“I don’t see why you can’t, but it’s a complicated magic. I can’t teach you much in one lesson. It takes time to understand magic’s raw properties and sense them within yourself. It’s another thing altogether to learn how to bend it to your will.”

Stacy remembered what she’d seen Kiera do. Fold herself into shadows, make herself invisible. Had she truly been invisible, or had it been the magic deceiving her? Either way, it worked.

“After we finish with this piece of shit you call Victor, I’ll teach you a trick or two,” Kiera promised. “It won’t hurt to show you the basics.”

Stacy smiled. “I look forward to it.”

Kiera excused herself to prepare for the upcoming attack. Stacy didn’t know what preparations she had to make, but she didn’t ask.

A text pinged on her phone. Stacy half-expected to find an encrypted message from Amy or a question from her father asking if Reginald had indeed replenished her armory. Instead, the text was from Ethan. Shit, I haven’t talked to him in days, she realized. His message was simple.

ETHAN

Magic lessons soon?

Stacy smiled as she replied.

STACY

Aw, does your cat miss me?

ETHAN

My cat doesn’t miss anyone. I think she’s heartless.

She thought of a few witty comebacks, mostly to do with the owner of said cat, but she settled on getting to the point. She informed Ethan she was swamped with work and had an upcoming event she had to prepare for. She left out any mention of Victor or that her “event” involved infiltrating someone’s home. She felt bad about how vague her answer was and wondered if she should be consulting Ethan. He was a witch, too.

I would prefer to protect him, she decided at last. He was her friend through his own free will, but he hadn’t asked to be dragged into the Drakethorn legacy. One day, when werewolves stopped coming to her home and wrecking everything, she would invite Ethan over and tell him the full truth.

Amy sent the last information she had on Victor’s country home via encrypted email to Stacy, then leaned back, rubbing her eyes. What a long day it had been, and she wasn’t finished yet. Though she burned with curiosity, she’d been putting off looking through the files she’d found in Corbinelli’s warehouse. The mildew and mold between the pages had something to do with it.

Finally, she hefted the first file from the small sofa in her office and opened it, fingers tracing what clean edges of the paper she could find. Typed information filled the pages, much of it in a code she did not understand. Her brow furrowed over sections that were blurred with age. She sought dates and found one in the corner of a page, scribbled in ink. The date was five years ago, nearly to the day of the upcoming gala.

What did it mean?

She turned a page and found several images, most seeming to depict a blueprint of something mechanical that appeared animalistic. The image struck her with a sense of familiarity, and she finally realized why. It looks like a fucking werewolf!

A typed message below the image read:

Prototypes almost prepared. Stand by for testing period.

“What the hell does that mean?” she breathed. She had a sinking feeling the prototype was a weapon for some unknown purpose. It wasn’t good, whatever it was. Maybe Victor Corbinelli’s obsession with using werewolves went deeper than the availability of packs and their bloodthirstiness. She wanted to know more, but the files didn’t give her anything new. Not without decoding them, and she didn’t know how to do that.

Her eyes were heavy, and she was desperate for a nap. She closed the file as her phone dinged with a message from Stacy.

STACY

Just sent you a little something to buy a dress for the gala. You deserve it.

Amy checked the transferred amount and gaped. It’s too much! she thought. She replied to object.

Stacy’s message returned so quickly that Amy wondered if she’d had it prepared.

STACY

Technically, you doing this is working for me. Buy yourself something that will have Spencer drooling.

Amy rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help smiling. She had to admit she’d been thinking about the gala all day, and not only because of her investigating. She wanted that time with Spencer. In the end, Stacy knew what her friend needed. After a long day of work and preparing for the Corbinelli gala, online shopping was the perfect way to wind down.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Stacy knew for certain that Victor’s home would be protected by magic. The information Amy and Spencer had garnered for her was helpful, but it didn’t show what sort of magical defenses secured the place. I guess we’ll find out when we get there, she thought.

She pinpointed possible entry points and potential traps, her eyes growing tired. Finally, she set the papers aside. She could only prepare so much.

Doubt crept in. What if her plan didn’t work the way she wanted it to? What if Victor had guessed what she was up to, and it ended in his favor, not hers? She imagined what might happen to Amy at Victor’s event. One word kept playing through her mind: risk.

You’ve been taking risks since you first left your childhood home to become a lawyer, she reminded herself. It seemed so long ago now and far less significant than anything that had happened since, but she wouldn’t be here in her mother’s old home, carrying on the witch’s legacy, if she had not first learned who she was as Stacy.

Soft footfalls alerted her to someone’s approach. Rowan entered the library, glancing at the curtains, which were open despite the fact that night had fallen. Cool summer night air drifted into the room, and several sprites sat on the sill, tiny legs dangling off its edge. They’d become as common as insects, though far more delightful. Despite the soft breeze, Stacy’s cheeks were flushed from her work. Rowan’s gaze said, You’re taxing your mind too much.

Stacy offered him a tired smile. Today’s task of figuring out a strike coordination against Victor Corbinelli’s home had been tough, but Stacy could think of several late nights preparing to defend clients against Lenny Dolos that had been more taxing.

She appreciated the dryad’s calm demeanor, the way she could tell what he was thinking with a look. Did her mother have the same connection with the estate’s protector? Was Catherine’s magic tying him to this place part of it?

Rowan stood in the doorway, his face etched with concern and purpose. “I’ve spoken to Miles, and we have ensured the defenses around the estate. I can explain it later, but I found some helpful things in your mother’s…secret room.” A fleeting shadow passed over his face. Stacy was about to ask him what he’d discovered when he added, “Meanwhile, there’s a gift from your father. It arrived about ten minutes ago and is awaiting you in the driveway.”

Stacy’s brows shot up. “What, now?”

Rowan smiled and dangled a key. “It’s nice, I’ll admit. A special vehicle from his warehouse, no doubt. He often gifted such things to your mother, but she had hardly the space at this estate.”

“Right, because a four-car garage is ‘hardly the space,’” Stacy replied with a chuckle. Compared to her father’s gargantuan car area, it wasn’t. She strode after Rowan to the front of the house, where he’d left the front door open.

As he’d said, a new vehicle sat in the driveway. Sprites flitted around it, admiring the sleek exterior. Or maybe they were admiring themselves in its polished reflection. The low evening light cast streaks of bronzy orange over it.

“I don’t believe this.” Stacy gasped at the sight of the car. “When the hell does he have the time to build these?”

“Between blowing off steam, literally?” Rowan quipped.

Stacy laughed, shaking her head. “Steam or smoke? Whatever the case, my father is a…”

“Remarkable man?”

“That’s one word.”

“What were you going to say?”