Илона Эндрюс - Emerald Blaze (Hidden Legacy)

“Please be more specific.”

Augustine snapped his fingers. “He doesn’t know about you, but he knows about Duncan. Did Duncan try to recruit him?”

“You would have to ask him.”

“He did, and Connor must’ve turned him down, and now you took his place. This is wonderful. I love it.”

“If you’re done gloating . . .”

“I can gloat and cooperate at the same time.” Augustine pushed a key on his desk phone and said, “See me. Catalina, what do you know about the Morton case?”

“Nothing.”

“Lander Morton’s only son, Felix, was murdered three days ago. He was involved in a reclamation project with representatives of four other Houses.”

“What are they reclaiming?”

“The Pit.”

Jersey Village? The little city, a part of Houston metro, had been flooded years ago during a harebrained attempt to build a subway system. Now the alien swamp in the video sort of made sense. But the last time I had gone to the Pit, over three years ago, it looked just like a typical flood zone with stagnant water and half-burst buildings where drug addicts, the homeless, and the magic-warped hid among the moldy garbage. It hadn’t looked like the arcane realm had thrown up in it.

“The five Houses had signed a contract specifying that they would submit to an investigation in case one of them died under suspicious circumstances. Each of the principles carries a vital personal insurance policy that won’t be paid out until such an investigation is concluded. The four surviving partners are currently suspects. They and Lander Morton are coming here today to meet with my chief investigator.”

Five Primes expecting a top-of-the-line professional investigator, Montgomery’s best. “Today when?”

He smiled.

The wall opened and Lina walked through the door.

“Ms. Baylor is about to meet with five Primes,” Augustine said. “I need you to fix . . .” He waved his hand at me. “That.”

Lina pursed her lips.

I wore athletic sandals, jean shorts, and a sleeveless T-shirt with spaghetti straps, stained with sweat. My bun had fallen, my hair was a tangled mess, and I was pretty sure there were twigs in it, since two hours ago I had climbed a giant pecan tree because I thought I spotted Rosebud in it and my hair got caught in the branches. I had also climbed onto a roof of a building to peer into a chimney, and the dust and soot had combined with sweat to give my face a swirly sheen of grime. Minor scrapes covered my arms and legs. Purple blood splattered my clothes. And the star of the show—a three-claw-shaped scrape on my left thigh, which I must have gotten sprinting to the device. It wasn’t deep, but it had bled, adding dried blood to my award-winning fashion ensemble.

“How much time do I have?” Lina asked.

“The meeting is in forty-three minutes,” Augustine said. “I still need to brief her.”

“Could you glamour her?” Lina asked.

“No. She’s meeting with her grieving client and a room full of Primes, who know they are suspects. They would recognize illusion. She needs to inspire trust and be a beacon of integrity.”

Lina rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand. “Come with me.”

Twenty minutes later I sat in Augustine’s office trying not to move while Lina attempted to brush my hair. The shower in the executive bathroom was truly lovely but scrubbing all the blood off my skin took longer than I expected. I wore light grey slacks with a white blouse and a towel draped over my back, so my half-dried hair wouldn’t stain the satin top.

“Over the years, the Pit became the go-to place to dump magical hazmat,” Augustine said. “Currently the amount of arcane matter within the Pit has reached critical levels. Summoned creatures that escape control of their summoners seem to be drawn to it and now they are breeding in the bog. The city council offered a lucrative contract to whoever could fix it. If reclaimed, the Pit would become an area of prized real estate, to which the reclamation crew would hold certain rights.”

That made sense. The former Jersey Village was close enough to Houston’s downtown to be valuable as both residential and commercial property and since nobody lived there, aside from the homeless and junkies, there would be no relocation costs associated with it. Whoever claimed it could build whatever they wanted and make a fortune.

“The contract went to the alliance of five Houses.” Augustine clicked a remote. A section of the frosted wall turned into a large digital screen. On it, five people sat, obviously posing for a publicity picture.

“How can you have so much hair?” Lina growled. “And it’s so long too.”

“Seventeen minutes,” Augustine told her. “First from the left, our victim, Felix Morton. Forty-two years old, widower, three young children, a geokinetic like his father.”

The athletic white man in the picture, dark haired, handsome, with an easy, genuine smile, looked nothing like the mutilated corpse hanging from the electric cable.

“Publicly, Lander and Felix were estranged. Privately, Lander adored his son. Like his father, Felix was smart and had a talent for making money. Unlike his father, he was amiable and likeable. Lander realizes that even his close associates detest him. He didn’t want his son to inherit his enemies, so they concocted this feud and took pains to keep it up, but privately Lander and Felix were a team. Lander was consulted on all major decisions Felix made.”

Lina finished brushing and moved on to braiding.

“Did you do the preliminaries?”

Augustine gave me a look reserved for someone with half a brain and passed me a zippered leather folder. I unzipped it. The coroner’s report, police report, notes from the detectives on the scene, timeline, a set of keys . . .

I held out the keys.

“Lander took the grandchildren to his house. You have full access to Felix’s home and his computer. The passwords are on a card in the left pocket.”

“Thank you.”

“These are Felix’s business partners,” Augustine said, turning back to the publicity picture.

“You said that these four Primes are the primary suspects. Why them? Felix’s death threatens the project. Don’t they have an interest in keeping the reclamation going?”

Augustine nodded. “Indeed. The Pit is a chain of islands, connected by bridges and accessible by a single road. At night, the Pit is shut down. All personnel withdraw except for the guard at the gate that blocks that road. The main island with the project’s HQ is protected by a fence and a gate. The gate requires an after-hours code that is known only by the five members of the board. The night Felix died the code was used twice. First time by an unknown member of the board or their agent, who then proceeded to destroy the surveillance footage from the hidden camera feed, and second by Felix himself.”

“He walked into a trap.”

“Yes.” Augustine turned back to the publicity shot. “From left to right. Next to Felix is Marat Kazarian, Prime, Summoner.”

Marat was in his midthirties with tanned skin and curly dark hair, dark eyes, a prominent nose, and a short dark beard. He wore a wine-colored suit, an unusual choice, but it fit him. The last name pointed to Armenian roots. I didn’t immediately recognize the House. There was something dangerous about Marat. He would look at home in a black outfit atop a dark horse brandishing a sword. He stared at the camera as if it was challenging him.

“Cheryl Castellano, Prime, Animator.”

Cheryl could have been anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five. She had olive skin and a beautiful full face with a wide mouth and big grey eyes under artfully shaped eyebrows. Her brown hair with caramel highlights was pulled back into a loose, effortless updo. Her expression was kind and slightly tired, as if she fully understood the artificial nature of the picture but had resigned herself to playing her part. I hadn’t come across her House either, although I’d heard her name before, associated with some charitable work.