Diamond Fire: A Hidden Legacy Novella

by Ilona Andrews

  “Turn to your right ahead ,” Bern said into my earpiece.

  I turned and stopped at the neat little table with two chairs. The grounds were full of these little nooks, pretty places to sit and enjoy the outdoors. I turned toward the path and concentrated, letting just a little of my magic through. It came sluggishly. I was still tired from yesterday. My books said I would get better with practice. I tried not to think about how I would get that practice.

  “Incoming in three, two, one.”

  Maria Ramírez stumbled onto the path. She wore a white sheath dress that had a modest neckline but left her tan shoulders and arms bare. A thick gold chain hung from her neck and a matching cuff bracelet encircled her forearm.

  I gave her a peek at my feathers and cast my shiny magic lure with my voice. “Would you care for a mimosa?”

  Maria froze. Her expression relaxed and then she started toward me. “I would love one.”

  We sat at the table and sipped our mimosas.

  “It’s peaceful here,” Maria said. “It’s nice.”

  “It is nice,” I said, saturating my words with more magic.

  “Have you seen my husband?” Maria asked. “He would like it here.”

  “No. Tell me about your husband. What kind of man is he?”

  “He’s gentle and smart. And I love him so much. That’s why it hurts so much when he betrays me.” Tears welled up in Maria’s eyes. “He betrays me with men. I can’t compete with that. I can be prettier, I can be thinner, but I can’t be a man. And that’s what he likes.”

  Oh God. “How do you know he likes men?”

  “He had a secretary and I would catch them sneaking off together. When I would find them, all conversation stopped. And then the secretary was fired, but Mikel paid him five hundred thousand dollars. I saw the record of the payment in his office. Then there was the gardener. I would see them meet when they thought I wouldn’t notice. They would pass each other pieces of paper like children in school. Love letters.”

  “Have you read one?”

  “No.”

  Somehow, I doubted folded pieces of paper equaled love letters. Drugs would be a much better explanation.

  “And now he’s doing it again. Do you know who he is doing it with?” She leaned toward me. “Lucian. My husband is having an affair with Lucian. I saw Mikel leave in the middle of the night to meet with him.”

  Maria gulped the rest of her mimosa. “I must find him.” Her eyes widened, her lower lip trembled. She looked panicked. All of her emotions were focused on Mikel. I wouldn’t get much out of her and it would be cruel to try.

  “I think he went down that way.” I pointed down the path and pulled my magic back.

  Maria jumped up and headed down the path without looking back.

  None of that made any sense. If Lucian was bisexual, he would have had affairs with men as well as women. Lucian had a voracious appetite and he denied himself nothing. If he’d wanted men, he would have had men and there was no record of any male companions.

  I texted Rogan. “Sorry to interrupt. Do you know why Mikel paid a large bonus to his secretary after firing him? There is nothing in the files.”

  “No, I don’t but ask my mother.”

  I texted Mrs. Rogan the same question. A grey bubble let me know she was typing the answer. It was taking her a while. I drummed my fingers on the table and drank a little more of my mimosa.

  “That wasn’t a secretary, dear. That was Angel. He is what people of my generation refer to as an illicit love child. Mikel had some wild days and managed to father a child at sixteen. The family compensated the mother well, but when Angel grew up, he wanted a relationship with his father. He’s a sweet boy, but it didn’t work out. Mikel wasn’t what Angel was hoping for. Any progress on Sealight?”

  “Not yet and thank you.”

  “You have my full confidence.”

  The phone chimed. Mrs. Rogan sent me a selfie of her and Mia Rosa in Mrs. Rogan’s office. They were giving me the V for victory with their fingers.

  If Lucian and Mikel weren’t having an affair, why was Mikel sneaking out to meet him?

  A thought occurred to me. “Bern, can you send a text message but make it appear to come from someone else?”

  “Yes. Whose number do you want me to spoof?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get home.” This will work better if I wasn’t here. They would let their guard down if all of us were gone.

