Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

I looked at Cornelius. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Are you in or out?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “In. Let me grab a travel cup for my coffee.”

BioCore occupied a rectangular building of black glass off of Post Oak Circle, across from the Houstonian. Unlike the towers of downtown, this building was long, eating up a lot of real estate, but only a few stories high.

Cornelius and I parked in front of it. A few weeks ago Rogan had destroyed my Mazda minivan by ripping it in half and throwing pieces at some mages who were attacking us. He’d replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, which, I discovered after the fact, was armored to the gills. Grandma Frida had tons of fun tweaking it. If we faced magic and bullets, I’d just sprint to my car.

I realized I was scanning the building, looking for hidden danger. My adventures with Rogan had made me paranoid.

I crossed the lot to the heavy glass doors. Talon settled himself on Cornelius’ shoulder. Cornelius wore a pinched expression. I couldn’t tell if he was concentrating, nervous, or both. This wouldn’t do. I needed him to be calm and professional.

“Have you thought of investing in a wooden leg and a tricorn hat?”

He blinked. “No, why?”

I pointed at his reflection in the glass door. He studied it.

“I suppose Talon does very slightly resemble a parrot. I’m afraid I’m not much of a pirate though.”

“It’s all in the attitude,” I told him. “Just imagine that this building is a Spanish galleon loaded with stolen treasure, and you are a captain of a pirate crew.”

Cornelius studied himself some more, taking in his perfectly styled hair, his clean-shaven face, and his expensive tailored suit, opened his mouth, and said, “Arrr.”

I grinned and pushed the revolving door.

Inside, a sterile, crescent-shaped lobby greeted us: white walls, ultramodern lights, and black marble floors. At the widest part of the crescent, a barely visible outline in the pale wall indicated a double door. To the left of it, two guards in olive green uniforms sat at the reception desk. The guards looked at us and gave Talon the evil eye. We approached the desk. I gave the guards my name and my card and asked to speak to Edward Sherwood. The shorter of the guards picked up the phone and spoke into it quietly.

We waited.

The doors whispered open and a tall man emerged. He was in his late thirties, with brown hair, light hazel eyes, and a square jaw. He moved like a former jock who hadn’t quite gone soft, mostly because he didn’t know how. The tailored grey suit made his shoulders even wider. You had a feeling that if you stood between him and something that really mattered, he would go through you, and he wouldn’t lose his cool, because it wouldn’t be personal. He also matched the photographs I’d looked up this morning. Edward Sherwood, Brian’s older brother.

Calm eyes, assured walk, no hint of tension in the jaw or in the line of his shoulders. If he had something to do with his brother’s disappearance, he was either completely confident that he would get away with it or an excellent actor.

“Ms. Baylor,” he said. His voice was measured and calm like the rest of him. “Rynda told me you would be coming.”

“Good morning.”

We shook hands. He had a firm handshake. The real question was, did he read the Assembly newsletter and would he remember my name?

“Thank you for seeing us on such short notice.” I turned to Cornelius. “One of our investigators, Cornelius Harrison.”

Cornelius also got a handshake.

“Let’s talk somewhere more comfortable. Please follow me.” He headed for the door. It slid open at his approach, we stepped through, and it hissed shut behind us. I gaped.

An enormous atrium spread in front of us, a labyrinth of raised beds and planters, so many that the floor formed a curving stone path between them. It had to have taken most of their first three floors. I couldn’t even begin to guess at the square footage. You could fit our warehouse inside several times over.

Edward strolled down the path and I moved to keep up with him. Several old trees grew in raised beds, each covered with various mushrooms: a huge mass of white dangling threads that looked like an odd mop or an ultramodern chandelier; turkey tail mushrooms in a dozen colors I had never seen before, from granite grey to vivid green and intense burgundy; a nest of orange snakes that was probably a fungus or maybe an alien from outer space; a huge mass of bright yellow mushrooms, and on and on.

Lichens flourished on the trees. Slime molds in every color in the crayon box stained the bark and massive, moss-sheathed boulders. Some lichens glowed weakly in the shade. More mushrooms grew from the roots: amethyst, indigo, nearly fluorescent green. A mushroom draped in a net of white filaments like a veil. A mushroom that looked like a chunk of Texas limestone bleeding bright red liquid from the holes. On the walls, under Plexiglas, enormous bacterial colonies thrived like abstract paintings.

It was like stepping onto an alien planet. All I could do was stare.

Talon took off from Cornelius’ shoulder and streaked between the trees.

“He’s overwhelmed,” Cornelius said. “My apologies.”

Edward smiled as we strolled down the path. “No worries. We bios mages have to deal with our charges’ idiosyncrasies. Life is unpredictable.”

“Are you also a herbamagos like Brian?” I asked. His background check said he was.

“Yes. But my talents lie with trees. Specifically, fruit trees. Brian rules over fungi. This is his kingdom.” Edward raised his hand to encompass the alien landscape. “This way.”

He turned right. We followed him around the bend. The mushroom kingdom ended abruptly. A koi stream stretched in front of us, widening into a pond with a rock wall and a waterfall at the far end. On the other side a beautiful garden spread. Fruit trees, some flowering, some bearing golden apples, apricots, and cherries, rose from the planters.

Edward led us across a small Japanese bridge into the garden.

“You’re probably wondering why I don’t lead the family. Everyone does,” he said. “They are simply too polite to ask the question. I’m the oldest and a Prime.”

“Why don’t you lead the family?” I asked.

“In our family Brian was born with a gold spoon in his mouth. There’s significantly more money in fungi-driven pharmaceuticals than in delicious apples.”

Edward reached out, and the nearest apple tree leaned to him, brushing his palm with its leaves.

“Does it bother you?” I asked.

“Not anymore.”

Lie.

The floor abruptly ended. The path was still there, but instead of stone tiles a green lawn stretched in front of us. Walking on it in heels was out of the question. I’d sink in with every step.

Edward waited, watching me.

I slipped off my shoes, picked them up, and kept going. The grass felt cool under my toes. I had to do this carefully. He was a Prime, and a wrong step would get us thrown out. I owed Rynda some answers.

“Mr. Sherwood,” I said. “Rynda has hired our agency to look into the disappearance of her husband.”

“It was a shock,” he said. “Considering your role in her mother’s death.”

Right, now that we got Olivia’s death out of the way . . . “We would like to ask you some questions. Some topics might be sensitive. Everything you tell us is confidential, but not privileged.”

“I’ll be as candid as I can. Within reason.”

I waited for the familiar nagging feeling, but my magic stayed silent. He was sincere.

“When was the last time you saw your brother?”

“Thursday night a little before six. We spoke briefly about the budgetary meeting on Friday. I asked him if he wanted to attend. He said he would be busy with his research. He left the office. I got up and watched the trees on the other end of the parking lot from my window. It helps me think. I was still in front of the window when he walked out into the parking lot, got into his car, and drove off.”