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“Only the strong survive,” Calixta chided him. “You who have lived for so long must know this.”
“Are we about to witness a coronation?” I asked Delma. “Are we the only friends you had left to invite?”
“That’s sad.” Clay shook his head. “I almost feel sorry for you, but not really, and P.S. We’re not friends.”
“She can’t be crowned.” Asa tilted his head to study her profile. “As I said, there’s a new queen.”
“My claim to the throne supersedes the pretender’s,” Calixta hissed. “I will have what is mine.”
“You’re stuck in a cell in a swamp,” I pointed out. “You’re in no position to make demands.”
“She is the rightful high queen.” Delma’s lip curled in a snarl. “Your ignorance is staggering.”
“Don’t stagger too much.” I eyed her platform. “You’ll stagger right off your float.”
“Are you so ignorant of your heritage?” Calixta eyed me with sympathy. “Your grandfather has been keeping secrets.” She lowered her gaze, and her impossibly long lashes swept across her cheeks. “Your dead parents too.” She gave dead no special emphasis, but none was required to cut me to the quick. “You deserve to know the truth.”
“If you mean that my grandmother was a daemon,” I returned, “we figured out that much.”
Her smile when she raised her eyes was downright predatory, and I knew whatever she said next would rock my world. I could read the glee in her expression, the expectation of delivering a sentence that would end life as I knew it.
“You’re my granddaughter too,” she ventured kindly. “Your grandfather and I…”
No, no, no.
This was not happening.
And yet, it made perfect sense. Grandfather wouldn’t lower himself to bed a common daemon, but a queen? Yeah. That would assuage his ego. I could see him viewing her as the closest thing the species had to offer as his equal. But why would a queen give up the rights to an heir? A son?
The watery visage, the veil of rage shimmering through her beauty, told me the truth.
The director got what he wanted, and then he trapped her to prevent her from taking their son.
Maybe he couldn’t kill her. Maybe he was sentimental. Or maybe he wanted to keep her around in case the experiment with my father worked to his satisfaction. Whatever the reason, he was a fool not to end her when he had the chance. His death was written in her eyes, in the curve of her red lips.
That scenario fit with what I knew about the director, but not what I knew about my parents.
Mom and Dad hadn’t been on great terms with my grandfather. This was a big job, restraining a daemon queen. Would they have set aside their differences and worked together to contain her? For whatever reason? Had they linked the sanctuary to Mom to avoid any claim Black Hat might make on Calixta?
Except, Grandfather, for all intents and purposes, was Black Hat.
The Kellies knew about the tags. They would have tracked them to the sanctuary, the same as Colby. But she assured me there wasn’t a hint of it in the database. Not a whisper, not a sigh, as if it hadn’t happened.
“That’s not a mental picture that needs painting,” I cut in, leaning into Asa. “What proof can you offer?”
“You know I’m telling the truth.” She hummed with approval. “I can see it in your eyes.”
And just like that, I no longer questioned where the bureau intersected with Delma. It didn’t. Never had.
This was the missing link.
Calixta.
My grandmother.
She must have made contacts within Black Hat during her affair with my grandfather that remained loyal to her. Those connections explained how Agent Barker and her partner got roped into the ill-advised fae relocation project. They were following Delma’s orders, accepting her as Calixta’s proxy.
But did that mean she was behind the rogue black witches? Or was this another, more personal, attack?
