She hardly considered the space somewhere she would plot wars. It was a large room with many shelves holding books and old, rare artifacts of varying sizes and ages. A stone fireplace stood at one end, with several chairs crowded before it.

In the center of the room, a massive oak table held a detailed map of the grounds. Its wrinkled texture and yellowed coloring indicated it was quite old. She guessed it had been drawn when the estate was first built.

Stacy leaned over the map, noting all the areas where magic defended the place. Even the trees marked on the map still stood. She recognized several. They had not been young when the estate was built, which meant magic in the ground sustained them. “Amazing,” she murmured. “My mother poured so much of herself into this place.” Maybe all of herself. She shook her head in awe.

She wondered how they could map out a better defensive strategy for future attacks since she was certain Victor would not stop with this one. She fell deep into thought, plotting possible scenarios. Her head felt heavy, and she wished Rowan would come in and give his advice.

Instead, Kiera arrived, looking freshly washed and wearing a long, dark bathrobe. “Sorry there’s no dessert,” the fae woman stated upon seeing Stacy standing at the table, her back to a roaring fire.

Stacy had not built a fire. It must have sprung up there of its own accord, or a mischievous bunch of fire sprites started it. Either way, she was grateful for its crackling companionship. “That’s all right,” she replied. “It wasn’t your fault.” She didn’t want to think of the state of her kitchen. Repairs would have to wait until tomorrow.

Kiera surveyed the room in quiet interest. Her eyes had changed from amber to her normal soft violet. When they gave Kiera and Miles a tour of the house, the fae woman had been more interested in this room than any other, but they had not lingered long. Now, she took her time considering the space.

Finally, Kiera drifted to the table. “What are you looking at?”

Stacy gestured at the map. “Trying to figure out how the hell we’ll avoid a next time.”

“My guess is the defenses around the stone wall are weak due to their age,” Kiera remarked after studying the map. She tapped part of it with her black-nailed fingertip. “Rowan spent most of his time reinforcing those defenses, probably because they needed it the most. Makes sense. That wall has been up for…a long time.”

How did Kiera know that? Did it look old?

The fae woman noted Stacy’s curiosity and added, “I know something is old when I see it. I can sense the age of magic in things. Sometimes, anyway. Mostly in very old structures or artifacts.” Her dark eyes flicked to a shelf behind Stacy that held several old helmets and shields.

Ah. That was why Kiera was so interested in this room.

The space reminded Stacy of her father’s library at the Drakethorn estate, and she wondered if this room had always been like this or if he’d added it after marrying Catherine. She had moved to his estate, of course, but she’d often come here. Stacy imagined her parents coming here when they wanted a respite. That would have been easy with Rowan the only person around.

“Miles will work with Rowan to strengthen the defenses,” Kiera stated mildly. “I’m sure we can avoid what happened tonight in the future.”

Stacy glanced at the fae woman, her brows furrowing. She suddenly realized the fight had been no big deal to Kiera. What the hell had this woman been through? What stories of her past did she have to tell? Stacy observed her with renewed interest. Who has Rowan hired?

“You should sleep,” Kiera stated a moment later, her eyes growing darker.

Stacy agreed. Her eyes burned from being open for so long. However, she suddenly remembered Amy and took out her phone. A text blinked across the top of her screen.

AMY

Sorry for not showing up for dinner. Spencer and I got carried away with the investigation. We’re onto something good. See you soon.

Stacy hoped so. Anything they could find out about Victor would help. She sent a reply.

STACY

You’re lucky you weren’t here. I’ll explain later. Everything is okay now.

“Okay” was a relative term. The downstairs was in shambles, which Stacy was most certainly not okay with, but they were all safe. “Goodnight,” Stacy told Kiera as she left the room. The fae woman murmured the same thing back, and Stacy realized she intended to stay in the war room by herself.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Stacy drew a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves before ascending to the second level and entering her bedroom. Every time she stepped into this room, she was reminded that it once belonged to her mother. She had changed only a few things since moving in, like replacing the bedding and storing her clothes in the closet and dresser. Though she intended to change more in the future, she couldn’t yet make herself do it.

