“It’s not a bullet; it’s a dart made of iridium, and it will not kill you but it will hurt like hell upon impact. Based on the results of testing at the Guild, high-level mages lost their ability to perform magic for fifteen minutes. We didn’t realize iridium works on them as well. Because you’re so strong, I’ve estimated you’ll be indisposed for less than six minutes. That will give me enough time to disable you. To your right behind the sofa there’s a set of cuffs thick enough to keep you from doing magic. I’m sure I can have you locked in them before the six minutes are up. Don’t test me.”
I considered the whole thing. Six minutes. I could get to the katana before then, and without access to magic, that was the only weapon I had. I was adequate with a sword, good enough to fight someone who wasn’t skilled, but that was it. And I wasn’t sure that he wasn’t skilled.
“You can go for the sword, but the way it is positioned, you will have to use your left hand—you’re right-hand dominant. I’ll get to the other one and have the advantage before you will,” he said, moving closer. “You’re good with the sai, you would be a threat to me if you had them. You don’t. I’m excellent with a sword—don’t test me. Again, I would have you subdued and in cuffs before the six minutes.”
I had to give it to him—when it came to confidence and egotism, he was a gold contender.
“Olivia, I’ve had six opportunities to kill you if I wanted to.”
“That’s very specific. The kind of information a psycho would know.” I should have just stayed still to prevent any chance of being shot but I felt trapped, and with a Tracker nonetheless. My fight or flight reflexes were in a heightened state—set for survival—and I couldn’t temper them.
He chuckled. “Really, I’m the psycho. You walked down here, looked for every possible exit. FYI: there’s another on the right around the corner. Then you set your eyes on the sword and kept yourself strategically positioned close to it. I think the whole pot-kettle thing is in play.” The corners of his lips lifted into a smile.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence that was riddled with distrust and tension, I let my arms relax at my sides. “Talk.”
He watched me for a few moments, intensely. “You aren’t going to attack, are you?”
It really depended on what he had to say, but I knew that wasn’t going to work. I shook my head, and it took him a few minutes before he brought the gun down. He moved aside and waved me toward the stairs. I had to play nice because he had valuable information I needed. He could give me the inner workings of the clandestine group and maybe even help me find more Legacy before Conner could get to them and persuade them to join him.
Once upstairs, he holstered the odd gun behind him.
“You can put it up, you won’t need it,” I said.
“Truce?”
“Truce.”
He winked. “Good, I think we should play nice.”
He returned with a binder in his hand, which was pretty much what I’d expected. For years, I’d assumed the clandestine group that hunted and assassinated us probably didn’t operate in large high-tech rooms, with computers, large screens, and a database of information. Nope, they were probably just a group of people in a dingy basement, looking at binders, scrolls, and paper scraps of information.
Gareth dropped the binder in front of me and then went over to a coffee station and made us cappuccino and a plate of pastries: mini muffins, cinnamon rolls, and Danish and an assortment of berries. “Your house manager?” I teased, looking at the ready-prepared food.
He made a face and then nodded. He said that she ran the house for him, but “house manager” seemed like a nanny.
I grabbed a muffin and started to flip through the pages; it was far more extensive than I’d expected. I didn’t know if it listed every Legacy, and it didn’t differentiate between them and the Vertu, but everything else was very detailed. Name, age, place of birth, place of death, and how: Tracker, natural causes, or in the war. I scanned each page, looking for Conner. I didn’t see him but I saw my mother’s and dad’s names, the day they were killed. And mine—the day I died. I jumped up without thinking, and the jolt flew from my fingers and Gareth crashed into the wall, plaster crumbling around his body. I shouldn’t have been using magic in the open, I knew it and tried so hard not to. I wasn’t sure how far the aura of it traveled or if someone driving down the street would get a sense of it and know it was mine. Anger had driven out all logic, and the only thing I wanted to do was hurt him.
