“Okay. Okay. I can totally see that distinction. Gross as it is,” Rowan said.

  They headed toward a home office where a file of photos Rowan never wanted to think about again brought on a wave of exhaustion.

  On the way back to Die Mitte, Rowan said, “You’re going to be far more effective at discussing this with Elmer and Eduard. And I don’t want to scare Haddon any further, so I’ll let you do that too.”

  Clive gave her a suspicious look. Alice and David were in the back seat, both with phones pressed to their ears, ordering other people around for Rowan’s benefit.

  He asked quietly, “Why are you being so easy?”

  “I can go in and fuck them all up enough to finally spill but frankly, I don’t want to beat anyone else up tonight. I’m tired. I have a meeting with Genevieve at ten in the morning and since it’s just us two, I can admit I need the rest.”

  He turned the car toward home when the next ability to reverse their direction came. “Let me take you home.”

  * * *

  Across the city, Genevieve and Darius stood on top of a little hillock near the remains of the Procella mansion. “This was where they set the spell in motion,” she said.

  The police and bomb squad had cleared off, but the end of a bit of yellow caution tape flapped in the breeze. From their vantage point they could see the collapsed roof. With her othersight, Genevieve could detect the magics that had ignited the first of the cascade of spells that led to the mage bomb.

  “I see three different magical signatures,” Darius said quietly.

  “Yes, as do I. Some of it seems familiar but I can’t say off the top of my head who it could be. That I can rectify with a quick pass through some of our logs. However, I know who it isn’t. So those names can be removed from the list of witches powerful enough for a working of this magnitude and complication.”

  “This is why there are no high points that can see into our village. If they lived a lifestyle that got this sort of response, they most definitely should have worked far harder on their security.”

  The Dust Devils were organized into a group they called a Trick. And when they settled in a place, they tended to build or buy up/rent places in the same area and create a large space between themselves and the outside world. Those little communities were called villages.

  Genevieve lived smack dab in the middle of one and she could absolutely attest to feeling totally safe there.

  “They’ve lived here for years without any reports of problems like this. We checked law enforcement records. State, county, and city. Nothing. Nothing at the Conclave other than the financial crimes and stalking. What on earth did the Procellas do to draw this type of attention?” Genevieve shook her head.

  “Come on, then,” Darius told her twenty minutes later, after they’d viewed the property from a few other vantage points. “Let’s go home. I have some scented bath salts I can’t wait to smell on your skin.”

  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.