “You mean me tricking Grant and those other two men into getting eaten by the lochness?”

  He nodded.

  I shrugged. “I’m fine with it. You?”

  He shrugged back. “I guess I’m all right. I mean, it was him or us. I know that. Although I keep thinking about Grant and everything he did, about how jealous and unhappy he was. I keep wondering if I should have noticed, and if I had, whether I could have done something about it.”

  I shook my head. “Wow. You are way too noble for your own good.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not your fault,” I said. “People are responsible for their own actions. Grant decided to hurt people to get what he wanted, so that’s what he did. There’s no excuse for it. Don’t you dare make excuses for him and everything he did.”

  Devon nodded, and he was quiet again, although I could almost see the gears spinning in his brain. “There’s one more thing I want to know.”

  I tensed, knowing what was coming next, that he was going to ask me how I’d escaped at the slaughterhouse; I was already planning what lies to tell him.

  “It’s about your transference power.”

  I blinked. Apparently, I didn’t know what was coming next because I’d never dreamed it would be that.

  Devon stared at me. “That’s how you got out of your ropes, right? Grant used the same ones on me, so I know how thick they were. But you snapped out of them like they were nothing—after those guys used their strength to hold you still.”

  I didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t say anything. Suddenly, I could barely breathe. One of my deepest, darkest secrets, and Devon was talking about it like it was an action movie we’d both watched. First, Claudia. Now, her son. The Sinclairs were a lot smarter than I’d given them credit for.

  “And when we were running toward the bridge? I could barely keep up with you,” he continued. “You were the one pulling me along, Lila, even though you were hurt a lot worse than I was. That happened after I used my compulsion on you. And I started thinking about all the other times I’ve seen you fight, and how you always seem to get stronger after someone uses their strength or speed against you. That’s transference, right?”

  I wet my lips. “How—how do you know about my magic?”

  He shrugged. “When I was a kid and found out about my own power, I started reading about all the different kinds of Talents. Whenever I meet someone new, I try to figure out what their magic is. It took me a lot longer with you than with anyone else, though.”

  I kept staring and staring at him.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, noticing the sick, stricken look on my face. “I’m not going to tell anyone. I think it’s cool. That we’re sort of the same when it comes to our magic.”

  He smiled, and some of the knots in my stomach loosened. He would keep my secret.

  Devon hesitated, then reached over and put his hand on top of mine. His skin was warm, as though the sun had soaked into his body. I breathed in, and the crisp, clean scent of him filled my nose, the one that made me want to bury my face in his neck and inhale the essence of him over and over again. But I forced myself to exhale and step back, putting some distance between us, even though our hands were still touching.

  “Look,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “You’re a nice guy, a great guy. But I’m going to . . . be here for a while. You’re an important member of the Family, and I’m your bodyguard, so it’s my job to protect you, and we’re going to have to work together. But I don’t think there should be anything . . . else.”

  “Because of your mom, right?” he asked in a low voice. “Because you blame me for her death?”

  I sucked in a breath, so rattled that I couldn’t even pretend I didn’t know what he was talking about. First, my magic, and now this. Somehow, Devon knew all my secrets.

  “How do you know about my mom?” I croaked out.

  “I remember everything about that day in the park,” he said. “Including the girl with the bl
ue eyes who helped save me.”

  I didn’t say anything. I could barely even hear him over the roar of my own heartbeat in my ears.

  “It took me a while to figure out why you seemed so familiar. When I realized you reminded me of the girl in the park, I knew it had to be you. Mom would never have brought you here otherwise. Plus, there are several photos of your mother in the library. You look just like her. I know what happened to her. I’m sorry that she died because of me—so sorry.”

  His green gaze locked with mine, that old, familiar guilt flaring to life in his eyes and punching me in the gut. And once again, I found myself wanting to comfort him.

  “I don’t blame you for her death,” I said. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was your fault. It was all the Draconis.”

  “Do you really mean that?” he whispered.

  “I do.”

  Devon closed the distance between us and stared down at me. I let myself look into his eyes for another heartbeat.

  Then I pulled my hand out from under his and stepped away.

