Chapter 29 Slice Of Steel
Arabesque
Silence filled the farmhouse like a wraith as I entered.
I wore it like a second coat, brushing past Foster where he lurked at the edges of my awareness.
He could wait. So could the inevitable storm of news he’d been so frantically reporting.
For now, I focused on peeling travel-stained gloves from my fingers with slow, deliberate movements.
Control was in the details. Always.
Let him simmer. Let him squirm. When I deemed the silence thick enough to feel, only then would I let him speak.
Finally, a low sigh.
“Tell me.”
“The twins made their move,” he said, tone deliberately casual. “Little surprise: It backfired.”
“Eluned first, yes?”
“Through Ondine Filcher. Don’t know for sure, but she probably got caught.”
I inclined my head, an elegant nod.
“And Amabel?”
“Same thing. No confirmation there, either. Haven’t heard from Eluned since yesterday morning or from Amabel since this morning.”
I watched him with hawk-like intensity, as if my gaze could extract the full truth.
“Caught?”
“Most likely.”
I kept him in my sights for a moment longer, considering. Then, turning slightly, “Your confidence inspires me, wolf.”
He thought I’d yell at him. Thought I’d curse and threaten and rage.
What I did instead was let the silence stretch again, a wire pulled tight enough to cut.
He’d already reported most of this. Calls and texts vibrating my phone incessantly while I sat in conference with more than a dozen witches, subtly reshaping the map of alliances.
All good news from my end, but his panicked updates did not surprise me.
Not really. Perhaps I’d hoped for a different outcome. Hoped the girls had an ounce of their mother’s talent. No, not hoped. Expected. Yes, that was the right word.
I let my eyes drift over the room. Delicate furnishings, richly polished and old. Wood. Lace. Ticking of a clock so loud, it felt like a pulse.
“Failures,” I murmured. Not a flicker of emotion, not a tremor in my voice.
“What now?” Foster shifted his stance, annoyed and uneasy.
I watched him, shadows stretching as the afternoon sun shifted, painting his dark skin in thin, angular lines.
“Most likely caught.” My voice was a cold slice of steel. “Most likely dead?”
A brief pause, then, “Don’t know for sure, but the Cimmerians aren’t big on mercy.”
“So predictable.” I turned from him as laughter curled from my lips, a sharp, crystalline sound.
My daughters were such disappointments. Foolish, impulsive, and reckless, yes.
But not entirely useless. Even fools could be dangerous in death, if one knew how to leverage their stupidity.
My thoughts unfurled with ruthless precision, assessing, measuring.
For five years, I had siphoned magic from Jonathan, from Serafina, from others whenever I could.
My stockpile was impressive. If the twins had spoken of it before they died, if someone had the wits to put the pieces together, they might just figure out my intentions.
Or not.
They would need to find someone who knew Dark magic intimately. Not easy, but not impossible, either. My plans might not be as secure as I’d believed.
I needed confirmation.
But not before reminding Foster of his place, I decided, smiling to myself.
I pulled out my phone and dialed. Ondine Filcher’s voice crackled over the line like gravel underfoot, confirming what I already suspected: Eluned, then Amabel went through her pool to the lake at Evermere.
I expected nothing less from the old water hag.
Her curiosity was palpable, but she knew better than to ask why I wanted to know, although she did dare to taunt me.
“You’re down two pawns, Harrow.” Her laugh bubbled wetly.
The old hag wouldn’t wake up tomorrow. I’d deal with her personally.
For now, though, it was time to be sure.
Once in my office, Foster on my heels, I found my scrying mirror missing. My demon favor token was gone as well, which explained a great deal. He quickly explained that Amabel had been rooting around in here before she left for Ondine’s.
The audacity was breathtaking. So was the stupidity. I indulged in a quiet moment of reflection, appreciating my daughters’ last, futile acts of defiance.
No time for guesswork. I needed something with true sight. Either a demon or the Witch of Endor.
Hmm. Which one, which one?
Naomi Wray was the new Endor, promoted just last year.
A goody two-shoes with more morals than not.
The only way I’d get that necromancer to help me was through manipulation or coercion, and I had time and patience for neither.
No. A demon would be more suitable, especially one with a fondness for human souls.
“Bring Austin Cho to the basement,” I ordered. That kitchen boy would finally be of use to me.
