“I’m a truthseeker, remember? I could fill this whole room with things I know and keep to myself.”
I tucked the cooler with the ear under my arm and headed down the stairs. It was finally time to go home.
In theory, successful kidnapping hinged on the victim being kept alive. In practice, things went wrong. Vincent, freshly pissed off from failing to intimidate Rynda, could’ve stormed into wherever they were keeping Brian and killed him in a fit of rage. Or they did try to sedate Brian, and he died. Or he could’ve made a break for it, and they accidentally killed him. The last possibility seemed remote. By all indications, Brian wasn’t the type to run or take a dangerous decisive action. He would likely comply with all of their demands, relying on other people to solve his problems, the way he relied on his older brother to handle the business issues and on his wife to shield him from domestic struggles. Brian led a charmed life. He wouldn’t jeopardize it. Not only that, but the people who grabbed him off the streets were professionals: they forced him to stop, nabbed him, and took off in seconds. They left no traces of themselves behind, and Bug still couldn’t find them. Professionals would have kept him alive.
If this was a punishment for our attack on House Harcourt, the ear would’ve been a lot bloodier.
If it wasn’t Brian’s ear in the cooler, we were in entirely new waters. Maybe cooler heads prevailed, and Alexander Sturm and Vincent Harcourt decided not to mutilate a Prime of another House. Vincent would do it for fun, but, really, how much of an accomplishment would it be to cut off Brian’s ear? We snatched this helpless mushroom mage off the street, beat him up, and chopped off his ear. We are total badasses, fear us. If they had gotten their hands on Rogan, that would be one thing. But doing it to Brian would only generate derision from other Houses.
If they really meant to terrify Rynda, they would’ve sent her Brian’s real ear.
That left only one possibility, and I really didn’t like it.
I punched the code into the door, stepped into the warehouse, closed the door, turned, and froze.
Zeus stood six inches from me. His massive head was level with my chest. Turquoise eyes regarded me with mild curiosity. He took up the entire width of the hallway. An enormous tiger-hound from another world with teeth the size of steak knives and a fringe of tentacles at his neck.
It occurred to me that I was covered in dried blood.
I held very still. I could jump back and slam the door shut behind me, but it would cost me a second to open it. A second would be more than enough for Zeus.
“He’s friendly,” Cornelius called out from the conference room. “He just wants to say hello.”
“Cornelius . . .”
“Just treat him as a poodle.”
What was wrong with my life and how did I get to this place?
Slowly, I raised my hand and offered it to Zeus. He sniffed my fingers and nudged my palm with his wide nose.
“He’s nudging me.”
“Try petting him.”
I brushed my fingers up Zeus’ wide nose and over the blue fur on his forehead. He made a low rumbling noise that could’ve been a purr or might have been a sign that he was hungry. His tentacles moved, caught my hand, and released. He stared at the cooler in my other hand.
“No.”
Zeus blinked his mahogany eyelashes.
“No. You can’t have it.”
He opened his mouth—it split and it just kept going and going—and licked his lips.
“Absolutely not.”
I sidestepped him and carefully edged into the conference room. Bern sat at the table in front of his laptop. Fatigue overlaid his face, tugging at the corners of his eyes. As I entered, Cornelius turned away from the kitchen counter, brought two cups of coffee over, and set one in front of Bern.
“Thank you,” my cousin said.
Cornelius sipped coffee from his steaming mug.
Zeus nudged my ribs with his nose and looked longingly at the cooler.
“Is there something edible in there?” Cornelius asked.
I opened the cooler and showed the contents to them.
“Oh,” Cornelius said.
Bern blinked.
I closed the cooler and put it into the fridge, next to my stash of Juicy Juice.
Zeus sighed.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat down opposite from Bern. He stared at me over the laptop, his face grim.
“I’ve been over the contents of Rynda’s computer three times. I’ve gone over all of his correspondence, and I’ve analyzed the fungi database for hidden patterns. It’s not a code for anything. If the file exists, it’s not there.”
“Thank you for looking,” I said.
“I didn’t find anything.” Bern sighed.
Zeus parked himself in front of me and stared wistfully at my coffee.
“He likes you,” Cornelius said.
“Has Matilda seen him yet?”
“Not yet. With everything that went on, I asked them to delay their visit until tonight.”
I got up and looked in the fridge. Juice, a bunch of old grapes I should’ve tossed three days ago, a pack of mozzarella string cheese sticks sealed together into a block with plastic wrap. That will do.
“Can I give him cheese?”
“I do believe he’s a mammal, so yes.”
I tore several cheese sticks off the block, came back to my seat, opened one, and offered it to Zeus. He pondered the cheese for a long moment and opened his mouth. I deposited the stick into it.
Zeus chewed thoughtfully.
“Bern, would you mind looking through Brian’s personal correspondence one more time?” I asked. “If you’re too sick of it, I can get Bug.”
“No, I’m not sick of it.” Bern sat up straighter. “What am I looking for?”
“I would like to help as well,” Cornelius said.
The arcane tiger nudged me. I fed another stick to Zeus. “I need to know if there are any hints that Brian Sherwood may have collaborated with his kidnappers.”