He’d lied to me, and all the anger I felt about my parents’ deaths, having to hide most of my life, changing my name, hair, and overall identity had built to something that I couldn’t handle.
“It’s not what you think,” he said as he folded into the floor. It was all just white noise drowned out by the anger. As he recovered and came to his feet, something hit the wall. I looked. It was only seconds of distraction, and I quickly realized Gareth had tossed something in my direction. When I turned back to face him, he tossed the small speaker next to him at me. I took my attention off of him, just for a second, to flick my finger and send it in another direction; he lunged at me. We crashed to the ground. I screeched as something pierced my skin. Instead of the blazing heat of magic that had consumed me, my body cooled. I called magic—nothing. Again—nothing. Moments later I felt metal clasped around my skin. My arms were cuffed in front of me.
I could feel the heat of my anger rising off me; warmth nicked at the bridge of my nose and my cheeks as it always did when my ire had reached a point where I couldn’t control it. I pulled Gareth to me and slammed into him again. Panting, he moved back, wiping the blood from his lips. I wasn’t aware that I’d punched him. Several feet away, he rested his head back against the wall and glared at me, the shapeshifter ring seeming to glow. I felt like I was in the presence of a cave lion rather than a man. His head still pressed back against the wall, he closed his eyes, his breathing starting to slow. When he spoke, his voice was a rough, cool whisper.
“You didn’t let me finish.”
“That information is recent. Less than three weeks ago, someone came after me and I implanted that memory so they would think I was dead. The only way you would have that information is if you were in contact with them recently,” I hissed. The thought of it made me angry all over again. The cuffs were tight and dug into my skin each time I yanked on them.
“Ms. Michaels, you are going to hurt yourself.”
“Don’t ‘Ms. Michaels’ me! You lied to me. You asked me to trust you, but how can I?”
“I didn’t lie.” He moved closer and took a seat on the floor a few inches from me. “I was part of the Guardians, that’s true. I failed my first assignment. It wasn’t something I could do—they killed Legacy. Period. Regardless of age, family, whether the person posed a threat or not. We watched them day in and day out looking for a perfect time to strike—that’s what we are trained to do. But you’re not like the books make you out to be. You’re no more dangerous than a mage—if you don’t want to be. I couldn’t go along with killing someone because they might be a danger or might have participated in the Cleanse. People like to forget that there was a small group who resisted and fought it. I couldn’t do it.”
He slid closer and examined the cuffs on my arms. He hesitated before he leaned forward and examined the skin around them. “You’re going to bruise your arms if you don’t stop trying to get out of the cuffs.”
“You can take them off,” I suggested, extending my arms. I tried the coy thing again: gentle doe eyes, pouty lips, and soft limpid voice, and even half-assing it made me nauseated.
“Aw, how cute are you? Innocent puppy eyes and everything. Is that a pout? You’re pulling out all the stops, aren’t you? Truly bringing your A game. If you hadn’t just given me this”—he pointed to his quickly healing split lip, which was still stained with blood and swollen—“a minute ago, I could halfway believe you.”
“Truce.”
“We tried t
hat, remember?” He shifted back on his heels.
This isn’t going to be good, and it’s going to taste horrible coming out. “I’m sorry, I overreacted.” I had. He was right. He’d had every opportunity to kill me, and if he didn’t want to do it, he could have reported me to the Magical Council and tasked them with making my life—or whatever was left of it—a living hell.
The sharp edges to his features had softened and the deep frown faded into just a straight line.
“How did you get the new information?”
“I’m going to have to ask you to trust me on this because I can’t tell you right now,” he entreated.
I extended my cuffed arms out again, and he considered it for a long time. “Ms. Michaels”—his rumbled warning—“if you attack me again, I will have you arrested and charged. Period. Puppy dog eyes or lovely smile or cute little simper will not save your ass. You will sit behind bars until I’m satisfied you’ve learned your lesson. Are we clear?”
I nodded and he unlocked my manacles. “You know that threat is going to lose its effect if you keep using it.”
