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She reached over and hugged me. I hugged her back. A soft thump hit my stomach. My nephew was doing summersaults inside his mom.
She had so many things to worry about besides me. Connor, their people, her baby, her baby’s magic . . . Connor and Nevada weren’t compatible from the magic point of view. He was a telekinetic, she was a truthseeker, and there was no telling what sort of magic their son would have, if any. There was an ugly word for members of magical families born without a power—a dud. For a while Leon had thought he was a dud and it was so hard on him. He’d thought he was the only one who wasn’t special. If my nephew was born without magic, Connor and Nevada would love him just as much, but I crossed my fingers and toes that he would have a talent.
She carried all that on her shoulders, but she still found time to worry about me.
“It will be fine,” I told her. “I can handle it.”
She let me go. “If you need help, any help at all, you ask me. Promise me.”
“I promise. Since you offered . . .”
“Yes?”
“What’s the deal with Cornelius and House Pierce?”
She grimaced. “How much did Cornelius tell you?”
“He told me that he and Adam Pierce were joined at the hip through their childhood, not by choice, and that he detested the whole family.”
Nevada nodded. “Right now House Pierce is run by Peter Pierce. Tatyana is his younger sister. Adam is the youngest. Pierce Senior died a few years back, but their mother is still alive. She spoiled Adam rotten. Cornelius’ mother went to school with her, and they never lost touch. It was decided that Adam needed ‘a boyhood companion to help him make good choices.’”
“Boyhood companion? Are we in the 19th century?”
Nevada shrugged. “My guess is, Mama Pierce realized that her precious boy had one hell of an antisocial personality disorder, and since she couldn’t be there one hundred percent of the time, she decided to chain him to someone who followed the rules. Long story short, Cornelius couldn’t keep Adam from doing messed-up crap and he was frequently punished in Adam’s stead.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It is. Some of the things he told me made me want to punch her in the face. I don’t think he will do anything to jeopardize your investigation.”
“I never thought he would.”
She studied my face. “Catalina, I’ll tell you this one last thing, and then I’ll go. Connor treats Alessandro like a ticking bomb. His father once told him that a Sagredo Prime is the most dangerous opponent he could ever face.”
“Why? Alessandro can summon weapons, but Connor can cut a building in half.”
“He doesn’t know. He was young and didn’t ask for explanation at the time. But from what he says, it has to do with a Sagredo House spell.”
“Sagredos have no House-level spells. There is no record of them ever using arcane circles, even.”
Nevada’s face turned dark. “Exactly. I don’t know what secrets Alessandro is hiding, and I want you to be careful. Be very careful. I love you and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Chapter 6
I dreamed of floating in a lazy river on my back. The current gently carried me forward, and above me tree branches slid back, the sun shining bright through the gaps between the leaves. Alessandro floated next to me and he was speaking low in Italian, his tone soothing . . .
My phone chimed. I sat up and grabbed it before my eyes even opened. A call from Patricia Taft, our security head. Wow, 8:02 a.m. The family must’ve felt sorry for me and let me sleep an extra hour.
I accepted the call.
Patricia’s clipped British accent made every word sharp. “I have Sergeant Munoz and Detective Giacone from Houston PD here.”
Crap. Munoz belonged to the House Response Unit, the division of Houston PD tasked specifically with handling problems with Houses. Each member of the division was assigned a roster of families, and we belonged to Munoz. A visit from him was never good.
“What do they want?”
“They would like to question Leon in connection with Audrey Duarte. Should I let them in or should I phone the lawyer?”
Munoz wouldn’t have made the trip for a simple complaint. The fact that he and Giacone were here together meant a felony. Audrey would never accuse Leon of assault. It wasn’t in her nature. She tried to buy him with gifts and relied on emotional blackmail, but she wouldn’t do something to actually hurt him. If someone else had assaulted Audrey, Leon would be the first person she called.
She hadn’t called, because Leon would’ve told me if she did. That meant only one thing.
Audrey Duarte was dead.
Ice shot through me. Poor Audrey. Poor little harmless Audrey. She was barely nineteen.
It gutted me. It would hit Leon like a train.
