Scorched by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #7)(33)

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t be alive if she hadn’t done it,” I pointed out. “And that would be a damn shame. No matter how amoral your grandmother’s choice was, good came out of it in the end,” I added with a smile.

“Very true,” said Fenris.

Iannis’s jaw flexed, and he looked like he was about to object. I placed my hand over his atop the bedspread, trying to calm him. “This isn’t the same thing at all,” I said, squeezing his hand. “You aren’t doing this for selfish or personal reasons, like your grandmother did. Your aim is to save lives and bring order to our country. That’s a worthy cause, Iannis.”

“Besides,” Fenris added, “Father Calmias’s pathological hatred can easily be viewed as a sickness—he is certainly not right in the head if he thinks his benevolent Ur-God truly wishes the destruction of all mages and shifters. As a healer, Iannis, wouldn’t you want to cure him if you could?”

Iannis was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire. “I will ask the First Mage for guidance and sleep on it,” he finally said. “A large part of me agrees with you both, but I cannot make this decision hastily.”

Maybe not, I agreed silently as we bid Fenris a good night and headed back to our quarters. But he would have to do it soon, now that Father Calmias wasn’t on Prison Isle anymore. If Thorgana could be broken out as easily as she had, it was only a matter of time before Calmias’s own followers decided to rescue him. And it would be a lot better for us if we could hand him over as a changed man, rather than someone fueled by poisonous hate.





13





The next morning, right after an early breakfast, Garrett and I left to interview our list of Thorgana’s associates. I’d half considered bringing a carriage around so Rylan could accompany us, but Garrett had seemed eager to use the steambike again, and I didn’t want him to think anything was wrong.

Our first stop was the Mendle family, who had just recently moved into a new mansion in Maintown. It was a ginormous affair of stone and glass, with a huge, cobblestone paved roundabout in front, and gardens that stretched around the sides and to the back for who knew how far. Heavy silk curtains hung in the six-by-six casement windows spanning the two stories, and several chimneys jutted from the slate roof. Just how much house did these people need, anyway? Of course, most of the guests who regularly attended the Benefactor’s lavish parties lived in opulent style. Maybe they were planning to host similar parties, now that Thorgana was no longer able to do so.

A wrought-iron gate prevented us from parking in front of the door, so I left my bike at the curb, then flashed my enforcer bracelet at the lone guard manning the small booth outside the gate. He let us in immediately, then picked up a phone to let the house staff know we were coming.

“The Mendles must be doing very well,” Garrett remarked as we approached the house, skirting around the stone fountain at the center of the roundabout. The leaves on the bushes edging the fountain were turning burnished shades of red and gold. No doubt they grew brilliant flowers during the spring and summer. “This is quite the place.”

“From what I understand, they just moved in,” I said, trotting up the stacked-stone steps. I reached for the heavy brass knocker, then recoiled with a hiss moments before my fingers brushed against it. “What the fuck?”

“What is it?” Garrett asked, sounding alarmed.

“Silver.” I glared at the offending knocker, my fingers twitching toward my crescent knives. Not that I’d be able to cut the knocker off with them, but someone ought to. “Guess shifters aren’t welcome here.”

“That’s right,” Garrett said, his gaze lighting with understanding. “You are allergic to silver. I completely forgot.” Stepping forward, he grabbed the knocker and rapped sharply on the door.

I glared at him. “Seriously? That’s it?”

He turned to me, a puzzled frown on his face. “What? I knocked on the door for you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. I didn’t know why I was acting offended that Garrett wasn’t showing more consideration for me. We weren’t friends. Still, if I pushed emotion aside, it was an interesting tidbit, this knocker. Were the Mendles an anti-shifter family? Had they supported the Resistance in any way?

Approaching footsteps sounded beyond the door, and it opened before Garrett could say anything else. “Good morning,” a human male dressed in a dark suit greeted us—the butler. He had thinning blond hair and sallow skin, and there were dark circles beneath his pale brown eyes. “How can I help you?”

“Umm, we’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Mendle.” Normally, I would have sounded a lot more official, but the fetid smell of sickness was wafting from beyond the open door, and man, it was strong. My skin crawled, and I fought the urge to back away. “Are they in?”

“Mr. Mendle is at the office, and the missus is indisposed, I’m afraid,” the butler said. A gust of wind blew past us, and he looked like he was about to topple over. “If you’d like, I can take a message.”

“This is a matter of some urgency—” Garrett began, but I cut him off.

“That would be just fine.” I took out a pad and pen, scribbled down a note, and handed it to the servant. “Please have Mrs. Mendle call me at her earliest convenience.”