Chapter Sixteen
Genevieve turned in her bed and rolled toward Darius. With her eyes still closed, she put her head on his chest as he wrapped an arm around her to hold her in place. The delightful warmth of it seemed to blanket her.
“Are we waking up?” he asked, sleep in his voice.
“We should.” She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, but the noises from the house began to make themselves known. Lorraine was out there making breakfast.
He made a sound that could have been a yes let’s wake up or a huh, let’s wait for Lorraine to yell our names before squeezing her to him. “I think we might find a way to spend some time before we begin our day.”
She finally opened her eyes and looked up into his face. By the old gods, he was so beautiful. That amber ring around his pupils seemed to burn with the same intensity he gave off.
He easily brought her body upward so he could kiss her awake.
Genevieve had lived a very long time, and this man made her forget everything before. Made her forget what it was to awake to an empty bed. Which was its own sort of magic.
His taste was made for her. The weight of him as he rolled them over and settled between her thighs seemed not perfect, but absolutely right. Part of the immensity of how he made her feel terrified her. But not enough to overcome her pleasure at his presence and all the delights he’d brought to her life.
There was no sound other than soft sighs, the slide of skin on skin, and the occasional groan or growl because when Darius worked his way inside her body, she writhed, shifting her knees up, taking him deeper.
Those long minutes with him, skin to skin, open hearts, had a way of trickling into her darkest parts and soothing. Erasing wariness and grief. Making new memories.
She’d known love before. But her connection to this being was a recipe. They’d created something she’d never known to expect, much less desire.
He was her partner. Her protector too. But not in a way that lessened her power. No, the exact opposite. He respected and admired her strength and that was delightful and also foundational to what they had.
He kissed a lazy trail down her neck, changing his angle enough to brush the tips of his fingers over her clit in time with his thrusts, driving her out of her mind with need as he built her climax and shoved her hard into it.
Her ears were still roaring when he pressed deep and came as well.
“I really must confess sleepovers at your house are far more fun than sleeping alone in mine.” He smiled before kissing her and sending her wits flying the way he always did.
There was something to be said for over four thousand years of experience at sex. He learned her each time he touched her. Used what he found to drive her to new heights the next time they found themselves alone together.
In the kitchen, Lorraine called out that it was time to awaken and take a meal.
“You know she doesn’t do this when you aren’t here, don’t you?” she told him as she rolled from bed to get dressed.
“She doesn’t?” He came up behind her, burying his face in her hair and breathing deep. “Why?”
“She likes you and wants to see you before you shimmer away.” She made a motion with her hand and then laughed as he spun her in his embrace. “She’s going to come knock on the door very loudly in about two minutes,” Genevieve warned him.
“I’d face her wrath for just one more kiss,” he murmured in the French of her youth, before delivering a sweet brush of her lips with his.
She was still wearing a silly smile when she entered the kitchen right as Madame had been turning toward the hall where her bedroom lay.
“Good morning. He’ll be out shortly,” Genevieve told her. Lorraine wasn’t a house manager or an assistant. She ran Genevieve’s life in a way that kept her safe and heading in the direction she needed to go. She was part mother figure, part vice president of Genevieve’s life. Her daughter, Samaya, ran Genevieve’s office at the Conclave. Bastien, her son, was a green witch of some talent. He worked for the Conclave and ran their very comprehensive gardens for every type of spellwork imaginable. He’d also created the strain of weed she preferred.
Lorraine’s mother and her grandfather before that had worked for the Auberts. There was a lovely symmetry in continuing that, though Genevieve thought she’d most certainly gotten the better end of the deal with the family, considering all they brought to her life.
Still, Lorraine was an opinionated witch with a very healthy sense of self-respect, and it didn’t matter so much that Genevieve was technically her boss. To Madame, Genevieve was her charge and she needed to let Lorraine do her job.
Everyone seemed happiest that way. The house they lived in had bedroom suites to either side of a large living space, so each witch had their privacy. And there was an extra bedroom on Lorraine’s end where Bas or Samaya would stay over.
The Devils who lived in the houses surrounding theirs had taken to them both. Genevieve they’d given their reverence but also a sort of sweet affection. Madame was feared. They yearned for her attention, which she seemed to know how to give in whatever way it would be received best. It was part of her magic, Genevieve believed.
