by Kat Howard
“And you didn’t think to tell me that. That you didn’t have a choice, that someone was forcing your hand. I tried to talk to you, Sydney, to find a way out of this. I tried.”
“No, I didn’t think to tell you that. I mean, what was I supposed to say—please give up your magic so I don’t have to kill you? It’s my life, my problem. Besides, what would you have done if I did?”
“I would have forfeited the challenge at the beginning.”
“Would you?” she asked, the fury gone now, only exhaustion remaining in her voice. “Would you really? And let yourself be stripped of your magic? Or would you have done exactly what you did—cast a bunch of second-rate defensive spells in the hopes that one got lucky so you could tell yourself that it was self-defense? Because Verenice told you I was going to kill you, so I’m not sure why the precise reason I’d made that decision mattered all that much.”
She watched as shame covered his face like a veil. “That’s what I thought. The one thing—the one thing I could have asked you to do that would have helped me was to die for me. So no, I’m not sorry for not returning your texts.”
He pushed his hand through his hair. “Fine. Fine. Just—would you really have killed me?”
She stepped close, curled her hand around his cheek, looked him straight in the eyes. “Ian. You already know the answer to that.”
And because he did know the answer, because if he closed his eyes he was certain all he would feel was the terror born from the shadows she had conjured, he didn’t ask again.
There was a pause, full of the weight of everything. Ian looked back over Sydney’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, this is a private conversation.”
“I’m sorry for the interruption. My name is Madison Prospero, and I’m here on behalf of Wellington & Ketchum. It’s very important that I speak with Sydney. Immediately.”
“Well, this seems very official,” Sydney said, offering no hint that she knew the other woman. Madison looked stiff and formal. Possibly worried.
“It is. Due to this evening’s events, Miranda Prospero no longer has access to her magic. Unseen law prevents her from holding a House in this condition. Therefore, the inheritance process for House Prospero has been triggered.”
She handed Sydney a stack of papers, magically sealed. “This is Miranda’s most recent will, naming you as heir to House Prospero. There is also an affidavit that swears to the outcome of the Perdita spell, which proved you are her biological daughter. I’m sure this is a lot to take in right now, but this is a Turning, and so we have little time to wait for a response. Will you please come with me to our offices?”
“I will,” Sydney said.
“Sydney?” Ian stepped back. “You’re a Prospero?”
“No,” she said. “I’m a Shadow. But I’m a Shadow who knows who gave her away.”
• • •
Madison was silent all the way out to the waiting car. Silent as she and Sydney got in, silent as the car pulled away from the curb. Only then did she hit the button to roll up the partition between them and the driver and say, “Give me a dollar.”
“A dollar?” Sydney asked, confusion evident.
“Yes. Just do it.”
Sydney kept a skeptical eye on Madison as she reached into her purse. “All I have is a five. Will that—”
Madison plucked the bill from her hand. “And now I’m on retainer. So when I ask you what the fuck you knew and when the fuck you knew it, for example, you can tell me, and it’s covered by privilege.”
“I’ve known that Miranda and Christopher Prospero were my biological parents since before I left Shadows,” Sydney said. “And as I also know you’re not a stupid woman and were paying attention when I asked you about inheritance issues, I know that’s not why you’re this pissed off at me.”
“You’re right. Did you know what would happen tonight?” Madison’s voice was perfectly empty of inflection.
Sydney turned sideways in the car so that she could look directly at Madison. She made a small gesture with the first and fourth finger of her right hand, and silence enveloped them—the hum of the engine, the spin of the wheels on wet pavement—gone. The only noticeable sound was Madison’s breathing. It wasn’t quite as steady as she would have wanted it to be. “Are you asking if I attempted to kill Miranda, or, failing that, if I stripped her magic in order to inherit her House?”
“Yes.”
“I did not. I might well have done either at some point. If you want my cards on the table, Madison, let’s just start with the queen and be clear: I have no problem with, no grief over what happened tonight, and I would feel the same had whoever interfered with the challenge been successful in killing her. But I didn’t cause it, and I will take whatever oath you like that there was magical interference during the duel tonight, and that interference was the cause of Miranda’s loss of magic. Ian and I both felt someone cast an outside spell—we were too busy trying to wrestle it back into some kind of safety and ward the crowd to notice precisely who or how.”
Silence again. Then: “Okay.
“Someone interfered?”
“Yes. Possibly more than one someone—there was some sort of disturbance in the crowd before the spell was cast. Again, I had other things on my mind and missed exactly what it was, but it was loud enough that I noticed it, which means it’s likely other magicians did too. I didn’t recognize the magic that interrupted the spell, so it was no one I’ve dueled. Whoever they were, they were trying to redirect the magic Ian and I were using. I’m pretty sure it was meant to be fatal—they weren’t trying to change anything that we had already cast, just send it somewhere else. And while I’m slightly less sure on this, I do think Miranda was the intended target.”
“Would you recognize the magic again?” Madison asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. You’ll need to swear to all of that. I’ll have someone meet us at the office so that—Syd. Your hands.”
