Page 14

Dacien closed the door behind us with the soft click of finality.

His study smelled faintly of old smoke and cologne, the theme dark wood and leather. He waved me to the chair before his large oak desk and went to his drinks cabinet.

“I read Kara’s paper,” he said, as if we’d already waded halfway into the topic. “Twice, in fact.”

“Did you now?” He hadn’t called me in here for a feedback session on my teaching ability.

He poured measures of brandy into two crystal goblets. “Cigar?”

“No thanks.”

He snipped the end off one, handed me the drink, and took the seat behind his desk. The brandy swirled in my glass, something about its aroma suggesting it was older than I was.

A pause before judgment was rendered, as he lit his cigar and puffed a couple of small clouds of blue-gray smoke.

“She told me what you thought of it.”

I didn’t feel a need to defend myself, but engaged anyway. “Then you already know I didn’t flunk her for her argument. I flunked her for ignoring Rawls’.”

“Rawls,” he echoed, as if that was the problem. “He has a preference for hypothetical utopias over hard reality.” He waved his cigar at me. “Is that your view, too?”

“Did you bring me here to discuss philosophy?”

Dacien studied me, letting the silence build. “I’m not sure if I admire your spine or think you’re a fool for poking the bear. My wife is a hundred and sixteen years old.” He smiled congenially. “She’s younger than me.” His eyes narrowed. “Do you know what kind of power comes with age like that?”

I took a small sip of the brandy—very smooth, but it still burned going down. “Fine,” I said. “Let’s discuss philosophy.”

He nodded as if accepting an apology, which I suppose it was. “Rawls demands a ‘veil of ignorance’. The idea that, to create a just society, one must decide its principles without knowing where they’ll land in it. Kara didn’t bother pretending, and … neither do I. Why should we?”

“Because justice isn’t about stacking the deck. It’s about building one everyone can play.”

“And yet,” he said softly, “your kind always fold when the table turns against you.”

I stiffened. “You mean our kind.”

Dacien waved a hand. “Semantics. You still cling to the fiction that norms and supes belong on equal footing. I don’t.”

“You think might makes right?”

“I think power makes stability. Chaos fills the void where strength should rule.”

I buried my response to that in another sip of brandy.

“The bond you’ve … formed with my daughter,” he said. “I don’t share my wife’s enthusiasm. But I have no desire to break her heart”—he paused, eyes hard—“or my daughter’s.”

Was that a threat, or a vote of confidence?

He took a puff of his cigar before he went on. “I assume the university will close, at least for a while.”

“Inevitably.”

“Then you’re a man of leisure. Unemployed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You should work for me,” he said, as though he’d just thought of it. “I’m sure I could find a task or two suited to your … particular attributes.”

“What are those, exactly?”

“Intelligence, evidently. An idealistic streak. Loyalty to my daughter, I presume, now that you’ve met my wife.

” He paused for a thin smile, then went on.

“Some magical acumen—underdeveloped, but potentially potent. Anonymity, at least within certain circles.” He cocked his head, watching me.

“No … that’s not quite right. They’ll think you’re harmless. The mutt no one bothered tagging.”

“Whose ‘they’?”

“When you come and work for me, ‘they’ will be whomever I say it will.”

“I haven’t agreed yet.”

Dacien gave me a condescending look, like I was a moron. The family resemblance to Kara was pointed, but his tone stayed mild. “You will, for two reasons. First, you owe me.”

I blinked at that. What had he done, aside from not killing me over dinner? “How do you figure?”

“If I hadn’t sent some of my men to keep you safe you would’ve died last night.”

I made a noise of disbelief. “You didn’t even know who I was, let alone that I’d bonded Kara.”

He waved a hand dismissively, like that wasn’t important. “Didn’t you wonder why three-hundred-odd supes from different New Providence factions turned up at Bay Uni on Halloween without costumes?”

My eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“Normally, I’d make some comment about not much going on in this city without me hearing about it. But in truth, your … awakening … put such a ripple in the aether that Virelle sensed it.”

He smiled at the shock I didn’t quite cover in time.

No wonder they’d figured out the bond existed. They already knew something was going on, then Kara turned up with someone for the first time in ever.

It was a struggle to compose myself and think clearly. “The supes were fighting among themselves. You can’t mean to say they were all your men.”

“Of course not, don’t be absurd. Some of them were mine, sent to ensure the new warlock had a chance of … falling under my wife’s spell, so to speak.” He smiled. “Funny how it worked out, isn’t it?”

