Sapphire Flames Read online

  “That’s a terrible plan,” I told him.

  “Ragnar will hesitate to hurt you. If he does, I’ll be there, and I’ll help.”

  “If he sees you . . .”

  “He won’t see me.”

  The elevator doors swung open with a soft chime. I made a left and followed the hallway to the exit door and up the stairs. My hands shook.

  The air stank like acid and vomit. A trail of chunky stains marked the steps. I didn’t want to look too closely at it.

  The ice-cold metal door handle burned my fingertips. I pushed it and stepped onto the roof. The dark sky unfolded above me, impossibly huge and black, with the crown glowing against it. The frigid wind pierced my body, going straight through me all the way to the bone.

  Ragnar stood on the very edge of the roof, a thin figure in faded jeans and a hoodie, balancing on a concrete ledge. He seemed so very small against the night, like an ant on a skyscraper.

  He turned and looked at me, his face lit by the neon glow of the crown. I saw certainty and relief in his eyes. He wasn’t relieved to see me. He was relieved because he’d made up his mind and decided to jump. I had no time.

  “Tell Runa I’m sorry—”

  I hit him with everything I had.

  When the Keeper of Records named my magic, he called me a siren, which fit me well, because like the sirens of legend, I called people to me and they couldn’t resist. And like ancient sirens, I had wings, beautiful magic wings nobody could see unless I let them. They snapped open behind my back now, as the focused torrent of magic drenched Ragnar.

  He froze. His heels protruded an inch over the ledge. One slip and he would die.

  “Ragnar,” I called him, turning his name into a singsong lure.

  He licked his lips nervously. “Hi.”

  “Hello. I’m Catalina.” Magic stretched from me to him and I wove more and more of it around him with every syllable.

  “You’re so pretty,” he said.

  “Thank you. It’s cold and dark. Do you think we could go inside?”

  He nodded, fascinated.

  I held out my hand. “It’s scary up here. Will you hold my hand?”

  He moved, stumbled, teetering on the edge, his arms waving . . . My heart jerked, trying to leap out of my chest.

  Augustine materialized out of thin air next to Ragnar, grabbed a handful of his hoodie, and yanked him back. Runa’s brother landed on the concrete roof.

  Holy crap. My knees almost gave out.

  Ragnar righted himself, walked over, took my hand, and offered me a shy smile.

  I smiled back. “Let’s go inside.”

  We went through the door and down the stairs with Augustine bringing up the rear. I scanned him. Clean. None of my magic had hit him. I had focused all of it in a laser-tight beam on Ragnar. Augustine could turn himself invisible. Nevada would lose her mind when I told her.

  We boarded the elevator. Sweat glistened on Augustine’s flawless forehead. He was breathing like he’d run up all thirty-three floors to the roof. Ragnar held my hand very gently, as if my fingers were made of glass. It wouldn’t last.

  Most magic users had to put some effort into doing magic. I was the opposite. I had to hold mine in. When I was born, a nurse tried to kidnap me. She paid for it with her career. In the years that followed, before I learned to control my power, perfectly normal people did insane things to hold on to me. My elementary teacher attempted to smuggle me out of her classroom and into her car. My classmates tore out chunks of my hair so they could keep a piece of me.

  Other kids were encouraged to be cute, to perform for adults. If I smiled, the adults became mesmerized, and if I wanted them to like me, they would love me with obsessive intensity. Their children would cry hysterically when I left the playground.

  Right now, Ragnar loved me, madly, beyond all reason. Soon touching me wouldn’t be enough. He would want to hold me, crush me to him, rip out a lock of my hair to smell and taste. He’d want a piece of me to stroke and to bite.

  The Keeper might as well have called me Orpheus. Sooner or later those who tasted my magic would want to tear me apart and they would love and worship every precious drop of my blood and shred of my flesh as they killed me. Only my doctor was immune; we didn’t know why. And my family. I didn’t need to magic them. They already loved me.

