Dark Heart of Magic
Page 16
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Providing I lived that long, of course.
“Where are we with the Draconis?” Claudia said. “Have you heard anything new?”
Everyone was always interested in gossip about the other Families, especially the Draconis, since they were our main rivals. But Claudia had even more reason than others to be concerned about them. A few weeks ago, I’d used my soulsight on Victor Draconi, and I’d realized that he was plotting against Claudia and all the other Families.
Something big.
Something dangerous.
Something deadly.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said. “We ran into Blake and Deah today, but all they were interested in was crowing about how Deah’s going to win the tournament again this year; especially since there was another girl there, Katia Volkov.”
Claudia nodded. “That’s to be expected this time of year. I doubt that even Victor would try something before the tournament, since it’s such a big draw and moneymaker for everyone in town, mortals and magicks alike. He’ll wait until afterward to put his plan into motion, whatever it is.”
She rubbed her forehead as though it was aching. I didn’t have to use my soulsight to see the tension pinching her face. Whatever Victor was up to, it worried Claudia more than anything else. And she had good reason. I’d seen into the black, rotten depths of Victor Draconi, and the only thing that beat in his dark heart was cold, cruel calculation—and his icy desire to destroy Claudia and all the other Families.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Victor will let something slip during the tournament,” she said. “At the very least, I can see who he meets with and talks to. That might tell us something about what he’s planning.”
“Yeah. About the tournament.”
She arched her eyebrows.
“Why did you pick me to compete? I thought we had an agreement. I would be your eyes and ears and find out everything I could about the Draconis. Kind of hard to be a spy when you’re the center of attention.”
“Because I think you can win it.”
I snorted. “Bullshit. Devon has just as good a chance to win as I do. So does Vance, for that matter. So what’s the real reason?”
Claudia paused a moment, considering her answer. “Because your mother was the only person that Victor was ever truly afraid of.”
Her soft words punched me in the gut, but I didn’t let any of my hurt and heartache show. “He certainly didn’t seem to be afraid when he cut her to pieces.”
Claudia stared at me, her green eyes blazing with conviction. “Victor was always afraid of Serena—of her sight magic, of her fighting skills, and especially of her ways of communicating with the monsters.”
“And what does all that have to do with picking me for the tournament?”
“I want him to know there’s someone else he should be afraid of.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise, but Claudia kept staring at me, the conviction in her gaze burning even brighter and hotter than before.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I turned toward the doors, desperate to leave and trying to hide my shock, sorrow, and all the other emotions surging through me.
“Good luck,” Claudia called out in a soft voice.
I didn’t know if she was talking about the tournament or my turbulent feelings. Probably both. But I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded, strode over, pulled open one of the doors, and left the library as fast as I could.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“It’s too early for this,” I grumbled. “Way too early.”
It was seven o’clock the next morning, and I was lying in bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, watching Oscar zip around the room putting clothes into a black duffel bag sitting on the couch. The pixie had been up for an hour already, rustling around in my closet, flying from here, into the bathroom, and back out again, and muttering to himself all the while.
“Why can’t they start the tournament at a reasonable hour?” I grumbled again. “Like noon-thirty.”
Oscar stopped in midair and slapped his hands on his hips. The pixie had ditched his formal cowboy getup from last night in favor of a black T-shirt boasting the Sinclairs’ white hand-and-sword crest, faded jeans with holes in the knees, and black cowboy boots. A black cavalier hat with a plume of white feathers perched on his head, while a tiny black cloak fluttered around his shoulders. It was an odd mix of redneck and ren-faire. He’d even dressed up Tiny in a matching hat and cloak, although the tortoise had already knocked the hat off his head and was busy sniffing the feathers to see if they were edible.
“The tournament starts so early because it is an entire day of awesome,” Oscar said. “Trust me. You’re going to love it. Now get your lazy tuchas out of bed, cupcake—unless you don’t want any breakfast bacon.”
“Are you crazy? I always want breakfast bacon, and noon bacon, and afternoon bacon—”
Oscar threw a black T-shirt with the white hand-and-sword crest at me, hitting me in the chest and silencing my argument. A pair of matching black athletic shorts followed a few seconds later, landing on top of my head.
“Don’t make me bean you in the face with your own socks and sneakers,” he warned.
Bullied by a six-inch-tall pixie at seven in the morning. Yep, my life as a mobster was certainly a glamorous one.
“Do you want any bacon or not?” Oscar snapped.
And just like that, he won. I groaned and crawled out of bed.
After a quick breakfast that was extra heavy on the bacon, I went outside and got into the back of an SUV, along with Devon and Felix. Angelo was driving, with Mo in the front passenger’s seat. Another SUV rolling down the driveway in front of us held Claudia, Reginald, Oscar, and some of the guards chosen to compete in the tournament, including Vance Groves, who’d been as arrogant and insufferable as ever at breakfast, showing off some of his fighting moves for his friends. Behind us, several more cars held other members of the Family, everyone from the Midway workers to the other guards to the pixies.
“What’s with the convoy?” I asked.
Mo glanced over his shoulder at me. “The tournament is a big deal to all the Families. Practically everyone attends all the rounds, except for the bare minimum of folks needed to work the booths, patrol the Midway, or watch over the compounds on the mountain.”