Shut up, Levy. And I snapped my mouth shut when he pulled back his lips; if he were in animal form, I would have been looking at fangs. Gently taking my arms, he examined the marks on them. They didn’t look as bad as they felt. I’d rubbed the skin raw, but that was my own doing by struggling.
I took a moment before I actually moved, the contained magic releasing with force and spiraling around in me. I needed to get some semblance of control over it. I studied Gareth and then the room, counting the few seconds it took for him to get the upper hand. It wasn’t that I ever forgot that he was a predator—if I did, the lissome predaciousness of his movements was a reminder. But he’d been able to distract me, grab the cuffs from wherever they were hidden, and disable me before I could strike. Twice I’d won against Trackers, but would I if it were Gareth sent for me? I pushed down the uneasiness that started to rise, but the thought had created an uncomfortable silence that Gareth quickly noticed. I didn’t want to talk about it right now. He was about to speak when I stood and moved to the table. He took a seat next to me. “I don’t see Conner’s name.”
“Yeah, and they are quite thorough, I can’t believe that they don’t know him.”
That was suspicious. How had Conner been able to stay under the radar this long? I didn’t want to be impressed with the magical Napoleon with the dream of world domination, but he’d managed to do something I couldn’t. It scared and impressed me. And now he’d increased his army from three to twelve people in a matter of days. He was better than Trackers at finding Legacy.
“I don’t get Conner,” Gareth said, slouching back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head.
“What do you mean?”
“You think he released the Maxwells and Declan. Ms. Neal was given the Recludo Stone by someone who fits Conner’s description.”
“And he’s allied with HF,” I offered and went on to tell him about them approaching me.
“I get the Maxwells—if you want chaos and destruction, you employ them. They’d do it for the hell of it and wouldn’t charge a thing.” He leaned forward and touched a strand of my oddly colored hair that had pulled away from the ponytail, allowing it to slowly fall from his fingers.
“And Declan definitely caused a lot of chaos and destruction, too. Is Conner really doing all this to out you? It damn near worked. If I hadn’t gotten there in time at Ms. Neal’s, how would you have handled Declan?”
“I had the situation under control.”
He dismissed the idea with a deep chortle before saying, “Yeah, it seemed to be pretty controlled when I got there. If you were reduced to using magic in public on a shapeshifter, everyone would have known what you are. Either she would have reported it or Kalen would have. It’s citizen obligation. Technically you are all fugitives as far as the supernatural world is concerned.”
I knew that, but hearing it come from him somehow made it seem worse. Would Kalen have reported me? He followed the rules of the Magic Council and the state laws regarding supernaturals. He’d mentioned on more than one occasion that the only good that had come from the Cleanse was the regulation of magic. And it was his belief in the rules that compounded the many reasons I was reluctant to tell him. Did he care more about the rules, justice, and the laws than about me?
“What happens if I’m reported?” Trackers’ rules were easy—they killed us—but what would the Magic Council do? If my only crime was being a Legacy, could they really sentence me to death?
“Just don’t get reported,” he said softly. Well, I had my answer.
We went through the binder, and he made copies of the list of Legacy and their nearest known locations. It lessened the risk of me looking for them because I wouldn’t have to use a locating spell to do so. The less use of magic, the better. But I still didn’t know the names of the twelve who were now on Team Conner. Time was of the essence and tracking people who had already been found and recruited by Conner made the task more difficult.
CHAPTER 6
Although I’d come through the door of our apartment the night before bruised, tattered, and with an oversized baseball cap over my head, Savannah completely accepted my appearance once I gave her the explanation that I’d been with Gareth. Apparently in her mind, my interaction with Gareth could simply be reduced to an unexplained night of unbridled violence ending with me sporting a blue baseball cap. Or maybe she cared less about that than finding out about her potential of being a fire mage or witch—I still hadn’t had the heart to tell her it simply wasn’t a thing. She was insistent that I call the witch I’d mentioned who might be able to help her uncover her “gifts.”
