At the wall closest to the door, Bug perched in a chair, with two screens in front of him. A row of chairs had been set up. Rogan sat in one, Heart in another, Rivera in the third, and Rynda in the fourth. Her spine was ramrod straight. Cornelius sat in the fifth chair, Matilda in his lap. His sister, Diana, the Head of House Harrison, sat next to him. Their gazes were fixed on Vincent. Cornelius’ eyes glowed blue, Diana’s green, and when Matilda glanced at me, an eerie amber light rolled over her irises.
Between the chairs and Vincent, two pieces of chalk waited for me.
I walked over and picked one up.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that, huh?” Vincent asked. “You don’t even know how to use it properly. We know all about you. No training. No education.”
My magic spilled out.
“Poor little cast-off from the family tree with a dead daddy. Your dad was a piece of shit, weak and stupid. The two go together in your family.”
I drew a simple amplification circle on the floor.
“Ugh. Are you blind or are your fingers broken? Rogan, come and do this for her. This is embarrassing.”
“Sir?” Bug murmured.
I stepped into the circle and concentrated. The room dimmed, the figure of Vincent in a chair dimming with it. A vague silver glow flared in his head—the hex reacting with my magic.
I needed to get a closer look. I needed to dive deeper, all the way into the place I had once reached when Olivia Charles attacked me.
“Nevada?” Rogan asked next to me.
“Yes?” I concentrated on the glow.
“Your family would like to watch. Your mother, sisters, cousins, and grandmothers.”
“That’s fine.”
“Both your grandmothers,” he said.
His voice dragged me back to the real world. I looked up. Bug had set a laptop on the desk to the right. On it, Victoria Tremaine reclined in a plush chair, her arm in a sling.
Behind me someone drew a sharp breath and I knew it was my mother.
“That’s fine.”
I crouched. I needed more power. I drew a second, smaller circle, joining the first, pivoted and added a third, the same size as the second, then a fourth. The tetrad, also known as Mother and Triplets. I had found it in one of the books Rogan had secretly sent me a while ago. It wasn’t that much more powerful than the perfect simplicity of the usual amplification circle, but when I practiced with it, it let me hone my magic with the precision of a scalpel. I would need a scalpel today if I hoped to break my grandmother’s hex and leave enough of Vincent intact to interrogate him.
“You’re a fucking traitor,” Vincent snarled at Victoria.
She smiled like a deep-water shark.
I fed power into the circle. It pulsed pale blue. The current of magic punched me, clear and strong. I concentrated on the hex, letting everything else fade.
The light grew dim.
Dimmer.
Dimmer.
The darker it grew, the brighter was the glow in Vincent’s mind. A pattern began to form in the glowing haze. A spark flickering in a straight line, like a glowing silver thread, as thin as a hair.
I fed more power into the circle. The room grew completely dark. More sparks, more silver hairs.
A bit more power.
“She’s committing too much,” Rynda warned.
“She can handle it,” Rogan said.
I was falling, falling down through a black well toward the glowing hex at the bottom.
A little more power.
“Rogan!” Rynda’s voice spiked somewhere far away.
“You’re distracting her,” Cornelius said gently.
I crashed to the bottom, somehow landing on my feet. The hex glowed in front of me. It was an arcane circle, a dazzling, glowing creation of pure power woven into gossamer lace. Its complexity made me dizzy.
How do I pull it apart?
The magic flowed through the pattern, a complete circuit. Interrupt the flow, and it would collapse. What would happen . . . ?
It wasn’t a single circle, but three, layered on top of each other. Within the second layer, nine triangles stretched toward the center. If I attacked, trying to force my will over Vincent’s, the top circle would collapse onto the center, the triangles would point down, like dagger blades, puncture the bottom layer, and the power of the entire hex would then surge into the daggers. It would plunge down and stab into Vincent’s psyche. It was a genius trap, impossible to disarm.
Breaking it was out of the question.
Could I shift the pattern? Maybe I could pull it apart . . .
Too risky.
If I broke the hex at any point, the collapse was inevitable.
When David Howling trapped us inside an arcane circle, Rogan had altered it. A hex was basically a circle. A really complicated, difficult to understand circle, drawn with pure magic in someone’s mind. Could I draw on it?
A dull pain came from somewhere deep inside me. I had expended too much magic and I would likely need more.
“This is too much for her.” Mom’s voice. “You’re asking her to take apart something that . . . woman built with years of experience.”
“She’s right.”
Shaffer. Who let him in?
“I can feel the hex in his mind. It is exceedingly complex. It’s a trap and she’s too inexperienced to realize it.” Shaffer again.
“But is it breakable?” Rynda asked.
“No,” Shaffer said. “It’s a perfect trap. Get her out of there before she overextends.”
“She’s fine,” Rogan said. “She knows her limits.”
They all needed to shut up.
The hex was too complicated to alter. There were loops within loops, twisting magic onto itself.
But I didn’t need to alter it. All I needed to do was shield Vincent’s mind from the daggers.
I pulled on my magic. It came from within me, stretching into a thin line glowing with silvery blue. I slipped it under the bottom layer and began to weave. A direct shield wouldn’t work, no more than a blunt approach would’ve worked with Vincent’s father. There was too much power in the hex. I had to redirect the energy of the spell away once it collapsed. I had to . . . Yes. That would work.