“Samaya hand couriered some files for you. She just ran to the car to grab something. Sit.”
Fresh juice and pastries already waited at the table but soon enough there was coffee and a spinach omelet.
Smiling, Darius followed the trail of her magic. She threw it off like leaves on the breeze and there were times it was a struggle to free himself from the fascination she filled him with. He didn’t try very hard anyway.
Samaya was speaking to Genevieve at the table, and Madame gave him an imperious cheek he bent to kiss before she shooed him to sit and eat.
“We’ve locked down all information regarding the Procellas. Just in general, controlling what information gets out when we don’t know who to trust or even who is working with who is a smart move. Though the explosion isn’t a secret by now to the magical world, we’ve been able to continue to keep it from all the Procellas except Antonia. Alfonso is in custody now at the Conclave Senate building. He claims he was worried for his son and had gone out looking for him. Says he didn’t want to lead anyone back to Hugo if he did reach out to his father for help.”
Genevieve’s sound of disapproval, along with that shrug of hers, told Darius she didn’t believe that for a moment.
“I have a meeting with Rowan in an hour. I’ll update her. You can work from an office at the motherhouse today if you like,” she told Samaya before turning back to Darius. “I’ve got things to tell her.”
“There are links to three very prominent Conclave families on the phones we took from the Procella mansion. And on the phones we took from them when we took them into custody originally. Multiple incoming and outgoing calls over the last year and a half or so. Samaya was able to pull the phone records for the business numbers of these families and there are calls to those numbers too,” Genevieve told Rowan.
“What do these other families do?”
Samaya answered, looking at the page before her. “The Clares run rail freight across the lower part of the country and a little into Mexico. The Sansburys run a variety of businesses. A few travel brokerages nationwide. There’s a car service with various locations served. Formal events. Airport trips for businesspeople. There’s one in wine country that takes people from their hotels or rentals to a bunch of wineries. The Salazars own several resorts in North America from beach all-inclusives to a few mountain lodges. Some have gambling, but only about a quarter.”
Rowan said, “Are they sketchy? Whatever, don’t look concerned, I don’t care about ninety-five percent of whatever illegal fuckery they get up to. But are they salt of the earth never would do a bad thing types or are they on the Procella side of the spectrum?”
Genevieve thought a moment before saying, “All three of them other than the Procellas are old European lines. There are aristocratic titles held by some of them to this day. Entitled. Even during the various crusades and trials. They hid in plain sight then. Remaining in Europe while the fervor ravaged here. Their money is generations old. The Procellas are a younger line, yes? They’ve always been here in North America. They’re a different type of witch.”
“Crass? Is that the word? Though I will say despite Lotte being dead and all, the suits she wore to work were pretty fantastic for a guy with as little taste as Sergio.”
“That comes from Bess, I believe,” Genevieve said. “Samaya brought all the items taken from Bess in Auckland, so you can go through them if you like.”
“Where do these Clares and Sansburys and Salazars live, then?” Rowan asked this instead of demanding to know why Genevieve was being so accommodating.
“Two of the three live in Southern California,” Genevieve admitted. “The Salazars live in Miami.”
“They all need to be questioned about this business. Obviously.”
“Agreed. I planned to handle that myself. Zara is on the way to Florida now, to deal with the Salazars. I assume you might want a Hunter to meet her there?”
“I’ll get in contact with someone in Miami right away. Get them Zara’s number so they can connect.” David left the room for a few minutes to handle it.
“You cannot come along,” Genevieve said. “You’re still recovering.”
“I have a physician to dispense medical advice,” Rowan shot back.
“Would you like to accompany me to this meeting with the Clares and the Sansburys?” Genevieve asked, frustration in her tone.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say yes. Because the point was, she was part of this investigation. But looking at Genevieve, Rowan felt slightly bad about making her friend feel as if she wasn’t being trusted.
Then she remembered something Carl had said. Carl, her own personal sage. Only hers always showed up out of the blue and nearly always at the wheel of some sort of public conveyance. He loved taxicabs but one time he’d picked her up in a water taxi. He always had whatever advice hidden in what were usually stories about animals or the land. He was kookoopants and she loved him even though he never gave her plainspoken, clear advice or warnings.
