Chapter Nine
For the second time in two days, a man was taking Katherine’s seat.
They had moved to Sylvia’s office, and Silas had immediately sat in Katherine’s chair.
He was even worse than the ordinary from the day before, manspreading his long legs into the space where Katherine’s spare chair was meant to go.
She was inclined to drag it right over his feet, but after a glance from Sylvia—who was far too good at reading what Katherine was thinking—she took it around to the other side of the desk.
He’d only been there for ten minutes, but Silas Khatri had already turned Katherine into an awkward third wheel.
Sylvia had ended the Aestas meeting after Silas’ grand entrance, but Katherine could still hear the faint chatter of lingering coven members filtering in from the dining room.
Fiona and Tess had been tasked with clearing them all out.
It was one thing to have a gaggle of people around for Divakar’s visit, the highlight of which would have been a staid speech about the importance of caster maintenance.
It was another for them to see what looked like the start of a Noctis-sanctioned coup.
Which Katherine would get to bear witness to.
She’d been all set to wait outside, exchange pleasantries with coven members as she pushed them out the door and tried to stave off a panic attack.
But then Sylvia had asked her to join the meeting.
It was out of her realm of duties as Executrix, which meant that Sylvia had asked her as a friend.
An ally. Katherine did not take the responsibility lightly.
Sylvia leaned across her desk, her elegant fingers intertwining. “I’m sure you know, but since we’ve never been formally introduced, I’m Sylvia Page, head of Aestas, and this is Katherine Barnes, my Executrix. It’s very nice to meet you.”
Silas turned to Katherine, his hand outstretched.
He wanted her to shake it, she realized, after a supremely awkward moment in which she stared at his inexplicably well-shaped fingernails and wondered if he got manicures.
Katherine’s hands weren’t covered in dirt and calluses by any means, but Silas’ screamed privilege.
Katherine clasped his hand in her own. Of course his skin was that smooth.
She’d never had cause to think of someone as feeling like velvet before, but it was apt.
She managed to resist the urge to crush him in her grip, but she couldn’t resist giving him a smile that bordered on feral before letting go.
“It’s nice to meet both of you as well,” Silas said, annoyingly unfazed by what Katherine had been told was a very threatening expression. His voice reeked of money, measured and deep. He could have a very lucrative career in voiceovers, if he wanted. Film and TV too, with a face like that.
It wasn’t fair that a guy who was such a prick got to be so pretty.
“I apologize for showing up late,” Silas continued, grinning sheepishly. “I hate to admit it, but I actually got a bit lost. This neighborhood is very confusing.”
Katherine didn’t buy that for a second. Even if Silas hadn’t had magic, he had GPS. He showed up late because he wanted to make an entrance. To get people talking. To throw them off guard.
Sylvia, though, refused to be rattled, giving him a suitably charmed smile instead. “I’ve lived around here for thirty years and I still get lost myself.”
Silas let out a self-deprecating laugh, his wide shoulders shrugging. “Glad it’s not just me.”
“May I ask what happened to Divakar?” Sylvia said.
“I’d been looking forward to catching up with him.
” A blatant lie—after Divakar’s last visit, Sylvia had banned anyone from ever mentioning the topic of bird-watching again—but a good way to ask what the fuck Silas was doing here without having to directly ask what the actual fuck Silas was doing here.
“He’s fine,” Silas said. “Retired to Hawaii two months ago. My parents chose to pass his duties with our fellow covens along to me.”
Katherine bit the inside of her cheek. Divakar was Noctis’ Bookkeeper, a decidedly nonthreatening position. Silas, on the other hand, was Noctis’ Executor. An Executor was meant to collect evidence of misdeeds, to capture, to punish. Katherine should know—she was one.
Whatever Silas was doing here, it wasn’t good. Katherine’s leg started to twitch.
She knew that the change in position—and the fact that they had no warning about it—wasn’t lost on Sylvia either, but her mentor didn’t let a flash of alarm cross her face.