She went to the bed, but instead of lying down, she opened a drawer in the bedside table using a small brass key. Inside, her mother’s old journal lay against the wood paneling. Stacy hadn’t put anything else in the drawer. She traced the leather cover with the image of a tree wrapped in thorns, the same symbol on the back of her neck. A dull humming filled her mother’s locket and her fingertips as she touched the journal.

She’d read bits of the journal, absorbing small passages and asking questions she did not have answers for. She hadn’t read much more since moving into the house. Considering how much had been on her plate, she hadn’t made time for it.

Stacy was tired to the bone despite it only being around eleven, but she wanted to know if her mother had written anything that could help them secure the estate. Several of the passages detailed Catherine’s fear of being followed. For some time, these fears seemed to decrease. Stacy credited her father’s presence in Catherine’s life for this.

She glanced at a black-and-white framed photograph of her parents from many years ago. Catherine had kept it on her dresser, and Stacy doubted she would ever move it. Catherine was shorter than Khan, and her arms were wrapped around his middle. She wore a broad smile. The background was part of the Thorn estate. Khan stood tall and stately with his arm over his wife’s shoulders, and though his lips were set in a thin line, a smile shone in his eyes.

She thought about calling him to let him know what happened tonight, but it was getting late, and she was too tired to handle his fussing. I’ll call him in the morning.

She returned her attention to the journal. The fear her mother had often spoken of had returned when she found out she was pregnant. Both times. The first with the child she’d lost and the second with Stacy. She wondered what that would have been like, being pregnant, afraid she would lose another child, or that when she was born, someone would want to harm her.

Stacy’s mind turned to one line she’d read in this journal before moving here. It had stuck with her more than anything else between the worn pages. This is for you. A guide in dark times.

“So guide me now,” she whispered.

She flipped through the yellowed pages absently, the words written in elegant scrawl blurring before her. The pages seemed to hum with magic. At one point, Stacy found she could not go further. The book hadn’t ended, but something weighed one of the pages down. She opened it farther, brows furrowing, and spotted a small brass key like the one she’d used to open the drawer tucked between the pages. How had she not seen this before?

She lifted it, turning it in the lamplight. Intricate detail was carved over its entire surface. Whorls and figures that looked like branches and thorns. It was warm to the touch and made her skin tingle.

Stacy’s mind drifted to a locked door she’d found in the war room upon moving in. Rowan, who also happened to be the estate key master, did not have one that fit into the lock. The door was enchanted so it could not be opened by magical force. Was this the key to that door? It wouldn’t hurt to try.

She smiled. She wouldn’t be surprised to discover her mother had a secret room in this house, or several. Khan had shown her a whole secret basement belonging to her mother at his estate.

“Thank you,” she whispered, certain this would lead her to something.

She placed the key on the bedside table, intent on trying it in the morning. Curiosity burned through her, but her exhaustion was more present. Sleep first, she told herself as she tumbled into bed. The mystery could wait until tomorrow.

Victor didn’t bother checking the time, but he knew it was well after midnight.

He sat at his mahogany desk, fingertips together. His piercing blue eyes reflected the flicker of the flames in a nearby fireplace. The many rings adorning his thick fingers glinted in the light. He traced the surface of one his grandfather had gifted him, whispering vows to carry forth a legacy placed on his shoulders at a young age.

His mind kept roaming around the thwarted attack on the Thorn estate and what his next move would be. She’s strong, he thought, knowing he should feel more angered than he did. Instead, he admired Stacy Drake. Maybe it was time to meet the young witch face to face. Speak to her and get a sense of who she was. Or what else might crawl under her skin.

His lips tugged into a smile. Yes, that was it. The plan began to form, each piece falling into place in his mind.

Victor shot off a message to his event coordinator, who he knew would be asleep by now, about meeting with him in the morning. She would see it first thing.

The crackling flames in the hearth were the only sound aside from his tapping until a brisk knock came to the door. Victor sighed, hoping he would soon be done dealing with werewolves for the night. His tone was crisp when he told the new arrival to come in.

The door opened on silent hinges, and a wolf strode in. He was in his human skin, but his eyes blazed. The werewolf shifted his weight from one foot to another, unaware that a low growl escaped his throat.

“Well?” Victor demanded, one brow raised.

“I followed the bitch all day.”