“Why?” Bern said.
I explained to them about the ear. As they listened, the frown on Bern’s face deepened.
“I believe it isn’t Brian’s ear,” I said. “It’s possible that Brian is innocent, and they somehow immobilized him and very carefully sliced his ear off, but I don’t think they would go to the trouble. It’s also possible that they decided not to mutilate him.”
“But?” Bern asked.
“It requires more preparation,” Cornelius said. “They would have to find a fresh corpse they could mutilate. Far simpler to just cut off Brian’s ear, and Alexander Sturm would have no problems slicing off an ear or a digit to make a point. He is . . . direct.”
I nodded. “Assuming this is Brian’s ear, it means they had an anesthesiologist and a surgeon ready. While I don’t doubt that Sturm’s money would buy both, it’s a complication they don’t need. Two more people aware of the kidnapping, extra risk to Brian’s life by putting him under, and so on. Far easier to just hack off his ear and be done with it. However, if Brian was an accomplice in his own kidnapping, they would leave his ears alone.”
I gave the last stick to the tiger-hound and wiped my hands against each other to show him that I was out.
“Are you sure of that?” Bern asked.
“Knowing Primes, they probably signed a contract, and they would stick to it.”
Cornelius grimaced. “Sadly, that’s accurate. We are a society of tigers. We are exquisitely polite and formal, because if we don’t spell out all of the rules from the start, an accidental misunderstanding will have fatal consequences.”
Tigers and dragons, oh my. And me without my ruby slippers.
But then, who needs ruby slippers when you can lobotomize people on the fly? I sighed.
“So I’m looking for any connection to Sturm or Harcourt,” Bern said.
“Or anyone else we know for a fact to have been involved in the conspiracy,” I said. “Howling. Rogan’s
cousin.”
Her face flashed before me. For a second I was back in the car hurtling down the street as Rogan spun the wheel to avoid hitting Kelly Waller and the throng of small children she used as her living shield. Kelly Waller betrayed Rogan. She couldn’t get what was coming to her fast enough for my taste.
I turned to Cornelius. “You know this world better than us. Anything out of the ordinary could be important. A lunch in a place where Brian normally wouldn’t be seen. A function a man of his standing wouldn’t attend.”
“This will be very interesting,” Cornelius said.
“Do you want me to bring Bug in on this?” Bern asked.
“No.”
“Can I ask why not?”
“Because Rynda is working very hard on Rogan, and Bug resents her for it. If he thinks that Brian did cooperate, and we don’t know yet if he did or not, he may blurt it out at the point he thinks it will do the most damage.”
A chime sounded through the office. Someone was at the front door.
“That must be Scroll to pick up the ear.” I jumped up. “Hold on, I’ll just be a minute.”
I headed for the door.
“Nevada . . .” Bern called after me.
“One moment.” I checked the camera. A blond man in a dark suit stood with his back to me. I had expected Fullerton. Interesting.
I opened the door.
The man turned toward me. About thirty, he had a strong masculine face, so handsome it might as well have been chiseled out of stone. Square jaw, full lips, beautifully defined nose, and smart green eyes under the sweep of dark eyebrows. His blond hair, a few shades lighter than his eyebrows, and cut to a medium length, artfully framed his face, emphasizing its power. The effect was stunning. If I had seen him in a mall or on the street, I would’ve discreetly turned for a second look.
“Hello,” he said. “Are you Nevada Baylor?”
“Yes.”
He smiled, showing white teeth.
Wow.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’m Garen Shaffer.”
Oh crap.
I had to say something.
“What a surprise.” Oh great. That was brilliant. “Please come in.”
Before Rogan sees you and decides to squish you with a random tank he has lying around somewhere in his industrial garage.
I stepped aside to let him pass. Zeus seized this opportunity to thrust himself in the space I vacated and give Garen a once-over.
Garen froze in place.
“Ignore him.” I nudged Zeus with my hip. He refused to budge. “He’s a recent rescue. We haven’t had a chance to train him. He isn’t used to strangers.” What the hell was coming out of my mouth?
“Houston animal shelter?” Garen asked, a little spark in his eyes.
“No. A summoner House, actually. Go see Cornelius.”
The massive beast twitched his ears.
“Zeus,” Cornelius called.
The tiger-hound turned and hurried into the conference room with liquid grace.
Garen stepped inside. I shut the front door and led him to my office. Sooner or later someone would report to Rogan that a person from House Shaffer appeared on my doorstep. Most likely they reported it the moment he drove up to the checkpoint. The consequences would be interesting.
I sat behind my desk. Garen Shaffer sat in my client chair. I touched my laptop. It came on. A message window from Bern opened.
Garen Shaffer, heir to House Shaffer, truthseeker Prime.
Better and better.
I put on my professional smile and clicked the small icon in the corner of the laptop, enabling recording. We had a hidden camera positioned on the shelf behind me. We’d had some trouble with clients who displayed selective memory, and it was amazing how quickly threats of lawsuits faded once we presented a recording of them saying the words they claimed they couldn’t remember.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Shaffer?”
He leaned back, throwing one long leg over the other. “I’ve come to hire you.”