Blu’s voice was oddly bright and enthusiastic for a person who was getting a call at eight o’clock on Saturday morning. I was still cranky from having to get up early to dye my hair back before Savannah or anyone else could see it. Savannah knew what I was, but the hair wasn’t me.
Blu listened as I told her that my roommate suspected that she was either a witch or mage. I left out most of the things that had gone on at the club. “Why does she feel that she might be a witch?”
Because she’s mistaken her taste buds needing a sugar fix as magic vibes or whatever. “I know this might sound odd, but she seems to have a weird connection with things—namely fire.” It really felt like I was telling her my roommate was a pyromaniac.
Blu seemed oddly at ease with it. “Well, it’s not unheard of for mages and witches to have a connection. Earth witches can draw from the earth for their spells and have been known to be influential in helping farmers with their crops and using the rain. So have mages, but their abilities are a little stronger. They can’t make fire, rain, snow, and the like but have been able to influence the weather to their advantage.” Blu might have become Kalen’s newest crush for her fashion sense, but she had definitely earned favor with me by not calling my friend a raging nutjob. Only I had that pleasure.
“Are her parents witches or mages?”
“Nope.”
“Has she attempted any spells?”
“That’s why I’m calling you. Is there any way you can check it out and see?”
“It would be my pleasure.”
Three hours later, we were driving to meet Blu at the same home where I’d met her before with Gareth. I kept shooting a look at Savannah’s multicolored satchel that she’d packed for our “quest.” Her word, not mine. She didn’t consider our ride to the other side of town to confirm she was the quirkiest of quirky, nothing more than a human who might be a fire aficionado, or in some circles a pyromaniac, whose taste buds hated her, a simple day trip. Nope, she’d decided to call it a “quest,” and she’d packed for it: flashlight, fruit, granola, and quinoa and bean salad. I didn’t mind telling her that if we got lost on the “quest” I was more likely to eat her than the crap she’d brought. At least I thought it was funny.
Dampening her hopes wasn’t something I wanted
to do, but I wanted her to be realistic about what might happen—nothing.
“About this—”
“Quest,” she offered with a faint smile.
“Okay, Frodo,” I said, rolling my eyes as she cut her eyes at me, probably recounting the hours of her life lost because I’d made her watch The Fellowship of the Ring with me. “This could be absolutely nothing. From what I’ve heard, you were impressive, but it could be that you were just brave in a crisis—or maybe you’re a pyromaniac, but that’s a topic for another day.”
“Or I could be a witch and be able to help you more with Conner.”
And there it was. Over the past weeks, her life and involvement in the supernatural world had changed. She’d harassed a grumpy cave lion who was not only the head of the Supernatural Guild but on the Magic Council just to get me out of the Haven, been attacked by a vampire, been kidnapped by a psychopathic mage, and been befriended by the Vampire Master of the city, and to top off the cornucopia of bizarre she was dealing with, her roommate was a Legacy. I got it—I would want some kind of power, too, but desire and hope wouldn’t make it a reality.
“I just don’t want you to be disappointed.”
She gave me a faint smile. “I won’t be. What’s being done about Conner?”
“I don’t know. The only thing I can find comfort in is that he will not do the Cleanse anytime soon, but he’s still doing enough damage without it. Between releasing the Maxwells, the chaos at the Square, the shifter at the Neal house, and the incident at Devour, no matter how good Harrah is, she can’t cover it all up.”
I tried to hide the concern in my voice, but that was a task in itself. Things were a mess, and I still couldn’t stop thinking about Gareth being an ex-Tracker. He was right, it wasn’t something he could have just told me, and he could have continued to lie about it. However, he still had ties to them. How? Did he have a friend on the inside, and even if he did, how could he be friends with someone who was nothing more than an assassin? What drew him to that? But I pushed aside the thoughts. I would have to deal with them later. I had a quest I needed to carry out.
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