Cold Burn of Magic(21)

I whirled around to Mo. “That guy is Devon Sinclair? Claudia Sinclair’s son?”

I hissed out the words through clenched teeth, but my voice wasn’t as quiet as it should have been, and the others heard me. Felix, in particular, seemed amused, and he elbowed Devon in the side as though he found my ignorance entertaining. If this kept up, I was the one who’d be worse than the tourist rubes. But right now, I was too angry to care.

Mo nodded.

This time, I made sure to lower my voice. “Why was Devon Sinclair in your shop?” A sneaking suspicion occurred to me. “You weren’t going to sell him that ruby necklace, were you?”

He gave me an offended look. “Of course not. I already had another buyer lined up for that.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, so Mo sighed and finally answered my question.

“Devon was out in the Midway a while back, looking for a present for his mom,” he said. “I had rented a booth for the day to showcase some of my finer items, and I . . . might have suggested that I had some even better stuff at the Razzle Dazzle. Something that might really wow the head of the Sinclair Family.”

That matched up with what Devon had told me, but it wasn’t a good thing. Not at all. My head started pounding. This was bad, so very, very bad.

“And the other guy? Felix?”

“Felix Morales. Son of Angelo Morales, the Family chemist, and Devon’s best friend.”

“And the bodyguard?”

“Her name was Ashley Vargas. Another Family member, albeit it a relatively new one.”

I couldn’t keep from letting out a low groan. This just kept getting better and better. Somehow, despite my best intentions not to get involved with any of the Families—ever—here I was standing in one of their mansions, all eyes fixed on me.

Grant, Reginald, and Felix had dragged me here before Claudia Sinclair to . . . to . . . do what exactly? Question me about the attack? Determine whether or not I was involved ? Torture me until I told them something they wanted to hear?

Either way, this was the absolute last place I ever wanted to be. For a wild, crazy moment, sheer, sweaty panic filled me, and I wondered if they all might know who I really was. Mo would never tell them, but Claudia Sinclair might guess on her own. And if she did, then she’d never let me leave here—

Reginald gave Mo a sharp nod, which he returned with one of his own. I pushed my panic aside and eyed Mo. He had never told me much about his contact with the Families, much less this particular Family, but Mo knew everyone. He had to in his line of work. I wondered what he had gotten me into—and how I was going to get out of it.

“Keep your cool, answer their questions, and you’ll be fine,” Mo said. “And try not to be too much of a smart-ass, okay, kid? We’ve both got a lot riding on this.”

He plucked my backpack out of my arms, scurried over to the white settee, and took his previous seat there, leaving me standing in the back of the library all by myself like a complete idiot.

“Mo!” I hissed in that too-loud voice again. “Mo! Get back over here—”

Claudia strolled forward and my words died on my lips. Everyone stopped what they were doing to turn in her direction, including me. She had that much of a commanding presence—not to mention the ability to have me executed with a snap of her fingers.

“Now that we’re all here, we should get started.” Her voice was smooth and silky, but it definitely was an order, not a request. “Grant, Felix, thank you. That is all for now. I will call you when we have finished our discussion. In the meantime, please go make the necessary arrangements for our . . . guest.”

The cold, clipped way she said guest made me think about severed tree troll heads showing up in my bed, instead of mints on my pillows. That was exactly the sort of mob hospitality I would expect.

Grant and Felix each gave her a respectful nod, then left the room, shutting the doors behind them. Claudia took a seat in a black armchair in front of the fireplace. The tall, wide, throne-like chair was set back from all the others, in a pool of shadows, with the rest of the seats angled to face it. Oh yes. Claudia Sinclair was definitely the queen here.

Devon took the smaller, matching chair closest to hers. Mo grinned and patted the empty space on the settee. Grumbling under my breath, I went over, sat down next to him, and wished that I hadn’t. The settee was in a sunspot, one so bright I had to squint against the glare, and the white velvet was so slick I had to dig the toes of my ratty sneakers into the black Persian rug to keep from sliding off—

Reginald bent down beside my elbow. I bit back a surprised shriek. Somehow, he had appeared at my side without my even having seen or heard him move. He was either really fast, really quiet, or really good at lurking. Probably all three.

Reginald held out a china cup to me. “Tea, miss?”

“Not unless it has a whole lot of ice and at least a pound of sugar in it.”

He frowned but set the cup aside, then picked up the platter of treats.

“Cucumber sandwich?”

My stomach rumbled. “You got something bigger?”


His frown deepened. “Bigger?”

“Yeah, you know, more substantial? Like a sub or something? With bacon? Because I could down that whole plate of nibbles in, like, five seconds flat.”

If I was going to be questioned, or whatever this was, then I at least wanted to get some free food out of the deal. And those little cucumber things were barely thicker than saltine crackers.