Dedication
To the essential workers and medical personnel on the front lines of the COVID-19 pandemic. We are alive because of you.
Thank you.
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
By Ilona Andrews
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
The wolf was coming.
Lander Morton knew this because he’d invited the wolf into his home. His body man, Sheldon, had come to tell him the wolf was at the door and had gone to fetch him. Now the two of them were coming back, but Lander only heard one set of footsteps echo through the house.
He shifted in his wheelchair and took a long swallow of his bourbon. Fire rolled down his throat. His old guts would make him pay for it later, but he didn’t care. Some men were men, and others were wolves in human skin. He needed a human wolf for this job, and he would get one.
For the first time in the last three days he felt something other than crushing grief. This new emotion cut through the thick fog of despair, and he recognized it as anticipation. No, it was more than that. It was a heady mix of expectation, apprehension, and excitement tinged with fear. He used to feel like this years ago, when he was on the verge of closing a huge deal. It had been decades since he’d experienced this splash of adrenaline, and for a moment, he felt young again.
Sheldon appeared in the doorway of the study and stood aside, letting the other man enter. The guest took three steps inside and stopped, letting himself be seen. He was young, so young, and he moved with an easy grace that made Lander feel ancient. Strong, tall, handsome in that Mediterranean way, shaped by sun and salt water. When Felix’s boy grew up, he might look like that.
Pain lashed him, and Lander struggled with it.
His guest waited.
Lander looked at his face. There it was, in the eyes, the wolf looking back at him. Cold. Hungry.
About time he got here. No, he couldn’t say that. He had to be civil. He couldn’t fuck this up. “Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice.”
Sheldon stepped back into the hall and closed the doors. He would wait by them to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted.
“Please think nothing of it,” the guest said. “My condolences.”
Lander nodded to the bottle of Blood Oath Pact bourbon waiting on a corner of the desk. “A drink?”
The guest shook his head. “I don’t drink on the job.”
“Smart.” Lander splashed another inch of bourbon into his glass. He wasn’t sure if he was drowning his grief or building up liquid courage. If he failed to state his case and the man walked away . . . He couldn’t let him walk away.
“I knew your father,” Lander said. “I met him and your mother while I was over there making a deal for Carrara marble for the Castle Hotel. It was expensive as hell, but I wanted the best.”
The man shrugged.
Panic squirmed through Lander. Words came tumbling out. “They killed my son. They took his money, they used his knowledge and connections, and then they murdered him, and I don’t know why.”
“Do you care why?”
“Yes, but I’ve already hired someone for that.”
“So, what do you want from me?”
“I loved my son. He was smart, sharp, sharper than I ever was, and honest. People hate my guts, but everyone liked him because he was a good man. His wife, Sofia, died three years ago, and he took care of their kids by himself. A son and two daughters. The boy is the oldest, fourteen years old. I’ve had a stroke, and there’s cancer eating at me, but now I can’t croak for four more years. I’ve got to hold on until the boy is old enough to take over. I want those bastards to die!”
Lander clenched his fists. His voice had gone hoarse and some part of him warned him he sounded unhinged. But the hurt was too raw, and it bled out of him.
“I want them to suffer, and I want them to know why. They took my son from me and from his children. They’ve ruined my boy, my handsome, smart boy. Everything I built, everything he built, they think they can just rip it all away from me.” His voice dropped barely above a whisper, rough and dripping pain. “Kill them. Kill them for me.”
Silence filled the study.
Worry drowned Lander. Had he said too much? Did he sound too crazy?
“My mother remembers meeting you,” the guest said. “There is a photo of the three of you on the yacht. She was pregnant with me at the time. She said her morning sickness was unbearable and you told her that ginger ale was the best for upset stomachs. There was no ginger ale to be had so you ordered a case of it from Milan by courier.”
The guest stepped up to the desk, splashed a finger of bourbon into the second glass, and raised it. “To your son.”
He drained the glass in one swallow and Lander saw the wolf again, staring at him from within the man’s soul.
“Does this mean you’ll take the job?”
“Yes.”
The relief was almost overwhelming. Lander slumped in his chair.
“I reviewed your situation prior to my visit,” the guest said. “It will take time and money. It will be complicated, because it has to be done right.”
“Whatever it takes,” Lander said. He felt so tired. He’d done it. He could look at Felix’s gravestone now and he could promise his son that revenge was coming.
“The proof of their guilt must be irrefutable.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Lander said. “You’ll have your proof. I only hire the best.”
Chapter 1
“House Baylor Investigative Agency,” I shouted. “Holster your weapons and step away from the monkey!”
The orange tamarin monkey, about the size of a large squirrel, stared at me from the top of the lamppost, silhouetted against the bright blue sky of a late afternoon. The two men and a woman under the post continued to grip their guns.