He’d told her that at some point it would be on the tip of her tongue to give an answer, but she’d argue with herself. He’d urged her to go with her original answer. Rowan wasn’t sure if this was that situation or even if that situation had already passed. Which was part of her generalized impatience with sages and the way they went about their business. But in the end, Rowan decided that since she’d thought it, it was the right moment.
“I would very much appreciate the opportunity to go with you to this meeting today.”
“I must take a plane to get there in time,” Genevieve said, wary.
“It’s Los Angeles. I can get us a private plane to Burbank, and we can be there in an hour once we take off.”
Genevieve’s left eyebrow rose as she waited.
Rowan growled. “Fine. I’ll be sure Clive knows.” She didn’t say she’d already checked in with Dr. Jenkins to see if it would be safe to fly to Seattle—should the need arise—and was given the green light for any trip under three hours. To Southern California it was even quicker.
Genevieve lost her wariness. “We’ll go after dark because you have to wait until after sunset to tell him anyway. I’ll prepare for both of you because he’s not going to allow you to do this without him. For now, I’ve work to do so I’ll leave you to yours.”
Rowan wanted to stomp her foot or break something from frustration because her friend was right. Clive was most assuredly not going to wave goodbye and tell her to text when she got there.
“He has his own job to do,” she muttered as she pulled her phone out and sent a note to David to deal with getting a jet and a pilot for them all to fly into Burbank that evening. She was a grown-up with a goddess inside her! She didn’t need permission.
But at sunset, after a very busy day, Rowan finally called Clive to deal with it.
“Hello, darling Hunter,” he purred, and it sent a wave of pleasure racing over her skin. She barely withheld a giggle in response.
So, she snickered. “Stop that. Genevieve is heading to Southern California to interview a few witches.”
Before she could say anything else, he interrupted. “No. She can give you an update when she returns.”
“I was not actually asking for your input. I was keeping you updated on my activities. I stopped to see Dr. Jenkins this morning on my way in. I did ask her about air travel.” He didn’t need to know she wanted to see if a flight to Seattle to go bug some wolves was possible. “She okayed anything under three hours. Burbank is just over an hour. The people we’re going to speak to live within twenty minutes’ drive from there. I’ll be back far before sunrise.”
“In that case, I’ll meet you at the airfield. Don’t argue, I know you’re going to use a Nation jet and you need my pilot. I’m coming along. I can get work done while you’re off interviewing people. I’ll bring food.”
Then he disconnected, leaving her gaping, and pretending not to be impressed by the way he’d just invited himself along.
Darius was at the wheel because like Clive, he’d simply bullied his way onto the plane. Clive and Darius both seemed to be in accord, and undoubtedly having a Dust Devil along with them would only make them all safer.
So, Genevieve had taken it all with grace. But between the airport and their first stop, she’d put on her armor and mask. When she stepped from the vehicle, she would be Genevieve Aubert, Senator of the Conclave of Witches. A power so massive, so old and deep, none could oppose her and remain standing.
“I’m just going to say it outright, is this your ex’s house or his parents’ or what?” Rowan said.
That made Genevieve laugh and loosened the tension in her chest. “Tristan—the fool I divorced a very long time ago—he’s not particularly Talented. Especially given his line and age. His parents still live in England. Thank the stars. We are to meet with Joseph Sansbury, the uncle. He’s the designated emissary in the United States and to the Conclave. He is powerful.”
Rowan thought for a moment. “He’s the second son, right?”
Genevieve nodded.
“They’re either murderously ambitious or lazy to a fault. I rarely meet any other type in our universe,” Rowan mumbled.
Clive choked out a laugh.
“He’s the former,” Genevieve confirmed.
“Won’t this be fun?” Rowan said. And meant.
There was a gate around the tony neighborhood, but as they approached, it swung open, admitting them.
“I imagine we handled this in advance?” Rowan asked.
“Why give notice someone’s about to knock on the door?” Darius asked with a flick of his wrist that indicated Devil magic had opened the way.
“Truth. Being surprised is a first strike. I’ll take your lead,” Rowan said as the energy and power around her began to rise but was quickly extinguished when Genevieve’s friend tucked her true strength away.
They pulled right up to the front door, but Clive said, “Wait.”
