Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

I blinked. An expensive black and red Persian rug ran over a beautiful floor of golden wood. Paintings decorated the tall walls. It was like suddenly stepping into a palace.

Rogan nodded, and the core of our force peeled off to guard the entrance, moving past us to secure other doors, leaving only Rogan, Rivera, Heart, and me.

We walked through the hallway to a wide-open door and entered a large room. The floor was golden wood, shielded by another Persian rug, this one in the calming shades of white, beige, and brown, glinting with what might have been touches of real gold. Inside, a gathering of expensive couches waited, arranged around the coffee table. Delicate and ornate, with the weathered curved wooden frames supporting shimmering dark grey cushions, it was at once elegant and inviting. If the Sun King had built Versailles in the twenty-first century, he would’ve picked this set.

A family rested on the furniture. An older man slumped back in a chair, a handkerchief pressed to his nose. Owen Harcourt. A woman in her mid-fifties, with mahogany-red hair, thin, wearing a blue pantsuit, sat next to him, gently patting his arm. His wife, Ella. Another woman, this one about my age, and with the same rich mahogany-red hair, leaned forward on the other couch, her hands clenched into a single fist. That would be their daughter, Alyssa. The youngest of the four, Liam, from the phone call, with dark blond hair and a pale face, looked like he could be one of the college friends Bern occasionally brought home when they ran short on cash and needed a home-cooked meal.

Liam saw us and jumped off the couch, his gaze fixed on Rogan. “You bastard!”

“Sit,” Owen said.

“Father—”

“Sit. We lost. You’re the future of the House. Don’t give him a reason to kill you.”

Liam landed back on the couch, his mouth a thin slash across his face.

Ella looked up at us. “We’ve removed our people to avoid further bloodshed. You won. But Vincent is our son. You’ll get nothing from us.”

“He attacked Rynda Sherwood in her house,” Rogan said. “He slaughtered her guards, he critically injured her brother-in-law, and then he tortured him in front of his six-year-old niece and four-year-old nephew. He would’ve killed the children.”

“You don’t know that,” Alyssa snapped.

“I do,” I said. “I was there.”

She didn’t even look at me. Clearly, I wasn’t important enough to warrant an answer.

“Bring on your tortures.” Ella crossed her arms on her chest. “We are ready.”

Rogan sighed, pulled out a piece of chalk, and offered it to me. I took it.

The beautiful Persian rug slid aside. I crouched and drew a simple amplification circle. They watched me. I stood inside it and concentrated. Before I started, I had to assess their strength.

My magic washed over them. I sank into it, looking for a way to fine-tune it. I had done this once before, with Baranovsky, another Prime, when I was looking for Nari’s killer and trying to pull the information out of his mind. My magic moved, shimmering in my mind’s eye. Come on . . .

There. The magic fell into place with an oddly satisfying inaudible snap. In my head, the four of them glowed with pale, almost silver light, each mind a spot of darkness.

Strong-willed. Every single one of them. They were exhausted, but their mental defenses were strong. Who would be the most likely to know about Vincent? It had to be the father. Owen was the Head of the House. He would want to keep tabs on his son.

I wrapped my magic around Owen, letting it saturate him. He stiffened. Wow. His mind was a wall. If I barreled through with brute force, he would fight me every step of the way. I wasn’t sure there would be a mind left after I was done.

“Today!” Liam snapped.

“Hush,” I told him. “I’m trying to make sure you still have a father after I finish.”

The Harcourts glared at me.

“Who is this idiot?” Alyssa demanded.

His wall was strong. Hard, dense, heavy, like granite. But granite was also brittle. Hit it the right way and it fractured. I needed to hit it the right way.

Like a wave. A wave that battered the pier.

I felt an urge to draw a wave within the circle. I had never seen that anywhere before. But I needed it. I needed the pattern. The magic wanted it.

I crouched down and let it flow through me. The white line stretched from the tip of my chalk, a perfect sine wave all the way along the inner boundary of the circle.

Ella Harcourt gasped.

Magic punched me, strong and pure, like a clear mountain spring.

“Where is Vincent?” the voice that came out of my mouth didn’t belong to a human being.

Liam stared at me, his eyes horrified. Owen’s will fought mine, and I sent the first wave into him. It smashed against his mental wall and cracked it.

“A Tremaine!” Ella jumped to her feet, disgust and horror on her face. “You brought a Tremaine here? Are you out of your mind? This is too much even for you!”

“Oh God.” Alyssa clamped her hand over her mouth. “Oh God.”

Liam turned white.

“I love my father.” Alyssa swallowed, words coming out too fast. “He’s the only one I have. Please, please don’t take him from us. Please!” She spun around. “Mom!”

“We’ll tell you whatever you want,” Ella said. “Just make that abomination release my husband.”

Rogan turned to me. “How would you like to proceed?”

They were looking at me, a mixture of panic, disgust, and utter desperation on their faces. I was the monster in the room.

“Abomination?” I asked. “You forced hundreds of creatures from another world into a needless slaughter to protect your sick psychopath. He let his summoned creatures eat people alive. I watched one of them dig in Edward Sherwood’s stomach for juicy tidbits while two children hugged their mother, too scared to cry. Your precious Vincent called me and promised to murder my mother, my baby sisters, my cousins, and my grandmother. But I’m an abomination? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you even human?”

Owen moved within the grip of my magic. Words came out of him slowly, with great effort. “House . . . Harcourt . . . no . . . ill will . . . to . . . your . . . family.”

Liam covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled.

“Let him go,” Alyssa begged. “Please let him go.”

Ella Harcourt took a step back. “Please.”

I pulled my magic back to me. Owen collapsed in his chair, breathing deeply.

They all crowded around him, as if trying to shield him from me. I felt sick.

“Where is he?” Rogan asked.

“We don’t know,” Ella said.

“She’s telling the truth,” I told him. “Vincent kidnapped Rynda’s husband. He wants something from her. What?”

Owen shook his head. “We don’t know.”

Damn it.

“He didn’t do this on his own,” Rogan said. “Vincent isn’t one for elaborate schemes. He prefers brute force. Someone is pulling his leash. Someone with enough power to keep him in check.”

“I agree with you,” Owen said.

“So you know who that is?”

The patriarch of House Harcourt drew himself up straight in the chair. “Do you think that if I had any idea where my son is or who he is with, I wouldn’t have taken steps? We don’t serve other Houses. We stand on our own. Do you think I would allow my heir to fall under the influence of another Prime?”

“Alexander Sturm,” Liam said.

Everyone looked at him.

“He’s with Alexander Sturm. Sturm has a collection of medieval swords. He owns an Oakeshott XIIIa sword, a Grete War Sword. It’s a precursor of a Scottish claymore. The one Sturm has is supposed to be the true sword of William Wallace. Vincent sent me a picture of him with it two days ago.”