Rye had actually never gotten a chance to finish that sentence because she’d done it for him—accusing him of trying to rescue her when she didn’t need it. That had been a low blow, one Embry regretted immediately. One she regretted now. Even as it proved her point.
Rye cleared his throat, looked away. But then, quicker than she’d expected, Rye’s eyes returned to Embry’s face, the fire extinguished, the green again calm. “Anyway”—he ran a hand down the stubble on his jaw—“I don’t think they’re working together, but I do think they hate each other enough that it is possible that one of them took out the other.”
A laugh burst out of Embry. “You watch too many movies.” She flung an accusatory hand at the chaos ofHome Aloneas if she herself hadn’t seen it a million times.
“No, I watchenoughmovies to deduce that either Balthazar disappeared after finally whaling on Alistair because he divined you were a murdererorAlistair was so jealous of Balthazar’s obvious connection to you—as visually demonstrated by the corsage—that he went on a rampage.” Embry scoffed and Rye tossed his arms out wide before plowing on. “A rampagethat killed both Oakley and Balthazar. Then he staged Oakley’s body to implicate you.” She scoffed a second time, and he poked her lightly on the sternum. “Becausehe loves you too much to murder you but not enough that he can’t stop himself from punishing you for not wanting him.”
Embry wound her arms across her chest and gaped at Rye.
“Alistair Elton-Bentley. That’s who we’re talking about here? Have youmethim?” If anything, Alistair had beenoverly kindto her after she crushed his romantic hopes. He was the very definition of genteel. “He would never do all the things you just described.”
Rye was undeterred. “What, like he’d never use his magic to toss you under the bus with a vision of you hurting someone and then vanish like a rabbit from a two-bit magician’s hat?”
It had been like that. She just hoped it wasn’t because he was stolen away by a murderer or made to be another victim himself. Though Rye was right—the motivation didn’t fit,ifit had to do with available magical essence. Embry sighed. “I just—I can’t believe that.”
“It doesn’t matter that you can’t believe it. It only matters if Alistair hurt you because you rebuffed him. Men do stupid shit all the time.” Embry’s own breath was too loud in her ears as Rye caught her eye, sorrow darkening his irises. “Just because Alistair has been your friend for the past three years doesn’t mean he’s not above that.”
Embry Woodcross was an excellent witch, but she also felt she had a magical ability to correctly judge character. Despite everything, she believed that was true. She thought Oakley was a good person still, even with the fight they’d had and the lies that had been uncovered. And she thought Alistair was a good person and a friend, even after his betrayal. If anything, the feelings she had toward them had more to do withhercharacter than theirs.
So Embry was absolutely certain when she told Rye, “He wouldn’t. Alistair wouldn’t do something violent. I can’t explain the divination being so wrong or why he’d tell anyone if it were, but I don’t think he could ever be the type of person to murder someone. Oakley, Balthazar, or anyone else.”
Embry prepared for pushback. For her intuition to be picked apart like carrion to a crow. Rye was as good at that as he was with magic.
Instead, he nodded. “Okay.”
The word dropped free, and she was suddenly relieved butalso not at all surprised when he added, “So, we need to look at Balthazar.”
“No.”
If Rye heard her, he didn’t show it—the boy would be pacing if he’d had the real estate between the sectional and the coffee table. “We don’t know much about Balthazar, other than he spent time in Romania, land of vampires, without much explanation. What school did he attend before? Why did he transfer here? Where is he now?”
Embry’s head was pounding, a pulsating beat that somehow kept time with the new churning of her stomach. All that delicious curry, naan, and cheesecake on a spin cycle.
“Let’s not forget Balthazar swindled you out of a coven coin.” Well, she didn’t likethatverb choice. “One that would’ve given him entry to our last meeting. A meeting he didn’t attend, but you know who did—”
Embry gasped. “You can’t think he let the vampires in…”
“Why can’t I think that?” Rye shot back. “Why aren’tyouthinking that? Oakley’s family broke through our wards and attacked us. They nearly killed Lazarus—”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Rye’s kind expression said it all. “I just—Look. I inspected the wards after it happened. They weren’t dismantled. They weren’t frayed. There was nothing wrong with them at all. Which means those vampires came onto the estate in the middle of a highly protected coven meeting without breaking in. It was as if they wereinvited.”
Embry’s mouth went dry.
“Okay, I see your point.” Bracing, she admitted, “And… Balthazar was the only nonmember invited to that particular meeting.”
Rye scrubbed a hand through his hair, his despair sending afresh hint of rosemary her way. “We have to consider what that could mean.”
It meant that she’d made a mistake. Maybe.
Still, that little spark of how Balthazar had made her feel only days ago coupled with his absence made Embry swerve away from the subject. Toward the idea that Rye wasn’t considering—the sorcerer could be—probably was—a victim.
“We do,” Embry began carefully, “but I think perhaps we’re asking the wrong question. What about motive? Balthazar doesn’t have the motive to do these things any more than Alistair. Surely we can find someone with motive for all of it—killing Oakley, framing me, maybe even disappearing Balthazar.”
Rye frowned. “He’s a sorcerer. He was in Romania. They supposedly use that dark magic well. Balthazar could’ve killed Oakley to fill it—he wouldn’t be the first. Trust me. I read the court documents.”
“He’s seventeen,” Embry argued. “That wouldn’t be a kid’s job.”
