Cast Into Darkness (5 page)

By the hallway leading out of the rotunda, the receptionist stood behind her tall, walnut desk. The woman smiled at Victor as he led Kate past. She sat up a little straighter, putting a purr in her voice as she said, “Victor, can I help—”

“Call Mr. Hamilton’s office,” Victor cut her off. “Have them get him out of whatever meeting he’s in. We need to talk to him. Now.”

Her hand snapped to the phone as Victor stormed down the hall, Kate in tow. Her head ached, a dull pain that settled in her temples.

The corridors seemed endless—long halls of marble floors and silk wallpaper, door after office door, broken up only by the occasional secretarial station. Young men and women—some in impeccable suits, others a swirl of leather and sharp-edged silver—nodded to Victor and stared at Kate as they went by. She smoothed her hands over the stains and small tears of her blouse. Kate didn’t need magesight to tell the casters from the Normals—casters had that stuck-up haughtiness mixed with a little touch of crazy that only the power of magic coursing through their veins provided. And they were young—most casters were under forty. By the time they got much older than that, her father didn’t trust most of them to walk around HQ without an escort.

Finally, they arrived at her father’s office, the wide reception area furnished with the type of tables and chairs her mother had liked: all red velvet and gold-enameled wood, so hopelessly antique they looked like escapees from a
Pride and Prejudice
film set. A young woman wearing frameless glasses—her father’s secretary—staffed a desk at the front.

Victor paused to say a few words to the girl. She greeted Kate and asked them to take a seat, telling them that Kate’s father would be out in a few minutes.

Kate threw herself down in an armchair, its soft cushions doing nothing to comfort her. Victor had found an issue of some men’s magazine to read, or at least pretend to read—he flipped through the pages too quickly to be doing anything but using it to ignore Kate.

She took the glass of water the secretary handed her and murmured a thank-you, one leg tucked under her while the other kicked beneath her chair. She picked up an issue of This Week in Washington, then tossed it back down unopened.

The water glass shook in her hand. Only the ticking of the old grandfather clock against the wall and the occasional ringing of the secretary’s phone punctuated the calm quiet of the office.

In the silence something else arose—a fluttering in her stomach, the feeling of doom she had been trying to push away ever since Brooke threw that fire spell straight at her. She could have died. Burned to a cinder, skin melted away. She glanced at Victor, still looking at his magazine. No, that hadn’t happened. She was fine.

Don’t lose it, not in front of Victor.

She put her water on the table, shaking gone now. Her hand crept into her pocket, fingers caressing the stone. What should she say to Dad about Brooke’s attack? Brian said to tell no one about the stone, not even Dad. But Dad had his ways of getting her to talk.

Kate’s father, dressed in a sharp navy suit, his dark hair shining in the overhead lights, opened the door to his office and walked out. Two men trailed him, their subtle but noticeable earpieces marking them as his bodyguards.

He ushered out his guest—a ruddy-cheeked man with slicked-back brown hair, a touch of gray at the temples, and a flag pin stuck on his lapel. The man looked so much more presidential on TV. Taller, even.

Her father’s aide, Alex Torres, followed them all out, smoothing a hand down the lapel of his suit. He flashed Kate a grin, cracking his business-student demeanor. She smiled back.

Her father shook the president’s hand. “Don’t forget, I need the
Theodore Roosevelt
and the
Eisenhower
moved to the Persian Gulf by August fifteenth.”

“And the Appropriations bill? You’re sure you want it vetoed?” the president asked.

“The bill’s served its purpose. Kill it.”

“Very well.”

Her father’s gaze darted to Kate and Victor, then to his aide. “Alex, please escort the president back to the White House.”

Kate watched them leave, the president’s back stiff. Did he resent following her father’s orders? The president had his own agenda, she supposed. Reelection in nine months, keeping his daughter’s leukemia in remission. Magic proved useful for a lot of things.

Kate left her water on the coffee table and followed Victor through the heavy wooden doors into her father’s enormous office. A few words from Victor to the bodyguards kept them waiting outside.

