“Was the symbol her idea?” I asked. “Or her creation? Is that what you found in this building? I hope she had insurance.”
“You don’t know anything. None of you do.” When his gaze flicked behind me, I knew the others had moved out of the shadows and revealed themselves, which wasn’t part of my plan. Granted, I hadn’t told them my plan.
“So, enlighten me. Why the obsession with Sorcha? Why the Reed properties? Why try to take her magic posthumously?”
“Because it should’ve been mine.”
I lifted my brows. “Because you’re her powerful successor come to finish what she started?” My voice was dry, baiting.
And he bit. “Because she’s my mother.”
TWENTY
I stared at him—could only stare—and wondered what fucked-up twist of fate had brought us together with the Egregore between us.
“What?” I asked.
“My mother,” he said again, the words a curse. “Treacherous bitch that she was, Sorcha Reed was my mother.”
My brain was still spinning. “She didn’t have children.”
I had meant that as a statement of what we’d all been led to believe, not an insult. Weirdly, the villain with the insecurity complex sure took it as one.
He threw another bolt of smoke, and this one dodged when I dodged, weaved when I weaved. And when I feinted right, it had sentience enough to ignore the fake. It hit me in the back, hot as fire and sharp as an arrow, and sent barbs of glass-edged agony through my legs. They nearly buckled, and it was only by using my sword as a cane that I managed to stay upright. I was sweating, but my mouth was desert dry.
“Her unacknowledged son,” Black said, the smoke again sneaking beneath his skin, clearly visible now.
So when he’d said the magic I had was his “due,” he’d meant biologically.
“Unacknowledged,” he continued, “because she couldn’t be bothered with a halfling.”
Because she was racist or because his being a half sorcerer wasn’t enough to keep his magic running?
“I’m sorry,” I said, and meant it. “Your father?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Did that affect your magic?” I asked. When I saw his eyes, I braced for the hit I knew was coming.
But it wasn’t wisps of black smoke this time. It was Black. With some sort of demon quickness, he rushed over and grabbed my arms. I felt a burst of shifter magic.
“Stay back!” I said.
Black’s gaze shifted to look behind me, and I wished the others had stayed in the shadows. I was the only immortal one in the group.
“You brought a motley crew. Unpracticed sorcerers. Dogs. And someone new.”
Welcome to Chicago, Swift, I thought ruefully.
“Your attention span is very short,” I said, willing Black to turn his focus back to me again.
Black’s face was inches from mine now. Magic swirled in his eyes like ink, the same glittery obsidian that now tattooed his skin.
“Are you giving yourself up to demon magic?” I asked so only he could hear.
“This is the only way.”
“To do what?”