  I couldn’t leave yet. I was due to meet with Paul Sarmiento in ten minutes. I had asked Mrs. Rogan to set the meeting up for me, so Paul wouldn’t have any excuses to duck me.

  “That was impressive,” a man said.

  I glanced up. Paul was leaning against a tree.

  “Are you planning to do that to me?” he asked.

  I faced Paul. He had caught me using my magic. He knew my secret. Normally I would’ve tried to escape the confrontation. But something happened in the past few days, somewhere between the poisoned cake and Xavier calling me a mouse. It seared the shyness out of me.

  One time our parents took us for a winter vacation in Colorado. We skied and rode sleighs all day and I had the most fun my eight-year-old self could remember. On the evening before we were supposed to go home, I snuck out of our cabin at dusk and rode my sleigh down the hill into the woods. It was so pretty, snow was falling softly, and for a while I wandered around. Then the sun had set, the wind picked up, and it went from magical to being scary. The snow had covered my tracks and I didn’t know where to go. I tried calling but nobody came. The cold was biting at my face, and I realized I had to save myself. I picked a direction and I walked. After a while, I couldn’t feel my feet or my fingertips. It was so cold, and it hurt so much, that eventually I got used to it. I accepted it and got numb. I just kept walking through the pain, until my dad found me and carried me back to the cabin.

  That’s what it was like now. Bad, uncomfortable things kept happening, one after the other. Any one of them would have made me panic on its own, but all of them together made me numb. I had to get out of this forest. I had accepted that it wouldn’t be easy or pleasant.

  I looked at Paul and asked, “Are you going to force me to do that to you or would you prefer to sit down and talk?”

  He walked over and took a seat at the table. “How can I help you?”

  “I have a problem. According to every background check we’ve run, you don’t exist. You have no driver’s license, your fingerprints are not in any of the databases, and the documents that follow most people through life, like birth certificates, diplomas, and résumés, simply can’t be found. So, I have two questions: Who are you and why are you here?”

  “And if I refuse to answer?”

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to compel you to. We’ve had some complications and the safety of the wedding guests is at stake.”

  “I don’t think you are afraid at all.”

  Paul reached into his pocket, took out a wallet, and pulled a business card out. He slid it across the table to me. It was a pale blue card with two words embossed on it in dark blue—Wishing Well. Under the words was an address located in Seattle, with a phone number.

  “My name is Lance Gibson. I’m an employee of the Wishing Well. Our corporate headquarters are in Japan, but I work out of the Seattle office. Ane is one of my clients.”

  There was no tactful way to ask the next question. “Are you an escort?”

  “I’m not a prostitute, but, in a manner of speaking, I am Ane’s escort. Our company specializes in wish fulfillment of a very specific nature. Have you ever felt that you are missing an important person in your life?”

  I missed my dad every day. “I don’t understand. Is it like the boyfriend experience?”

  “It can be but typically it isn’t.” Lance steepled his fingers. “People come to us because there is a hole in their lives. For example, suppose a father abandons his wife and their young child. The wife divorces him. The child needs a father, yet she can’t
bring herself to enter another relationship. She might come to us and for a fee, one of us will become her divorced spouse for her child.”

  “So, you impersonate people? Like an actor?”

  “Exactly like that. However, an actor assumes a different persona only for a short time, while we may do it for years. A couple hired me, because they have a daughter who is suffering from lupus. At the time, she was eight years old. She adored her older brother, who was fifteen years her senior. He was a remarkable individual, gifted, compassionate, and adventurous. Due to the nature of his charitable work, he traveled and always made time to call or email his little sister. One day the emails stopped. He died in a conflict in Belize. Her parents were terrified that the news would kill her. So, little by little, they replaced his photographs with mine. We started with emails, then phone calls, and then one day, her brother walked through the door. I’m there for every birthday. I’m the person she calls when she has problems at school or with her parents. This summer I’m taking her on a college tour.”

  “But you’re not her brother.”

  Lance smiled. “No. But I’m fulfilling his role.”

  I wasn’t sure what to think about that. “Will you ever tell her?”

