“You don’t think House Harcourt would meet with us? Like House Rio?”
“House Rio are researchers and botanists. House Harcourt is a combat house. They think they can win this fight, but even if I rolled up to their doors with a thousand soldiers, they would still fight me. They can’t afford to appear weak.”
Yes, they couldn’t afford to appear weak, and Rogan couldn’t afford to not retaliate after Vincent’s attack, and I couldn’t take the chance that he would go after my mother, my sisters, or my cousins. Because none of us could afford any of that, we would all go to war. People would be injured. Some might die. If everyone just set aside their pride, none of this would be necessary.
“How well do you know Vincent?” I asked.
“Well enough. He was a couple of years behind me in high school. Had a reputation as a bully and a penchant for cruelty.”
“The timeline of this doesn’t make sense to me. Brian’s kidnappers called to negotiate. We’ve told them that we have every intention of cooperating. Usually there is a slow escalation of negotiations. Instead Vincent shows up and smashes the whole thing with a hammer.”
“He got impatient,” Rogan said. “As I said, Vincent isn’t much on waiting and planning. Rynda frustrated him, so he decided to apply his particular brand of pressure.”
“But why not just show up at their house and hold the kids hostage from the start? Brian and Rynda would’ve given him anything he asked for. Neither of them is a combat Prime. Why go through kidnapping Brian? It doesn’t seem like Vincent’s style.”
“That’s because it isn’t. Somebody has him on a tight leash for this particular operation.” A dangerous light crept into Rogan’s eyes. “He got loose last night.”
“Who has enough power to restrain Vincent Harcourt and make him stick to a plan?”
“That’s what we’ll have to find out.”
Rogan tilted his head, obviously thinking.
“Yes?”
“House Harcourt has one battle strategy: they summon a horde of monsters from the arcane realm and throw them at their opponents. It will be bloody and chaotic.”
“I haven’t changed my mind. Vincent threatened my family.”
“Will you let me put you in a ballistic vest?”
“Yes.” I eyed the chalk in his hand. “Do you have another piece?”
He smiled. Another piece of chalk streaked across the room and hovered in front of me. “What do I get if I give you this chalk?”
“Dinner. You and me tonight.” I deserved the nice dinner he promised me. I would wear nice clothes and pretty makeup. Also, I realized I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday’s lunch. I’d have to see if Rogan stocked any supplies in his kitchen downstairs.
“Done.”
I kissed him and grabbed the chalk out of the empty air.
Arcane circles were used for everything, from fine-tuning a mage’s power to channeling magic into a particular spell. They had to be drawn by hand or they lost their power, which was why most Primes trained in circlework as soon as they could hold a piece of chalk in their fingers. I wasn’t most Primes. Drawing a circle on the floor was remarkably difficult. Drawing a charging circle was somewhere between the seventh and ninth levels of hell. It started as a large circle, with a smaller circle inside, three small circles inside that inner circle, drawn side by side so they formed a triangle, and then three outer circles exactly opposite of the inner circles. It took me twenty minutes and by the time I was done, my back hurt and I had said enough cuss words to make Bug, who came to hang out with me, raise his eyebrows. At least I got to raid Rogan’s kitchen counter and devour an apple bear claw before I started.
Finally, I stripped down to a sports bra and spandex shorts to maximize the charge, stepped into the circle, and sat. My power shot through the circle. The chalk lines pulsed with white and faded. Magic flowed to me, sluggish at first, then a steady current, slipping into my body. I relaxed and closed my eyes.
“This one is crooked,” Bug advised.
I opened my eyes and looked at the circle he was pointing at.
“It will be fine.”
“You could’ve just asked the Major.”
If Rogan had drawn the design, it would’ve taken him three minutes and all the circles would have been perfect. “I have to draw my own circles.”
I glanced to the left. The second floor had a wide industrial door, which opened onto a large square patio of sealed concrete, flooded with sunlight. The doors stood ajar and I could see Rogan. He’d drawn circles on the concrete and moved within them, lunging, kicking, and striking, his large muscular body graceful and flexible. His grace wasn’t that of a dancer but of an assassin trained to lock onto his target and pursue it at all costs. His feet were weapons; his hands cut like blades, then struck like hammers, breaking his invisible opponents. The Key of House Rogan was a warrior key, and when he moved through it, the savage, fierce thing that made him Mad Rogan surfaced and took over. It scared me and pulled me like a magnet, which is why I drew my charging circle here, so I could watch him.
I was hoping to watch him in privacy. But Bug parked himself on the sofa right behind me, with Napoleon tucked under his arm and the laptop resting on his lap. Ogling Rogan under these circumstances would be slightly creepy. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the magic emanating from the circle like heat from the asphalt on a scorching Texas day.
“Is everything okay?” Bug asked.
“Mhm.”
“You and him are on good terms?”
“Mhm.”
“So you’re talking?”
Damn it. I opened my eyes and looked at him over my shoulder.
“Good communication is important in a relationship,” Bug said.
“Everything is fine.”
“You’re not fighting anymore?”
“No. I’m trying to recharge. I need to concentrate.”
Bug nodded solemnly.
I turned back, savored the glimpse of Rogan, and closed my eyes.
“How’s the sex?”
“Did you honestly just ask me that question?”
Bug and Napoleon scooted further away from me on the sofa. “We just want to know that everything’s okay.”
“We?”
“Uh . . . Napoleon and I.”
Lie. “Bug, turn that laptop toward me and don’t you dare hit any keys.”
He hugged the laptop. “No.”
“Is that Nguyen and Rivera on the other end?”
“No.”
Lie.
“Here, I’ll say it really loud so they can hear. Are you ready? Butt out of our relationship!”
“Okay, okay!” He waved his arms.
“If you really want to help, brief me on the Harcourts.”
“What’s there to brief? Owen Harcourt, sixty, Ella Harcourt, fifty-five, Alyssa Harcourt, twenty-three, and Liam Harcourt, eighteen. Everyone is a Prime summoner. It’s going to be a bloodbath.”
“Fine. I’m going to concentrate now, so hush.”
I closed my eyes. For a few minutes, blissful silence reigned and I sank deeper into the stream of magic.
“Incoming,” Bug announced.
I turned. Rynda came up the stairs, crossed the room, and sat on the other sofa. She wore black designer jeans and a pink silk wrap blouse that demurely covered her breasts while simultaneously dipping far between them. Bug pretended to ignore her. Napoleon gave Rynda the evil eye.
Rynda studied my circlework and very carefully didn’t say anything. Yes, I know. It’s crooked.
I sat quietly. Minutes stretched. Bug typed on his laptop, hitting the keys so loud, I could hear him from several feet away.
“Are you going with Rogan to fight the Harcourts?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Is that wise?”
“Rogan will need my help when we question them.”
“The Harcourts have a reputation,” Rynda said. “It will be brutal. You’re not a combat mage.”
“Thank you for your concern. I’ll be fine.”
She fell silent, then glanced at Bug. “Could you get me some coffee?”