At Blade's Edge Page 7

  Genevieve’s intake of breath brought Rowan’s attention back from her memories.

  “Shades? And how do you know of this?” Genevieve asked.

  “In Venice there were other magic practitioners who helped us. I mentioned that part. Anyway, that’s how I found out, though it was like pulling teeth because it was all super secret and they didn’t want to divulge the info. In the end they had to, otherwise how can I combat it? If I don’t know what it is, I’m fighting blind. More people would have died had it not been for what they told me.”

  Genevieve’s casual finger flick told Rowan she wasn’t annoyed, which was good because she didn’t want those practitioners in Venice to get in trouble when all they’d done was risk their lives to help her.

  “I care very little for rules for rules’ sake. Vampires and all their endless rules. For everything they have rules.” She rolled her eyes and took another hit.

  Rowan might just have developed a major girl crush on Genevieve Aubert. “Try being in a relationship with one,” she muttered.

  “We’ll get to that. Don’t think I failed to notice the ring. Anyway, witches love rules as much as Vampires, Goddess help us. However, I don’t need permission to share information with you. I don’t answer to anyone else on this. Even if they think I do. So. Back to the magic. You’re aware, you say, that Roth Wesslyian has been putting out requests for spell craft. And from my sources, you’re correct. Why is he still sitting as a full partner at Hunter Corp.?”

  Rowan said, “That’s a totally different line of discourse. Suffice it to say, I’m driven by that question as well.”

  Genevieve curled her lip. “The matter of the magical black market has been the topic of Conclave seminars and meetings for as long as I can remember. We can’t possibly police everyone with some magical talent who sells erection spells or hair restoratives. I don’t care about most of what happens in the margins. I do care about practitioners setting out to harm the innocent. This doesn’t seem to be a confusing line, but apparently it is. Now there are meetings about meetings. Endless discussion about something so completely simple I’m exhausted by it all.”

  “Right?” Rowan asked, exasperated just thinking about how much time the Roth Wesslyians of the world wasted with endless meetings and sidetracking. “Like you, I don’t care about what goes on in the gray.” She thought of Travis. He’d been in violation of the Treaty, but she had little taste for executing all and sundry when another way could be found.

  “By the time I’m done, Roth won’t be employed in any capacity by Hunter Corp. Chances are, he’ll be dead. But in the end, I don’t think Roth is the issue here. Not the main one. I think this begins and ends with magic users.”

  She hoped it had been the right call to be so blunt.

  “You’re not the only one dealing with a how do you call it, fox in the henhouse problem.” Genevieve raised one of her shoulders slightly. “He’s not very smart, your Wesslyian, to have left such a trail. I expected you all to be trained better.”

  Rowan didn’t stop the roll of her eyes. “I was. But he doesn’t know how to do anything but be a pain in my ass. He likes to talk. He has big thoughts on things. But he’s ignorant and unwilling to learn.”

  “The worst sort of fool. Certainly the most dangerous. I might believe the trail I found so easily might have been left there to be discovered.”

  Rowan had similar suspicions. “That might be true. All the time wasted keeping everyone chasing their tails. Roth has managed to keep himself in a position of power, along with his little band of morons. They’ve manipulated the Hunters in the middle by appealing to their humanity. The ones in the Motherhouses daily aren’t fighting all the bad stuff daily. The cost for things isn’t something they understand. Not entirely. Rather than come down hard and fast on traitors in their midst, they let themselves be convinced to delay until I was finished and could come in. My word from the field wasn’t enough. Now they’ll end up staying between me and him until satisfied with my evidence.”

  “Meanwhile, you’re all distracted by this nonsense, keeping you out of commission.”

  “Yep. I know Roth has to be hiding proof somewhere. I’ve searched his house but didn’t find anything. We’ve managed a pretty thorough search of his office at the Motherhouse and the car he takes to and from work daily. Nothing.

