“When you put itthatway…” Casey shrugs, her smile returning. She takes a few steadying gulps of coffee, then looks up at me again, her eyes bright. “Friends,” she says firmly. “Maybe we can start with being friends.”
“I’m in.” I toss back another gulp of radioactive coffee. “So, as yourfriend… Am I allowed to ask how long you’ve had a thing for Quintana?”
“No,” she snaps, but she can’t hide the blush in her cheeks.
“Fine. Since we’re new at this whole friends thing, I guess I’ll let you off the hook… for now.” Picking up one of her notebooks, I ask, “Any luck with the London office?”
“A bit. One of the tech witches—a new hire named Darla—was able to send over some promising leads. She dug through Eastman’s online records and found some more of his—and this is a direct quote—‘magickal spank-bank stash.’”
“That sounds… disgusting.”
“Yeah, I could’ve done without the visual myself, but the intel is solid. Unsurprisingly, black-mirror magick is one of his favorite obsessions—we’ve already gotten a taste of that. But his interests span the black magick spectrum.” She grabs her tablet, pulling up a few images. “Let’s see, we’ve got blood sorcery and human vampirism, animal sacrifice, oh—and I bet this will make him a fan favorite at future office holiday parties—necromancy!”
“Guess that’s why he’s so interested in the Dark Magician’s work,” I say.
“We don’t know for sure that they’re plotting the attack together, but the evidence highly suggests some level of cooperation. And since we’ve agreed to assume the worst, I’m warning everyone Eastman and the Dark Arcana are on Team Asshole, just as we feared.”
“So basically, we’re dealing with a psychopath who hates all magick-users—including himself—knows just enough about the dark arts to be dangerous, and is either partnering with or just seriously fan-boying our main magickal enemy.”
“He’s obsessed with self-flagellation, Kirin.” She trades the tablet for one of her notebooks, skimming over her research. “This whole thing feels like some kind of sick fantasy he designed to punish and publicly humiliate himself. Taking everyone else down in the process is all part of the grand plan, but my theory is he’s going to take himself out too.”
“Like a suicide bomb?”
“Could be. For these kind of whack jobs, the more violent and terrible a show they can put on, the better. Something like that would certainly inspire his followers—and we’ve got no idea how many we’re dealing with.” She drops her notebook and sighs. “Whatever happens tomorrow, we need to take him out without getting too close.”
I reach across the table and grab her hand. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t pull away.
“We’ll nail the sonofabitch, Case,” I say. “And when we do, APOA owes you a medalanda promotion. Two of them, actually.”
“Hmm. Two medals or two promotions?”
“Both.” I laugh—a thing that’s suddenly a little easier with my sister. “You deserve both.”
I finally release her hand and rise from the table, wanting to spend a little more time with Stevie before we have to be up in an hour. But before I can wish my sister goodnight, my Queen of Leaves tumbles into the kitchen in a rush of frantic energy and crazy hair, Baz stumbling along behind her.
“He got through!” she says breathlessly, grabbing my hands. “Baz and I were asleep, and then Doc pulled me back into that same vision. And this time I stayed with them and Ani was there and Doc actually spoke to me!”
Quintana is up and instantly alert, rushing to join us in the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“I have no idea,” Casey says, glancing from Stevie and Baz, then back to me.
“Earlier tonight,” I say, “when we were… getting into bed…” I clear my throat, then start again. “The three of us kind of got sucked into a vision.”
“The same one?” she asks.
“Yes. I think my Tower energy triggered it. Anyway, we saw Cass and Ani together in the caves and thought they might be trying to get a message out, but we couldn’t hear anything.”
“Until now,” Stevie says. “He said—
“Code red, people.” Carly breezes into the kitchen next, her wide, frantic eyes belying her casual saunter. “I just got one of my intuitive hits, and it’snotgood.”
“Describe not good,” Casey says. “Like, you felt something bad happen? Saw something?”
Carly nods. “We’re talking disaster-movie level hell here, guys. But then I crashed and went offline, so now I’m not sure what to think.”
“Crashed and went… What does that even mean?” Casey rises from her chair, then shakes her head, muscles already bunching with new tension. “Wait. Before you answer that, I need you to go upstairs and rally the troops—tell them we’re rolling out in an hour and we need to strategize. Then come straight back here and tell me about this disaster movie business.”
“Fine,” she says, forcing a bored yawn. I’m not sure who she thinks she’s fooling—the woman is clearly freaked out. “But someone needs to get on coffee and breakfast duty, pronto. I amnottrying to save the world without a good caffeine buzz.”
