“I’ll spank you later.” He was a crappy father. The kid talking like that. And what did he mean?
Fletcher laughed, and Mason thought he might finally be able to locate his soul without any angelic help. Maybe humans felt it all the time. His was in agony. All he wanted was Fletcher. In fact, all he’d ever really wanted was Fletcher, even before the kid existed.
A man’s voice in the background. The tutor, Mason guessed.
“Love you, Dad. Mañana.”
“Love you, too, kid.”
Mason held the silent phone for a while, his senses numb. His heart was blasted to pieces.
He encrypted Cari’s Umbra file and his Discovery Report with his own personal key, and prepped a quick e-mail to Webb. Attached the file. Hit SEND.
Chapter Seven
Cari looked out a front parlor window, across the rolling lawn, and into the sycamore trees that blocked a direct view of the house from the road and its encampment of the magic-obsessed. But she saw nothing. Shock had wiped her senses, even locked out the fae, and all that was left was the oh, please, no that had been her first words when she’d taken the call from Kaye Brand. Mason, who was just upstairs, had been unreachable.
Erom Vauclain and his father, Salem Vauclain, were dead.
It would be Erom.
He’d come to see her because she’d let him. He had come to make their union official, as they’d discussed many a time over the past few months. Dolan and Vauclain Sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g. Then she’d refused him, surprising even herself.
Scarlet and her stepsisters hadn’t said a word when they’d heard. They’d been careful with her, too careful, gazes askance.
And they didn’t have to say anything. Cari knew already. This was her fault. She never should’ve invited him to come. Or should’ve kept him here after. She was so glad, glad to almost weeping, that she’d slept and was strong enough to keep the rush of Shadow at bay, to push Maeve away, because she had to have herself together to face Francis Vauclain, Erom’s brother.
Erom had died because of her. His father, too, the great, near-immortal Salem, whom Erom had joked would never die and give Francis the satisfaction of Vauclain House. Francis must be mad with grief to lose so much so fast. He’d hate Dolan now, and her in particular. And she didn’t blame him. Erom had had so much life before him. He’d been so smart, so sharp, so ready to take his own piece of the world, independent from House expectations.
She heard the footsteps of a heavy, long stride. Masculine. And turned to the door.
Mason leaned in, his leather duffle bag in hand. “You ready?”
He didn’t look away from her. Didn’t let his eyes slide, though he must have known she and Erom had been a couple. All magekind had been expecting an announcement from their Houses.
She nodded, a slight upward jerk of her chin. “I am.”
They’d decided not to take his car this time, which had streaked across television screens everywhere and was now very recognizable. He’d drive her Audi, which Mason would have to admit was an acceptable form of transportation. Plus, it had dark glass, so that no one could see inside.
But all he said when he saw the luxury vehicle was, “You depend on the car to do too much.”
They’d have to get past the small encampment of humans outside her wards. She was sure news and websites would report that a car had left Dolan House. There was no helping that. Mason would have to lose any daring followers on their way. He’d already assured her that he could.
“I depend on the car to drive,” she answered.
“No. You depend on the GPS for directions, instead of reading a map and knowing where you’re going. You depend on buttons to roll down the windows and to adjust the mirrors. A button moves the seat. A computer controls the temperature. You have to ask the car to do stuff for you instead of telling it what to do.”
“And in winter the seats warm up, all by themselves.” Cari found herself relaxing. Sparring with Mason made her feel better. Who woulda thought?
He gave her a deadpan look to show her how unimpressed he was—discussion over—and opened the door for her to get in.
When he got in the driver’s side, she looked over to see how he fared. She was pleased to see him suited to the silvers of her luxury vehicle. He’d inadvertently dressed for the role—black jeans, black collared shirt, one button undone, his shirtsleeves rolled up to midarm. He sat as if he owned the car. Or maybe he mastered every vehicle.
When she lifted the wards for them to move out onto the main road, he kept a steady forward creep. The humans banged in rhythm on the hood, roof, trunk, and windows of the car—No more Sha-dow! No more Sha-dow!—so loud that Cari winced. Cameras were lifted to show the viewing public they were leaving the property. And sure enough, there was that straight-backed older man, the one who had looked like a prophet, ringing his bell like a preacher calling for an angelic intervention. He had a poster this time: To save the world, you must die!
Regardless of what the Council wanted, Cari was going to have to make a decision about how to handle the mob. She was gripping her seat long after they left the last human running after them. “You think they’ll ever get tired and go away?”
“Will Shadow go away?” Mason shook his head. “I think the crowd will grow in proportion to the fear that people feel for their families and for the future. There will come a time when you won’t be able to get out the front gate.”
“The Dolan property has another exit.” She had staff making sure it was clear.
“They’ll find that one too, if they haven’t already.”
Panic rose, but Cari pushed Maeve down again.
Cari wanted just one voice in her head—her own. She could still hear the chants striking her brain. No more Shadow! Her father had warned her that this time was rapidly coming. She had just thought it was the type of “coming” that stayed on the horizon, a threat used to scare kids, never taken seriously.
Mason turned onto Concord Avenue.
As they left the mob behind, Cari forced her thoughts away from home and down the road. One thing at a time. The plague now. She’d been too late for her father, but Erom and Salem had died just yesterday. Francis should’ve called the Council immediately, but considering all he’d lost, Cari could understand the delay.
She knew the way to Vauclain House by memory, no GPS necessary, thank you. Twenty minutes into Boston, where Vauclain had a gorgeous Victorian brownstone, a turreted four stories of meticulous brick set back from Beacon.
Cari directed Mason to the arched portico at Vauclain House and told him to park there, as Erom had always done when they’d come down to his family’s seat. Staff usually took the car on to the garage.
She was tense, anticipating the recriminations she was about to receive. It couldn’t be helped now. She’d made a terrible mistake. The best thing that she could do was find the perpetrator of this sickness quickly. The Council would bring him or her to justice.
Cari knew that the Vauclain wards protected the building itself, rather than the property as a whole—such was city life. When staff didn’t immediately open the door, she pressed the intercom button to speak. “Cari Dolan and Mason Stray here on Council business.”
A moment’s silence, then, “The stray stays outside.” Francis himself.
Cari looked over at Mason, who was less than stray; he was human.
She pressed the button again. “The Council has designated us as a team, Francis.” What was she doing keeping Mason’s secret from one of her allies?
“He’s Brand’s insult in our time of sorrow,” Francis answered. “I won’t take it.”