Sydney looked down. The beds of her nails were full of blood. Red drops fell from the ends of her fingers, streaking her pants, the seat of the car. It hit, then—the ache of the magic, the steel-knife feeling of it in her joints. “Backlash from the magic. There are always consequences.”
“This always happens?”
“This or something similar. The bigger the spell”—she broke off, rolled down the window, stuck her head out, and vomited—“the worse things are. If you could have the driver take me home, please.” Sydney leaned back, closed her eyes.
“Yes. Sydney, of course. Is there anything else I can do?”
“What was the emergency? Earlier?”
“Sydney, it doesn’t matter right now.”
“Okay.” The aftermath of magic racking her body, Sydney closed her eyes and fell into sleep.
• • •
Ian woke to the scents of fresh coffee and frying bacon, which was unexpected, as he was the only one who lived in his apartment. He stepped cautiously out of bed and into his kitchen.
“You desperately need to buy groceries,” Lara said.
“Sorry. I’ve been a little preoccupied with my possible imminent death. Which would have meant I wouldn’t need food. Though if I’d known you were planning to visit—how did you get in here again?”
She carried two plates—bacon, eggs, hash browns—over to the table. “I came over last night. After the duel. I was waiting in the lobby when you got here. You were . . . not well.”
“Consequences for magic,” he said between bites of hash browns. “Worse because of what happened in the duel.”
“That’s actually why I’m here,” she said. “You need to know what happened.”
“I’m guessing you mean the part at the end with Miranda, because otherwise I’ve got what happened down pretty well.”
She nodded. “It was Dad. He pushed her. Not with magic. With his hands. Which, bad.”
Ian set down his fork. “Yes, we’ll start with bad, there.”
“But I don’t t
hink he was the one who actually interfered with the magic. I think that was Grey. And I think the reason that Dad pushed Miranda was that he knew what Grey was going to do. Or at least that he was going to do something.”
“I see we’re moving on from bad, then.”
Lara leveled a stare across the table.
“Sorry. But why would they possibly be working together? Grey’s a prat. And not much more.”
“Agreed. But the end result of this is Dad’s biggest rival is stripped of her magic, and House Prospero is either unmade or given to Grey—”
“Nope.” Ian used a slice of bacon to mop up egg yolk. “Sydney was a Prospero. Before she was a Shadow. I was there when the lawyer came by.”
“Holy shit,” Lara said.
“Pretty much.”
“Ian,” she said, “the thing is . . . the weirdest thing . . . is Dad pushed her. With his hands, not magic. I wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t been standing next to him, so he must have thought the crowd would hide him, but why not use magic? It would have been a lot easier to hide that.”
“When was the last time you saw him cast anything?” Ian asked.
“It’s been a while, Ian. I think things are bad. Like, really bad.”
“Bad how?” Ian looked at his plate as if he were astonished by the fact that there was suddenly no more food on it.
“I broke into his tower—I told you we needed to talk, Ian, but you are shit at returning your texts.”
He winced. “Sorry.”
“Anyway, the point being, there’s almost no magic in the entire room. Not even traces, like you would expect if someone was even doing basic spells in there. The one place there is, is in a biometrically locked cabinet. Not magically locked, biometrically.”
“I’m not sure I follow. You know how Dad likes that sci-fi stuff.” Ian poured himself more coffee, trying to make his brain feel faster than sludge.
“I do know that, yes, as I live at that House. Which is now entirely run on sci-fi stuff. Like it would be—”
“Like it would be if Dad didn’t have any magic anymore,” he said slowly, catching up. “That’s why the lock is biometric. He can’t trust himself to be able to take down wards.”
Lara nodded. “I’m working on a spell to get me past the biometrics. What I want to know is, if I can prove he’s lost his magic, will you support me in removing him as Head of House?”
“I don’t know what it will be worth, since I’m not officially part of the House anymore, but absolutely. Whatever you need.”
“Good,” she said. “I should go. Things to do, coups to plan.”
“Thanks for breakfast.”
“I’m glad you’re not dead,” she said. “Now buy yourself some damn food.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The door to Madison’s office flew open and slammed against the wall. “Ms. Prospero, I’m sorry, I told him he couldn’t come back without an appointment.”
Grey stood, flushed and angry, in her doorway, her secretary standing behind him. It was not a wholly unexpected visit, though she had thought that he would come earlier in the day. “I can give you ten minutes, or you can make an appointment.”
“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Grey said, and sat in her guest chair. “I need to know if this bullshit I’ve heard is true.”
“And what bullshit would that be?” Madison asked.
“That that woman, that fucking Shadow, inherited House Prospero. That House should be mine.”
“While it is true that Sydney now holds House Prospero, the fact is, you were disinherited three years ago, in a fully legal and vetted procedure. One which you yourself agreed to and signed off on, with full advice of counsel. This firm, as you know, possesses the file of that proceeding, and I can produce that document should you need to refresh your memory.”
“I know what’s in the file,” Grey said. “But I should still have a claim. I’m a Prospero.”