“If you want your daughter to live, you will stop this,” Shaffer said. “Look at him. He doesn’t care if she lives or dies, as long as he gets what he wants. I care. I want to marry her.”
“Nevada knows what she’s doing.” Mom’s voice. Cold. She didn’t like him.
Between the chairs and Vincent, two pieces of chalk waited for me.
I walked over and picked one up.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that, huh?” Vincent asked. “You don’t even know how to use it properly. We know all about you. No training. No education.”
My magic spilled out.
“Poor little cast-off from the family tree with a dead daddy. Your dad was a piece of shit, weak and stupid. The two go together in your family.”
I drew a simple amplification circle on the floor.
“Ugh. Are you blind or are your fingers broken? Rogan, come and do this for her. This is embarrassing.”
“Sir?” Bug murmured.
I stepped into the circle and concentrated. The room dimmed, the figure of Vincent in a chair dimming with it. A vague silver glow flared in his head—the hex reacting with my magic.
I needed to get a closer look. I needed to dive deeper, all the way into the place I had once reached when Olivia Charles attacked me.
“Nevada?” Rogan asked next to me.
“Yes?” I concentrated on the glow.
“Your family would like to watch. Your mother, sisters, cousins, and grandmothers.”
“That’s fine.”
“Both your grandmothers,” he said.
His voice dragged me back to the real world. I looked up. Bug had set a laptop on the desk to the right. On it, Victoria Tremaine reclined in a plush chair, her arm in a sling.
Behind me someone drew a sharp breath and I knew it was my mother.
“That’s fine.”
I crouched. I needed more power. I drew a second, smaller circle, joining the first, pivoted and added a third, the same size as the second, then a fourth. The tetrad, also known as Mother and Triplets. I had found it in one of the books Rogan had secretly sent me a while ago. It wasn’t that much more powerful than the perfect simplicity of the usual amplification circle, but when I practiced with it, it let me hone my magic with the precision of a scalpel. I would need a scalpel today if I hoped to break my grandmother’s hex and leave enough of Vincent intact to interrogate him.
“You’re a fucking traitor,” Vincent snarled at Victoria.
She smiled like a deep-water shark.
I fed power into the circle. It pulsed pale blue. The current of magic punched me, clear and strong. I concentrated on the hex, letting everything else fade.
The light grew dim.
Dimmer.
Dimmer.
The darker it grew, the brighter was the glow in Vincent’s mind. A pattern began to form in the glowing haze. A spark flickering in a straight line, like a glowing silver thread, as thin as a hair.
I fed more power into the circle. The room grew completely dark. More sparks, more silver hairs.
A bit more power.
“She’s committing too much,” Rynda warned.
“She can handle it,” Rogan said.
I was falling, falling down through a black well toward the glowing hex at the bottom.
A little more power.
“Rogan!” Rynda’s voice spiked somewhere far away.
“You’re distracting her,” Cornelius said gently.
I crashed to the bottom, somehow landing on my feet. The hex glowed in front of me. It was an arcane circle, a dazzling, glowing creation of pure power woven into gossamer lace. Its complexity made me dizzy.
How do I pull it apart?
The magic flowed through the pattern, a complete circuit. Interrupt the flow, and it would collapse. What would happen . . . ?
It wasn’t a single circle, but three, layered on top of each other. Within the second layer, nine triangles stretched toward the center. If I attacked, trying to force my will over Vincent’s, the top circle would collapse onto the center, the triangles would point down, like dagger blades, puncture the bottom layer, and the power of the entire hex would then surge into the daggers. It would plunge down and stab into Vincent’s psyche. It was a genius trap, impossible to disarm.
Breaking it was out of the question.
Could I shift the pattern? Maybe I could pull it apart . . .
Too risky.
If I broke the hex at any point, the collapse was inevitable.
When David Howling trapped us inside an arcane circle, Rogan had altered it. A hex was basically a circle. A really complicated, difficult to understand circle, drawn with pure magic in someone’s mind. Could I draw on it?
A dull pain came from somewhere deep inside me. I had expended too much magic and I would likely need more.
“This is too much for her.” Mom’s voice. “You’re asking her to take apart something that . . . woman built with years of experience.”
“She’s right.”
Shaffer. Who let him in?
“I can feel the hex in his mind. It is exceedingly complex. It’s a trap and she’s too inexperienced to realize it.” Shaffer again.
“But is it breakable?” Rynda asked.
“No,” Shaffer said. “It’s a perfect trap. Get her out of there before she overextends.”
“She’s fine,” Rogan said. “She knows her limits.”
They all needed to shut up.
The hex was too complicated to alter. There were loops within loops, twisting magic onto itself.
But I didn’t need to alter it. All I needed to do was shield Vincent’s mind from the daggers.
I pulled on my magic. It came from within me, stretching into a thin line glowing with silvery blue. I slipped it under the bottom layer and began to weave. A direct shield wouldn’t work, no more than a blunt approach would’ve worked with Vincent’s father. There was too much power in the hex. I had to redirect the energy of the spell away once it collapsed. I had to . . . Yes. That would work.
“If you want your daughter to live, you will stop this,” Shaffer said. “Look at him. He doesn’t care if she lives or dies, as long as he gets what he wants. I care. I want to marry her.”
“Nevada knows what she’s doing.” Mom’s voice. Cold. She didn’t like him.