Everyone did, watching the Scion as his eyelids went half-mast and his nostrils flared. After a few breaths, he shook his head. “You know what to do if you need backup,” he told Rowan, who nodded that she did.
“Vanessa just texted to say she’s taken over the security system so no alarms will go to the authorities,” David said. “I’ve got the feed on my phone should we need to examine it.”
Darius had already informed Genevieve he was coming with her for all her interviews that night, so he got their door, and she pretended not to see the way Clive took Rowan’s hand and kissed her knuckles gently.
“There’s no one here,” Darius said as they approached the front door. “No humans. No witches. They have animals, but none of them are here either.”
“There are wards. Hold a moment.”
Genevieve called up her magic as she viewed the warding spells laced over the home and yard. They were quality work and appeared to be Conclave provided. Genevieve knew most of the witches who created wards via a multitude of services scattered across the world.
She sang an unweaving. A song older than any of the magics that held the wards closed. The words rose on the breeze and found the hinge points, weakening them until they broke. At that, Genevieve was able to call another sort of spell, this one via the movements of her hands as she threw the broken wards off, leaving the main house unwarded.
Three claps, three stomps, and three exhaled words and all magic but theirs had been nullified.
“Someone is coming,” Darius said as headlights hit the curve of the drive to the front door.
“It’s Joseph.” Genevieve knew his magic because he’d tried it on her when she’d left Tristan a century before. She’d humiliated him that day, besting him easily.
He’d made noise about opposing the divorce but while the Sansburys were a very old and influential line, hers was altogether another thing. Aubert would suffocate everything in its way should he have tried.
“I don’t like that tone,” Darius said quietly as he moved to stand to her side and slightly ahead. “He will be disappointed if he hopes to harm you.”
“He knows from experience that would be impossible. Still, don’t kill him if you can help it,” Genevieve urged.
“Unless I have no other choice, I will let you handle this business. But I will confess to you hearing that tone in your voice, knowing this witch put it there, makes me very angry.”
And what could she say to that? She barely resisted the sigh of pleasure at the way he’d appointed himself her protector. Genevieve knew she couldn’t let him push too far or he’d take over. But that didn’t stop the warmth in her belly. The satisfaction that he wanted her safe.
Just to her left, Rowan shook her head as she glanced toward the vehicle where Clive sat. Telling him to stay put.
Joseph Sansbury sprung from the back seat of the Bentley that had come to a stop. “You there! What are you doing?”
“He’s one of them ?” Rowan asked Genevieve, making her want to laugh. “A thousand percent indignation he can’t have his way in all things? Tips five percent. Hasn’t paid a bonus to staff ever. Since he’s old, he thinks he’s the Earl of Whatever? I’m really good with those types.”
“You!” Joseph snapped his fingers in their direction but then as he got closer, he recognized Genevieve and pulled up short.
“Me,” Genevieve agreed. “Let us go inside and have a chat.”
He was shaken but managed to attempt to reassert control. “I’m rather busy at the moment. I can make time for you in the morning.”
“I’m certain it wasn’t a request. I am here as a representative of the Conclave, and I have questions for you.”
“You go too far. Being Konrad’s daughter won’t protect you,” Joseph said.
“From what exactly? Do tell, Joseph. What do I need to be protected from?” Genevieve asked. A hundred years ago she’d been strong, and her father had supported her immediately when she decided to end her disastrous marriage to Tristan. But the witch she was right then was light-years stronger. Was more powerful and since her ascension to being the priestess to a Trick of Dust Devils and close friends with the Hunter mated to a Scion, was more well connected.
She had nothing to be afraid of when it came to the witch in front of her.
And she let that show. Wanted him to understand she knew it too.
“I think a better question might be, who will protect you , witch?” Darius murmured and the sound was a slow-rising fog. Full of potential. Full of warning.
Joseph stepped back at that voice. Still agitated, but there was fear lacing his tone when he said to Genevieve, “You could have given me some advance notice you were coming.”
“I could have.” Genevieve simply stared at him. This exchange, despite their history, was strange. A visit by someone of her status should have him stumbling over himself.
“We can talk out here. I’m good with that. How about you?” Rowan sent Joseph a sunny smile. “Before you demand to know who I am and I’m expected to pretend like you don’t know or somehow that I am your inferior yadda yadda, I’m Rowan Summerwaite. A Hunter. My office did contact yours. When did you get back from Bali, by the way? That’s where you were visiting, right?”
