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.”