Lie. This was a test.
“That would be a lie, Mr. Shaffer. Care to try again?”
“Would you mind?”
“No.”
Magic accreted around him. “I’m thirty-one years old.”
My power pressed against the magic wall and slipped through. “True.”
The magic wall grew denser.
“I have three sisters.”
“Lie.”
Magic spilled out of him like water out of a geyser. It wrapped him in a cocoon of power. How the hell did he do that?
“I’m the only child.”
The cocoon looked impenetrable. My magic wrapped around it. The wall of power held tight. If I hammered against it with brute force, we’d be locked in a fight, his will against mine. He was strong. Very strong. Possibly stronger than I, although we wouldn’t figure it out until we clashed. A part of me really wanted to find out.
Ignore the wall. Imagine it’s porous. Imagine it’s not there.
He narrowed his eyes.
His wall was stone, but my magic was water. It slipped through the cracks. All I had to do was guide it and let it flow . . .
Lie.
“I think we should stop.” I leaned back.
The wall vanished. His magic wrapped around me. “Are you trying to appear stronger than you are or weaker?”
“Neither. I just don’t want you to know.”
“Why?”
“I don’t trust you.” I waved my hand in front of my face, as if clearing smoke. “Please keep your magic to yourself.”
He smiled. His power vanished.
“Why is there a cooler in the fridge?” Arabella called from the conference room.
When did she even get a chance to get in there? “Leave the cooler alone. Stay out of the fridge.”
“Sister?” he guessed.
I made a face at him.
“I have one myself. They are difficult at times.”
Arabella stuck her head into my office and showed me the Ziploc bag with the ear. “Why are you dressed like a soldier? Is that blood on your clothes? Also, why is there a human ear in the fridge?”
Argh. Just argh.
Garen’s eyebrows crept up.
“It’s evidence,” I ground out. “Put it back in the cooler.”
“Fine, fine.”
She went back into the conference room.
“I would very much like to take you to dinner.”
I made a show of looking down at my ACUs. “Today wouldn’t be a good day.”
“What about tomorrow?”
I raised my head and pretended to consider it. “Unfortunately, I’m in the middle of something, so I can’t promise I won’t stand you up.”
I felt something, a light click, like he’d flicked his fingers against my palm. Was it his magic working? Is that what it felt like?
“That’s okay. I’m a very patient man.”
True. He was flirting with me.
“Okay, I’ll go to dinner with you if you answer a question.”
He leaned forward, his green eyes fixed on me. “It’s a deal.”
“Do you feel a click when I spot-check your answers for truth, and if so, does everyone or is it a truthseeker thing?”
“That’s three questions.”
Two could play the flirting game. “Do you want me to come to dinner with you or not?”
He pretended to consider it. “You drive a hard bargain. Yes, no, and it is a truthseeker thing. We call it pinging. There is nothing like coming home late in a damaged car and having both parents ping you in stereo as you answer their questions. Tomorrow at six?”
“Where?”
“Bistro le Cep. They tell me that’s the best place in Houston for quiet conversation.”
I had no idea where that was. “Very well. Tomorrow at six.”
We both got up. He held the door of my office open for me. I walked him to the outside door and watched him get into a b
lack Cadillac. The car reversed and rolled down the street, unmolested.
Arabella came up to stand next to me.
“He was pretty.”
“What was that all about? You never interrupt me while I’m with clients.”
“Bern texted me and told me to do it. He said you and he sat completely still, staring at each other for ten minutes. He thought something might have gone wrong and said I should check on you.”
Smart move. Garen would consider Bern with his wrestler build and judo shoulders a threat. But Arabella, barely five feet and maybe one hundred and ten pounds wet, would seem harmless. Garen had no idea how close he’d come to being crushed to death.
Ten minutes. Must’ve been when I was trying to find a way through his wall. Felt like a few seconds. I wonder if that’s what Augustine Montgomery felt like. Over a week ago I was trying to convince him to let me shield his mind from Victoria Tremaine, and I pulled some harmless but private information out of his mind. He never realized it happened until I told him. It was like a chunk of time simply disappeared from his memory.
Cold sweat drenched my hairline.
I spun around, ran the few feet to my office, and grabbed my laptop.
“What?” Arabella demanded. “What is it?”
The image of me and Garen sitting across from each other filled the screen.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Shaffer?”
“I’ve come to hire you.”
I clicked to fast forward. Frantic gestures and teeny voices. Blah-blah-blah . . . There.
Garen and I stared at each other. I zoomed in on myself and turned the sound up.
Nothing. I sat completely still, like a statue. So did he. No movements. No words. Just quiet staring. All my secrets were still mine.
I collapsed in the chair. I was suddenly so exhausted.
“Nevada? Are you okay?” Arabella grabbed a tissue box from the corner of the desk and thrust it at me.
I touched my face and realized I was crying.
“I think you’re stressed out,” my sister said. “I have a pack of cigarettes I’ve been hiding from Mom for when Catalina and I get stressed out. There is one left.”
“Mom is going to kill you when she finds out.”
“She won’t find out if you don’t tell her.”
I got up and hugged her.
“Are you okay?” my little sister asked.