  “I’ve got enough from eyewitnesses and prisoner interviews to prove he’s been deliberately interfering with me and my investigation. Whatever he’s hiding is what I need to not only nail his coffin shut, but to dig down to the earth’s core to bury him and cover with millions of pounds of concrete.”

  Rowan flushed by the end.

  “We really need to be more regular friends.” Genevieve smirked. “He could have it at a bank box or with someone else. But he seems the type to want to look at such a thing. Pet it and tell himself he’s so smart and strong. I’ll make some inquiries on this issue.”

  “I am sorry to bring you more drama and politics at a time when the magical community has its own shit to shovel.”

  “This originated with us. Which means if we don’t deal with it now, my community is in trouble too. I’m offended by this misuse of talent. I’m just as eager to root it out and destroy it. Now. Tell me about your love life.”

  Chapter Six

  Clive got settled on board the light-tight plane that would take him to London. The sun would be rising shortly so he’d be out most of the way there. Best way to fly long distances, as far as he was concerned.

  Before he turned in for the day, he wanted to hear Rowan’s voice and let her know he was on the way.

  “Hey, Scion. What’s shaking?” Rowan said as she answered.

  He found himself smiling. “We’ll be taking off shortly. I’ll contact you when I arrive. Sometime after eleven tonight your time.”

  “Oh good.” The pleasure and relief were clear in her tone.

  “Am I going to be hearing a very long account of something that’s happened since you landed back in London?” Clive made it sound like a tease, but he knew his wife. Such a turn of events would not be hard to envision as a reality at all.

  “You’re so suspicious.”

  “I do notice when you don’t answer my questions, darling.”

  “It was pretty blatant.”

  He laughed, unable not to. “As we’re speaking, at least you’re not a hostage or in jail. You’re not in hospital?” He could hear traffic so he figured not.

  “I’m not injured, captured or in peril. Though I met your mother last night. That was interesting.”

  The plane began to roll out to take off so he needed to hang up. Not before following up on that comment first, though. “Interesting when it comes from you can mean any number of things. A lot of them bad. What happened?”

  “Don’t have kittens, she’s in one piece. I’m not totally a monster. I’m about to go down the escalator at the Tube station. I’ll see you tonight. Do you need a ride from the airport or will ten cashmere ponies with diamond earrings be doing that?”

  She snickered, which was good as it covered up his own. “It’s only nine and they prefer sapphires.”

  “I see what you did there, Scion.”

  “Alice arranged for our travel from the airport. I’ll text you when we land so you can meet me at home. And you can tell me what happened with my mother.” Clive wanted to urge her to be safe, but he’d already risked saying it as much as he did. She was letting him in, but by tiny increments.

  “Sure sure. Fly safe. I love you.” She disconnected before he could reply and he tucked the phone away, settling in as dawn hit and he slid into rest, knowing he’d be with her shortly after he awoke.

  * * *

  Rowan hadn’t really been heading down into the Tube station. She was just done talking. She didn’t want to whine
to Clive about his mother, or say something she’d feel bad about later on.

  And she could tell he was about to start fussing and clucking over her safety and that wasn’t going to make her mood any better.

  Tucking her phone back into her pocket, she let the camera on the corner across from Hunter Corp., get a shot of her as she headed past. Time to surface and see how long it took before they moved in some way.

  If she’d been in charge, or certainly behind some sort of conspiracy she’d damn well have the facial recognition software alerted for herself anywhere at all in London.

  But she wasn’t and no one on her side of this would be helping Wesslyian. Still, Roth wasn’t entirely useless and stupid. If he weren’t on the lookout for her, someone who pulled his strings would be.

  Anything over an hour and she’d judge them harshly. She chuckled to herself as she slid on her sunglasses that were created to thwart facial recognition—with a pretty nifty magical boost to make it totally effective—and then used the crowds to fade away.

  Home beckoned, along with a nice long nap and what she knew would be a tasty dinner upon waking. Oh and Clive was arriving, which meant sexytimes. She had a great deal to look forward to.

