Soul Kissed (8 page)

“And my stepsisters Zella and Stacia.”

He didn’t remember them. They were younger than Cari, so hadn’t run with the same group of friends. Both women had a feral kind of appreciation on their pretty faces. The younger had red and black jagged hair—her keen assessment kind of scared him—and the other had gone long and platinum with her hairdo. She was smiling at him way too much. He hoped they weren’t bold enough to try anything. House women, even too-young ones, were dangerous. A stray ought to know.

“Nice to meet you all.” He tried to keep clear of the crush. “If someone could just point the way to where I’ll be staying, I’ll give you your privacy.”

Cari had a quizzical expression on her face, a twist to those lips. She was amused at his discomfort. Well, she should get her laughs in where she could. The woman had more than enough to worry about.

Was that the
wump-wump
of a helicopter overhead? The news crew had followed.

Dolan House would soon be under a modern siege. And then the whole damn world would know the value of wards.

She turned to a staff member waiting inconspicuously nearby.

“Allison?”

Mason almost smiled, even today with the world ending. Princess Cari. All grown up and mistress of her own little castle. He’d only known her while he’d been with Liv, who’d been dedicated to pissing off her family by keeping company with a stray. To the others Liv hung out with, he’d been a novelty they indulged. But sometimes Cari, pretty Cari, would shoot him a look or say something under her breath, and for a second, he’d feel like one of them instead of dirt on a shoe. Back then he’d been ignorant enough to delude himself.

Allison headed for the stairs to show him his room. Up, where family would sleep, not back, where the staff rooms probably were.

He followed.

A sense of air and light dominated within the house, but yes, there was also the silky cling of magic, like a fuzz on the edge of awareness. The broad architecture seemed designed to hold stillness, which made his tension even keener by comparison. At the top of the main stairs, a large marble statue of a languorous woman reclined. The piece was in the Greco-Roman style, and probably had a story behind it. The marble made her skin pure milk, caressed her naked breasts and left her eyes vacant.

With a snap of understanding, Mason perceived that Dolan House was dominated by women. Even the air seemed female, the energy feminine. Shadow seemed more seductive here. Caspar Dolan would’ve been incongruous in this place. Which made no sense at all. Caspar Dolan had been an extremely powerful man. Wouldn’t his House reflect his character? He’d only been gone a week.

Allison showed him to a guest suite—high ceilings, simple elegant furniture in fair hues. He dropped his duffle on the glass top of a low table with fancy legs. The decorator had managed to girl-ify the color blue.

When the door closed behind him, he put his hands on his hips and hung his head. Well, here he was. Invited to stay inside a House. And not some servant’s room either, which would have suited him just fine.

Comfort and safety. Everything he’d wanted so long ago, and yet it meant nothing today. It was, in fact, a bad and bitter joke.

How many times when he was younger had he looked at every mage man and wondered if he could be his father. Then there’d be the shock of discovery. Pride. The mage would claim him—
my son
—and Mason would be shown into a room like this (or a masculine version). And suddenly the orphan stray would have a massive family around him.

The fantasy had been impossible. His father, it turned out, was human. There had never been a room like this set aside for him. And now, he didn’t want it. Not even this one, the best of them.

The Houses could have their large, fine estates. He just wanted his little house on the island in Alexandria Bay, or even the cabin . . . and Fletcher.

His dream was Fletcher. A family of two.

This great House made Mason hurt. The room was too big. Too rich. He didn’t like the quiet, because then he had to think.

What was Fletcher doing now? Was it too soon to hope for an e-mail or video message?

Mason pulled out his laptop. There was an e-mail from Webb. It was explicit, though miserly with detail, and yet what lay under the message brought Fletcher’s and his situation into crystal clear focus. Not that he was surprised, though his heart still squeezed and squeezed until the room seemed to tilt.

Mason had worked for many a House doing unpleasant jobs in return for favors, or for money to live. It was the only work open to him. Steal, cheat, kill—a mage did not collect a human paycheck. Doing so meant utter isolation, and possibly death, especially under the previous Council.

Was discovering information on this membrane the job that Webb had wanted to hire him for back at the Stanton May Fair? Didn’t matter.

Of course, there was no offer of payment here, and that’s because Webb knew that Mason didn’t need to be paid. Not anymore. Webb had Fletcher, which was more than enough motivation. The fosterage arrangement made Mason a very passionate supporter of Webb’s interests. The contract was a two-fer. That’s simply how fosterage worked.

Didn’t matter that Mason liked Cari, didn’t want to investigate her business. He was first and foremost Webb’s man.

 

 

Fletcher noshed on a cookie as he lay back and considered the blanket they’d used for a fort ceiling. It was drooping again. He and Bran were going to get the most out of “just tonight” if it killed them. Tomorrow they had to clean up and Fletcher had to sleep in his own room. Welcome celebration over.

Fletcher was a pro at forts. His dad had taught him everything he needed to know.

He and Bran had found flashlights in the kitchens, grub and soda too, and stashed it in a corner of the fort that he called the canteen. They had an ammo cache of rolled socks to beam at anyone who came to check on them—his dad had always said to make sure he could defend himself. A piss pot and source of fresh water would’ve made the fort complete, but Mr. Webb might have gotten mad about that.

They loaded the floor with bed stuff from Fletcher’s room and ate until the sheets itched. And Bran made monsters out of the shadows of their hands on the standing mattress they’d turned into a barricade.

When Bran finally fell asleep, which took forever, Fletcher’s boredom disappeared.

Time to become Stealth. It was his secret name, what his dad had called him after the silent stink bombs he’d dropped as a baby. Changed to codename Deadly Vapor for a while, then Miasma, when he got that stomach flu, but anything that ended in an “a” was a girl name. Stealth stuck, and now he kind of liked it. And only his dad knew about the baby thing.

