White Hot Page 58
He hadn’t just said that.
I was in love with Connor Rogan. And he was in love with me.
I got up and walked toward him. A step. Another step. One more, and I was in his personal space, standing too close. He towered above me. Barely an inch of space separated us. I raised my chin and looked into his eyes. I saw cold determination and nothing else. He was keeping it all hidden.
He wanted me badly enough to kill his friend to save me, but he’d told me I was a Prime. He was telling me to become a House now, fully convinced that he was severing any hope for a relationship at the root, because he believed it to be in my best interests. Being a Prime had ruled his life and he thought that becoming one would trump everything else for me.
“If you had a child, somebody like Matilda, and that child wasn’t a Prime despite all the proper genetics, would you still love that child?”
“Of course.”
“Would you protect her and take care of her? Would you teach her and try to make sure she has a happy life?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know.”
His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
“It means you won’t kill Augustine, Rogan. You will let me handle it.”
His magic spun out, surging in a wild typhoon, potent enough to send you screaming. It twisted around us and met the cold wall that was my power. The line of his jaw hardened. That’s right. This is me not cracking under your pressure.
Power suffused his voice. The dragon was staring me straight in the face, his eyes full of fire and scorched earth. “And why would I do that?”
“Because killing your friend would hurt you and I wouldn’t like that.”
His magic raged, but mine persevered. I held his gaze.
“Respect my wishes, Rogan. And I’ll respect yours.”
I turned on my heel and walked out, straight through the torrent of his magic warping the reality around us.
Chapter 12
I needed power. When you were a mage, there was only one way to bump up your power reserve. Which was why I walked into Grandma Frida’s motor pool carrying a box of chalk and my arcane circle book. She saw my outfit of spandex shorts and a sport bra and her eyebrows crept up. I would’ve stripped naked if I could to maximize the power gain, but my room and bathroom were the only places that allowed me to parade around in the nude. My room had a bumpy bamboo floor that wouldn’t take the chalk well, and my bathroom had tile. My circlework wasn’t anything to write home about to begin with, and I wanted a level surface.
I picked a spot in the corner out of the way and opened the book to the charging circle page. It looked complicated enough to break my brain. Greater Houses combined the charging circles with a special ritual called the Key, perfected with each new generation. I had watched Rogan perform it once. He had drawn a constellation of arcane circles on the motor pool’s floor and moved between them with lethal grace, his hands striking like a weapon, his kicks breaking bones of invisible opponents, as his body absorbed the magic. I had no House and no Key, so I would stick to the single charging circle. I had tried it once before and it worked.
I crouched and began drawing on the concrete floor. It would be tempting to use tools, but every source I ever consulted said that using anything except chalk and a firm hand would diminish the power of circle. Whether it was true or just a magic legend didn’t matter. I couldn’t afford to take chances. I had called Augustine and set our meeting for eight o’clock. It would take me half an hour to get there, so if I started now, I could get at least eight hours of charge. The benefits of charging tapered off with each hour you spent in a circle, and eight hours would nicely top me off.
The blue Honda was parked in the middle of the motor pool and Grandma Frida was messing with its engine.
“Whose car is this?”
“Yours,” she said. “Your not-boyfriend’s people dropped it off. There is a note.” She handed me a small card.
I opened it. Sorry about the Mazda.
“Are you going to pitch a fit about it and demand that he takes it back?” Grandma squinted at me.
“No. Maybe later.” I’d need a car this evening.
I crouched, trying to meticulously replicate the design from the page on the floor. Ugh. It looked like a five-year-old was drawing it. Why the hell was it so complicated anyway? More importantly, why hadn’t I learned the circlework years ago?
“So, how is it going with Mad Rogan?” Grandma Frida asked, wiping her hands with a towel.
“Good.” A circle inside a circle inside a circle . . . Kill me, somebody.
“You’re still fighting?”
“No.”
Three circles on the outside. Three smaller circles on the inside.
“You’re concentrating so hard I can see the steam coming out of your ears.”
“Mhm.”
“Have you done the deed?”
I paused my drawing and looked at her. Really?
Grandma Frida held the towel between me and her like a shield. “Whoa, the stare.”
I went back to drawing.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I’ll be happy when everyone who is trying to kill us is dead.”
“You sound like him.” Grandma Frida’s voice faltered. “Nevada, Penelope has been up in her crow’s nest for an hour. She barely said two words to me this morning and she looks like she is preparing for a funeral. Now you look like you need to punch something. Honey, what’s wrong?”
What’s wrong? That’s a great question. Rogan is in love with me, but he doesn’t want to act on it because I’m a Prime who will sooner or later form her own House. My mother has been lying to me for years and I don’t even know if all of those times she and Dad urged me to hide my talent was for my benefit or just so we wouldn’t be discovered by my other, psychotic, grandma. She’s coming to town, and both Rogan and my mother want to murder Augustine. We know David Howling helped kill Nari, but we don’t know where he is and we don’t have the evidence to attack his co-conspirator. And tonight I have to convince the one person who spends all of his time trying to take advantage of me that it’s in his best interest to let me screw around in his psyche. Other than that, things are great.
“I’m just tired,” I said. “I have some things I need to do tonight.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I almost snapped, You don’t have to, but her bright blue eyes were so filled with worry that I bit that reply back before it even started. I wouldn’t be mean to my grandmother.
“Is there anything I can do?” Grandma asked.
“I would take a hug,” I said.
Her face fell. “Okay, now I’m really worried.”
“Do I get a hug or not?”
Grandma Frida opened her arms. I came over and hugged her, inhaling the familiar comforting scent of machine oil, and for a short moment I turned five and the world was simple and bright. She patted my back gently. “I put a new computer guidance system into Romeo. You just tell me who to shoot, okay?”
“Okay.” If only I could fix my problems with Romeo. My life would be so easy.
Someone stood outside of my circle. I opened my eyes slowly. A sheen of sweat slicked my body. The inside of the circle steamed slightly, as if I was in a sauna. Matilda crouched by the line of chalk. Her menagerie of pets sat around her, the cat and the raccoon on one side, and Bunny on the other.
We didn’t say anything. We just looked at each other.
Matilda patted Bunny. He got up and padded away, his claws clicking on the hard floor. A few moments later he returned, carrying a small pink sleeping bag. Matilda straightened it out, climbed into her bag at the very edge of the circle, and curled up, looking at me with her big brown eyes. The animals lay down by her, the cat and raccoon by her feet and the big Doberman on the other side of her. She stretched one hand toward the circle, close but not touching the fragile chalk line, and watched me.
For a long while we stayed that way until her eyes closed and she fell asleep.
The next time I opened my eyes, Cornelius walked into the room. A woman followed him, short but wearing high heels, her hair the same silvery blond as his. A shimmering dress, dark grey with a bateau neckline, sheathed her trim figure. Expertly applied makeup highlighted her soft brown eyes and the sharp arches of her eyebrows. Two black panthers followed her on velvet paws.