Foster’s face was a masterpiece of confusion, but I let him wonder. He nodded and left, and I watched him go, feeling plans and possibilities settling into place.
Lovely.
#
“Ms. Harrow?” Austin’s Korean accent thickened with confusion. “Am I being fired?”
“Not at all. We’re promoting you, Mr. Cho. Stand just here.”
The chalk sigils flared cobalt as I began the incantation. Foster stumbled back as the floor swallowed my shadow whole. Austin’s whimper hit high C when the demon peeled itself from between realities, a thing of jagged light and pointed teeth from too many orifices.
“Mistresssss.” Its voice layered a child’s laughter over breaking glass. “What delicious pain do we trade today?”
“The usual trifles. This one’s soul,” I gestured to Austin, now trembling from head to toe, “for answers.”
The boy’s scream began as his eyes met the creature’s. It ended as a golden vapor curled out of Austin’s mouth and into the demon’s nostrils. Interestingly, Foster appeared both angry and outraged as he caught the body before it hit the floor.
“The twins. Their fates. And what they revealed before they died,” I inquired as the demon belched starlight.
“The younger one burns eternally. The elder breathes still.” Its many mouths smacked in unison. “What was or is spoken now, none can tell but the ears that heard. Too great are the wards at Evermere.”
As its tendrils probed Foster’s boots, I processed this, my expression smooth as glass. Then, slowly, a smile curled at the edges of my lips. A cold, slow smile that held no warmth. Betrayal didn’t anger me. It amused me.
“Interesting. A challenge.”
With a flick of my wrist, the demon dissolved into the shadows, its laughter lingering in the air.
Looking very upset about the body lying on the concrete floor, Foster shifted, his throat working around unasked questions.
“Problem, wolf?”
“He was a kid.” He glared at me, his dark eyes burning holes in my skull.
Ah, yes. The moral indignation. Always so predictable.
“And you’re a hired gun. But do indulge your conscience. Shall we hold vigils for every stray now?” As a muscle jumped in his jaw, I went on. “Cut out the boy’s heart. Send it to the Cimmerians so they may see the price an innocent boy paid for the loss of my daughters.”
“Why not his head? More traditional.”
“I need it to claim the bounty.”
“Bounty?” He blinked, surprise flickering across his face.
“The boy’s father is a hyungnim. Mafia boss.
South Korea. He set a price on Austin’s head when the boy dared defect from the Ssang Yong Pa.
” I tore Austin’s sleeve with a flick of my nail to show the tattoo of twin dragons devouring their tails on the boy’s bicep, the ink blurred by amateur suppression spells.
“The Double Dragon. Their violence is renowned.”
“He was… What? Hiding?”
“Trying to make a better life for himself, no doubt. Hence the promotion. From kitchen boy to bargaining chip. Isn’t growth beautiful?
” When Foster pinched his lips together, I laughed, a sound that held nothing like joy.
“For a rogue, you of all people should know that there are the strong and there are the weak. The hunters and the prey. Do you imagine my daughters weeping in some dungeon? Praying for mercy?”
“I imagine neither wastes tears. Like their mother.” He paused, then sighed. “I can take a squad, try to retrieve Amabel—”
I cut him off with a flick of my hand.
“I don’t waste resources on corpses. As for Serafina, small torments for now, I think.
A few expendable rogues sniffing around Evermere’s borders.
A delivery or two of precious mementos she believes lost.” I tapped my chin with my forefinger.
“Hmm. I wonder if I saved the horns from that black goat to which she was so oddly attached.”
“What about her staff?” he suggested, staring at Austin Cho’s lifeless body. “Maybe one can be bribed?”
“Very good, wolf. Look into it personally,” I commanded. “Sever the head while I fetch a cryo box. Then remove the body from the house before it stinks up the place.”
Wordlessly, Foster went to the shelf and selected a bone saw.
Such a dutiful dog. The real question remained, though: Who’d trained him to bury his tells so thoroughly beneath bravado?
As I climbed the stairs, I let my thoughts drift to Serafina and her husbands. They thought they’d won something today. Very well, let the children think they moved pieces. Let them taste phantom victories.
By summer’s end, the Ssang Yong Pa’s handsome bounty would buy my naysayers’ loyalty, the Cimmerians’ bones would warm my hearth, and Serafina’s magical well would be all mine again.
And when the kill strike came, and come it would, a queen would already be dancing in their king’s blood.