  The elevator stopped. The doors swung open and Runa lunged to hug her brother. Her arms closed around him, breaking Ragnar’s hold on me.

  Ragnar screamed as if cut. It was a raw, animal sound. His sister let go, stunned, and he dived at me and clamped my hand in his.

  A man shouldered his way through the crowd, carrying a small medical case.

  “Ragnar,” I called.

  He gazed at me with adoration in his eyes. I knew it was temporary, but even so, it made me cringe.

  “That gentleman is going to give you a shot. I’m scared of shots. Are you?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m brave.”

  “Will you show me how to be brave, Ragnar?”

  He held his arm out, his gaze fixed on me. Runa hugged him. I watched the needle go in. “You’ll feel a little sleepy in a minute. It’s okay to fall asleep.”

  “Don’t leave!”

  “I won’t leave,” I promised. “I’ll stay here and hold your hand.”

  Ragnar’s hold on my hand slipped. He sighed happily, closed his eyes, and sagged in his sister’s arms.

  I turned to Augustine. “I need you to transport him back to the warehouse.”

  “He needs to be under observation,” Augustine said.

  “No, he needs to be back at the warehouse, so I can purge my magic from him. If he wakes up and I’m not there, he may escape and try to find me. And this time, people will die.”

  Augustine turned to Runa. “It’s your call.”

  I met her gaze. “You know me. You’ve seen what I can do. Please trust me on this.”

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  The trip home was taking considerably longer than the trip to get to the hospital. The chauffeur seemed in no hurry, and the Bentley all but crawled up the dark street. Runa’s rented Nissan Rogue had no trouble keeping up. She had insisted on following us with Ragnar in her car.

  I sat in the backseat next to Augustine. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving behind a soft fatigue. If I hadn’t been in the vehicle of a dangerous Prime, I would have closed my eyes and gone to sleep.

  “Well done,” Augustine said.

  I didn’t need his approval. “Nevada’s debt to you is paid in full. We’re even.”

  “Agreed. Although technically it was a favor to House Etterson.”

  “Your dealings with House Etterson are between you and Runa. I’m surprised you cared enough to get involved tonight.”

  “I know what it’s like to be responsible for a younger brother.”

  Oh. Humanity from Augustine. Unexpected.

  Augustine tilted his head. “House Etterson may prove a valuable ally for you, if they survive. They now owe you a favor they can’t refuse. You need allies, Catalina. The reprieve granted to your House is about to expire. People will be coming for you and yours. You’re powerful but inexperienced, and because of your sealed records, you are an unknown. Unfortunately, being an unknown isn’t enough of a deterrent.”

  “What are the terms?” I asked.

  Augustine raised his eyebrows.

  I counted off on my fingers. “You separated me from my family. You’re aware that my older sister and my brother-in-law are out of the country and are unable to advise me at the moment. It’s the middle of the night and I’m tired from expending magic. You’ve complimented me, you’ve mentioned the danger facing my House, and we are driving at barely fifty miles per hour. You have an offer for me. Let’s hear it.”

  Augustine cleared his throat. “Good. Skipping extended explanations and hand-holding makes things easier.”

  I waited.

  “I offer a strategic alliance betw
een House Montgomery and House Baylor. Occasionally, cases which are uniquely suited to the talents of your family cross my desk. I’d like you to handle them. In return, I offer generous financial compensation, access to MII’s resources within the scope of those particular investigations, and the benefits of an association with my House.”

  He was offering protection and guaranteed income. More, he offered contacts and data. MII maintained an extensive network of informants and observers. Very little took place in Houston without Augustine knowing about it. He hoarded sensitive information, holding on to it until someone paid or threatened him. Access to that database was truly priceless.

  Augustine was also a master at determining precisely what people needed most. It didn’t take a genius to recognize that our most urgent need was security.

  I had to make a decision.

  “House Baylor is flattered by your generosity. However, at this time, we must regretfully decline.”

  Augustine chewed on it for half a minute.

  “Why?”

  “You have made a similar offer to Nevada three times. I’m aware that she declined, and I share her reasons for it.”