All three wore casual clothes, the men in khakis and T-shirts, the woman in white capris and a pale blue blouse. All three were in good shape, and they held their guns in nearly identical positions, with their barrels pointing slightly down, which marked them as professionals who didn’t want to accidentally shoot us. Given that none of us had drawn weapons yet, they must have felt they had the upper hand. Sadly for them, their assessment of their personal safety was wildly off the mark.
Next to me, Leon bared his teeth. “Catalina, I really don’t like it when people point guns at me.”
Neither did I, but unlike Leon, I would be highly unlikely to shoot each of them through the left eye “for symmetry reasons.”
“Montgomery International Investigations,” the older of the men announced. “Pack it in and head back to the mystery machine, kids.”
Usually Augustine’s people wore suits, but chasing monkeys through the sweltering inferno of Houston’s July called for a more casual attire. Leon and I had opted for casual as well. My face was dirty, my dark hair was piled in a messy bun on top of my head, and my clothes wouldn’t impress anyone. Of the three of us, only Cornelius looked decent, and even he was drenched in sweat.
“You’re interfering with our lawful recovery,” I annou
nced. “Step aside.”
The female agent stepped forward. She was in her thirties, fit, with light brown skin and glossy dark hair pulled into a ponytail.
“You seem like a nice girl.”
You have no idea.
She kept going. “Let’s be reasonable about this before the testosterone starts flying. This monkey is the property of House Thom. It’s a part of a very important pharmaceutical trial. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but we have a certificate identifying the ownership of the monkey. I’ll be happy to let you verify it for yourself. You’re still young, so a word of advice, always get the proper paperwork to cover your ass.”
“Oh no she didn’t,” Leon muttered under his breath.
At twenty-one, most of my peers were either in college, working for their House, or enjoying the luxury carefree lifestyle the powerful magic of their families provided. Being underestimated worked in my favor. However, we’d been looking for the monkey for several days. I was hot, tired, and hungry and my patience was in short supply. Besides, she’d insulted my paperwork skills. Paperwork was my middle name.
“This monkey is a helper monkey, a highly trained service animal, certified to assist individuals with spinal cord injuries. She was snatched from her rightful owner during a trip to the doctor and illegally sold to your client. I have her pedigree report, immunization records, vet records, certificate from the Faces, Paws, and Tails nonprofit that trained her, a signed affidavit from her owner, a copy of the police report, and her DNA profile. Also, I’m not a nice girl. I am the Head of my House conducting a lawful recovery of stolen property. Do not impede me again.”
On my left Cornelius frowned. “Could we hurry this along? Rosebud is experiencing a lot of stress.”
“You heard the animal mage,” Leon called out. “Don’t we all want what’s best for the stressed-out monkey?”
The shorter of the men squinted at us. “Head of the House, huh? How do you even know this is the same monkey?”
How many golden lion tamarin monkeys did he expect to be running around in Eleanor Tinsley Park? “Rosebud, sing.”
The monkey raised her adorable head, opened her mouth, and trilled like a little bird.
The three MII employees stared at her. Here’s hoping for logic and reason . . .
“This proves nothing,” the woman announced.
As it happened so often with our species, logical reasoning was discarded in favor of the overpowering need to be right, facts and consequences be damned.
“What about now?” Leon asked. “Can I kill one? Just one. Please.”
Leon was extremely selective about shooting people, but the MII agents drew on me and Cornelius, and his protective instinct kicked into overdrive. If they raised their guns another two inches, they would die, and my cousin was doing his best deranged rattlesnake act to keep that from happening.
Leon wagged his eyebrows at me.
“No,” I told him.
“I said please. What about the kneecaps? I can shoot them in the kneecaps, and they won’t die. They won’t be happy, but they won’t die.”
“No.” I turned to Cornelius. “Is there any way to retrieve her without hurting them?”
He smiled and looked to the sky.
Cornelius Maddox Harrison didn’t look particularly threatening. He was white and thirty-one years old, of average build and below average height. His dark blond hair was trimmed by a professional stylist into a short but flattering cut. His features were attractive, his jaw clean shaven, and his blue eyes were always quiet, calm, and just a little distant. The three MII agents took one look at his face and his badass ensemble of light khaki pants and white dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and decided they had nothing to worry about. Next to him, dark haired, tan, and lean, Leon radiated menace and kept making threats, so they judged him to be the bigger risk.
“This has been fun and all,” the older MII agent said. “But playtime is over, and we have an actual job to do.”
A reddish-brown hawk plummeted from the sky, plucked the monkey from the pole, swooped over the agents, and dropped Rosebud into Cornelius’ waiting hand. The monkey scampered up Cornelius’ arm and onto his shoulder, hugged his neck, and trilled into his ear. The chicken hawk flew to our left and perched on the limb of a red myrtle growing by the sidewalk.
“Well, shit,” the woman said.
“Feel free to report this to Augustine,” I told them. “He has my number.”
And if he had a problem with it, I would smooth it over. Augustine Montgomery and our family had a complicated relationship. I’d studied him with the same dedication I used to study complex equations, so if he ever became a threat, I could neutralize him.