  “No. That is forbidden. Her parents can tell her, if and when they choose. Perhaps, when she no longer needs a brother, I will make a graceful exit. A plane crash, a skydiving accident. But for now, I’m there to provide a shoulder to lean on and the unconditional love and kindness one would expect from an older sibling.”

  “So, what are you to Ane?”

  “Ane is single by choice. She enjoys being single. She was pressured into her marriage, and after her husband died, she was pressured again to remarry. Instead she hired me. Our relationship is not sexual. I escort her to family events and to vacations, I take care of her during these outings in a way a loving partner would be expected to take care of her, and on occasion, I act as her bodyguard. My services come with a guarantee a real relationship can’t provide. I will never embarrass her. I will never get drunk, cause a scene, cheat on her, attempt to steal from her or coerce her into a course of action beneficial to myself, all of the things she had experienced in her prior relationships. Ane is in complete control. She engages my services as she wishes and can terminate our business relationship at any time.”

  “Does it bother you that people think you’re a gigolo?”

  Lance smiled again. “Why would I care what anybody but Ane thinks of me? The needs of my client are the only thing that matters. I’m paid to anticipate complications and smooth them over, which is why I’m talking to you now. I have emailed my credentials to Mr. Rivera, whom I understand to be in charge of security. You will find all of the necessary documents enclosed. Am I free to go, Ms. Baylor?”

  Nobody had ever asked me that before. “Yes.”

  Lance rose and walked away.

  “Did you get all that?” I asked Bern.

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “I am coming home,” I told him. “I think I’ve had enough for today.”

  I texted Troy, one of Rogan’s guys. Bern and I had decided that we should keep Leon as far away from Xavier as was humanly possible, so Troy was my battle buddy for the day. He would get the car.

  I started down the path that brought me to the courtyard. In the center, by the fountain, Xavier and Raul, one of Rogan’s cousins from East Wing, sparred with rapiers. Mrs. Rogan and other adults were watching from the shade of the porch. The gaggle of teenagers surrounding them alternated between shouting encouragement and pretending to be bored.

  Great. I would have to walk past them to my car. I started moving, hoping nobody would notice me.

  “Catalina!” Xavier jogged toward me. The circle of kids parted to let him pass. People were catcalling.

  I did my absolute best to ignore him. It was that or punch him in the throat. Usually people aimed for the face, because that’s what you saw in movies and tv, but I grew up in a family of veterans. A punch to the throat didn’t hurt your hand and it disabled your opponent.

  Xavier ran ahead of me and blocked my way. He was holding two rapiers and offered me one. “Let’s spar. It will be fun.”

  Oh, you moron. You colossal moron. If only you knew.

  “Xavier!” Raul called. “Are we doing this or what?”

  “Come on,” Xavier said. “I’ll show you.”

  “I don’t know how, and I have things to do.” Everybody was looking at me. It was like some kind of nightmare, but it was real and it was happening right now.

  “Come on,” he repeated. “Don’t be an old lady.”

  I was so angry that my hands shook. This was the worst-case scenario. The whole family was there, all the kids, and all the adults, and just me without anyone on my side.

  Xavier waved the rapier in front of me.

  Something in me snapped. I took it from him and marched into the circle.

  Raul bowed and stepped aside. Xavier took position opposite me and slid into a stance. He probably had fencing lessons in whatever school he went to. I had no lessons, but I had a lot of hate. I had no idea what the point of this was, besides embarrassing me.

  “First thing you do is get into en garde position. Like this. Turn your lead foot forward, bend your knees, make sure your knees are over your toes.”

  I just stood sideways, the way I always stood, when we practiced self-defense.

  “Bend your knees,” Xavier said.

  Someone giggled.

  “Are we going to fight or are you going to talk all day?” I asked.

  The kids oohed. Raul gave me a thumbs-up.

  “I’ll go easy on you,” Xavier said. “I’m going to lunge—try to parry.”

  The anger and my magic fused together. The world shrank down to just Xavier and me. The sword felt light and flexible in my hand, an extension of me, almost like an arm. I held it in front of me pointing at his midsection.

