Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(107)

The place was lit up like a Christmas tree. Massive lamps flooded the interior of the compound around the dome with white light, and industrial lights banished the darkness a full fifty yards past the outer electrified fence. It was pitch-black outside, but inside it might as well have been broad daylight. Sturm clearly expected an attack.

His electric bill had to cost a small fortune.

The top two center screens showed the schematics of the same fortress, while the screen under them offered highlights. Outer fence: electrified fence, eight guard posts. Inner wall: barracks, roughly one hundred personnel, fortified concrete, machine guns. The dome in the center: reinforced concrete monodome, twenty-eight steel pilings driven into the ground, over seven miles of steel reinforcements; earthquake, hurricane, and tornado resistant, the kind of home that a storm mage would build to withstand the worst the planet and magic could throw at him.

The place was a damn fortress. Sturm also owned the neighboring ranch and some additional buildings, but they were of little interest. The fight would center on his fortified base.

The two bottom left screens showed atmospheric readings and live feed from Doppler radar. The top left screen showed Lenora Jordan. She was in her late thirties, with medium brown skin that had a rich red undertone. Her dark brown hair, normally pulled back from her face, fell around it in long, tightly curled locks. She looked like a paladin about to ride into battle. If her eyes could shoot fire, the room would be burning. Behind her, people hurried back and forth, some frantically speaking into a phone.

Our room was full too. Both Cornelius and Diana sat on the couch. Rivera, Heart, and three of Rogan’s team leaders, two women and a man, studied the base. My family parked themselves near a wall. Rynda and Edward Sherwood, still pale, sat in the two chairs on my right. We’d all heard the ten-minute briefing. Sturm’s fortress could hold off a small army.

The faint sound of drums floated in the air, underscored by a powerful current of magic. Behind the screens, at the outdoor space where Rogan had performed his Key, Adeyemi danced in a furious rhythm, the lines of the arcane circle around her sparkling with lightning.

“How soon can you get there?” Lenora ground out.

“Twenty minutes,” Rogan said. “Sooner if you stop asking me things every thirty seconds.”

She glowered at him.

“Sir,” Bug said. “I have an incoming call from Alexander Sturm, sir.”

“I want complete silence,” Rogan barked, his voice snapping like a whip.

Everyone froze. The room turned so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

Rogan glanced at the doors leading to outside where Adeyemi danced. They slammed shut, smothering the drumbeat.

The entire workstation pivoted on its axis toward the kitchen, the only thing Sturm would be able to see. Rogan strode to the kitchen counter. A coffee mug shot out of the cabinet and landed in his hand. He leaned against the counter, mug in hand, and nodded at Bug. He appeared completely alone in an empty room, just a man enjoying a late cup of coffee.

“Rogan,” Sturm said from the screen. “Did I wake you?”

“Yes.” Rogan’s voice was nonchalant. “I was having the best dream. I was wrapping my hands around your throat, and you were begging. I was embarrassed for you, actually.”

There was a momentary pause. “I had no idea you devoted so much time to thinking about me.”

“Not really. What do you want, Sturm?”

“What I always wanted. Olivia’s files.”

Rogan pretended to consider it. “No.”

“Why do you have to be so tedious? What do you want for them?”

“Nothing you have.”

Sturm sighed. “I have a lot of things you don’t want. History shows that when our Houses fight, yours loses.”

Rogan smiled. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

“Try me.”

“I intend to,” Sturm said. “There will be enormous losses in personnel and property, and at the end, I’ll win. I have one simple advantage, Rogan. I can direct the destruction, while you just emanate it. It’s clear I have the tactical advantage. Why don’t we skip all that and discuss our options?”

“You have no options,” Rogan said, his voice harsh.

“Let me guess, you have a Boy Scout plan. You’ll crack the cypher and then what? Turn it over to Jordan?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Sturm laughed. “Come on. Even if I humor you, and we suppose that I’ll sit on my hands while all of this happens, even you can guess about the caliber of people involved. Nothing will happen, Rogan. They will bury it, and if Jordan tries to hold on to it, they will bury that uppity bitch with it. They’ve been talking about cutting her down to size for months.”

I slapped my hand over my mouth, so nothing would escape.

“Then you have nothing to worry about.”

“Except my reputation. Which is precisely why I won’t be sitting on my hands. While your geeks are trying to break the cypher, I will be demolishing Houston.”

“And this helps you how?”

“By the time I’m done, there will be no city left. Do you know what happens in the wake of a natural disaster of such proportions? There is no law and order. There is no accountability. There is only chaos. By the time they get around to sorting out who may be responsible for what, nobody will be able to implicate me. Weather spells can’t be traced. In fact, credible proof may surface that you were responsible for the destruction of the city. Of the two of us, you’re the one with the cute nicknames, Huracan.”