Standing inside the doors was Miles Merlin.
Anger rose, hovered just beneath Shara’s skin. “I was wondering when you’d bother to show up.”
Merlin gestured at the scars on the walls where light leaked in, at the great doors, only barely rehung. “What exactly happened here? I thought there were systems in place to prevent this sort of thing.”
“Systems that require the support of the Unseen World,” Shara said.
“The Unseen World has always supported Shadows—our House has seen to that since Shadows was created. It’s why you’re here, and why I have my own responsibilities. We make sure there are rules in place so that the sacrifices are provided. We take their magic and bind it to the statue and make sure that it reaches the Unseen World safely.”
“Your House,” Shara said, “not mine.”
“House Merlin is proud of your service,” he said.
“Cut the bullshit, Miles, and tell me what you want.”
“Magic is failing—” he began.
“And that is not the fault of Shadows. Tell me, how long has it been since you successfully cast a spell, Miles?”
His face went blank.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” she asked. “That you could stand in front of me here, of all places, and I wouldn’t know that you held no more magic than a mundane?”
“I hardly expected you to be criticizing me for lack of power after you let this happen. How can I possibly support your desire to hold power in the Unseen World when you don’t even have enough power to maintain your own House here?” he sneered.
“I really think we’re beyond the point of whether or not you’ll support me mattering. After all, if you can’t hold magic, you can’t hold a House. So it seems like we both want the same thing, big brother.” She stepped closer to him, magic held in her hands, visibly enough to remind him which of the two of them held the sort of power that mattered.
“I don’t see how.”
Even now, like this, he couldn’t keep his distaste from showing. She knew very well what he thought of Shadows, what he thought of her. A necessary evil at best. She knew better—he had nothing she didn’t give him. “You want your House. I want mine. Get me enough magic to rebuild Shadows, restart the spells, and then the Unseen World will have enough magic to never question yours.”
“Done,” he said, and turned to go.
“Don’t wait. I hear your daughter still has some big challenges to fight. I’d hate for there to be another failure of magic at a time when she requires it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
The car glided to a stop outside of House Prospero. “You grew up here?” Harper asked.
Madison scanned her card, added a tip for the driver. “What? No—only immediate family live in these places. I’m like a second cousin once removed. I grew up in a normal house.”
Sydney had asked them to come. There was someone they needed to meet, she said. Someone who couldn’t go to the Wellington & Ketchum offices. “Or at least, not right now. She’s been through a lot. I’ll let her tell you.”
Madison and Harper had just gotten to the top step when the door swung open. Sydney waited, barefoot and wearing snug black pants and a loose black shirt.
“Very assassin-casual, Sydney. I like it,” Madison said.
“Ha ha. She’s waiting in the back. Do you want anything?”
“Coffee.” Harper nodded agreement.
A chime rang. Sydney glanced at a mirror, the old-fashioned brass frame a pattern of thorned roses. “The House will bring it when it’s ready.”
“The House?” Harper asked as they followed Sydney down a hall vined with ivy. “Is that what you guys call butlers or whatever?”
“No, I mean the actual House,” Sydney said. “It’s tied to my magic.”
Harper’s eyes widened.
“Like I said, I grew up somewhere normal,” Madison said.
“It likes to be helpful,” Sydney said. “The House. I’m still getting used to it myself.” She led them to a room with bright sun flooding the windows. A young woman stood, her back to the door, looking out. A hair too thin, shoulders braced, her left hand fidgeting at her side.
“I’d forgotten how much I loved watching the birds,” Grace said. Harper’s eyes dropped to her hands. They were covered in a pattern of thin silver scars.
“Madison, Harper, this is Grace Valentine. She’s—” Sydney looked at Grace.
“I’m the woman Grey Prospero tried to kill three years ago,” she said.
“We know,” Madison said. “Well, we didn’t know it was you we were meeting, but Harper found the file. The disinheritance. So you’re not totally unexpected. But—where have you been?”
Coffee appeared on a side table, and Sydney poured while Grace told the other women her story.
Harper listened unmoving, her coffee untouched at her side.
“So I guess this means the binding on the disinheritance is officially broken. Or at least so loosened as to not matter,” Madison said. “However—Harper, what is wrong with you?”
Harper shifted in her seat. “So, I did something, and, Madison, I think you might fire me for it. I took these two nights ago.” Harper took her phone out of her bag, opened the screen, and passed it to Madison.
Madison looked at the first screen. “Is that what I think it is? Is that where I think it is?”
“Scroll back further.”
Madison did, and came to the picture of Grey naked in the bed. “Oh God.” She handed the phone to Sydney.
“You’re not fired, but what were you thinking?” Madison asked.
“That women were dying and no one cared because they didn’t have a lot of magic. If he’d killed Sydney—no offense, Sydney—but if he had, it would have been a big deal. Even killing her in a challenge would have been a big deal. But this? I read the description of what he did to you, Grace. I found Rose. No one cares, and even in Grace’s case, his disinheritance was supposed to be enough. I mean, fuck that—you got sent to what is basically hell for three years, and you’d still be there if it weren’t for Sydney. Meanwhile, he’s out picking up girls in bars. Sorry,” she said to Grace.
“No, you’re right.” Grace nodded.
“But economic consequences are enough in most cases. And besides, Wellington & Ketchum doesn’t have a criminal division in Special Projects,” Sydney said softly.
Madison shot her a sideways glance.
Sydney scrolled through the rest of the pictures, held out the phone. “Grace?”
“No. I can guess what’s on there well enough.” She flexed her fingers.
“You took these yourself ?” Sydney asked Harper. “I didn’t know you were a magician.”
“I’m not. A friend—Alanna Valentine—made me a self-activating spell. It made him really . . . affectionate, and then really unconscious.”
Grace laughed. “Alanna’s my cousin. She had a version of that spell in high school. She used it on the guys who liked to lie about the girls, or get pushy with them. She’d leave them naked on the lacrosse field.”
Harper smiled. “I can totally see that.”
“Still,” Madison said, “that was a big risk. If the spell had gone wrong—”