Diamond Fire: A Hidden Legacy Novella

by Ilona Andrews

  He hadn’t really answered my question.

  The path brought us to the front of the house. Two girls my age stood by the fountain, talking. One was tall and blonde, the other was curvier with dark, almost black hair. A third girl, dressed in white, her brown hair braided over her left shoulder, sat on the rim of the fountain typing on her phone. The tall blonde was Gracia’s oldest daughter, Adriana; the one with very dark hair was either Samanta or Malina, one of Lucian and June’s daughters. They looked so similar, it was hard for me to tell them apart. The girl on the phone was Mikel and Maria’s daughter. Like her mother, Elba dressed in white and liked gold jewelry.

  Adriana and Samanta—I was 75 percent sure she was Samanta—waved. Adriana noticed me and her eyes narrowed. Samanta looked uncomfortable.

  “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to talk to the help?” Elba asked without looking up from her phone.

  Well, hello to you too, Ms. Bitch. I smiled.

  “Does your dad know that?” Xavier asked. “How many people has he paid off now—is it three or four? We’ve all lost count.”

  “Que te folle un pez ,” Elba said.

  I hope you get fucked by a fish? What did that even mean? Their Spanish was different from what I was used to in Texas, but I understood it well enough.

  Xavier put his arm around me and I had to stop myself from driving my elbow into his ribs. I did not like to be touched. Especially by people I didn’t know. He did it in a protective way, but I still didn’t like it.

  “Don’t mind her,” Xavier said.

  We crossed the courtyard back to the west wing. My tablet chimed. I glanced at it. The cameras had come online.

  “I have to go.”

  “Really?” Xavier ducked a little to look at my face. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I had a nice time,” he said. He sounded like he meant it. Maybe he did.

  The thing was, I kind of had a nice time too. Sure, he said some questionable stuff, but he tried to have an actual conversation with me, and that didn’t happen every day. And he tried to protect me from his cousin. I didn’t need any help, but it was kind of endearing. Also, he told me that his grandmother and Mikel had something to hide.

  “I had a nice time too,” I said.

  “Then we’ll do this again, right?” he asked. “Say yes, Catalina.”

  He said my name. “Yes. We’ll do it again.”

  I went inside, ducked into one of the conference rooms across from the suites, and checked the feed from the cameras one by one. All of the suite cameras were functioning. I switched to the hummingbird cameras outside. One, two, three, four . . . nine? There should only have been six. I tapped the feed from camera seven. It showed a sitting area on the west side, just outside the building. Camera eight covered the path on the east side from which Xavier and I just came. Camera nine was installed at the top of the fountain. Bern must have wanted additional coverage.

  Xavier was walking toward his cousins.

  My cell phone rang. I recognized the number. Valentina’s House Catering. Oh no. No, no, no. Arabella was in charge of the menu. If they were calling me, there was a problem.

  I answered the phone. “Catalina Baylor.”

  Valentina’s voice sounded in my ear. “We’ve had a tiny, little, itsy-bitsy problem. Someone broke into our restaurant.”

  Crap. “I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter 5

  Valentina’s House Catering was in New Braunfels, a very German town in the middle of Texas. We had interviewed larger catering firms from Austin and San Antonio, but Mrs. Rogan decided she trusted Valentina’s and so that’s who we went with.

  I parked in front of an old brick building. Leon got out of the passenger seat. Arabella was still in school, and today she was crash-writing a two-thousand-word essay, which was assigned to her a month ago and which she had started this morning. Leon was my battle buddy for this mission and he was thrilled.

  “Cake shop,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  Leon let out a long-suffering sigh. “Are you sure that I’ll be enough? These places can get pretty rough. You walk into a cake shop and then some gunslinger tells you, ‘You ain’t from around here, partner,’ and the next thing you know, you’re in the middle of the street, your horse is dead, the bad guy’s got your girl by her hair, and you’re down to one bullet.”

  “What is going on in your head?”