“Er, yes. I’m sure my secretary has your request waiting for my return. As you can see, no one is here. We’ve all been—”
“In Bali. Right. So. Let’s chat now. Lead the way, Joey.”
Amused, Genevieve stayed quiet while Joseph made his grudging way to the front door, but it wasn’t until they stood in the soaring front foyer that he seemed to realize there was no warding left. He tried to draw power for a working but there was nothing.
He made a few more attempts and finally gave up, his shoulders slumping slightly. Even at that very moment he was trying to work his way around what she’d done. Thinking he could just figure out what she’d done, he could counter it.
What she’d done was create nothing. A null space all around him and every other magical being except the ones she came in with. A bottomless pit with unclimbable walls. A yawning nothing between him and the power he tried to draw.
She’d studied for a few years with a witch who hunted demons and other infernal summoned creatures. It had been terrifying work, especially at first. But it had taught her a skill very few possessed. Taught her to access types of magic no longer known or practiced.
In many ways the manner in which she’d been educated had come at a terrible price. She and Rowan shared that history. But that education made her a force. A force few could ever hope to overcome.
She let that show in her eyes when Joseph opened his mouth to speak. Then Genevieve said, “I’m not the same witch I was a century ago and I beat you then too. Do not think you can best me.”
Joseph drew a breath and stood a little taller. “Follow me through to my office. We can meet there. Briefly.”
He spun and scurried off. Genevieve looked over to Darius and then to Rowan and David, before they headed toward him.
Rowan didn’t like this prick one bit. She especially didn’t like the way he tried to look down his nose at Genevieve even though he was as helpless as a kitten without claws up against her.
She was really going to like finding more of Joseph’s weak spots and manipulating them.
The house was one of those places that had been built within the last decade after whatever had been there before had been torn down, but it did have some beautiful elements. The carpentry was fantastic and the art—some excellent reproductions—was overwhelmingly inoffensive and done by the rich-people artists of the moment. But here and there in a nook were elegant and very expensive statues. Rowan recognized the artist’s work from the larger statues gracing the waiting area and bar of Fleur, the award-winning restaurant in Vegas the Vampire Nation owned and ran. All the subjects were female and managed to be classical and modern all at once.
The stuff on the walls had been bought. But the statues...they felt collected. Most likely not the same two people, which made her wonder about Joseph’s spouse or whoever it was that had sought them out versus the aggressive inoffensiveness of everything else.
Rowan waited until Joseph had entered his office, and then David moved up to give her a little cover while she snapped several photos before turning on the recorder she had in the middle button on her shirt. Approval coursed through the bond she shared with Clive. Of course he was happy to spy on others and keep an eye on her at the same time.
The office was...bland. The furniture was well made, and the rugs were similarly expensive. But again, there was nothing personal there. It felt like a furniture showroom, or as if it had been staged to sell it to another family looking to spend their money on being as vehemently mediocre in taste as the former owners.
Aspirational mediocrity. For fuck’s sake. This state of beige life was more offensive to her than when people decorated with terrible swap meet art they loved. Sure, those little sayings were clichéd, but frankly, she’d rather live, laugh, love than look at middle-distance landscapes done in muted colors that left you feeling...nothing.
Joseph wanted to blend, Rowan realized. Not socially invisible, because he was an entitled, powerful witch who most likely gave orders and rarely took them. She tucked the thought away. He had something to hide, and he acted like it.
She figured she may as well get started destabilizing Joe’s life so she could find out what he was so busily trying to distract everyone’s attention from.
Status was a thing witches—and powerful people in general—got all wet over. So Rowan gave a slow glance around the office before she said, “Are you getting ready to move? Who did your staging?”
David looked at the opposite end of the room, suddenly fascinated by the bookshelves full of everything but books. Fucking chock a block with shiny metal pseudo lungs for bookends that sat to either side of other shit like the weirdly menacing ceramic horses. Rowan bet those were expensive. Nightmare fuel wasn’t cheap. But those would make a delightful sound on the hardwood at their feet, she bet. And she’d seen the same ones here and there on shelves in offices like that one. Dear in cost, but not in stock.