  * * *

  “She’s getting out of her car out front right now,” Betchamp said quietly as he brought Rowan a cup of tea.

  There was no confusion as to the identity of the she he’d mentioned. “Damn it,” Rowan snarled, then, “you didn’t hear that.”

  Betchamp’s lips maintained his bland demeanor but there was an ever so slight tremble as he fought a smile. “Of course not. I’ll go to the door now to see her in. Shall I bring her straight back or leave her in the formal receiving room?”

  “We have one of those?”

  He didn’t even change expressions. A total champ.

  Rowan pulled up her metaphorical big girl panties. “No. I’ll deal with her myself. It’d be rude otherwise.”

  “If I may?” he asked.

  Rowan made the move it along roll of her hand. “I like to know things. I’m not going to get offended by your telling me.”

  “She’ll expect the help to get the door and handle the receiving.” His tone was calm, but the words—the meaning behind them—pushed a button.

  A lot of older Vampire houses had multigenerational human families in their service. Rowan’s father’s was one. Respect for the humans who lived in service to the Nation was expected, but not always given.

  Rowan stood. It was intolerable that anyone would be treated that way. Especially in her house. “Well, then I guess I’d better get to it.” No one was going to mess with the emotional well being of her people. That was her job.

  “Ms. Summerwaite,” he started as they headed to the front door, “really, it’s not an imposition.”

  Rowan stopped, putting her hand on his arm. “I was like you.” She turned her wrist to expose her service mark. “I will not tolerate disrespect to those in service to this house. Not from anyone. I’ll handle my mother-in-law. We’ll take tea in the formal whatsits.”

  He nodded and stepped back, letting her open the door. Antonia stood there, hand raised, an annoyed look on her face. She snapped her attention up to catch sight of Rowan there instead of Betchamp or Elisabeth.

  “Sweetie!” Antonia and her sugary baby-voice clamped onto Rowan as she propelled them into the foyer. “Is everything all right? Why are you receiving visitors?”

  “I don’t always answer a knock on the door. It’s even handier when I have people to send whoever it is away. But as we’re related, I’ll make an exception.”

  Antonia’s expression told Rowan exactly what she thought of answering one’s own door. She clung to Rowan’s arm even more tightly until Rowan nearly dragged her down the hall.

  “It might be easier,” Rowan stopped, tugging again, “if you let go. That way neither of us will fall.”

  Antonia pouted but let go. Once free, Rowan tried not to sprint into the cream and blue room where Elisabeth was already setting up the tea Rowan had requested.

  “I was just about to have some tea.” Rowan kept a piece of furniture between her and Antonia. “Please, sit and join me.” She indicated a chair. “Thank you, Elisabeth.” No need to make the poor woman deal with Antonia Stewart any more than she had to.

  “Oh do get changed, Ro-Ro! We have a gallery opening to attend. You’re Clive’s human wife. I simply must show you off,” Antonia cooed.

  Rowan was so horrified on so many levels it took a bit for her not to recoil and nope right out of the room. “Wow, so, uh, thanks for the invitation, which I do appreciate. But I’ve got a lot of work to do tonight. Clive is due in London by midnight, he says. We can have tea and sandwiches and then you can either stay here until he arrives, or I can be sure he seeks you out.” After she told him to be sure Antonia understood Ro-Ro was something to never say again.

  Antonia intercepted her as she made a move to sit. Grabbing onto her arm. Again. “You have responsibilities now as the wife of the Scion. I’ve gone to the trouble of arranging these meetings for you. Get you in with the right players here in Europe.”

  Even though she was being an insufferable twat, Antonia still managed to keep her sing-songy, sugary sweet delivery while clutching at Rowan’s arm with her long, shiny pink nails.

  Rowan was simultaneously repulsed and admiring of the way she managed to push her agenda with a smile. Fake smile, but a smile. More than Rowan was managing.