  “It’s a dark, lawless place, Catalina. So dark.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s a small restaurant and bakery. Most of their money comes from catering, but they do have a small cupcake shop about two blocks down. Four full-time employees, besides the owner. They hire waitstaff for large events.”

  “So, we’re hiring someone, and they’re hiring someone? Who is screening the waitstaff?”

  “We are hiring the waitstaff this time,” I told him. Rogan had given me a nearly unlimited budget and I made sure to hire waiters with great references. “This is the only place Mrs. Rogan trusts to cater, so we did what we could to secure the location. Rogan’s people installed an excellent alarm and security system.”

  “I thought you said they discovered the break-in this morning.” Leon eyed the building.

  “Yes, they did.”

  “So, they didn’t arm their excellent alarm system?”

  “Let’s find out.”

  Most of the building inside was taken up by a large kitchen. Long metal prep tables stretched across the floor in two rows. On the left two industrial-size refrigerators stood against the wall, along with three large sinks, a dishwasher, and a row of ovens. Next to them a door led to a narrow room with two equally large freezers. Straight ahead, directly opposite the entrance, another door offered access to a large pantry. A row of windows in the wall on our right flooded the space with natural light. It was a clean, uncluttered space. The air smelled faintly of sour wine.

  Valentina jumped up from her chair when we entered. A white woman in her midthirties, her short blond hair had a streak of wild purple in it. Her glasses kept sliding down her nose and she kept pushing them back up. Red blotches stained her cheeks. She was clearly stressed out and on the verge of tears. Her XO, Carlos, a solidly built man in his fifties, with black hair and bronze skin, stood next to her, hands on his hips.

  “They broke in last night,” Valentina said. “Three of them in dark hoodies.”

  Leon nodded at the first window on our right, with the windowsill stained with grey fingerprint powder. “Is that how they came in?”

  “Yes,” Carlos said. “We open the windows a lot to air the kitchen out.”

  “Did the alarm not go off?” I asked.

  Both Valentina and Carlos looked like they wanted to fall through the floor.

  “The wireless sensor on that window keeps going off randomly,” Carlos said.

  “Why didn’t you notify us that the sensor was malfunctioning?” I asked.

  “It didn’t seem like a big deal. It’s a very small window. We usually bypass it,” Valentina said. “Otherwise it goes off in the middle of the night.”

  “It’s kids.” Carlos growled, his face turning dark red. “Probably tried the window, figured out we forgot to lock it, and crawled in. I bet it’s that idiot Hudson. Him and his sidekick are always in the park across the street. Up to no good. They sit in the park, drink beer all day, and look for trouble to get into. When I was their age, I had a job. I had responsibilities. I—”

  I had to cut him off before it turned into a full-blown lecture about kids these days. “What did they take?”

  Valentina grimaced. “Champagne. They took a case of it. Probably all they could carry. It’s heavy. And they smashed the rest.”

  “Two hundred and fifty bottles, two hundred and twenty dollars per bottle,” Carlos spat.

  Fifty thousand dollars’ worth of champagne. All gone.

  “Damn. Sucks for you,” Leon offered helpfully.

  Valentina looked green
.

  “Do you have the security footage?” I asked.

  A minute later, I watched three figures in dark hoodies with bandannas over their faces spray the security cameras with whipped cream, which they found in the fridge.

  “We don’t usually use canned whipped cream,” Valentina said. “The client had specifically requested it for her bachelorette party. We didn’t ask.”

  The sounds of champagne being smashed came from the screen. I glanced at Leon. He nodded.

  I rewound the recording. “Look. They get through the window and they go straight to the fridge. They knew that the window would be unlocked and bypassed, and they knew right where the whipped cream was.”

  “What are you implying?” Carlos asked. His eyes bulged. “I know everyone who works here. I vouch for everyone who works here.”

  Humans dealt with risk by pretending it didn’t exist. Even though thousands of people died every year in car accidents, we still got into our cars and drove every day. We built illusions of safety around ourselves and believed them or we would go insane.

