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“She’s your housekeeper?”
Sasha nods. “Practically raised me and Brandon.”
“This place is insane.” I burrow into Bexley’s side as we move down the long hall lined with framed paintings, and portraits that are a mismatch of designs but oddly work together.
I thought the Electi house was something, but this is in a league of its own.
Hannah reaches a door at the end of the hall and stops. “Mr. Cargill is waiting.” She flicks her head to the door. “I’ll bring you refreshments.”
“Thanks, Han.” Brandon shoots her a megawatt smile as he disappears inside. Bexley glances at me and mouths, “Ready?”
I nod, my throat clogged with emotion.
A few weeks ago, I would have trembled at the thought of meeting with a Quinctus elder. But not today. Today, I feel strong. Something shifted in me last night, and I know that they no longer hold all the power.
We do.
Quinctus needs us. They need the Electi and their prosapias to ensure the future of the traditions. But with Lincoln and Cade gone, and Marcus too, it’s time for a new chapter.
A new way of doing things.
The room is big and sprawling with a huge sectional on one end and a long table and bookshelves at the other. Sunlight pours in through a row of sash windows, casting an ethereal glow over everything.
“I see you brought everyone,” Phillip Cargill says from his position on the couch. He’s stretched out with a blanket over his legs and his arm in a sling. According to the doctors, he was lucky the bullet grazed him rather than hitting an organ.
“Well, this concerns everyone, does it not?” Bexley steps forward.
“Very well.” Phillip nods. “Come, sit.”
We all take a seat. Sasha perches at the end with her father, Brandon on her other side. Bexley takes one of the armchairs, pulling me down on his lap while Tim and Fawn sit on the love seat, and Alex takes the other chair.
“Any word on Channing?” Phillip asks.
“He’s out of the woods,” Bexley says. “No thanks to you.”
“Bexley, you have to understand—"
“What I understand, Phillip, is that you and the rest of the elders failed to protect your legacies, more concerned with pacifying Lincoln than finding Cade.”
“Things weren’t that simple,” he goes on. “Lincoln has been a thorn in our side for years, but we rely—relied,” he corrects himself, “on his connections. A lot of our associates will only do business with Lincoln.”
“Guess they’re going to have to get used to doing business with someone else.” Bexley shrugs.
“Gregory Kingsley abused Cade for years. He groomed him into a monster… and Quinctus did nothing,” I say. “Youdid nothing.”
“It was between a father and son—"
“Dad!” Sasha gasps.
“Sweetheart, please understand that we have rules, traditions—"
“Spare us that bullshit,” Bexley scoffs. “You talk about rules and traditions, yet look at what happened last night. My grandfather is dead, Lincoln too. Channing is laying in a hospital bed with a bullet hole in his stomach, and you—"
“Got off lightly,” Brandon hisses. His outburst surprises me. He’s always been so indifferent to everything, so carefree. But I see the disappointment glittering in his eyes as he watches his father.
“I didn’t ask you here to insult me,” Phillip snaps, flinching in agony. “I asked you here to discuss how we move forward.”
“Actually,” Bexley squeezes my hand, “we have a few ideas about that.”