“Well, we’re very happy to answer any questions you have,” Sylvia said.
“We want to make your visit as smooth and easy as possible.”
This was usually the point where Divakar would mumble a few things about how the wards that protected Sunspot from curious ordinaries seemed fine, and how it seemed like the coven was fine, and how he’d write back in his report that it was all, you guessed it, fine.
Silas, though, reached into his pocket and pulled out his caster.
God, his caster. It was made out of thick mahogany, with gold inlaid in an ornate design across the handle.
Katherine would bet her apartment that it was upwards of two hundred years old.
It was probably worth a few thousand dollars too, based on its historical value alone.
She and Sylvia had picked out her caster at a pawn shop in Santa Monica for a whopping twelve bucks.
“I appreciate that,” Silas said. “I’ll just check the wards and make sure everything is up to snuff, and then we can see where we go from there.”
“Of course.” Sylvia’s voice was measured, but Katherine knew her well enough to pick up on the kernel of anxiety.
She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. If the wards weren’t as strong as they should be, Silas would have grounds to censure Sylvia.
If they were bad enough, he could even use it as reason to kick Sylvia out of her spot as the head of Aestas.
Katherine shuddered to think of what would happen if he put himself in charge.
Oak Grove would shut down and Lily would be back out on the street, just like the Noctis handbook demanded.
She shouldn’t have to worry about that. The magic Sylvia had gathered from the ordinary yesterday, plus her own reserves, should have been enough to fix everything. Unless Sylvia’s magic was waning more than Katherine thought.
Silas cut into his palm, then reached for Sylvia’s hand, the gesture proprietary.
Silas Khatri, Katherine imagined, did not have to ask for much.
His life had been easy. Born into privilege, educated at New York City’s best private schools, sailing through a BA at Princeton and an MBA at Columbia to an instant hire as a vice president at Khatri International.
This was a man who was used to things being given to him, and Sylvia’s palm—her blood, her pain—was no different.
Sylvia didn’t make him wait, pulling out her caster and cutting into her skin before unfurling her hand on top of his, the movement graceful.
Their palms met and Silas and Sylvia’s combined magic swirled through the air, forming into a miniature figure of Sunspot, floating in the air above Sylvia’s desk.
The existing wards glittered in a faint gold, extending from the edge of the parking lot into and throughout the building.
Silas pinched his fingers on different areas, zooming in before moving on.
The only indication he gave of his thoughts on the matter were quiet mms. It was like he was trying to ratchet up their anxiety.
After a few minutes, Katherine couldn’t stay quiet anymore. “How does it look?” she blurted.
Silas whirled toward her, and Katherine realized that those were the first words she’d said since he’d shown up at the coven.
His eyes met hers for a moment, long enough for her to notice the flecks of copper in the dark brown of his irises, then he stopped, blinked, and looked back at the model.
If she didn’t know any better, she might have thought Silas Khatri was considering flirting with her.
She’d like that. It’d be quite satisfying to reject him.
“Well,” he said. “The wards are fraying from lack of upkeep. There are a number of holes, which could allow an ordinary to sense something off about Sunspot. And there are even more spots that are weak enough that they could become holes to an ordinary with a strong desire to figure out what’s going on here, or a witch with the wrong intentions. ”
Katherine’s stomach dropped. She knew things were bad—all witches were born with a finite amount of power, and even exceptionally strong witches like Sylvia started to run out as they got older.
There was very limited information available on the subject, but some also thought that witches who were born unsettled ran out of power earlier in life than witches who were born settled, due to the amount of power they burned through in their youth.
Sylvia was extremely tight-lipped on the subject, but she’d never indicated that her powers were so far gone that there could be that many holes.
There were so many risks—an ordinary finding out about magic; a witch breaking into the spell library and taking something they weren’t supposed to take; hell, even an asshole like Joe breaking out of the holding cell and wreaking havoc.