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.”
“And?”
“Fucking lost her. I assume she’s gone back home.”
Victor’s face darkened, but he wasn’t surprised. He’d sent one of the pack’s wolves on a separate mission to follow Amy Greentree. Find out what the hell the pesky journalist was up to. “Don’t assume,” Victor warned with practiced control, a threat in his voice.
The werewolf bristled. “I only meant—”
Victor lifted a hand, silencing him. He motioned for the werewolf to take a seat. He did so, grumbling something incoherent. After he was seated, Victor commanded him to explain everything he’d seen that day, including whether the woman had been alone. Apparently, a driver had accompanied her the entire day.
Victor smirked. Stacy had gotten smart and hired a bodyguard for her friend. The wolf reported that Amy Greentree had visited several of the warehouses and old factory buildings Victor owned and operated on the outskirts of the city. “She seems to have a list of locations under your management.”
He remembered his command earlier that day. The wolf was to follow the journalist but not harm her. He wanted information, to know what she was up to. Then, they could lay the traps for the true plan.
He nodded but did not show his satisfaction. “That will do for now. My plan moving forward will work better with the information you’ve provided. I believe it’s time we stopped chasing our problems at night and in the shadows.” A slight smile graced Victor’s lips. “It’s time we do something more…public.”
The atmosphere was thick with tension as the businessman pulled open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a small, encrypted flash drive. He slid it across the table to the wolf. “I’ll keep you on this case for now.”
It wasn’t like he had another choice. The rest of this one’s pack was dead, and the sentinel from the other pack he employed was off hunting down Voss. “This drive contains critical information about our next operation. I trust you to keep it secret. No one but you and I are to know about it.”