His sleeping spot was next to a dark gap under Bran’s bed. Lots of Shadow there. He scooted under the bed and kept scooting until he reached the wall.

Bran’s bedroom wall was shared by Mr. Webb’s bedroom wall, which was why Stealth had suggested using this room instead of his.

Stealth told the Shadow what to do. If he made no sound, he could hear the low grumble of Mr. Webb’s voice. If he looked hard enough, made his eyes look through the wall, then he could watch Mr. Webb’s mouth move, and he could figure out the words.

The wall dissolved and only black spots coasted in Stealth’s vision. He knew to ignore the whispers that hissed in his ears—those were just the fae, coming closer. His dad said not to acknowledge them, so he didn’t.

Mr. Webb was in a brown robe and slippers. Veiny ankles. He’d put his glasses down on his night table, but was speaking on a smart phone. “No, he won’t report my request to the Council. I have his son.”

Stealth peered harder to catch everything. Mr. Webb could only be talking about one “son”—him.

Mr. Webb grunted with frustration. “The stray will do as I tell him. He’s gotten his hands dirty before.”

Stealth went hot. Mr. Webb was scheming against his dad.

A long bit of quiet.

“Yes, I am prepared to do just that.” Mr. Webb looked over at the wall, almost as if he could see him. But Stealth had been doing this bit of magic for too long to be scared. “I’m sure he’ll be very cooperative.”

Stealth glared right back.

Cooperative? An archnemesis? Never.

 

 

“What do you mean he’s staying here?” Scarlet demanded of Cari. “Did he seduce you so easily?”

Cari paced around the far end of the formal dining table, Umbra research in hand. She’d wanted a large surface to lay everything out and her father’s desk was already covered. Unfortunately, her family saw no reason not to bother her here, even though she was trying to work. Actually, they’d bother her anywhere if they wanted.

Zel, who was sitting on the table swinging her legs, rather than occupying a chair like an adult, laughed out loud. “Mother!”

Cari didn’t need this. She laid out the membrane integrity graphs to see if she could find any regularity in the findings. “You want me to throw him out to them?” The protesters from DolanCo now camped just outside the Dolan House wards.

Scarlet didn’t flinch. “He’s a stray.”

Stray meant his blood wasn’t good, wasn’t pure. That he had no true loyalties. That he couldn’t be trusted. That he would seize an opportunity.

Well, there had been that one time . . . Mason leaning in, his warm breath on her cheek, her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it . . . but Cari wasn’t going to mention that, nor think about it too much herself. It still made her heart pound, and it had been years ago.

“Mason is my partner, and it would do no House, including ours, any good for him to be in danger, at the mercy of the hysterical masses, when wards could protect him.”

Besides the fact that he’d gotten her out of a very tight situation. Maybe her stepmother needed to see that news clip again. The stations were playing it over and over. Boom went Mason’s great big hammer. That helicopter might even still be circling the house.

At least the house was well stocked for everything they might need, should they be stuck inside the wards for a while. Her father had always thought ahead and had prepared for this very situation. Food stuffs. Supplies. Generators. In-ground well. For now, they were fine.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Zel offered suggestively. Her fingers undid the braid in her long hair and she shook it free into streams of silvery sunshine. She let the mass fall around her face and made bedroom eyes at Cari.

Scarlet rounded on her. “You will not. Need I remind you that you are betrothed to marry?”

Zel, age twenty-four, did kissy fish lips at her mother.

Cari was definitely not going to bring up the fact that Stacia wasn’t going back to school.

Scarlet, like a variety performer spinning plates, turned back to Cari. “Is this the way you honor your father?”

Which just pissed her off. “I don’t deserve that. And I don’t want to hear one more word about Mason staying here. He is. Period.” And to Zel, just in case, “You leave him alone.”

Zel pushed off the table. “That’s okay. Stacia’s called dibs anyway.”

Scarlet went white. “That’s not funny.”

Cari kinda thought it was, but she kept her expression straight as she looked at her pages. The jagged red line on the graph in question went up and down, no rhyme, no reason.

“Well,
someone
should bang him,” Zel said.

Silence.

Cari did a double take, surprised that Zel evidently meant her. Heat flashed over her skin, but she managed to be blithe. “I have other work to do.”

“Delegate,” Zel said.

Scarlet sputtered. “What will the Walkers think?”

Cari pointed to the door. “Out.”

Zel actually did as she was told. Shocker. Scarlet would be more difficult. Cari wasn’t going to get any work done until Scarlet had said her piece.

“Did you know he has allied with Webb?” Scarlet’s tone was smug.

Cari paused. She’d just found out about the fosterage agreement; Kaye Brand had failed to mention it when she was here. A convenient omission. But Cari wasn’t all that surprised: Brand and Webb were allied; it made sense that Mason was, too.

“I ask you, how does a
stray
make that kind of arrangement? Webb is an old, prestigious House.”

Cari repeated what she’d been told. “Brand says it was the bargain struck for him to investigate the mage plague.”

“A stray doesn’t have that kind of pull.”

“Brand was a stray herself once.”

Scarlet scoffed. “Not really.”

“Her House burned to the ground.”

“Word is Brand lit the match herself.”

Cari put her arm around Scarlet’s shoulders and led her to the door. “Please, Scarlet. This investigation is on behalf of all our Houses, so of course he is going to have allies we don’t share. And if those allies are powerful, then he must have earned them, which means the likelihood of our finding the source of the plague is greater.” And, to cover all of her stepmother’s objections. “I promise to guard against his formidable powers of seduction.”

He did have a cool car and had claimed to be—Cari would never forget—good with his hands.

Cari eased Scarlet out the door. Then shut it on her protest.