  “Indulge me,” Augustine said.

  “Very well. The real value of this partnership for us wouldn’t be in money.” Although we could certainly use it. “It would be in the connections and the elevated profile that comes from working with Prime clientele. A way for us to enter Prime society and forge relationships and alliances that would anchor our House.”

  And of course, the database and access to MII surveillance agents, who were legendary. We both understood that, so there was no need to mention it.

  I kept going. “I want to underscore that I fully understand the value of your offer. However, currently there is a massive power imbalance between House Montgomery and House Baylor. I have seen how MII operates. If we agree to your proposal, you’ll expect us to abide by your contract, which may require us to compromise our ethics. We’re a family business. All we have is our name and our reputation. We follow only three rules. First, once bought, we stay loyal to the client. Second, we try not to do anything illegal. And third, at the end of the day we have to be able to look our reflection in the eye. Those are the principles my father laid out for us, they are the rules my older sister followed, and I will follow them as well. If we form an alliance with House Montgomery, we’ll enter as equals, not as vassals or subcontractors, and we will adhere to our own norms of behavior.”

  The silence stretched out between us.

  Augustine opened his mouth. “We’re not equals.”

  “Exactly. House Montgomery is a behemoth and we’re small and new. As you have said, we may or may not survive. But we must stand on our own. We worked very hard to move out of House Rogan’s shadow and I won’t trade that independence for an easy paycheck.”

  Augustine’s face was impassive. “Thank you for your honesty.”

  “There may be a time I’ll come to ask for your help,” I told him. “If I do that, I’ll be sure to bring information of equal or greater value.”

  The Bentley turned onto our street.

  “Then I’ll leave you with this piece of advice,” Augustine said. “It’s free. Do not become involved in the Etterson case. I know exactly what you’re up against, and the price I quoted her was a gift. Sometimes when you search the night, you’ll find monsters in the dark. You’re not ready.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” I told him.

  Chapter 2

  I had texted Mom while en route, and the family met us at the door. Bern took Ragnar from Augustine and carried him into my office; Grandma Frida wrapped a blanket around Runa, Arabella thrust a cup of hot cocoa into her hands, Leon told her she was safe now, and Mom thanked Augustine and shut the door in his face.

  Then everybody left, abandoning us in my office. Runa blinked at me from the client chair, her hands wrapped around the mug of hot chocolate, looking a little shell-shocked.

  I walked over to where Ragnar lay on the floor, to the left of my desk. Someone had already moved the rug, exposing the arcane circle underneath, and Bern had placed the boy inside it. Drawn in chalk by hand, arcane circles served various purposes. Some refined the mage’s power, some amplified or channeled it. This one drained excess magic. I had drawn it for just such an emergency and redrew it every week, for practice. From above, it resembled a complex double ring, encircled by glyphs. Straight lines of various lengths pierced the rings, radiating out like the sun’s corona.

  I took a piece of chalk from the shelf and drew two lines connecting the second circle under my chair to the one with Ragnar in it. I sat in the chair and sank a burst of magic into the smaller ring under my feet. The chalk lines flashed with silver and faded to a weak white glow as the circle began to sap my magic from Ragnar. Eventually I would get tired and have to quit, but I had a lot of power and I was willing to bet Ragnar would be purged first.

  “He’ll be fine,” I told Runa. “There is no way to keep his magic from being drained as well, so he might be groggy, powerless, and kind of flat emotionally for the next few days.”

  “That might be for the best,” she said.

  I felt pressure to say something, but my brain refused to come up with anything appropriate. Asking her if she was okay was pointless. Her mother and sister had just died. In her place I would be catatonic.

  Runa looked away from me to the corner of my desk. Her eyes widened. I glanced to the right to see what she was looking at.

  A framed picture of Alessandro Sagredo sat on my desk. The frame itself was square, but the photograph cutout was shaped like a heart, its edge studded with rhinestones seated in the small pools of the glue from the hot glue gun. The left half of the frame was a hideous Pepto-Bismol pink; the other was covered in pink glitter. Massive plastic jewels decorated both. The image of Alessandro was black and white, and on it in pink glittery marker someone had written, “My smoochie poo.”