  He lunged.

  I shied out of his way and drove the blunted point of the rapier into his ribs on his left.

  “Touché,” someone screamed.

  Xavier jerked back, anger flickering across his face. “I let you have that one. Are you ready?”

  “Are you?”

  He attacked. I didn’t know how, but I knew exactly where he would strike. It felt like the sword itself guided me out of the way. I sidestepped and brought my sword with all my strength on top of his blade, knocking it out of his hand.

  Xavier stared at me.

  “You weren’t ready,” I said. “Your sword is over there. Are you supposed to be good at this?”

  Xavier snatched his rapier up. His face was red now. He bared his teeth and lunged. I saw it, as if we were both underwater, the point of his rapier aiming straight for my unprotected face. Somehow I knew there was no time to back up, so I went forward instead, sliding my rapier against his, trying to force it to my right. We collided. The flat of his blade slid against mine, all the way to the guard, and suddenly our faces were very close.

  Xavier’s eyes were crazy.

  He smashed his forehead into my face. I shied back, but not far or fast enough. Dark circles burst in front of my eyes. It hurt. It really hurt.

  Raul was running toward us, and so was Adrianna. Xavier shoved me back. Something slammed into him from the right, knocking him aside like he weighed nothing.

  The ground under my feet trembled and a terrible voice sounded from everywhere at once. “Enough.”

  Adrianna put her arms around me. “Are you okay?”

  I blinked trying to clear the tears from my face. Xavier was sprawled on the ground two dozen yards away, a shocked look on his face. A heavy outdoor cushion pinned him in place. He was struggling to lift it off, his arms shaking with the strain. He should’ve been able to push it off of him, but it trapped him like it was made of cement.

  The courtyard was completely silent. I turned and saw Mrs. Rogan on the porch. Magic emanated from her, like an invisible corona.
I couldn’t see it, but I felt it and the power in her took my breath away. It was like standing in the eye of a catastrophic storm. You couldn’t see the wind, but you could feel it all around you, and if you took a step, it would rip you apart. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak. I just stood there, feeling the terror roll over me in icy waves.

  Behind her, her three older siblings and their children looked outraged. The West Wing crowd didn’t share the indignation. Markel and Zorion were sneering; Lucian raised his eyebrows, amused; Mikel and Maria looked alarmed; Eva, Xavier’s mother, glared at Mrs. Rogan, and Iker, Xavier’s father, wore a completely flat expression. The line splitting the family down the middle was never so clear.

  Mrs. Rogan turned her head and stared at Eva. Her magic turned with her and stared at Eva, too, like an ancient dragon noticing a trespasser.

  Eva looked at her feet. Her bottom lip trembled.

  Iker stepped in front of his wife and bowed his head. “Our sincerest apologies. He is young and stupid. We meant no disrespect.”

  Mrs. Rogan spoke, and her voice reverberated through me, pulsing in my bones. The water in the fountain shook. “Take him to your rooms. He does not come out unless I call for him.”

  Iker strode to his son. The cushion lifted on its own and moved back to the outdoor sofa on the porch. Nobody moved to help Iker. He grabbed Xavier by his right shoulder and hauled him upright.

  “Are you all right, dear?” Mrs. Rogan asked.

  The dragon was looking at me. I had to say something, and it was so hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I am so very sorry,” Mrs. Rogan said. “Please forgive me.”

  I wanted to fall through the ground and keep falling until I was on the other side of the world. “It’s okay. I’m fine, everything is fine. It’s all good.” I clicked my teeth shut before any more rambling nonsense came out.

  “Very well. I think I will retire to my office. I’ve had all the excitement I could stand.” The dragon folded her wings collapsing back, and Mrs. Rogan turned her wheelchair and rolled back into the house.

  I turned and fled toward the gate as fast as I could. A familiar Honda Element drove through the gates toward me, Troy behind the wheel. I almost ran. The Honda stopped, and I jumped into the passenger seat. Troy was looking at my hand and I realized I was still clutching the stupid rapier. There was blood on the blade. I must have cut Xavier somehow.