Madison wished she didn’t know what was in the file, particularly with him sitting in her office. “Legally, I’m afraid that’s not the case. You were disinherited, and the disinheritance stands. And even had Miranda not made a new will—which I have here, witnessed and blood-bonded—Sydney as Miranda’s daughter and the closest biological descendant would still inherit.”
“She’s lying. I don’t have a sister.”
“Not only do you have a sister, but you have a twin. Miranda stated under oath that twenty-five years ago she was delivered of a living female child—one born before you, incidentally—who was then taken to Shadows. She also swore to the results of a Perdita spell, which confirmed Sydney’s parentage. The House itself officially recognized her this morning, in front of the required three witnesses from other Houses. I have affidavits from them, as well as an unedited video recording. You’re welcome to review any of it.” Madison slid a file and a tablet toward him.
He didn’t touch them. “I’ll have this undone.”
“You’re welcome to try. But not today. Your ten minutes are up, and I have work to do.”
“Bitch,” he said, and slammed the door on his way out.
Madison texted Sydney: Those extra wards you mentioned? I want them.
The response was almost immediate: Done.
• • •
The whiskey in Grey’s glass sloshed as he paced in front of Laurent’s windows. “Did you know? When you hired her?”
“I told you, I had no idea who she was. Do you seriously think I would have had your long-lost sister working for me for all this time and not bothered to tell you? She was the third magician I auditioned, and I didn’t look at any of the others after her because her magic was so strong. We didn’t talk about personal details—we didn’t then, and we don’t now, because that is her business and not mine. I don’t even know where she lives,” Laurent answered.
“She’s an accident of biology—if even that—not my sister, and she lives at my House now, doesn’t she?” Grey slammed his glass down on the counter, paying no attention to the liquid that spilled over the rim.
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset. You agreed to the disinheritance. You could have fought it. And Sydney could undo it—she’ll have to name an heir, and probably soon, with the Turning.” Laurent didn’t say the other things that he was thinking, that perhaps Grey ought to show a little bit of compassion for what Miranda had done to Sydney, for what the Unseen World had apparently been doing to its children for generations in order to make things easier for itself.
“I don’t want to be the heir. Again. The House should be mine. Maybe it won’t recognize her. Maybe it won’t even let her in the door. My bitch of a lawyer cousin said that it did, but she could have been lying.” He tossed back the rest of his drink.
“Is that likely?” Laurent asked. “I mean, listen to yourself.”
“All I know is that this woman came from nowhere, and now she’s the Head of a House. My House. She shouldn’t be allowed to be part of us, especially if she came from the House of Shadows. Do you know what that place is?” Grey sneered.
“Do you?” Laurent asked.
“The magic of Shadows is corrupt. It’s not like ours. Anyone who uses it can’t be trusted. Plus, Miles says she’s the reason for the failures of magic.”
Laurent knew he was going to regret asking, but he let the question out anyway. “How is that possible?”
“Because her magic should still be in there. She took it with her when she left, and now we can’t use it.” Confident in the righteousness of his theories.
“That sounds—you know what, never mind.” Laurent moved to the other side of the room, giving Grey’s rant a clear berth.
Grey didn’t seem to notice. “Prospero should be mine, and I’m going to take it from her. You can help me, or you can stay the fuck out of my way.”
The elevator pinged. Grey turned around. “Are you expecting someone?”
“Yes,” Laurent said. “Your cab. You’re drunk, and you’ve had a sho
ck, and you’ve been my best friend for years, so I’m going to give you a pass and put you in a cab. Then I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened, and maybe we’ll still be friends tomorrow.”
Laurent pushed Grey gently into the elevator and stood away from the closing doors.
“You don’t understand,” Grey said.
No, Laurent thought, he didn’t. He picked up his phone to text Sydney and warn her about the man he had considered to be his best friend, someone who he was pretty sure was not going to be his friend tomorrow, or ever again.
• • •
The front desk rang up to Miranda’s room. “There’s a Verenice Tenebrae here to see you, ma’am.”
Miranda considered. “Send her up, please. Oh, and have the kitchen send up afternoon tea. Sandwiches and petit fours.” It was still odd to her, this having to request things from other people, rather than her House. Her mirrors all looked strangely empty, wordless and silent.
“Thank you so much for coming by,” Miranda said as she ushered Verenice into her suite. “Your dress is lovely. Is it vintage?”
“Still have your manners, I see. I hope you have a spine of steel to go with them. You’ll need it after losing your magic.
“You do know it’s not coming back, don’t you?” Verenice said, matter-of-fact.
Miranda nodded. “I felt the connection break. It’s useful for people to be uncertain of me, so I haven’t publicly confirmed it. How did you know?”
“We get very good at sensing magic in Shadows,” Verenice said. “I knew as soon as I walked in. I’m sure Sydney does as well.”
“Yes. It didn’t seem right not to tell her, what with her having to take responsibility for the House, but—like you—she knew without my saying anything.”
A knock on the door announced room service. Both women sat silently as the waiter set up the tea. Miranda signed the bill and looked up to see Verenice pouring whiskey from the honor bar into the teacups. “I beg your pardon.”