Kate hovered just through the entrance. The office, with its mahogany panels and stuffy, blue velvet draperies that screamed old money and even older power, always made her squirm inside. Everything looked so proper, and expensive, and
his
, from the cigar box given to him by a favor-seeking ex-president to the perfectly maintained turntable sitting next to the jazz collection on the bookshelf.

Stomach tense, she walked farther into the room, scanning the office for evidence of keepsakes and mementos stashed away, rearranged, or hidden. The first sign of a caster’s slow, mental deterioration. She ran her finger across the records’ spines. Alphabetized by artist, then title. Same as always. Her gaze wandered to the photos on his old mahogany desk. Kate, Brian, their mother—taken just before her death. All right where they’d sat the last time she’d visited.

Her father tossed his suit jacket on the desk chair and turned to take her in a hug, pulling her close. If he was going to let his guard down it would be now. Sneaking a look at him, she searched for signs of a change. A few more gray hairs around the temples. A strain around the lips. A twitching in the eye that wouldn’t go away.

Nothing. The long descent into paranoid schizophrenia that marked the inevitable end of a caster hadn’t tightened its grip on him. Not yet. The tension in her stomach eased.

Her father held her at arm’s length, frowning as he examined her shirt. “You’re not hurt?”

“Only scrapes. You know what happened?”

“Just the barest of details. I want to hear it from you.”

Her father let her go and turned to sit behind his desk. Victor slumped into one of the two chairs opposite him and waved for Kate to join him. She sat, her hands gripping the carved lions on the chair’s arms.

“A caster attacked her on the freeway driving home from school,” Victor said.

His gaze snapped to Victor. “Where were you?”

Kate broke in. “When I left Cornell, I didn’t call him for an escort home. I drove myself.”

“No one’s allowed to hurt you. No one. What happened?” Her father leaned across the desk. “Who attacked you?”

“A girl I know from school.”

“What did she have to say?” he asked Victor.

“I don’t know. She got away.” Victor shifted in his chair.

“You let her escape.”

“Yes.”

Victor didn’t blame her or give excuses, she gave him that.

“It was my fault,” she said. “We were arguing. If I hadn’t distracted him, Victor would have had time to tie her up or something.”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened, from the beginning.” Her father ran his hands through his neat, short hair, then focused those gray eyes on her. She could tell he saw her fear. He could probably tell when she lied, too. Lying to him had never worked in the past. Damn Brian for getting her involved in this mess.

Hands clammy as they rubbed the chair’s carved arms, she struggled through the story of the attack, staying as close as possible to the actual events. She left out Brooke’s demand that she hand over the stone. Victor broke in once or twice with his own so-unnecessary comments. Her father kept his thoughts to himself until she reached the end of the story.

“So I wanted to go home, but Victor insisted we come to see you—”

“Have you ever been attacked before?” her father asked.

“No, but—”

“You are off-limits.” He slammed the palm of his hand on the desk. “No one should have come after you at all.”

“The other families know better,” Victor said. “If they break the rules, what’s to stop us from doing the same? Besides—” he paused “—the girl didn’t seem like an operative.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t shield herself. Couldn’t cloak her spells worth a damn. Didn’t seem like she had the training.”

“A rogue?”

“Maybe. But why would a rogue attack Kate?”

“That’s the question.” Her father turned his attention back to her. “Did this Brooke girl say anything, anything at all, that would indicate what she was after?”

Kate stared down at her lap. “No, not a thing.” The stone felt heavy in her pocket.

Her father tapped his fingers on his wooden desk, one after the other, setting a rhythm. He seemed lost in thought. Then the tapping stopped.

“Victor, track this girl down. Look through the records of the rogues we’ve encountered and see if you can find a match.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Start now. I’ll talk to you about your actions later.”

“Yes, sir.” Victor got up and left the office, closing the double doors behind him.

Her father stayed quiet for a moment, and Kate wondered if he wanted her to tell him more. She ran her hand over the arm of the chair again. The faint smell of lemon oil rose from the wood, strangely soothing.

“Why didn’t you call Victor for an escort home? It’s his job to keep you safe.” Her father reached across the desk to take her hand in his.