  A home was one of those vital illusions. It was our shelter, the place where we let our guard down. Nothing bad was supposed to happen to you in your house. When our warehouse was attacked by mercenaries, it felt like my world was cracked open. It made me feel weak and helpless.

  Valentina and Carlos were feeling helpless now. The financial loss was crushing, but the violation of their kitchen was likely worse. This was a small business. The employees were probably more like family than hired help. They spent a lot of time together in this kitchen, making delicious food and beautiful cakes. Someone had smashed all those happy memories to pieces. The idea that one their own might have done it was too much.

  “Are there any bottles left?” Leon asked.

  Valentina reached under the counter and pulled a heavy bottle out. Leon grabbed the bottle by the neck and smashed it against the wall. The bottle held.

  “Hey!” Carlos yelled.

  I held up my hand. “We’ll reimburse you.”

  It took Leon two more tries before the bottle finally broke.

  Panting a little, he held the bottle out to me. “Two hundred, like this?”

  I turned to Valentina. “If you’re just kids breaking in to steal some wine, you’d grab a few bottles and get out. This took a lot of time and effort. The question is why.”

  “Yes, why? Why would anybody do this?” Valentina asked.

  “Two possible reasons,” I said. “First, they were covering up the sound of what they were doing, and second, they counted on you concentrating on the loss of the wine. Our contract with you specified that you were to call us immediately in case of any complications. Why didn’t you call us?”

  “We called the police,” Carlos said.

  “You don’t understand,” Valentina said, her face plum red now. “We came in and there were piles of glass on the floor. All this wine, the smell . . .”

  And she had wanted to clean it up as soon as possible, to erase the desecration of their beautiful kitchen.

  “It’s misdirection.” Leon nodded at the broken glass on the floor. “Smashed bottles, broken glass, expensive wine on the floor, everything smells, everything is stained and sticky. You see this and if nothing else appears disturbed, you just concentrate on cleaning things up.”

  I looked at Valentina and Carlos, and my insides tried to squeeze themselves into a tight painful ball. There were things I had to say now, harsh and unkind things, and I had to say them to two people who were already desperate and traumatized. I felt mean and shitty. But it was my job. I promised I would do it.

  “You’re in breach of contract,” I said. “You were hired by House Rogan. This is House business. Normal rules do not apply here. We were crystal clear when we went over the contract with you. My sister and I sat at this table and read the contract to you paragraph by paragraph and you said you understood and you signed it. First, you failed to set the alarm.”

  Carlos sucked in a lungful of air, about to say something, but Valentina put her hand on his arm.

  “Second, you failed to notify us of the break-in. The contract specifically spells out that we are to be informed in the event of any problems prior to any contact with law enforcement, unless it’s a life-threatening emergency. Third, you cleaned up, destroying the evidence.”

  Nobody said anything.

  Valentina bit her lip. “If you cancel everything now, we will be ruined.”

  I knew exactly what she was thinking. She was looking into the future and seeing the death of her business. And I was the person who decided if it lived or died. I had never wanted to teleport more in my entire life. If I could, I would have run away and pretended this never happened.

  “Is there anything we can do to fix this?” Valentina asked.

  “It depends,” I said. “I would like access to your computer. I will be able to tell you more depending on what we find. Under the terms of our contract, I cannot compel you to grant me access. You can refuse.”

  “And if we do?” Carlos asked.

  I raised my hands. “We walk away.”

  “Go ahead.” Valentina waved at a desktop in the corner by a small desk.

  I activated the recording function on my phone. “This is Catalina Baylor. Today is April 20th. I am here with Valentina Krueger, owner of Valentina’s House Catering. May I have access to your business computer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  Leon headed for the desktop. His fingers flew over the keyboard. “Did you shut the computer down before you left?”

  “Yes,” Valentina said. She sounded like she expected us to hit her with a baseball bat. “We shut it off every night before we leave.”

