A massive blackboard slid from the ceiling and stopped, suspended high above the floor. A piece of chalk as wide as a telephone pole hung from it on a chain.
“Once you transform, you will flip this blackboard. You will see a series of mathematical equations. You must solve them. This will demonstrate to us that you are truly a Prime Metamorphosis and you are in control of your abilities.”
“Does it have to be math?” Arabella asked. “Can I write a short essay?”
“Math is the ultimate test of reason,” the Keeper said.
My youngest sister sighed. “Okay.”
“Transform at will.”
My sister held up her robe. “Don’t look.”
The Keeper lowered his eyes.
The Beast of Cologne tore out of my sister.
The arbiters froze. Some gasped, petrified, others tried to move and slid their chairs back.
The shaggy nightmare shook herself, stomped over to the blackboard, and flipped it over.
67+13=
7x11=
981/8=
She pointed at the last one with the chalk, turned, and looked at the Keeper.
“Do your best,” the Keeper said.
Arabella heaved a sigh. The first one gave her no trouble, although at some point she counted on her clawed fingers. The second she solved in seconds. The third . . .
“It’s baby math,” Catalina growled. “I could do this in my sleep in second grade.”
Arabella ran out of blackboard space, crouched, and began dividing on the floor.
“This is what we get for teaching them Common Core,” one of the arbiters said.
“There is nothing wrong with Common Core,” someone else said.
Arabella wrote, “This sucks!” on the floor and kept dividing. Finally, she stood up, wrote 124 on the board, and glared at the Keeper. Catalina slapped her hand over her face.
“I say we take it,” Linus said. “Otherwise we might be here all night.”
Fifteen minutes later, House Baylor, triumphant, emerged from the Office of Records. Finally. We won. Nothing was hanging over our heads. The conspiracy was thrashing in its death throes. We secured immunity for our family for the next three years. Rogan asked me to marry him. There were things to solve in the future: me moving out, a new base of operations, finding money to keep up with our new status. But those things would wait.
I wanted to celebrate.
My family walked to the cars. Rogan turned to me.
“Take a ride with me?”
“Where to?”
“I thought we’d go to the country for a couple of hours.”
“What’s in the country?”
“My mother.”
“You’re taking me home to meet your mother?”
“She can’t wait to meet you. In fact, if I don’t bring you over, I might be in danger. Will you come with me?” He held out his hand.
“Always.” I put my hand into his. I wasn’t sure what the future would bring, but I knew I wouldn’t face it alone.
Connor smiled at me, and we walked together to his car.
“Would you like a formal engagement celebration?” he asked.
“No.”
“So just a ring then?”
“A sensible ring.”
“Define sensible.”
“Something I could wear every day while doing my job and not be afraid to lose, because it’s too expensive.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I mean it, Rogan. Do not buy me a one of a kind diamond the size of a grape.”
He laughed, my mad, mad dragon.
“I’m serious!”
“Of course, dear.”
This was going to be one wild ride.
Victoria Tremaine strolled through the garden path, painfully conscious of the man next to her. Roses bloomed on both sides. She never cared for roses. She preferred simpler, sturdier flowers. Like carnations.
“You have to admit, for a prison, this is rather posh,” the man said.
“A prison is a prison, even if it comes in the shape of a country club.”
“Think of it as a long-deserved vacation. Something tells me it won’t last long.”
They strolled on.
“Your granddaughter sent shock waves through H-town.”
Victoria smiled.
“Last I heard, they are beginning construction of a new family home. Not far from House Rogan’s country place, from what I understand.”
“Who wants a long commute to visit the family,” Victoria said.
“Indeed.”
“Whatever happened to that little weasel, the one who started this mess. Brian Sherwood? I heard his brother killed him.”
“He did. Disemboweled him with one of Sturm’s swords apparently.”
“I didn’t think he’d have the guts.”
“Victoria! You’re terrible.”
“I thought that was quite clever. What about the wife?”
“Edward and Rynda are engaged. They are retiring to the West Coast. Apparently, Edward wants to grow apples on an orchard, and she can’t wait to go with him.”
They strolled some more.
“Do they suspect you?” she asked.
“No. They’ve made their last round of arrests from Olivia’s files. I’m in the clear. The cause isn’t dead, Victoria. We will build New Rome. It will take time, a few years perhaps, but we will persevere.”
“Without me.”
“That would be a shame.”
“There is nothing you can offer me,” she said.
“Oh, I don’t know. You might change your mind. You’re like me, Victoria.” He grinned. “You like to do things that make life interesting. We both do so hate to be bored.”
Acknowledgments
We'd like to thank our editor, Erika Tsang, for her guidance and patience; our agent, Nancy Yost, and the crew at NYLA for putting up with our ridiculous demands; the wonderful folks at Avon Books for helping us turn manuscript into the book; Pam Jaffee for tirelessly promoting the series; Stephanie Stogiera for catching our mistakes; our beta readers for making the book even better; and finally, you, dear readers, for giving Hidden Legacy a chance.
About the Author
“ILONA ANDREWS” is the pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team. Ilona is a native-born Russian and Gordon is a former communications sergeant in the U.S. Army. Contrary to popular belief, Gordon was never an intelligence officer with a license to kill, and Ilona was never the mysterious Russian spy who seduced him. They met in college, in English Composition 101, where Ilona got a better grade. (Gordon is still sore about that.) They have co-authored two New York Times and USA Today bestselling series—the urban fantasy of Kate Daniels and the romantic urban fantasy of The Edge—and are working on the next volumes for both. They live in Texas with their two children and many dogs and cats.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
By Ilona Andrews
Kate Daniels series
Magic Binds
Magic Gifts (novella)
Magic Breaks
Magic Rises
Magic Slays
Magic Bleeds
Magic Strikes
Magic Burns
Magic Bites
The Edge series
On the Edge
Bayou Moon
Fate’s Edge
Steel’s Edge
Hidden Legacy series
Burn for Me
White Hot
Wildfire
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
wildfire. Copyright © 2017 by Ilona Gordon and Andrew Gordon. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required
fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins Publishers. For information, address HarperCollins Publishers, 195 Broadway, New York, NY 10007.
Digital Edition AUGUST 2017 ISBN: 978-0-06-228928-5
Print Edition ISBN: 978-0-06-228927-8
Avon, Avon & logo, and Avon Books & logo are registered trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
HarperCollins is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Publishers in the United States of America and other countries.
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Ilona Andrews, Wildfire
(Series: Hidden Legacy # 3)
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