White Hot (Hidden Legacy #2)(37)

Start. Please, please, please start.

The engine roared to life. There was no sweeter sound.

I put the car into reverse. The Range Rover’s door screeched, parting with the booth, and then suddenly we were free. The engine sputtered. I floored it. The warehouse was fifteen minutes away. I turned on Hammerly, made a left on Triway, and zigzagged through the labyrinth of small streets as the rain poured on, flooding the pavement.

Minutes stretched by, slow and sluggish, the Range Rover coughing and creaking, threatening to die any second. Time turned viscous. I kept checking the rearview mirror. No semis.

Troy stirred in the seat. I glanced at him. He was blinking quickly and tried to sit up.

“Stay down,” I told him.

He did.

“Where does it hurt?”

“Back of the head. My vision is blurry. What happened?”

“I’m taking you home,” I said.

“Need to notify . . .” He patted down his pocket.

“Don’t move,” I told him. “We’re almost there. Rogan has a team watching our house. One of them has to be an EMT.”

“Call it in.”

“When we’re safe.”

Streets flashed by. Gessner. Kempwood. When our street appeared out of the rain, I almost cried. I drove around the warehouse to the back. One of the massive industrial garage doors gaped open, and I steered the Range Rover inside, screeching to a stop a foot from the bumper of an armored Hummer.

“What in blazes . . .” Grandma Frida stepped out from behind the Hummer, a wrench in her hands. She saw the mangled side of the Range Rover and saw my face. I must’ve looked bloodless, because my seventy-two-year-old grandmother sprinted across the floor to hit the button on the door remote. The reinforced door clanged down, cutting off the world outside.



I ran into the living portion of the warehouse as Grandma Frida grabbed the med kit out of one of the metal cages. Cartoon noises floated from the media room. I stuck my head in. Arabella, blonde and short, sprawled on the couch. Catalina, taller, thinner, and dark-haired, sat on the floor among a scattering of brushes and hair ties. Matilda sat on the floor in front of her, between Bunny and a large seal-point Himalayan cat. One half of her hair was twisted into an elaborate braid.

Everyone looked at me.

I forced a smile on my face. “Matilda, where is your dad?”

“He’s taking a nap,” she said.

“Sushi!” Arabella jumped up off the couch, becoming completely vertical in 0.3 seconds.

“Can I borrow you two for a moment?”

Catalina grimaced. “I can’t let this go—I’ll have to redo the whole braid.”

“Please don’t argue.”

They must’ve heard the no-nonsense note in my voice, because my sisters moved.

“There is a dead body and an injured man in the motor pool,” I said quietly. “Grandma is watching them. Catalina, keep Matilda in this room. Do whatever you have to do to protect her. I mean whatever you have to do. If you need to use your powers, do it.”

Catalina’s face paled. “Understood.”

“Arabella, is Bern home?”

“He’s in the Hut of Evil.”

“Tell him to put us on lockdown. Where is Mom?”

“In the tower.”

“Leon?”

“Playing Grim Souls.”

Good; Leon was with his brother in the computer room.

“Are you okay?” Catalina asked.

“Yes.”

“Is someone coming for us?” Arabella whispered.

“I don’t know. Go.”

Arabella took off like a rocket, Catalina ducked back into the media room, and I ran for the intercom in the hallway.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I was attacked. One wounded, one dead body in the motor pool. We need an EMT. Can you get ahold of Rogan’s team?”

“Stand by.”

I waited.

The intercom came to life. “Open the front door.”

I sprinted to the office through the hallway, then to the door and checked the monitor. Two men in tactical gear ran up to the door through the rain, one carrying a medical bag. I opened the door, made sure it was locked behind them, and led them to the motor pool.

The medic went straight for Troy, while the other man went for the corpse and began speaking quickly into his headset.

I dialed Rogan’s number. I didn’t have to look at contacts. To my shame, I had it memorized. The call went straight to voice mail. There was no message, no introduction, just a beep.

I cleared my throat. “We were attacked on the Sam Houston Tollway. Troy is injured. Your people are taking care of him. Three vehicles were involved: a semi, a Toyota 4Runner, and a black Suburban. There was an ice mage in the Suburban. He iced the road, then the Toyota shot at us and the semi pushed us off the tollway, and we crashed into a tollbooth. An illusion mage came after us. I killed him, and I have his corpse. Call me back, please.”

I hung up and trotted to the medic.



By the time Rogan’s medic examined Troy and declared that he had a concussion, all of my adrenaline had worn off. I took several pictures of the dead guy with my phone, and walked away. I should’ve checked on Cornelius, but right now I wasn’t in any shape to give a day’s report. I headed to the tower where my mother was instead. Tower was really a grandiose name for it. It was a square chute that led up to the crow’s nest near the roof, equipped with a sturdy wooden ladder. My mother had climbed it despite her permanent limp, which meant she was really worried about our safety.