Page 19

We step inside, and Lenore leads us through the front hall into the sitting room. Bookshelves line two walls, floor to ceiling, and my heat sensing picks up the residual warmth of protective fire spells layered over every shelf.

Lenore settles into a wingback chair and sets her teacup on the side table. She gestures to the settee across from her, and I sit.

Kieran takes position near the window where he can see both the door and the garden, and Lenore’s mouth curves with what might be amusement. Then her shoulders settle, her chin lifts, and the warmth in her eyes sharpens into focus.

“It’s the middle of the semester, Evie. You’re not at the academy, and you’ve brought Blaze’s deadliest professor to my front door.” She pauses, then continues before I can reply. “I’m not going to ask why. But I assume you’re here on business, which means I need to know what you’re looking for, and what you’re offering in return.”

There it is. The question that, for Lenore, is the only question that matters.

I lean forward, elbows on my knees, and keep my breathing steady. Lenore’s signature is steady and warm. Kieran’s is running hot behind me, and the blades at his hips are vibrating at a higher frequency than they were outside.

“I need to find the Amazons.” I try to ignore Kieran and focus on Lenore, which is close to impossible thanks to his heat pressing against my skin.

Lenore watches me without blinking.

Then, finally, she speaks.

“The Amazons haven’t maintained open contact with witch covens in over a century. Their last known settlement was referenced in a grimoire that the Council confiscated in 1987.” She picks up her teacup and takes a measured sip. “I may have a copy of that grimoire. I may also have contacts who’ve traded with Amazonian intermediaries in the last decade. But that’s a significant expenditure of resources and favors on my end.” She sets the cup down, watching me closely. “What information are you offering?”

I glance at Kieran. He meets my eyes, gives me the smallest nod, and I turn back to Lenore.

“The information I have is the reason we need to find the Amazons,” I tell her. “Because Kieran isn’t just a weapons master. He’s a son of Ares. He needs to speak with the Amazons to learn about the war-blood running through his veins.”

Lenore’s heat signature spikes—a quick, involuntary flare she smooths over almost immediately.

“A son of Ares,” she repeats. “A demigod walking into my sitting room in the Garden District on a Thursday afternoon.”

She looks at Kieran, and this time, the assessment is different. She’s not cataloguing a weapons master anymore. She’s recalculating his value.

“Professor Cross.” Her tone remains warm and gracious, but the edges have sharpened. “I’m going to take Evie at her word, because Thornes don’t trade in false currency. But I want to hear it from you.”

“Which part?” he asks, and I glare at him for being so cavalier with Lenore Aldridge.

Her eyes narrow, sharper now, more calculating. “The part where you speak the truth of your heritage.”

“I’m a son of Ares.” His jaw is set and his arms are crossed, heat pouring off him in waves that press against my scanning like standing too close to a bonfire.

Lenore holds his gaze for a long moment. Then she turns back to me, her gold pin catching the light as she tilts her head.

“That’s an acceptable exchange.” She settles deeper into her chair, steepling her fingers. “I should have an answer for you within a few days.”

The tension in my chest loosens by a fraction. “Thank you, Lenore.”

“Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart. I haven’t found them.” She picks up her teacup and cradles it in both hands. “In the meantime, you’re both welcome to stay here. But your mother would want to know you’re safe, Evie. I won’t tell her you’re here, but you might want to consider making that call yourself.”

My chest tightens. Because my mother doesn’t know Oliver’s dead. My mother’s back home, running the publishing house, thinking her youngest children are safe at the academy.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, which I’m pretty sure all of us know translates to no way in hell.

Lenore nods once. Then her head tilts as if she just remembered a minor detail, except Lenore Aldridge doesn’t forget details, minor or otherwise.

“The guest room is at the top of the stairs, second door on the left. I’m afraid it’s the only one available, as the rest of the house is occupied by family and inventory.” Her gaze moves from me to Kieran and back again, and the corner of her mouth lifts by a fraction. “I trust you’ll manage.”

She places her teacup down, stands up, and disappears into the hallway before I can respond.

Guest room.

Singular.