“Moving? Why would you think so?” Joseph asked, affronted.
In familiar territory, Rowan settled in to play with his head. She gestured around his office. “Well. It looks...generic. Like it’s been staged so, I mean I just...assumed.” There was no need to say more. He’d fill it in a dozen ways over the next however many days.
Genevieve looked down at her hands for a moment until she’d wrestled her smile away.
“What is your relationship to the Procellas?” Genevieve said, going from zero to light speed, kicking old Joseph in the butthole while he was still puzzling over Rowan’s insults.
Joseph wasn’t a newbie though. He reacted, his color blanching. But it was quick as he wrested it back and pretended not to be alarmed. The predator part of Rowan perked up.
He steepled his fingers in front of his lips. Classic liar’s tell, for fuck’s sake. “ Relationship seems an overstatement. We’re both Genetic witches and of course we do see one another at Conclave social events and the like. We both run businesses that do occasionally line up with one another to make some sort of deal. Why?”
“When was the last time you made some sort of deal with them?” Genevieve asked.
“I really must know why you’re here without warning in the dead of night asking questions about things that are simply none of your business. As I said, being Konrad’s daughter won’t save you,” Joseph told Genevieve with a sneer.
A hot wave of disapproval rolled from Darius and over the other witch. He jerked back slightly and finally seemed to register who was standing in his office.
“Go on, then,” Genevieve invited. “Call whoever you need to come and...apprehend me for doing the Conclave’s work?” She waved a hand.
“You don’t know your place,” he said, mean in his tone. “You never have.”
Before Rowan could slap his fucking face, Genevieve began to laugh. As she did, magics swirled all around them until she snapped her fingers and it fell away like misty rain. That was a very cool spell and it had left Joseph shaken.
“My place is on the Conclave Senate. My place is leading an investigative team. A team already approved and sanctioned by the Conclave leadership. You reach above yourself, Joseph. See what it gets you if you try that again. Answer the question because I am beginning to wonder why you’re working so hard to avoid discussing what I assume are legal business dealings with another prominent Conclave family.”
“These are privileged business details,” Joseph said weakly.
Rowan strolled over and grabbed a nightmare horse and looked it over carefully. A reproduction even. She threw it to the floor with force, loving the dull splat and then the pieces shooting away from where she stood. Over the years she’d developed a throw that usually spared her any cuts from flying debris.
Joseph stood, hands balled at his side like angry Arthur, and David turned to face the witch. The nulled witch.
“You will calm yourself immediately,” David said, his tone and his stance full of menace.
Rowan stared at Joseph, keeping her expression bland. “What will you do? No one is coming to help you. You’re fucked.”
“She’s on three right now,” Genevieve said. “Sit down or I’ll let her escalate.”
“Oooh, that’s fancy and scary. I like it,” Rowan said before she turned her attention to Joseph again. “The staging company has insurance to cover accidental loss probably. Though, they might get mad about the rest of the art on the walls I’m about to destroy. I bet you had to pay a deposit for that, and it most assuredly won’t be accidental.”
He looked confused and she couldn’t have found it more delightful. What a fucking pencil.
“Why do you...what’s happening?”
Rowan said, feigning—badly—patience, “This can all be over if you just answer the questions. When you don’t, I’m going to get a little destructive. It’s a good thing no one lives here, and all this is rented. Imagine what I’ll do to the contents of the other rooms.”
David coughed again.
Rowan snapped her fingers because he’d get offended. “I can see you’re working up some sort of well see here in your chest. Don’t waste your breath or my time. Answer the fucking questions you’re asked.”
“As I said, I may have bumped into Sergio or Alfonso from time to time at various widely attended social events.” Joseph looked at Rowan and curled his lip. “For Genetic witches only.”
“Oh no, I’m not invited to Thurston Howell the Third’s white people party. I’m super sad about that. I’m sure I’ll miss so many fascinating discussions about tweed and all the people you’re so much better than.”
Genevieve soldiered on after a slight wobble of her lips. “So it’s been years since you’ve done business with the Procellas and the only time you’ve seen them was at widely attended social events . How long ago was that?”
“If you’d just tell me what you wanted to know, I could give you the information.”
