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?”
Stacy flashed a smile. “He’s a man who is super fucking dedicated to his hobbies. It keeps me safe, though, so I won’t complain.” She gestured at the vehicle. This one wasn’t like the sleek, armored sports cars Khan had gifted her before. It was large enough to hold several people and plenty of armor and weapons.
“I suppose this is better than my mom’s cars getting shot up,” Stacy remarked at last.
“Her cars haven’t been driven in more than three decades anyway,” Rowan remarked. “Even when she was here, she preferred…other modes of transportation. Magical ones, of course.”
Stacy’s face lit with curiosity. “Tell me more.”
Rowan was more than willing to share anything about Catherine, but he would often peter off with a wistful expression in the middle of telling her. He still struggled with her loss despite all the years that had passed. Grief worked like that. It sprung up at moments when one least expected it.
“She had rune points throughout the property. Most of them are carved into stone and covered by vines now, but she used to move between places by stepping onto them and invoking the enchantments inside the carvings.”
Stacy’s eyes widened. “Wow.”
Rowan nodded, his gaze far off. “She also was known to create portals from time to time, but those can be straining for someone who is not…well, mega-powerful.”
Stacy laughed to hear Rowan saying the word “mega.” “I don’t think I’ll be using runes or portals anytime soon.” Again, an image of a dragon flashed into her mind. This time, it was enormous, with scaled wings. The image flitted away. “Maybe we should make a note to get our own operational vehicles. Make them dark red. Harder to see at night.”
“Not black?”
“I like red better.”
“There’s a reason your father is called the Red Dragon.” Rowan arched a brow. “Are we planning more operations?”
“Never hurts to be prepared,” Stacy admitted.
The dryad chuckled. “You sound like someone I know.”
“My mother?”
“Your father.” Rowan’s lips twitched into a wry grin. “I wouldn’t mind more operations, though. It’s gotten boring around here for the last few decades.”
In the grand foyer, Kiera glided across the marble floor, her eyes reflecting the soft evening light streaming through the doorway. She noticed the two figures standing before a shiny, new vehicle. A gift from the Red Dragon, no doubt.
Neither Rowan nor Stacy could hear her. She had moved toward the door as silently as a soft wind. She removed a sleek blade from the elegant folds of her attire and held it up to the dying light.
The sigils carved down its curve made her smile. A gift from Rowan. It was an old gift, and Kiera didn’t like using it because it was so pretty. She pocketed it, resolving that this ordeal with Corbinelli might be the time.
