Chapter 21 Wickett #3
“Locum,” she whispered, her hands moving in precise patterns above the blade.
Water rose from the vial in thin streams, coiling around the dagger like serpents.
The magic hummed through the room, and I had to grit my teeth to bear it.
The magic the witches carried was just wrong.
Too powerful, too accessible. Syneca’s eyes closed, her breathing deep and measured as she poured power into the spell.
The water spun faster, forming a sphere around the blade. Inside it, shapes flickered into streets, buildings, shadows that might have been people.
Then the sphere collapsed.
Water splashed across the floor, the magic dissipating like steam. Syneca opened her eyes, breathing hard.
“It’s not working. Either the connection isn’t strong enough, or... or she’s blocking the spell somehow.”
My father’s hand moved to the back of his neck, rubbing it once before he caught himself. His eyes closed for just a moment—a breath, maybe two—before he opened them again, his familiar icy mask back in place.
I wasn’t concerned. But I was making a mental note. My father didn’t show weakness. Ever. Not in front of subordinates, not in front of enemies, certainly not in front of witches he was trying to intimidate.
“Interesting,” he said finally. He waved a dismissive hand. “You’re all dismissed. Return to Chancellery House and await further instructions.”
Everyone began filing toward the door.
“Wickett. Stay.”
I stopped mid-step while the others continued out. Calder glanced back once, a pointed look crossing his scarred face as he closed the door.
My father returned to his desk, picking up his stylus and returning to whatever document he’d been working on. The silence stretched. One minute. Two. The familiar game.
Finally, without looking up: “Report on the fury-born’s death. Every detail.”
I recited with no mistakes, keeping my voice level and factual. “Eda Mire was found face down; a single blade wound to the spine. No defensive wounds, no signs of struggle. The kill was professional. One strike, perfectly placed. Death was instantaneous.”
His stylus scratched across parchment, recording data without reaction.
I continued. “The weapon was Vitoria Nindle’s second dagger, matching the one used in the attempted murder of the Oracle. Based on blood temperature and rigor, time of death was approximately two hours before we arrived.”
More scratching. More silence.
“The water witch showed unusual grief for the Mistress of Blades,” I added, immediately regretting the observation when my father’s eyes lifted to meet mine before sliding to the door.
“Emotional attachment to targets suggests compromise.” Not a question. “You vouched for her at the gate.”
“She’s oath-bound. Her death would weaken our hunt.” I kept my voice steady, professional. “It’s tactically unassailable.”
“Your hunt,” my father corrected. “I have more reliable assets pursuing the Phoenix through proper channels. Your group will serve as a visible distraction while other hunters work.” His casual dismissal of our sworn mission hit hard.
Perhaps I would have been more useful on the other team.
“The witch tried to refuse the search protocol today.”
“Yes, sir.”
“She has something to hide. When desperation forces her secrets to surface, you’ll report back. Use whatever methods necessary.”
He returned to his ledger, dismissal clear in every line of his body.
I moved toward the door, hand already reaching for the handle.
“Your mother asked about you.”
I froze.
“Wanted to know if you’d grown strong.” His voice remained conversational, never looking up from his papers. “I told her you had. Don’t make a liar of me by showing weakness for witches.”
My hand tightened on the door handle until my knuckles went white. Thirty-four years of training kept my voice level. “Yes, sir.”
I exited into the corridor where the other Venatori waited. Straightening my spine, I walked past without acknowledgment, but my mind kept circling back to red hair in firelight, and to the kind of strength that chose principle over safety.
I imagined my mother had that kind of strength once.
Before my father broke it.
We walked back to Chancellery House as a group, and Lucette finally broke the silence halfway across the compound yard.
“We’re bound to kill Vitoria Nindle.” She used the full name deliberately, I noticed.
Not ’the Phoenix.’ Humanizing the target.
Smart. It’d be foolish to make that connection seconds before the kill.
“Or we die. That’s the only thing that matters now. ”
“The book was planted, wasn’t it?” Pip asked suddenly. “We would have seen it last night. Why didn’t you say something?”
Lucette’s smile was thin. “To what purpose? The Magistrate already knew he was lying. So did his hunters. Who would I have been trying to convince?” She paused. “Tiberius Veyne is trying to control the outcome of this mission—frame Vitoria as comprehensively as possible.”
“He’s not framing her,” I hissed. “He’s reinforcing a case that has already closed. There’s a difference.”
Lucette turned to study me. “By manufacturing evidence?”
I didn’t answer.
She moved to Syneca’s side then, her voice dropping but still audible to the rest of us. “I no longer trust your Magistrate’s motives. My life depends on finding Vitoria Nindle. That’s all that matters here. It’s not about guilt. It’s about survival.”
“Agreed,” Pip said immediately, swooping toward Syneca’s shoulder.
They both looked at me. Waiting.
I said nothing. I never moved against my greater cause. That was my constant.
As we reached the third floor in Chancellery House and began breaking off toward our assigned rooms, Syneca paused at her door, looking back at me with those sharp blue eyes. “Enjoy watching my door, hunter. I’m sure that’s why daddy put you there.”
The barb landed precisely where she aimed. But what unsettled me more was the realization that I would be watching, and not entirely for the reasons my father assumed.
Her door closed with a soft click.
I stood in the empty hallway for a long moment. Everything about this hunt felt wrong. The convenient evidence. The theatrical condemnation. My father’s eager cruelty. And the planted journal no intelligent criminal would keep? He was getting carried away trying to prove a point.
I entered my room, methodically checking for surveillance. Found three new listening runes, as expected. One behind the headboard, one beneath the desk, one embedded in the window frame. I left them in place. Removing them would only imply I had something to hide.
I settled by the window where I could maintain watch of the grounds below. The courtyard. The Arch. The path that led into the heart of Grimora.
It didn’t matter which direction my father steered us. It didn’t even matter which direction we chose to go. The only thing that mattered at the end of this was the Phoenix’s blood. Twenty-nine days from now, there could be only one grave.