“Hold on.” I grabbed my tablet and FaceTimed Leon.
He answered on the first ring. He sat in the office room he shared with Bern. The floor behind him was strewn with papers. He must have been doing research. When Leon sorted through data, he drew strange abstract doodles and threw the paper down when he finished them. If the problem was thorny enough, he would go through fifty pages in a couple of hours.
“This is really important. Answer honestly. Did you go to Audrey’s last night?”
Leon dramatically whipped off his imaginary shades. “Look into my eyes. I. Did. Not. See. Audrey. Yesterday.”
“But did you go to her place?”
“No. I went home. Straight home, no detours. You know when I left MII. Check the log. I checked in and haven’t left.”
“What time did she call you last night?”
He checked his phone. “5:42 p.m.”
“I need you to stay in your office.” It was on the other end of the building on the second floor. “Don’t come down here, don’t call. I’ll call you.”
Leon leaned closer. “Did something happen?”
“I don’t know yet. Stay where you are, please. Promise.”
“Fine.”
I hung up and turned to my phone. “Patricia, bring them into the conference room in fifteen minutes. Don’t let them question anyone.”
“Got it.”
I hung up and called Bern. He picked up. “Yes?”
“We’re in trouble. Munoz and his partner are here. Please lock Leon out of the conference room feed and tell Nevada and Mom.”
I hung up, jumped off the bed, and rummaged through my closet for clothes.
I had seen Leon kill before. He did it without remorse or hesitation, but when he got home, he would get a beer and go off by himself, sometimes onto the roof, sometimes into another building. He would sit there for hours, sipping the beer and brooding, which he claimed was “quiet thinking.” Taking a life mattered to him. It drained all the humor and joy out of him and he turned silent and withdrawn. He hadn’t been that way last night and he wasn’t that way now.
Besides, Leon only killed when he had no other choice. To become his target, you had to put the family in danger. He knew Audrey and didn’t consider her a threat to himself or us. He was annoyed with her, but my cousin never killed anyone out of annoyance.
Eight minutes later I tore out of my bedroom, dressed in a dark skirt, blue blouse, and navy pumps. My hair was pulled back from my face into a severe bun, and my makeup was understated, minimal, but there. I looked like the Head of the House who had been awake for hours handling important business. Image was armor, and I needed every inch.
My sister walked out of the guest bedroom, wearing a blue wraparound dress. Magic radiated from her like a razor-sharp corona. Nevada looked ready to go to war. If I weren’t her sister, I would be shaking in my shoes.
“Will you sit in on this?”
Nevada rolled her eyes. “Do you even have to ask?”
Ten minutes later, I pretended to be engrossed in my laptop as Patricia ushered the two officers in. Nevada had parked herself at the other end of the table, hiding her bare feet under it.
Sergeant Munoz strode into the room and gave me his hard cop stare. Middle-aged, light-skinned, and world-weary, he looked like a cop who had always been a cop. It was impossible to imagine him as young or naive. Instead, he must have come into this world just like this, wrapped in authority, jaded, and empowered by the city of Houston to take on all of its chaotic craziness.
Behind him, Detective Giacone gave the room a once-over. Taller than Munoz by six inches and younger by about five years, he wore a better suit and had a better haircut. You saw Munoz and you knew he was exactly where he wanted to be. When you looked at Giacone, you got the impression he was waiting for his chance to move up.
A soundless notification window popped up in the corner of my laptop. Bern had accessed the security camera feed from the conference room. Ten to one, everyone except Leon was watching it.
“Prime Baylor,” Munoz said. “Prime Rogan-Baylor.”
“Good morning, gentlemen.” I indicated the two chairs in front of me. “Please sit.”
The two officers sat. Behind them Patricia Taft walked into the room and took a seat to my right. Fit, with light brown skin and bold attractive features, Patricia inspired confidence. She wore a beige pantsuit and her dark brown hair was cut in a perfect shoulder-length bob, but everyone in the room sensed that she would rather be in uniform, hair tucked into a beret. Everything about her was precise, efficient, and together. Surprisingly, the complete opposite of her wife, Regina, who wore flowery maxi dresses and strappy sandals.