  “What was the last thing you worked on?” Leon asked.

  “Fishmonger list,” Valentina said.

  “Well,” Leon said. “Somebody turned it back on at the time of the break-in and accessed the Rogan Cake file.”

  Crap. I turned to Valentina and Carlos. “Can I have your cell phones, please? I don’t need you to unlock them, I just want you to put them on the table over there. And not touch them, until I give them back to you.”

  “Oh my God.” Valentina’s eyes got big. “They tampered with the cake. But it’s not even put together yet. We just started the sponges yesterday.”

  “Phones, please,” Leon said. His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was something in the way he said it that communicated that disobeying him was a very bad idea.

  Two phones landed on the metal table.

  “I would like you to go to the pantry and review your inventory. Do not touch anything. If something looks wrong, if it has been moved, or the lid is not on just right, tell me immediately. Please keep the pantry door open, so I can see you.”

  The two bakers went into the pantry. I dialed Rogan’s number. He answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

  “I believe someone poisoned your wedding cake. How would you like me to proceed?”

  In half an hour, Rogan’s troops, assigned to Mrs. Rogan’s house, arrived in two armored cars. New Braunfels was only half an hour from Mountain Rose, but it felt like it took them forever. I spent the time trying to figure out who might have wanted to poison Nevada’s cake. Rogan and Nevada had made plenty of enemies when they stopped a conspiracy by several prominent Houses to seize power in Texas. Most of these enemies were dead or in jail.

  When Primes killed someone in revenge, they wanted the whole world to know about it. They didn’t delegate. They wanted to look into your eyes as their magic choked the life out of you. Poison just seemed so mundane. And, because we had just become a House, none of the Primes could legally attack us for the next three years.

  Besides, a lot of Primes would be attending. The guest list read like the Powerful and Influential page on Herald. Whoever poisoned the cake would have killed members of Houston’s magical elite. There would be no place for them to hide. It didn’t feel like a politica
lly or financially motivated attempt. It felt like hate. Blinding hate, so powerful, it made you forget about your own safety.

  I had made a list of suspects. One name kept coming up. Someone who hated Rogan. Who was jealous, hateful, and reckless.

  Rivera was the first one through the door. Behind him came a woman in the loose fatigues a lot of Rogan’s employees wore. A baseball cap was pulled down tightly on her head. The rest of the crew secured the perimeter, spreading out through and outside of the bakery.

  The woman took off her ball cap. She was about my age, redheaded, with skin so pale, it almost glowed. One of my grandfathers was black, and we weren’t sure about the other. Both of my grandmothers were white, and all the genes mixed together gave me a naturally tan skin and dark brown hair. A lot of my friends were paler than me, but this girl had epic levels of paleness. It’s like she didn’t even know what the sun was. How did she survive in Texas?

  “Runa Etterson of House Etterson, Magus Venenata.” She stuck her hand out at me.

  Venenata was Latin for poison. Runa was a poison mage and she was smiling at me and holding her hand out. She could probably poison me by just breathing in my direction.

  “Catalina Baylor. Of House Baylor.” I shook her hand.

  She grinned at me. “Aha, took you a second. Don’t worry, I only poison random strangers on Tuesdays.”

  “Today is Tuesday,” Leon said.

  “Oops. Well, that’s okay. You told me your name, so we’re not strangers. You should be safe.” She turned to Leon. “But I don’t know who you are. No promises.”

  “This is my cousin, Leon.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cousin Leon. So, where are the potentially poisoned goodies?”

  I led her to the refrigerators and opened the doors. Tubs of frosting and fondant in every color filled the shelves. Runa rubbed her hands together.

  “Come on, guys, don’t just stand there. Grab a spoon and let’s get busy.”

  Nobody said anything or moved.

  “What? How did you think this worked? That I would wiggle my nose and sniff out the poison? If only. No, you eat it and if you die, I can say, ‘Yes, it’s been poisoned.’”