  Hurt flashed in his gaze before he could hide it. I wanted to stop. I wanted to tell him that I felt this thing, this attraction, this heat between us just as much as he did. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, pull his lips down to mine, and lose myself in him.

  But I couldn’t.

  Not when I was planning on leaving the mansion, the Family, and him, the second I thought it was safe. I already cared about Devon way too much. And Felix and Oscar and even Claudia. I didn’t need to fall any farther down that rabbit hole, especially where Devon was concerned, because I knew exactly where I would end up—with my heart broken.

  “You said I saved your life last night. Well, you saved mine, too,” I said. “So I would say that we’re even. There’s no need for thanks or anything . . . else. Does that work for you?”

  By this point, Devon’s face was as hard as the black marble of the mansion. “Yeah. That works. Sorry I bothered you. It won’t happen again.”

  He turned and walked across the balcony. This time, instead of climbing up the drainpipe, he ran up the stairs, disappearing from sight, and he didn’t look back. Not even once. Good. I didn’t want him to, even though every one of his soft steps was like a knife in my heart.

  This was for the best. I knew that. Really, I did.

  But why did it have to hurt so much?

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The next morning, Claudia called me down to the library before breakfast. She was sitting at her desk poring over some papers, but my gaze locked on to the black velvet box perched on the corner. It was the same size and shape as the one that had held the ruby necklace I’d stolen.

  Claudia looked up at me, then stabbed her pen at the box. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to steal it. Take it. It’s yours.”

  I pressed my hands to my heart and batted my eyes. “Diamonds? For me? You shouldn’t have.”

  She snorted. “I don’t even buy myself diamonds.”

  “Well, that’s a shame.”

  She made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Claudia leaned back in her chair, watching me, so I slid the box off the desk and cracked it open.

  A silver cuff lay inside.

  “Every member of the Family wears one,” she said. “Go on. Put it on.”

  I sighed and plucked the cuff out of the box. It was just like all the other Family cuffs I’d seen—a thin band of silver with the Sinclair crest stamped into the middle. With one difference. A tiny, star-shaped sapphire was embedded in the silver, as though whoever was holding the sword was wearing a small ring on her hand.

  “It was Serena’s,” Claudia said in a soft voice. “I thought you would want it.”

  My throat closed up. I nodded and slipped the cuff on my right wrist. It was lighter than I thought it would be. Instead of a shackle, it felt almost . . . nice. Like I was connected to my mom again. Like I was part of something.

  Like I finally belonged somewhere.

  “It’s not like the other cuffs,” I said.

  “No,” Claudia replied. “It’s not.”

  I traced my fingers over the crest, feeling the small points of the star catch against my skin. “Thank you for this,” I whispered.

  Claudia nodded and went back to her papers. With the cuff on my wrist, I closed the black velvet box, tucked it into one of the pockets on my cargo pants, and left the library.

  I thought that was the end of my not-so-formal initiation into the Sinclair Family, so I headed to the dining hall for breakfast. To my surprise, the others were already gathered around one of the tables—Felix, Devon, Oscar, and Mo.

  “Lila! There you are!” Mo called out.

  He was wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt, this one a cool white with bright pink margaritas patterned all over the fabric. He got to his feet, came around the table, and gave me a hug.

  “I’m so proud of you, kid,” Mo whispered in my ear. “And your mom would be, too.”

  He stepped back and swept his arms out to the side, and I realized that the table was covered with food. Platters of eggs, hash browns, pancakes, and, most important of all, bacon. Mounds of it. Piles of it. More bacon than I had ever seen in one place before. All arranged around my usual seat, as if it had been put there especially for me.

  “What’s all this?” I asked.

  “Breakfast,” Oscar said, twitching his wings.

  “Extra heavy on the bacon, just for you.” Felix winked at me.

  Devon cleared his throat. “It’s our official way of saying welcome to the Family.”

  His voice was quiet and his eyes were dark, telling me just how much I’d hurt him last night. My own heart squeezed tight, but once again, I told myself it was for the best.

  “Thanks.”

