“Yes, the Table knows all about Hiram’s transgressions. It’s not a secret.”
It… had been kept secret from her—if it was true.
Embry racked her brain for anything she’d ever heard about Hiram Woodcrossstealingmagic, but unlike the false conclusions Brown had come to regarding her and her family, this statement had the air of backup material being easily accessible.
The inspector watched Embry fight to keep her confusion from clouding her features. He scanned her face, the set of her shoulders, the tenseness in her arms giving away the way she’d braced them on her thighs. Embry was hiding nothing. Embry knew nothing.
Again, the inspector smiled. This time, it was just the upturn of his lips.
“It is my hypothesis that the coven bearing Hiram Woodcross’s name—your name—has kept up his practices for the past four centuries, and they just finally got caught. We could be talking about hundreds of victims here, dating back to the time of Salem.”
That would easily be the biggest case ever brought by the Table’s criminal arm, Embry was sure. It would make Inspector Brown famous—and the Woodcross coven infamous.
Even if none of it was true.None.
If Lazarus Woodcross was stealing vampires’ magic, Embry would’ve known about it. She was observant enough to know when Ames switched her brand of foundation based on smell alone, for Goddess’s sake. The coven was not doing this. They had never done it.
Smug, Inspector Brown stood and took a meaningful step toward the door.
“Honestly, if I were you, Miss Woodcross, I’d hope I’m able to prove you were the coven’s pawn in all this. Because otherwise you’re the fall guy.”
Embry shook her head again, unable to stop herself.
The man’s bland expression shifted again, this time to straight pity and a scoff. “Your father and his lawyers aren’t answering mycalls. They aren’t answering the door at the mansion, either—I tried that, too. And yet here you sit.”
Inspector Brown took a few more steps and placed a hand on the doorknob. Embry made a point to glance away as he assessed her from over one cold shoulder.
“Miss Woodcross, it is my job to deal in facts and evidence—I have for thirty years. And at this very moment I can tell you that all the facts and evidence I have in this case currently point to you.”
CHAPTER 35
UNDER LOCK AND KEY
GIVEN HER VERY PRIVILEGED LIFE, EMBRYWOODCROSS NEVERexpected to spend a night in a jail cell. Yet when the weak light of dawn crawled through the single window above the cot where she lay, she’d done just that.
“This is really going to muck up my law school applications in a few years,” she muttered to a spider crawling across the nondescript ceiling. At least her early decision to follow Rye to the University of Maine wouldn’t be in jeopardy—would it? She hadn’t been charged with anything yet, and Table law allowed only for a twenty-four-hour hold without that piece.
More worries to add on to those that had been piling up in the silence that had come after her “conversation” with Inspector Brown. Embry’s brain ping-ponged from one worry to the rest.
That she’d set herself up for murder charges. That they’d cast enough doubt about her whereabouts to tie in the murder of Oakley’s family members. That they’d successfully prosecute the Woodcross coven.
That the coven actually had been slaughtering vampires to steal magic for personal power-ups since the days of Hiram Woodcross.
That for her life spent “in the know” about pretty much everything until Oakley Riddle stepped on campus, she’d been so far out of the loop on what was going on in her own coven that she’d literally ruined her life just by being nice to the new girl.
But Daddy wouldn’t do that to her, right? He wouldn’t let his only child take the fall for something he did, would he?Would he?
Embry’s empty stomach roiled so hard, she felt seasick just lying on her bare cot.
If he really were stealing magic as leader of the coven, then maybe the Daddy she knew wasn’t actually who Lazarus Woodcross was at all. Which meant, maybe he was the kind of person who would let his own child take the blame. With every minute that ticked by, Embry was less sure about what was happening with Daddy, Rye, the coven, Balthazar—
“Woodcross! Up!” The alarm clock voice of her jailer—a Frankenstein’s monster who only seemed capable of speaking in exclamation points—clattered off the scuffed white walls. “Inspector Brown wants to see you!”
Embry sat up and pushed back a hank of blond hair. It’d started to frizz in the night without its usual care, and though she didn’t have a mirror, the telltale throb of a stress zit pulsed at her jawline. Not common for this witch. Actually, it was sort of outrageous.
Not to mention she hadn’t gone running since Friday, which meant her mental and physical state was a smorgasbord of feeling lethargic, anxious, and laid out with cabin fever all at once. She’d never been a drinker, but Embry was certain this was what a hangover felt like. Worse, this cell was spell-blocking. And while that was necessary to prevent someone magically inclined from escaping, it also meant she couldn’t do a quick mirror-free touch-up of her rebelling face and body. Oh, how far she’d fallen.
And that was just the outside. Her mind? A total mess.
