Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)(29)

The magic shot through the Acubens Exemplar like a blast wave. The glowing lines pulsed with brilliance and vanished, exhausted, all of their power expended in trying to rip my secret out of me.

I slumped over on the floor, my face cold. The lack of pressure was pure, distilled bliss. I felt so light.

Mad Rogan walked over to me, moving carefully, and swore.

“Fuck you too,” I told him.

He knelt by my feet. How the hell could he even move after this? I heard metal clanging. He lifted my head and put something to my lips.

I clamped my teeth together.

“It’s water, you stubborn idiot,” he snarled.

I tried to shake my head, but he forced my mouth open. Water wet my tongue. I swallowed, fighting the fog.

Fatigue wrapped me, or maybe it was some sort of blanket. Then we were in a car. It was dark outside.

The car stopping. Car door swinging open. Mad Rogan carrying me. Warehouse door. Cold cement.

The door opening.

Mom.

I woke up in the living room. Someone had left the table lamp on. It glowed with soft electric light, and the room looked so cozy, with its dark blue-green walls and warm yellow lamps. I snuggled into the throw someone had put over me. I’d had a really ugly nightmare.

I stretched. The muscles of my legs and arms cramped. Ow, ow, ow.

Not a nightmare. Mad Rogan really did chain me in his basement.

I sat up. Everything hurt. My back felt like it had been beaten up by a sack of potatoes.

That bastard. I’d file a police report, except nobody would believe me, and explaining how I’d held him off inside the spell would make things really complicated. That’s okay. I would find some way to get even.

Voices floated to me from the kitchen. Mother. She sounded upset. I squinted at the clock on the Blu-ray player. 11:45 p.m. Given a chance, we argued until we turned purple in the face and passed out from the effort, but this was late for a fight even by our family’s standards. I pushed myself upright and staggered toward the voices.

My mother’s voice cut through the night. “. . . Pierce? Irresponsible and stupid. Stupid, Bernard!”

Right. We’d been busted. After that ass dropped me off at my doorstep, my mother must’ve leaned on Bern for explanations, and he must’ve broken down and told her everything.

I pushed my way into the kitchen. Bern sat at the table, his face a somber mask. Next to him Leon was pushing a marble back and forth on the table with a chopstick and trying his best to look like he didn’t care about anything. Catalina and Arabella sat together. Catalina’s face had shut down, the way it usually did when something really stressful happened between adults. Arabella looked like she wanted to punch something. Both they and Leon should’ve been in bed. Grandma Frida nursed a coffee, her eyes red. I felt a rush of guilt. I’d made my grandmother cry.

“I can’t believe you,” my mother snarled.

“You can stop yelling at him,” I said. “It was my call.”

Mom spun around. We stared at each other.

“Tomorrow you will go to MII,” she said. Her voice was quiet, but it had about as much give in it as a steel beam. “You’ll tell them you’re off this job.”

I braced myself. I’d known this moment would come sooner or later, and I’d been dreading it. “No.”

My mother squared her shoulders. “Fine. Then I will do it.”

Mother had lost her license four years ago. She blamed herself for it. If anything happened to me, she would blame herself as well. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to stir up all that guilt and heartache, so I tried to keep my voice as gentle as possible. “You don’t have the authority to speak for the firm. The agency is in my name.”

The kitchen went so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Catalina’s eyes were as big as saucers.

My mother’s face turned into a cold, flat mask.

“The decision is mine,” I said. “I’m the one licensed. We are going after Pierce.”

“How are you going to contain him?”

“I don’t have to contain him. I met him and I’m talking him in.”

“How is that working for you?” Mother asked. “Because you looked half dead when I found you on the doorstep.”

“That wasn’t Adam Pierce. That was Mad Rogan.”

Mother recoiled. Leon made a choking noise.

“I thought he was out,” Bern said.

“He’s in. Apparently he does care about his cousin.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Mother’s voice cracked like a whip. “Do you have any idea what kind of fire you’re playing with?”

“Yes, I do.”

“It’s just money.”

“It’s not just about money.” My voice went up. “It’s about our family. I won’t let them push us around just because they feel like it. I won’t let them uproot us. They don’t get to do it.”

“Nevada!”

“Yes, Mother?”

“We can start over!”

“And how long will that take? Without equipment, without a house, without our client database? You know most of our business comes from word-of-mouth recommendations, and those recommendations are for Baylor Investigative Agency. MII will take our name. When our phone is disconnected, and our website is down, people will assume we’re out of business and move on. It will take years before we rebuild. The answer is no.”