  He nodded, and we all sat down and started eating. Mo dominated the conversation, talking about all the plans he had and all the great deals he was going to make for the Sinclairs. I knew he would do a good job as the Family broker.

  At one point, Felix leaned over to me. “Geez,” he whispered, “does that guy ever shut up?”

  I laughed.

  “Plus,” Mo said, finally stopping long enough to take a breath, “just think of how many more customers I’ll get at the Razzle Dazzle, now that it’s an official Sinclair Family joint. Why, I can already picture all the advertising.”

  Mo beamed still brighter, to the dismay of Devon, Felix, and Oscar. Their eyes had long ago glazed over. I hid a smile. They’d get used to Mo . . . eventually.

  Felix finally managed to enter the conversation, and he, Mo, and Oscar started debating what color Mo should paint the Razzle Dazzle next. This time, my eyes were the ones that glazed over, at least until Devon nudged me with his elbow.

  He nodded at my arm. “The cuff looks good on you.”

  My hand crept over to the thin band of silver, my fingers once again tracing the small star embedded in the metal. “Yeah.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Lila,” he said. “I hope you feel that way, too.”

  Devon stared at me, a mix of emotions swirling through his eyes. I saw everything I had that first day at the Razzle Dazzle—the guilt, grief, sorrow, and all the other burdens he carried in his heart.

  And then there was that hot spark, a little darker and dimmer than before, but still burning all the same.

  “Me too,” I said.

  Devon smiled, and that spark brightened just for a moment, and I felt an answering bit of warmth stir in my own heart. I nodded at him, and we both went back to our food, things a little less tense between us. A few seconds later, we were laughing, along with Oscar, as Mo and Felix talked over each other nonstop.

  Somewhere between those laughs and all the others that morning, I realized something.

  My home. My friends. My Family.

  Sometimes, good things come in threes.

  Don’t miss Jennifer Estep’s next Black Blade novel, Dark Heart of Magic, coming this November.

&nbs
p; Working for the mob isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

  Oh, sure. It looks all glitzy and glamorous on TV and in the movies. Folks wearing slick suits, eating in fancy restaurants, and talking about how to best deal with their enemies over coffee and cannolis. And maybe I’d actually done some of those things during these past few weeks I’d been working for the Sinclair Family. But most of the time, taking care of Family business was a boring, tedious job, just like any other—

  “Watch out, Lila!” Devon Sinclair shouted.

  I ducked just in time to keep from getting pelted in the face by a blood persimmon. The ripe, apple-size fruit sailed over my head and splattered against the ground. The skin exploded on impact, painting red pulp all over the gray cobblestones and filling the summer air with a sweet, sticky scent.

  Sadly, the cobblestones weren’t the only things covered in fruit—so was I. Red pulp had soaked into my blue T-shirt and gray cargo pants from where I’d already been hit, while seeds and bits of skin clung to the laces of my gray sneakers.

  An angry, high-pitched cheep-cheep-cheep sounded, the noise somewhere between a crow’s cawing and a chipmunk’s chirping. I glared up at the tree where the persimmon had come from. A creature with charcoal-gray fur and emerald-green eyes jumped up and down on its hind legs on a branch about ten feet above my head. The creature’s jumps were so hard and powerful that more ripe blood persimmons dropped from their branches and hit the ground, bursting open and adding to the oozing mess that already coated the cobblestones. Oh, yeah. The tree troll was definitely upset it had missed me with its latest fruit bomb.

  Tree trolls were among the many monsters that made their home in and around Cloudburst Falls, West Virginia, along with mortals and magicks, like me. I’d always thought of the trolls as sort of a cross between an oversize squirrel and the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. Oh, tree trolls couldn’t actually fly, but the black webbing under their arms helped them catch wind currents as they hopped from one branch and tree to the next, while their long, bushy tails let them dangle upside down. The trolls were about a foot tall, so they weren’t nearly as dangerous as copper crushers and many of the other monsters in town. Most of the time, trolls were pretty harmless unless you got them riled up. And this one was certainly riled, since it kept jumping up and down and cheep-cheep-cheeping at us all the while.