“Do not get testy here, Joey Snickerdoodle.” She flashed a grin at David, pleased with her improvisation. “She’s telling you exactly what she needs to know when she asks you the questions you’re working overtime to pretend to misunderstand.”
Genevieve said, “When did you speak with any Procella last? A decade ago? Ten minutes ago? Six months ago? Surely you can recall. Otherwise, if I’m not specific you won’t know what you can lie about.”
Red stained his cheeks as he registered Genevieve’s insult. “I honestly can’t say.”
To that Rowan stalked over to a painting on a nearby wall, snatched it down, and then, using her uninjured leg, she kicked through it. Next one, she’d use the cane to see how that worked.
Better than therapy.
“You destroyed my painting! That cost fifteen grand.”
“I told you. Just contact your staging company to file a claim. Though I do suppose they might not cover you being a dumbass and me having to wreck everything between you and the answer to our questions.”
“ I’m not moving! Why do you keep saying that?”
“This place looks like a furniture showroom. Or the rental office of an apartment complex. I never thought anyone would strive for that level of bland on purpose. Wooow. I mean, go you I guess?” Rowan said, pleased AF to see the vein on his temple start to throb.
“You can just look on your phone for goddess’ sake, man!” David exclaimed. “In your outgoing or incoming calls. Surely you can do that.”
Because we can hung in the air, unspoken.
He paled. “Yes. Yes. His granddaughter is seeing one of my cousins. That’s right.”
Genevieve said, “So. You’ve spoken to Sergio because Antonia is dating one of your cousins. And when was the last time?”
“I can’t recall.”
“And the last time you had contact with Sergio was due to this dating relationship? No business dealings?”
“As I said, we’ve done business in the past. I can’t remember when it was.”
“Have you ever been to the Procella home?” Genevieve asked, deceptively quiet.
“I may have. I don’t know for certain.”
“They live in Las Vegas. Their house blew up yesterday, as you well know. As the whole fucking world knows. Have you been there and don’t lie.” Rowan underlined that by tossing a small vase at his head.
Sadly, he moved and it broke when it hit the wall at his back instead.
“What are you doing? Stop this instantly.”
“No.” Genevieve spoke this time. “I don’t think we will. Answer the question or I’ll let her leave this room.”
“How can I be expected to remember every place I’ve visited?”
Rowan strolled out and when Joseph started after her, Darius grabbed him by the back of his neck like a fucking puppy and then dragged him into the hall where Rowan headed straight for the reproduction vintage lamps that still would have set them back at least ten thousand bucks each.
She knew this fact because not too long ago she wanted something for her bedchamber at home and had looked into the exact type she wanted based on an art nouveau original.
Her cane was a very handy tool, and it gave her extra reach so when she swept through the shades, sending glass everywhere, she was far enough back to be safe.
“I need to work on my upper-body strength,” she said. “Recently I was ambushed by shifters. Hired by the Procellas to kill me. In public. I’m sure you saw it on the news. Don’t pretend like you didn’t because I’m already embarrassed for you enough as it is.”
Joseph blinked swiftly, taking in the swath of destruction she’d already created. “The Procellas caused that scene in the middle of the daytime? On a city street in front of cameras? That’s...it’s outlandish.”
“It is rather shocking, no?” Genevieve said. “A violation of our most sacrosanct laws. A danger to everyone.”
“It’s asinine.”
“It’s like you’ve never met the Procellas. And yet we know you have even if you’ve spent the last forty minutes pretending not to understand the questions about them. So, my thing is we have important business to be about. If you want to waste more time, waste it with someone else,” Rowan told him.
Genevieve sucked in a deep breath and said with extreme patience, “Frankly, were it me in your place, I’d be doing all I could to disassociate myself with them. And that starts by telling us what your relationship with the Procellas is.”
“Just business! I’d certainly not associate my family’s reputation on such recklessness. Making a profit with someone does not mean one shares their feelings or methodologies. I have nothing else to add.”
By the time they left, Joseph had been wrecked and in tears. He’d admitted, sort of, that his company and the Procellas had done business regularly, but insisted he had no regular contact with them. Such a stupid lie. So easily verified.
Genevieve had put some sort of tagging magic on him, so she’d know if he tried to leave the area.
“Let’s go visit Gerard Clare. I think we’ve both hit our second wind,” Genevieve said once they’d gotten back into the car.