Bright Blaze of Magic (Black Blade, #3)(52)

“Who is this?” Blake growled. “And what do you want?”

“It’s Devon Sinclair,” Devon replied in a cold voice. “And I want to talk to Victor.”

Silence.

Then Blake let out a low, ugly laugh. “Finally calling to give yourself up? How sweet. You can join the rest of your loser Family in the cages my dad has them in.”

A muscle ticked in Devon’s jaw and it took him a moment to respond. “Tell Victor I have the black blades—the real ones that are filled with magic. Unless you want to be the reason why he doesn’t get the weapons he wants?”

Blake hissed out a breath at the implied threat in Devon’s words. He knew exactly what his dad was capable of.

“Call me back in ten minutes,” he growled again and hung up.

So we waited ten minutes in silence, each minute seeming longer than the last, but the second the time was up, Felix hit Blake’s number again. The phone rang three times before someone answered it.

“Mr. Sinclair,” Victor’s smooth voice oozed out of the phone. “I thought you might call with an offer, but I didn’t expect it to be such an intriguing one.”

“My offer is simple,” Devon said. “The black blades in exchange for the safe return of my mom, Angelo Morales, William Reginald, Mo Kaminsky, and all the other Sinclairs you’re holding hostage.”

“And how do I know you’ll give me the real black blades this time and not just more fakes?”

Devon drew in a breath. “Because I’m the one who stole them out of that secret room in your office. It took me two weeks to get them all, but believe me, I have them. I can send you photos or read off the codes that you put on the weapons, if you like.”

Silence.

“That won’t be necessary,” Victor finally replied. “I assume you want the exchange to take place as soon as possible.”

“Yes. And I want your assurances that you will not harm my mother or any of the other Sinclairs.”

“Your mother is still in one piece . . . more or less,” Victor purred, a note of sly satisfaction creeping into his voice. “Nothing’s broken that a little stitch-sting can’t fix.” He paused. “Well, perhaps quite a lot of stitch-sting.”

Devon’s jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists, but he didn’t respond to the obvious taunt. We all knew that Victor had been torturing Claudia to get her to give up the location of the weapons, but it was still horrifying to hear him talk about it, especially in such a cold, casual way.

“The same thing goes for Mr. Kaminsky,” Victor continued in that same sly, satisfied tone. “Although I’ll admit that I’ve been a little more . . . enthusiastic in my questioning of him.”

I sucked in a breath, white-hot rage roaring through my body, but I clamped my lips shut and ground my teeth together to keep from screaming curses at him. No doubt that was exactly what Victor wanted. He’d hurt Claudia and Mo, and now he was hurting us by bragging about how he’d tortured them. Well, he was going to pay for it—all of it.

Victor laughed into the shocked silence. “The exchange happens tonight. Nine o’clock sharp. There’s a warehouse on Copper Street. Do you know where that is?”

Devon looked at me, as surprised as I was that Victor wanted to meet where he was holding the Sinclairs. But I supposed it made sense. Victor would want to keep his prisoners as close as possible and his forces intact. He wouldn’t want to risk going to another location with his guards and letting a single Sinclair escape while he was gone.

“Mr. Sinclair?”

“Yes,” Devon said, his voice cold. “I know where that is.”

“Good. Then bring the weapons there. I don’t know how many guards you might have with you, but if my men see a single one, so much as the smallest pixie, then I will execute your mother right in front of you. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Sinclair?”

“Yes,” Devon ground out. “Very clear.”

“Excellent. Then we have an agreement. So nice doing business with you.” Victor paused. “And Mr. Sinclair?”

“What?” Devon growled.

“Be sure to bring the real weapons this time. I would hate for anything to happen to your mother because you were stupid enough to think you could fool me with more fakes.”

Devon opened his mouth, but Victor ended the call before he could respond. Devon let out a tense breath, and Felix turned his phone off.

“Now what?” Oscar muttered, twitching his wings and hovering in midair.

Devon sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Now we try to get some rest before tonight.”





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


We hashed out our plan, gathered up our supplies, and made sure that everything was ready. Once that was done, there was nothing else for us to do, so we ate some of the bacon-flavored beef jerky and water I had stored in the basement, then turned off the lights and lay down, trying to get some sleep.

For a while, I lay there in the dark with the others, listening to Devon’s and Felix’s soft, even breaths, mixed in with Oscar’s and Tiny’s deep, rumbling snores. But I couldn’t sleep, so I slid off my cot, crept through the basement, and eased up the steps, careful not to make them creak and wake the others. I opened the door at the top of the steps and went into the storage room, then out into the main part of the library.