  It was lowering to know this bitch was beating Rowan at her own game. Spine steeled, she told herself it was just one more outing. Clive would take over—and he would—once he arrived and his mother would all be his to handle. As an added benefit, Rowan wouldn’t crack and stake someone. Or show her belly to her mother-in-law.

  But a few things needed to be underlined for Antonia. “I’d like to know you and your husband, naturally, and Clive’s inner circle of friends I know still live in the area. I’ll get changed for this gallery opening because you made the effort and I don’t want to be rude.” Rowan preferred to be rude on purpose. “Your son didn’t marry me for my social skills, thank Goddess.”

  “Cocktail attire. Do you need help choosing something?” Antonia arched a brow.

  “Clive does that too. The eyebrow thing.” Rowan indicated her mother-in-law with a tip of her chin. She started up the stairs. “I’ve got this. Thanks. Be down in a bit.” If the woman followed her upstairs, Rowan was climbing out a window to escape.

  Elisabeth was waiting outside Rowan’s door. “Do you need my assistance?”

  Rowan rolled her eyes and indicated Elisabeth follow her into the sitting room and through to her bedchamber.

  “I will be gone no longer than two hours. If my husband comes home, please do underline his need to contact me.” Rowan moved to the closet, not even bothering to sigh—again—at the presence of all the clothes in there.

  She pulled out a pair of navy menswear inspired trousers, pairing them with a smoke colored blouse.

  “He’s got great taste,” she murmured.

  “He’s a man who knows his mate.” Elisabeth went to one of the built-ins lining the huge closet. “I put your jewelry in here. He seems to like you in rubies and sapphires.”

  “He’s got sapphires in there? Like a pair of socks?” Rowan stomped over to find several open jeweler’s drawers lined with hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of shiny baubles. She hadn’t seen a single one of these pieces before, which meant he’d given her even more! She had like a billion tons of it back in Vegas as it was.

  Rowan wasn’t that kind of woman. Or she hadn’t been that much of one before Clive came along. But he bought her things all the time and it was hard to resist. Especially when some part of her liked all that gleam and shine. Liked, too, that he’d given her something that wasn�
��t anything to do with work.

  Not that she had any complaints that he frequently tucked her presents into something more deadly.

  “He pays attention.” Where the hell had he gotten that trait from? Sure as fuck not Antonia.

  She left her shirt open to her breasts—such as they were—and opted for a bold collar style necklace of intertwined strands of rubies and amber.

  “Oh yes, that he would.” Elisabeth fastened the necklace. “You look striking in this.”

  Not beautiful, because she wasn’t. Not in any traditional sense. But the clothes and the jewels, chosen by a man who knew what flattered her body and coloring? They were like armor. Gave her confidence, made her feel powerful. Loved.

  Every day that passed with Clive still at her side, every bump and bruise they triumphed over, every little bit she let him into her heart and he didn’t freak out and run away—it made it easier to accept that maybe this was going to work out after all.

  Once she’d slicked her hair back and put on some bold red lipstick, she hummed her delight as she took the shoes, chunky heeled pumps with soles made to grip should she need to run or fight.

  Sexy but practical.

  Yes, he paid attention all right.

  * * *

  Antonia had kept a death grip on Rowan’s arm—again—steering her through the throng of rich art snobs clutching cheap bubbly and pretending they really loved the work on display.

  Fakery gave Rowan indigestion. Which could also be that she’d had tea and alcohol but hadn’t even eaten after waking up. Antonia had leapt on her before she’d had the chance.

  “What do you think?” Antonia indicated the piece they’d stopped in front of.

  “About?”

  “Whyever must you always be so coy?” Antonia’s voice carried the same sort of vexation her son used. A far enough cry from the cooing sugary tone she usually had that Rowan’s attention was snagged.

  Antonia attempted to get herself back under control and Rowan decided to redouble her efforts to give Clive’s mother the neck tic she’d been trying to give him for years. There’d be some other punishment for Clive for not preparing her for...this creature.