“Where are we with the Draconis?” Claudia said. “Have you heard anything new?”
Everyone was always interested in gossip about the other Families, especially the Draconis, since they were our main rivals. But Claudia had even more reason than others to be concerned about them. A few weeks ago, I’d used my soulsight on Victor Draconi, and I’d realized that he was plotting against Claudia and all the other Families.
Something big.
Something dangerous.
Something deadly.
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” I said. “We ran into Blake and Deah today, but all they were interested in was crowing about how Deah’s going to win the tournament again this year; especially since there was another girl there, Katia Volkov.”
Claudia nodded. “That’s to be expected this time of year. I doubt that even Victor would try something before the tournament, since it’s such a big draw and moneymaker for everyone in town, mortals and magicks alike. He’ll wait until afterward to put his plan into motion, whatever it is.”
She rubbed her forehead as though it was aching. I didn’t have to use my soulsight to see the tension pinching her face. Whatever Victor was up to, it worried Claudia more than anything else. And she had good reason. I’d seen into the black, rotten depths of Victor Draconi, and the only thing that beat in his dark heart was cold, cruel calculation—and his icy desire to destroy Claudia and all the other Families.
“Maybe we’ll get lucky and Victor will let something slip during the tournament,” she said. “At the very least, I can see who he meets with and talks to. That might tell us something about what he’s planning.”
“Yeah. About the tournament.”
She arched her eyebrows.
“Why did you pick me to compete? I thought we had an agreement. I would be your eyes and ears and find out everything I could about the Draconis. Kind of hard to be a spy when you’re the center of attention.”
“Because I think you can win it.”
I snorted. “Bullshit. Devon has just as good a chance to win as I do. So does Vance, for that matter. So what’s the real reason?”
Claudia paused a moment, considering her answer. “Because your mother was the only person that Victor was ever truly afraid of.”
Her soft words punched me in the gut, but I didn’t let any of my hurt and heartache show. “He certainly didn’t seem to be afraid when he cut her to pieces.”
Claudia stared at me, her green eyes blazing with conviction. “Victor was always afraid of Serena—of her sight magic, of her fighting skills, and especially of her ways of communicating with the monsters.”
“And what does all that have to do with picking me for the tournament?”
“I want him to know there’s someone else he should be afraid of.”
My mouth dropped open in surprise, but Claudia kept staring at me, the conviction in her gaze burning even brighter and hotter than before.
I didn’t know how to respond, so I turned toward the doors, desperate to leave and trying to hide my shock, sorrow, and all the other emotions surging through me.
“Good luck,” Claudia called out in a soft voice.
I didn’t know if she was talking about the tournament or my turbulent feelings. Probably both. But I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I nodded, strode over, pulled open one of the doors, and left the library as fast as I could.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“It’s too early for this,” I grumbled. “Way too early.”
It was seven o’clock the next morning, and I was lying in bed, the covers pulled up to my chin, watching Oscar zip around the room putting clothes into a black duffel bag sitting on the couch. The pixie had been up for an hour already, rustling around in my closet, flying from here, into the bathroom, and back out again, and muttering to himself all the while.
“Why can’t they start the tournament at a reasonable hour?” I grumbled again. “Like noon-thirty.”
Oscar stopped in midair and slapped his hands on his hips. The pixie had ditched his formal cowboy getup from last night in favor of a black T-shirt boasting the Sinclairs’ white hand-and-sword crest, faded jeans with holes in the knees, and black cowboy boots. A black cavalier hat with a plume of white feathers perched on his head, while a tiny black cloak fluttered around his shoulders. It was an odd mix of redneck and ren-faire. He’d even dressed up Tiny in a matching hat and cloak, although the tortoise had already knocked the hat off his head and was busy sniffing the feathers to see if they were edible.
“The tournament starts so early because it is an entire day of awesome,” Oscar said. “Trust me. You’re going to love it. Now get your lazy tuchas out of bed, cupcake—unless you don’t want any breakfast bacon.”
“Are you crazy? I always want breakfast bacon, and noon bacon, and afternoon bacon—”
Oscar threw a black T-shirt with the white hand-and-sword crest at me, hitting me in the chest and silencing my argument. A pair of matching black athletic shorts followed a few seconds later, landing on top of my head.
“Don’t make me bean you in the face with your own socks and sneakers,” he warned.
Bullied by a six-inch-tall pixie at seven in the morning. Yep, my life as a mobster was certainly a glamorous one.
“Do you want any bacon or not?” Oscar snapped.
And just like that, he won. I groaned and crawled out of bed.
After a quick breakfast that was extra heavy on the bacon, I went outside and got into the back of an SUV, along with Devon and Felix. Angelo was driving, with Mo in the front passenger’s seat. Another SUV rolling down the driveway in front of us held Claudia, Reginald, Oscar, and some of the guards chosen to compete in the tournament, including Vance Groves, who’d been as arrogant and insufferable as ever at breakfast, showing off some of his fighting moves for his friends. Behind us, several more cars held other members of the Family, everyone from the Midway workers to the other guards to the pixies.
“What’s with the convoy?” I asked.
Mo glanced over his shoulder at me. “The tournament is a big deal to all the Families. Practically everyone attends all the rounds, except for the bare minimum of folks needed to work the booths, patrol the Midway, or watch over the compounds on the mountain.”