The older of the men gave us a hard stare. His firearm crept up an inch. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I snapped my Prime face on. “Leon, if he targets us, cripple him.”
Leon’s lips stretched into a soft, dreamy smile.
People in the violence business quickly learned to recognize other professionals. The MII agents were well trained and experienced, because Augustine prided himself on quality. They looked into my cousin’s eyes and knew that Leon was all in. There was no fear or apprehension there. He enjoyed what he did, and given permission, he wouldn’t hesitate.
Then they looked at me. Over the past six months I’d become adept at assuming my Head of the House persona. My eyes told them that I didn’t care about their lives or their survival. If they made themselves into an obstacle, I would have them removed. It didn’t matter what I wore, how old I was, or what words I said. That look would tell them everything they needed to know.
The tense silence stretched.
The woman whipped out her cell phone and turned away, dialing a number. The two men lowered their guns.
Oh good. Everyone would get to go home.
Augustine’s people marched toward the river, the shorter man in the lead, and turned right, heading for the small parking lot where I had parked Rhino, the custom armored SUV Grandma Frida had made for me. They gave us a wide berth. We watched them go. No reason to force another confrontation in the parking lot.
We’d been looking for Rosebud for five days straight, ever since Cornelius took the case. Her owner, a twelve-year-old girl, was so traumatized by the theft, she’d had to be sedated. Finding the little monkey had trumped the rest of our caseload. We had accepted this job pro bono, because snatching a service animal from a child in a wheelchair was a heinous act and someone had to make it right.
Scouring Houston in hundred-degree heat looking for a tiny monkey took a lot of effort. I had barely managed five hours of sleep in the last forty-eight, but every bit of my sweat would be worth it if I could see Maya hug her monkey. My Monday was looking up.
Cornelius smiled again. “I do so love happy endings.”
“Happy ending for you, maybe,” Leon grumbled. “I didn’t get to shoot anybody.”
First, we would deliver Rosebud to Maya, and then I would go home, take a shower, and then a long, happy nap.
Cornelius shook his head. “Your reliance on violence is quite disturbing. What happens when you meet someone faster than you?”
My cousin pondered it. “I’ll be dead, and it won’t matter?”
Talon suddenly took to the air with a shriek, swooping over Buffalo Bayou River. Leon and Cornelius stopped at the same time. Cornelius frowned, looking at the murky waters to the left of a large tree.
Directly in front of us, a narrow strip of mowed lawn hugged the sidewalk. Past the grass, the ground sloped sharply, hidden by tall weeds all the way to the river that stretched to Memorial Parkway Bridge in the distance.
The river lay placid. Not even a ripple troubled the surface.
I glanced at Leon. A second ago his hands were empty. Now he held a SIG P226 in one hand and a Glock 17 in the other. It gave him thirty-two rounds of 9 mm ammunition. He only needed one round to make a kill.
“What is it?” I asked quiet
ly.
“I don’t know,” Leon said.
“The hawk is scared,” Cornelius said.
The surface of the river was still and shining slightly, reflecting the sunlight like a tarnished dime.
The distance in Cornelius’ eyes grew deeper. “Something’s coming,” he whispered.
We had no reason to hang around and wait for it. “Let’s go.”
I turned right and sped up toward our vehicles. Leon and Cornelius followed.
Ahead the shorter of the MII agents was almost to the lot. The woman trailed him, while the taller agent brought up the rear.
A green body burst through the weeds. Eight feet long and four feet tall, it scrambled forward on two big muscular legs, dragging a long scaly tail fringed with bright carmine fins. Another fin—this one bloodred and crested with foot-long spikes—thrust from its spine. Its head could have belonged to an aquatic dinosaur or a prehistoric crocodile—huge pincher-like jaws that opened like giant scissors studded with conical fangs designed to grab and hold struggling prey while the beast pulled them under. Two pairs of small eyes, sunken deep into its skull, glowed with violet.
This didn’t look like anything our planet had birthed. It was either some magic experiment gone haywire or a summon from the arcane realm.
We would need bigger guns.
The beast rushed across the grass. The taller MII agent was directly in its path.
“Run!” Leon and I screamed at the same time.
The man whipped around. For a frantic half second he froze, then jerked his gun up, and fired at the creature. Bullets bit into the beast and glanced off its thick scales.
The two other MII agents pivoted to the beast and opened fire. I sprinted to Rhino and the combat shotgun inside it. Leon dashed after me, trying to get a better angle on the creature. Cornelius followed.
Augustine’s people emptied their magazines into the beast. It plowed through them, knocking them aside. Purple blood stained its sides, but the wounds barely bled, as if the bullets had merely chipped its scales.
The beast’s gaze locked on me. It ignored the agents and hauled itself toward me, two massive paws gouging the turf with red claws.
Emerald Blaze Page 1
