This house did not glow with Power, as most witches’ homes did. Perhaps Isalynn practiced her craft away from her house, but Grace suspected it was more likely that the Head of the witches was simply that adept at containing the evidence of her Power.
The front door opened as Grace and the two Djinn approached the house. The Head herself stood in the doorway, dressed casually in slacks, sandals, simple gold jewelry and a red blouse. She was striking even from a distance, with her long, strong body and bold, sensual features and rich, cocoa skin. A sharp intelligence glittered in her eyes. She was joined in the doorway by an older Hispanic woman, along with a lanky teenage boy whose features and expression identified him as Isalynn’s son.
Isalynn’s frown deepened as she looked hard at the two Djinn and at Grace’s grass-and dirt-stained appearance. “I felt your arrival,” Isalynn said to the Djinn. She turned her attention to Grace. “And I see that something has happened. Please, come inside.”
Grace stepped into a large, gracefully proportioned foyer, followed closely by Khalil and Ebrahim. Although the interior was as attractive and peaceful as the exterior, neither Djinn relaxed his vigilance.
Isalynn led the way through the house, her demeanor calm and composed. “You will have to excuse us, Malcolm,” she said to the teenager. “Judith, please bring iced tea to the sunroom. After that, you may leave for the day.”
Judith nodded, and both she and Malcolm disappeared.
They reached the back and stepped inside a sunroom that was as wide as the house. Comfortable furniture was interspersed with potted plants. A laptop, files and a cell phone were set at one end of a table. Books and magazines filled the surface of a side table by a cushioned chair and ottoman. The sunroom looked over a large backyard with several strategically placed flower and herb beds, and a tennis court half hidden by bushes.
“This is my sanctuary,” said Isalynn, as if they were simply visiting. “I work as much as I can back here when I am at home. Please sit.”
Grace tried to hide how her hands shook as she took a seat.
The separation. It was almost here, almost final.
Was it death? Her death? His?
Her mind raced frantically through options of what to do, how to avoid it. She must not have hidden it very well, for Khalil watched her sharply, his face hard, and he took a seat as near to her as he could. Ebrahim continued to stand.
The simple truth of the matter was, Grace realized, she couldn’t avoid the separation if it was something Khalil chose.
“Now then,” said one of the most Powerful legislators in the country. “What has happened?”
Grace said, “A secret coven rigged my house to explode. My sister and her husband’s murderer is being taken to the witches’ sheriff’s office. And we think you’re in danger.”
At that, despite all her best efforts, the whole affair became an inter-demesne incident after all.
Isalynn sat, still as stone, her face chiseled. “Tell me everything,” she said, and so they did. She interrupted just once, to pick up her cell phone, punch in a number and say, “Thomas, the Oracle has been attacked. Send a security detail to my house and an investigative team to Grace’s. You had better notify the Elder tribunal and the other demesnes as well. We’re on highest alert.”
The whole time, Khalil seethed. The anger that had built up, the fear he had felt when Grace had pulled so hard on their connection, all boiled underneath the surface of his skin. He seethed, fighting to hold it in, to control the urge to race after the bastards who dared to hurt Grace and the children.
Wait, she said. Justice, not revenge, she said. Because of some mysterious reason, some vision she saw that she wouldn’t tell him.
That was when he realized he was angry at her too. She made him feel things he had never felt before, a desire so keen it sliced at the heart of him and a need that bound him like chains, when he had never been bound before by anything. By anyone.
He would not be bound.
He had done as she asked. Now it was time to do as he wanted.
“I want Brandon Miller,” Khalil said to Isalynn.
“What a coincidence, so do I,” said Isalynn with a sharp smile. “I want every one of those coven members. By all means, go after him—as long as you bring him to me alive.”
He returned the witch’s smile, his own flicking out like a switchblade. Alive did not mean happy or comfortable. “As you wish,” he told her. He glared at Grace as he let his form dissipate to smoke. Nothing she could say would hold him back this time.
Grace said nothing. She sat without moving. Her face was colorless, her wide eyes filled with a dark sea as she gazed at internal vistas visible only to her.
He hesitated. “Grace.”
Her gaze snapped into focus. “I will not be the reason you are trapped. Leave.”