“Someone interfered?”
“Yes. Possibly more than one someone—there was some sort of disturbance in the crowd before the spell was cast. Again, I had other things on my mind and missed exactly what it was, but it was loud enough that I noticed it, which means it’s likely other magicians did too. I didn’t recognize the magic that interrupted the spell, so it was no one I’ve dueled. Whoever they were, they were trying to redirect the magic Ian and I were using. I’m pretty sure it was meant to be fatal—they weren’t trying to change anything that we had already cast, just send it somewhere else. And while I’m slightly less sure on this, I do think Miranda was the intended target.”
“Would you recognize the magic again?” Madison asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll need to swear to all of that. I’ll have someone meet us at the office so that—Syd. Your hands.”
Sydney looked down. The beds of her nails were full of blood. Red drops fell from the ends of her fingers, streaking her pants, the seat of the car. It hit, then—the ache of the magic, the steel-knife feeling of it in her joints. “Backlash from the magic. There are always consequences.”
“This always happens?”
“This or something similar. The bigger the spell”—she broke off, rolled down the window, stuck her head out, and vomited—“the worse things are. If you could have the driver take me home, please.” Sydney leaned back, closed her eyes.
“Yes. Sydney, of course. Is there anything else I can do?”
“What was the emergency? Earlier?”
“Sydney, it doesn’t matter right now.”
“Okay.” The aftermath of magic racking her body, Sydney closed her eyes and fell into sleep.
? ? ?
Ian woke to the scents of fresh coffee and frying bacon, which was unexpected, as he was the only one who lived in his apartment. He stepped cautiously out of bed and into his kitchen.
“You desperately need to buy groceries,” Lara said.
“Sorry. I’ve been a little preoccupied with my possible imminent death. Which would have meant I wouldn’t need food. Though if I’d known you were planning to visit—how did you get in here again?”
She carried two plates—bacon, eggs, hash browns—over to the table. “I came over last night. After the duel. I was waiting in the lobby when you got here. You were . . . not well.”
“Consequences for magic,” he said between bites of hash browns. “Worse because of what happened in the duel.”
“That’s actually why I’m here,” she said. “You need to know what happened.”
“I’m guessing you mean the part at the end with Miranda, because otherwise I’ve got what happened down pretty well.”
She nodded. “It was Dad. He pushed her. Not with magic. With his hands. Which, bad.”
Ian set down his fork. “Yes, we’ll start with bad, there.”
“But I don’t think he was the one who actually interfered with the magic. I think that was Grey. And I think the reason that Dad pushed Miranda was that he knew what Grey was going to do. Or at least that he was going to do something.”
“I see we’re moving on from bad, then.”
Lara leveled a stare across the table.
“Sorry. But why would they possibly be working together? Grey’s a prat. And not much more.”
“Agreed. But the end result of this is Dad’s biggest rival is stripped of her magic, and House Prospero is either unmade or given to Grey—”
“Nope.” Ian used a slice of bacon to mop up egg yolk. “Sydney was a Prospero. Before she was a Shadow. I was there when the lawyer came by.”
“Holy shit,” Lara said.
“Pretty much.”
“Ian,” she said, “the thing is . . . the weirdest thing . . . is Dad pushed her. With his hands, not magic. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been standing next to him, so he must have thought the crowd would hide him, but why not use magic? It would have been a lot easier to hide that.”
“When was the last time you saw him cast anything?” Ian asked.
“It’s been a while, Ian. I think things are bad. Like, really bad.”
“Bad how?” Ian looked at his plate as if he were astonished by the fact that there was suddenly no more food on it.
“I broke into his tower—I told you we needed to talk, Ian, but you are shit at returning your texts.”
He winced. “Sorry.”
“Anyway, the point being, there’s almost no magic in the entire room. Not even traces, like you would expect if someone was even doing basic spells in there. The one place there is, is in a biometrically locked cabinet. Not magically locked, biometrically.”
“I’m not sure I follow. You know how Dad likes that sci-fi stuff.” Ian poured himself more coffee, trying to make his brain feel faster than sludge.
“I do know that, yes, as I live at that House. Which is now entirely run on sci-fi stuff. Like it would be—”
“Like it would be if Dad didn’t have any magic anymore,” he said slowly, catching up. “That’s why the lock is biometric. He can’t trust himself to be able to take down wards.”
Lara nodded. “I’m working on a spell to get me past the biometrics. What I want to know is, if I can prove he’s lost his magic, will you support me in removing him as Head of House?”
“I don’t know what it will be worth, since I’m not officially part of the House anymore, but absolutely. Whatever you need.”
“Good,” she said. “I should go. Things to do, coups to plan.”
“Thanks for breakfast.”
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she said. “Now buy yourself some damn food.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The door to Madison’s office flew open and slammed against the wall. “Ms. Prospero, I’m sorry, I told him he couldn’t come back without an appointment.”
Grey stood, flushed and angry, in her doorway, her secretary standing behind him. It was not a wholly unexpected visit, though she had thought that he would come earlier in the day. “I can give you ten minutes, or you can make an appointment.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Grey said, and sat in her guest chair. “I need to know if this bullshit I’ve heard is true.”
“And what bullshit would that be?” Madison asked.
“That that woman, that fucking Shadow, inherited House Prospero. That House should be mine.”
“While it is true that Sydney now holds House Prospero, the fact is, you were disinherited three years ago, in a fully legal and vetted procedure. One which you yourself agreed to and signed off on, with full advice of counsel. This firm, as you know, possesses the file of that proceeding, and I can produce that document should you need to refresh your memory.”
“I know what’s in the file,” Grey said. “But I should still have a claim. I’m a Prospero.”
Madison wished she didn’t know what was in the file, particularly with him sitting in her office. “Legally, I’m afraid that’s not the case. You were disinherited, and the disinheritance stands. And even had Miranda not made a new will—which I have here, witnessed and blood-bonded—Sydney as Miranda’s daughter and the closest biological descendant would still inherit.”