He’s convinced I should tell them the truth, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he takes things out of my hands. But if they had a clue what was really going on, we’d end up at war with the ACW. And while Ipswitch is the biggest seat of Hekan power in the world, going up against the Council is an act of treason (something I keep trying to remind Declan of). Without absolute proof, and probably even with it, my parents would end up locked in a power struggle of epic proportions. And if that happens, there’s no guarantee how it will work out. Yes, my mom and dad are among the most powerful practitioners of Heka on the planet. But so are the Council members.
The only thing about the outcome I am sure of is that it wouldn’t be a fair fight.
So, no, I won’t let my family get pulled into this until I have no other choice. It kills me, already, all the agony that Declan has had to suffer through the years. Letting the Council get their hooks into anyone else that I care about is not going to happen. Not if I have any say in it.
I pop the cupcakes in the oven, set the timer. Start in on the batter for my chocolate chip brownies. And think back over my discussion with Declan. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should just step back and hope that whoever’s gunning for the Council gets them all. Hell, maybe we should help them. We could figure out who the corrupt Councilors are and then just take care of—
Horror sweeps through me as I realize what I’m thinking about. What I’m contemplating. It doesn’t make sense, not when I’ve been so determined to keep Declan from violence.
So where are the thoughts coming from? My stomach clenches, rolls. I press my hand to it, try to breathe through the nausea that isn’t really nausea. It’s something else, something darker. I don’t feel sick exactly, but I don’t feel normal, either. It’s like there’s something else creeping through me, a darkness whispering through my veins and staining everything it comes in contact with.
Before I can do anything with that knowledge, Travis sticks his head through the kitchen doorway. “Hey, Xan, couple more guys here to see you.”
“Who are they?”
“They didn’t give their names. But they’re determined to talk to you.”
I wait for more—more description, a few pithy observations, something—but Travis is strangely subdued. Not concerned, exactly, but not comfortable with this newest development, either.
His discomfort is what gets me moving. I quickly wash my hands and strip off my apron before heading to the front of the shop. If Travis is disconcerted, something major must be going on.
Two men in dark suits and sunglasses are standing next to the counter. They don’t look impatient, exactly, but they don’t look like they’re willing to wait much longer for me, either. Not that I’m surprised. After all, I know who they are the moment I lay eyes on them. They aren’t exactly subtle.
They’re members of the ACW’s version of the Secret Service—only a hell of a lot meaner and more powerful than the guys who guard the president. My parents have a few of them in their employ—less now that we’re adults and more able to take care of ourselves—but enough of them that I know that if they want to talk to me, I don’t have a choice. So much for Declan’s master plan of getting the hell out of ACW headquarters last night before anyone noticed we were there.
“Ms. Morgan, we’re going to have to ask you to come with us.”
That’s it. No identifying themselves. No asking if this is a convenient time. Just that flat, dead tone that matches their faces exactly—and refuses to take no for an answer. “Of course,” I tell them. “If you’ll give me a few minutes—”
“Now, Ms. Morgan.” The tall one tells me through clenched teeth.
“Excuse me.” Travis steps forward, goddess bless his protective little heart. “Is everything okay here?”
“I’m fine, Travis. These gentlemen are friends of my father.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy and I don’t blame him. If there are two men on the planet less likely for a sane father to sic on his daughter, I haven’t seen them. Neither, apparently, has Travis.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks, motioning with his head for me to step aside with him.
The short ACW guy—who bears a striking resemblance to old paintings I’ve seen of Napoleon—opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off with a look. They might be from the Council, but I am a princess of the most powerful Hekan coven in the world. I might be a princess about to be accused of murder, but I am still a princess.
He nods and I step aside with Travis. As I do, I wrack my brain about what to say—and how to say it. Travis is a savvy guy, one who knows me pretty well after working with me for the past couple of years. I don’t want him to see how tense I am about these guys, because he’ll feel honor bound to intervene and that’s the last thing I want. These guys play hardball, and while I know they’ll do their best to keep the whole witch thing under wraps—it’s ACW law, after all—they’ll have no problem doing whatever it takes to keep Travis from becoming a problem, either. I can’t let that happen.
“What do they want?” Travis demands the second we’re out of earshot of the others. “And don’t give me that bullshit about your father.”
“It’s fine. They’re private detectives. They work for my dad and they just want to go over a few things that happened last week.”
“They’re being awfully insistent for men on your father’s payroll.” Travis is too suspicious to just let it go that easily.
“Yeah, well, my dad is a results-oriented kind of guy. I’m sure he’s riding their asses.”
“Over what? I thought you said that Kyle guy was working alone?”
“He was,” I say to soothe. “But my dad’s overprotective. He wants to make sure nothing else is going on before he stops worrying about me over here in the big, bad city.” I put in a shrug for good measure, my version of what-can-I-do?
Travis laughs, exactly as I intended. Austin is growing by leaps and bounds, but the crime rate is still really low. Which is a good thing, as I don’t want to spend my life being compelled from one murder scene to the next. I can’t help but wonder about witches who have powers like mine and live in major cities like New York or L.A. or Houston. I don’t even want to imagine the horror of dealing with the sheer number of homicides in places like that.
“You sure you want me to let you leave with them?” he asks after a second.
I nearly laugh. Travis is an awesome guy—smart, inventive and with a wicked sense of humor—but he’s no match for the two men currently standing next to my cash register. They’d eat him for a midafternoon snack and barely even notice.
“I’ve got this,” I assure him. “I’m just going to get my purse from the back.”
My heart is pounding double time as I grab my bag. My cell’s tucked into the front pocket and I pull it out, fire off a quick text to Declan. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’d feel better if he at least had an idea of what was going on. But when I get back to the front, I see Travis on the phone—and the look on his face speaks volumes.
If I had to guess, I’d say he’s talking to Declan right now. And that he’s even less pleased than Travis is about my leaving with these guys.
“Can you tell me how long this interview is going to take?” I ask the agents as I approach them. “I have plans in a couple of hours.”
“It’ll take however long it takes, Ms. Morgan,” the tall one tells me.