  I would recognize that cursive anywhere. My twenty-eight-year-old sister took the time out of her busy schedule of wrenching the truth from terrorists and murderers and preparing for an extended trip overseas to make this monstrosity, and then conspired with my other sister to troll me with it.

  Why, Nevada? Why . . .

  He was tall and broad-shouldered. He stood with an easy, natural grace. I used to stalk his Instagram and I knew every line of his face, but he hadn’t posted for a while and usually his pics were posed. Alessandro against a Maserati. Alessandro on a yacht. Alessandro riding an elegant Andalusian horse like he was born in the saddle. Alessandro the Prime. Count Sagredo. The heir to one of the oldest noble families in Italy. Wealthy, powerful, handsome, once a teen heartthrob with millions of followers on Herald and Instagram and now a man who weaponized his influence and beauty. He could make the photograph communicate whatever he wanted.

  But this, with the sun in his eyes and wind messing with his brown hair, this was real. And his smile was magic. I looked at it and was eighteen again, standing across from him in a trial room, waiting to match my magic against his and prove that I was a Prime. He had spoken to me, impossibly handsome, with amber eyes and that slightly lopsided grin, and I couldn’t even make noises come out of my mouth.

  I thought I was over this.

  “Boyfriend?” Runa asked.

  “No.” And that didn’t hurt at all.

  Whenever I looked at Alessandro, in pictures or in person, he made me think of duels and courting, of a time when men carried swords and women concealed daggers. There was a dangerous edge to him, hidden deep in his eyes, and it drew me to him like a magnet. But that Alessandro was a fantasy, born from reading too many books set in medieval Italy with all its wars, glamour, art, and poison. He was a fantasy the way imagining being a secret princess was a fantasy. I knew it wasn’t real, but it was so seductive, I couldn’t let it go.

  The real Alessandro didn’t carry a sword. He was an Antistasi Prime. His magic nullified other mental magic. The Ke
eper of Records had chosen him to test my power during the trials. To be recognized as a Prime, I had to make Alessandro step over the line drawn on the floor. He took the full brunt of my power and resisted it for several minutes, but in the end I won.

  With that type of talent, there were only two paths open to Alessandro: military service or private protection. He chose neither. Instead, he did what many young Primes with too much money and freedom chose to do. He indulged. He sailed yachts, raced fast cars, and dated stunning women.

  He and I were worlds apart. He would never be what I imagined him to be and it was probably for the best.

  I slapped the frame facedown on the desk. The back of the frame was covered in pink hearts and small pictures of Alessandro printed from his Instagram.

  If the world had any compassion in it at all, I would teleport a thousand miles away.

  Runa squinted at the back of the frame. “Is that Alessandro Sagredo?”

  I picked up the frame to throw it in the trash, changed my mind halfway there, and dropped it into the desk’s top drawer instead. Putting him in the garbage was beyond me. “My sisters have a weird sense of humor.”

  “Sisters do that,” she said, her voice dull.

  And hers was dead. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  She looked at me with haunted eyes. “Thank you. You’re the only person who’s been nice to me since this happened.”

  Who wouldn’t be nice to her? She just lost most of her family. “What do you mean?”

  “I was at UCLA. I’m working on my master’s, molecular toxicology.”

  Her tone was flat, her expression detached. She had to be barely keeping it together. I’d been there before, in a place where you’re so freaked out that you hold yourself supertight, because any splash of emotion could break the dam and you would fall to pieces.

  “On Monday I got a call from the Houston PD. They said, ‘The residence in Piney Point Village burned down and we believe your mother and sister died in the fire.’ Just like that. I understood that sentence, but also kind of didn’t. I knew what the words meant, I just couldn’t put them together to make sense. I must’ve stood there with the phone in my hand for ten minutes, just trying to process, you know?”