“I’m tired of being treated like I’m the Crown Jewels or something. No one’s ever bothered me before. Why should Victor follow me around everywhere? I can’t do magic. I’ve known that since I was twelve.”

“Kate, look at me.” He squeezed her hand. “I said look at me.”

She met his gaze. She couldn’t help it.

“You are important. You do have a role in this family. It may not be what you were raised to do, but that doesn’t make you any less vital.”

“Really? And what’s my role? Get a medical degree so I can prescribe pills for you when you’re old and tweaked from casting and have to stay tranked all the time? Or get a comp-sci degree so someone you trust can hack your enemies’ networks? What kind of a life is that?”

“It’s a good life, an important life. You have a duty to your family.”

“There’s nothing I can do to help you win the Game. You need casters for that. People who can keep control of your pawns, stop the other families’ casters from messing with your operations. If I can’t do that, I might as well do what I want with my life.” She dropped her eyes as the old bitterness welled up. No point in regretting what can’t be changed.

“Have fun in college,” he said. “Go ahead, experiment with theater and art. But don’t believe for one minute that you know what you want. You’re only a freshman. You’re too young for that kind of certainty.”

“When will I be old enough? When it’s too late to choose? Well I’m going to choose for myself.” She rose to stand.

“Are you referring to that scholarship you’re so proud of?”

She stopped, halfway out of the chair.

“Did you think I didn’t know about that? Did you think the college could do anything that concerns you without my knowing? The scholarship changes nothing. Money is only one part of the picture. You need support. You need me.”

Kate shot to her feet, fire burning in the pit of her stomach. “I don’t. I don’t need you, your money, or you messing with my life. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Because I love you, sweetheart. Because you’re a Hamilton, and despite the Rules, that puts you at risk.”

Kate slumped, catching the arm of her chair. She gripped it hard; only a slight tremble showed.

I should tell him where to stuff his “because you’re a Hamilton” crap. But maybe there’s a better line of attack.
One she could figure out later, once she’d a chance to rest, retrench.

“Please call Alex and have him take me home.”

He studied her face. “You’ve been through a lot today. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you.” Picking up his phone, he dialed then said, “Stop by my office and take Kate to the house.”

Kate walked toward the doors, her steps light. She’d made it—escaped his office and hadn’t given away any of Brian’s secrets.

Her fingers touched the dark wood of the doorknob. Then her father spoke.

“Are you all right? I’m worried about you. This attack isn’t the sort of thing you’ve been trained to deal with.” He came around the desk to stand behind her. His hand brushed her shoulder.

She spun around. Understanding filled his eyes and, she thought, love. Reaching out for him, she sank into his embrace.

“It’s all right, honey. I know it’s rough. The first time somebody goes after you like that. You must have been scared.”

“A little.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone hurt you. I’ll keep you safe.” He held her close. “But you have to help me. What was that girl really after? You know, don’t you?”

Oh God, he knew she was lying. Of course he did. He was Dad.

She should tell him all about the stone: that it put her into a trance last night, that Brooke wanted it, that she had probably overheard Kate and Brian talking about it when he gave it to her. He would know what to do, how to keep her safe. Besides, anything he didn’t know he’d find out. She opened her mouth, ready to tell him everything.

Brian’s words came back to her.
“Don’t tell anyone. Not even Dad.”
Had paranoia from casting caused him to say that? Or did he have another reason?

Who did she trust more? Brian or Dad? Brian never betrayed her secrets, not even in the innocent childhood way of telling on her when she’d stolen an extra cookie after lunch. And confiding in Dad had its risks. She remembered when she’d told him she’d gone out with that gorgeous but utterly Normal boy Neil Castro from high school. Neil and his whole family disappeared the next day. Dad always said everything he did was for her own good.

She settled for a lie. Of sorts.

She shrugged. “Maybe it’s jealousy. I beat her out for the scholarship.”

He pulled back and reached up to touch her cheek, his hand gentle. “Would this girl really go after you for that? You need to tell me everything you know. I can’t protect you if you aren’t honest with me.”