“And the rest?” I asked, my brain racing.

“Other factions, sent to kill you.” His smile broadened. “Do you think the demons want a warlock running around, capable of bonding any of them? Which, conveniently brings me on to my second reason.”

I remained silent as something cold uncurled inside my ribs.

“Do you know the easiest way to remove a warlock’s bond?” he asked, swirling his brandy. “Now that I think of it, it’s probably the only way.”

“What is it you want?” I asked, the words bitter in my throat.

“Well, quite,” he said, as though I’d agreed with him.

“We’ll start simple.” He opened a drawer and removed a manila folder, placed it on the desk and pushed it an inch toward me.

“A woman—well, a journalist, to be exact—has been asking too many questions. Ferreting around places she shouldn’t.

I don’t care how you deal with it. Discredit.

Dissuade.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Death.”

I didn’t answer right away; I just stared at the swirl of amber in my glass. “Why me?” I said eventually. “Surely you have people who can handle this.”

“Of course,” he replied offhandedly, not bothering to deny it. “Consider it a little test. Pass, and I’ll find you something more challenging. Fail, and … well, we can review the bond you have with my daughter.” He paused for a sip of his brandy. “I win either way.”

“What do you mean, ‘something more challenging’?”

“You’re the breeze no one feels coming, that precedes the storm. The flicker before the power goes out.” He smiled at his own metaphors. “You’re not … completely useless.” He pushed the brown file another inch toward me. “You’ve got a week.”

“Great,” I said, trying to fight the urge to pull at the collar of my shirt. I set the glass on his desk and picked up the thin folder, rising from my chair, keen to be done with both of Kara’s parents.

Then I hesitated. “You do realize that what you’re asking me to do may involve Kara? We are, as you’ve so delicately noted, bonded.”

Dacien took a puff of his cigar and blew a smoke ring. “Kara is yours now, Xan, and no longer mine.” His eyes hardened. “Such a proud father I am.”

I swallowed bile and walked out, the folder creasing in my grip.

I wasn’t sure which part of this to choke on more: the job, or the fact that Kara had literally written the damn preface.

*

Back in my room, I tossed the file on the dresser and slipped the first couple of buttons of my shirt.

My hands gripped the dresser’s edge, knuckles white. It hurt to breathe, my chest that tight.

Her mom, casually threatening to disembowel me if I didn’t treat her daughter well. Her dad, more direct—obey, or else.

It was at times like this I was glad to be a foster kid.

I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling the exhaustion of the past forty-eight hours. What had I had? Two or three hours sleep in my room and an hour in a booth in the bar? Not enough to be dealing with all this shit.

My phone vibrated on the bedside table, then again and again before I reached it, skittering across the wood in its enthusiasm. I picked it up to see twenty-six missed texts, the number jumping to forty-three as I watched.

Guess that meant they’d finally restored the phone network.

I sat on the edge of the bed and flicked through.

Over half of them were from Emma, timed from early on the night before, while she’d been hidden in her old maintenance hut.

The last one was time-stamped less than an hour ago and read: ‘Not leaving until tomorrow, now. Not sure when you’ll get this.

Looking forward to our reunion in a week.

’ She’d signed it off with three kisses.

I wasn’t, but not because of Emma. The uni would be holding a memorial around then, and the thought made my gut twist. If what that damn fire elemental had said was true, it was me they’d been hunting—all those deaths on my head.

The temptation to throw my phone at the wall was vivid. I wanted to lash out, to burn some of my frustration and anger, the sense of feeling trapped—fuck, not even a sense . I was so very, very trapped.

Someone tapped on my door, and I knew immediately it was Kara, not Harrington. He didn’t knock like that.

I crossed the room in swift strides, pulling it open.

She was still in her charcoal dress, hair and makeup perfect. She flinched as she saw my expression, her eyes widening.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly.

“For what—telling them I was a warlock, or not bothering to let me know you had?” She cringed before me, but I was riding my anger. “Both your parents—” I stopped myself with an effort, conscious the door was open, voices traveling.

Kara filled the gap. “I’m … really, really sorry. You don’t know what they’re like. It was like they already knew. They’re … I couldn’t … I didn’t have a choice.”

They had already known—or pieced it together, at least. I sighed, my anger fading to resignation, and stood aside to let her in. The scent of jasmine lingered as she passed, faint but unmistakable.