“Greedy, yes,” Rowan replied. “Though I do believe his birth was legitimate—what?”
Stacy and Kiera had shared a look, with Kiera rolling her eyes and Stacy stifling a laugh. The dryad glowered as Stacy continued. “According to Amy’s intel, much of the Corbinelli clan will be at the event. This gala isn’t only about catching me but for Victor to show off to his family.”
“To the men who came before him,” Rowan murmured. “He’s burdened by legacy.”
Like I am, Stacy thought. It was different with her, though. Her legacy didn’t make her want to hire assassins to storm other people’s homes.
“Let it crush him,” Kiera’s icy tone suggested.
Stacy liked the sound of that.
Rowan excused himself to speak with Miles about how the estate needed to be defended while the team was away, leaving Stacy with her housekeeper assassin. Though Stacy liked Miles, she had to admit Kiera was far more intriguing. The mysterious airs had something to do with it, but Kiera seemed shrouded in secrets so old and buried that Stacy wondered if the woman remembered them all herself.
“I want to know more about your magic,” Stacy spoke up, leaning her elbows on the table and perching her chin in her hand.
“Is that so?”
“Can I learn illusion magic like you?”
“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.
