Wildfire by Ilona Andrews
Judging by Dave and Frank, their grandpa Peter would be nasty and tough as nails. First, he sent his grandson after me and Rogan, then after Rogan made an origami crane out of Dave, he sent his other grandson. Peter didn’t give up easily, but he didn’t survive this long without some wisdom.
I dialed the number and put the call on speaker.
“House Madero,” a woman chirped into the phone.
“This is Nevada Baylor. Let me speak with the Head of the House.”
“And who the hell are you?”
“I’m the person who just put Frank into the ER. Put the call through.”
There was a pause, then a gruff male voice came on the line. “So you’re the bitch Tremaine wants.”
Aha. I’ve got your number. “Charming. Your family is short on brains, so I’ll say this slowly. Frank is in the Houston Memorial ER. I put him there. If he makes it, he’ll tell you that he brought twelve people with him against me and my sixteen-year-old cousin. Eight of your people are dead. Four ran off. I’m taking your fun wagon as spoils of war.”
“You fucking whore.”
“That will be Prime whore to you.”
Peter Madero choked on his own spit.
Rivera and Leon stared at me.
“I don’t know if Tremaine promised you money and you’re just greedy and stupid, or if she has something on you and you’re scared, but I’m her granddaughter. Flesh and blood. Think about it.”
“I ain’t scared of you or your memaw.”
“So far one of your grandsons has both arms in casts, and the other might be dying. I need to know if you’re going to drop the contract or try again. Because if you’re trying again, I’m going to let Mad Rogan’s people take custody of Frank.”
“I’ll tear your throat out and shit down your neck.”
“You didn’t survive to your seventies because you made bad business decisions. You send Roger after me, his baby will grow up without a father. You know it, and I know it. Who’s left? The twins?”
“I’ll do it myself.”
“No, you won’t. You had a triple bypass three months ago. Frank and Dave both could barely breathe three minutes into the fight. I won’t have to fight you, I’ll just run circles around you until your body gives out. And then where would the family be?”
“You stay out of my business!”
“I need a decision about Frank. I can’t sit here all day. Also, what do you want to do about your dead people?”
“You give me my bus back, and I’ll think about dropping the contract.”
“No, that’s my bus. I earned it fair and square.”
He swore.
“Just admit you’re beat, you cantankerous old bastard.”
“Fine. Leave our dead at the hospital; we’ll pick ’em up. And don’t let me find you there, or I’ll wring your scrawny neck.”
I hung up. Rivera was looking at me like he’d never seen me before.
“I had a client like that once,” I told him. “The only way to win his respect was to meet him on his playing field and give as good as you got.”
I stared at my grandmother’s number. Some sort of response had to be made. She attacked us for the second time. Do I call and issue an ultimatum? Do I call the Office of Records and complain? Would this make us look weak or would we look weaker by not complaining and just letting her continue to terrorize us?
Leon huddled next to me. Rivera studied him for a moment and spoke into his headset. “Kurt? Find me.”
A moment later a gruff-looking man walked up to us. He had a dense red beard and shoulders that wouldn’t fit through the door. He glanced at Leon and nodded. “Come with me.”
Leon got up and followed him.
“What’s going on?”
“Kurt is our PTSD specialist,” Rivera said. “He’s an ex–Navy SEAL, highly decorated.”
“And with a high kill count?” I guessed.
Rivera nodded. “Leon needs help, and Kurt will be able to help him. He knows the right things to say.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“He’s a talented kid,” Rivera said, and walked away.
I looked at my phone. I needed some advice. If Rogan was here, I might have gone to him, but even if I did, he could decide to go and have a personal chat with Victoria Tremaine. So far he had been almost painfully careful about not stepping on my toes, but he nearly lost it when I came to him to ask about how to handle Augustine. He came close to killing his friend—probably his only friend—for my sake.
No, I needed a neutral third party. Someone who had no trouble navigating House waters, but had no personal stake in the matter. I scrolled through my contacts. There it was, Linus Duncan. Once the most powerful man in Texas. He said to call if I needed any advice. Cornelius thought the world of him, and Rogan respected him.
I dialed the number.
“Hello, Ms. Baylor,” Linus Duncan said into the phone in his rich, slightly amused baritone. “How may I help?”
“I need some advice.”
“Is the matter urgent?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at Houston Memorial.”
“Are you injured?”
“No. But I just survived a second attack by Victoria Tremaine.”
There was a small pause.
“You’re right,” Linus said, a note of concern slipping into his voice. “The matter is urgent. As I recall, Houston Memorial has a quiet coffee shop. I will be there in forty minutes.”
Sergeant Munoz peered at me. A stocky dark-haired man about twice my age, he looked like a cop, which is exactly what he was. Career cops had that odd air of ingrained authority and jaded world-weariness. They’d seen it all, they expected the worst-case scenario and crazy crap, and nothing surprised them anymore. If an alien landed in the parking lot and leveled a blaster at us, Sergeant Munoz wouldn’t bat an eye. He’d order it to raise its limbs and lie down on the ground, but he wouldn’t be surprised.
The parking lot had rapidly filled with cops. Sergeant Munoz took charge, and he clearly didn’t like what he saw.
“I know you. Longhorn Hotel, enerkinetic cheating on his wife.”
“Yes, sir.” It was a routine cheating spouse case until the wife showed up at the hotel to confront her husband against my explicit instructions. I had a strong feeling that if the cheating husband got his wife into the car, nobody would ever see her again, so I stepped in and got thrown into the wall for my trouble, before I managed to tase him.
“And now we have this.” He turned to the eight bodies laid out in a row. Each of them showed a single shot in the same exact spot.
“This is what we call a T-box kill. Do you know what a T-box is?”
“Yes.”
If you drew a vertical rectangle around the nose and a horizontal rectangle over the nose bridge that ended at the center of each pupil, you would get a T-shaped area. People thought that head shots were always lethal. They weren’t. Sometimes bullets bounced off a skull, or caused some brain damage but failed to kill the target. Sometimes they penetrated the skull but caused only a minor injury. But a shot to the T-box was always lethal. A bullet to the T-box scrambled the lower brain and brain stem, which control the automatic organ processes we require to live, such as breathing. Death was immediate. It was the surest and most merciful way to drop your target. The victim would never realize they were dying. Their last memory would be of a gun and then their brain would explode.
Leon had put one bullet into each of the eight people exactly between their eyes. Eight shots, eight instant kills.
A Harley-Davidson pulled into the adjacent parking lot. Its rider, in a black leather jacket and jeans, jumped off, pulled the helmet off her head, revealing a halo of black curly hair, and sprinted toward us. A black woman with medium brown skin, about thirty-five or so. A patrolman got in her way and she barked something at him and kept going.
“Did you line them up?” Sergeant Munoz asked.
“No. This was self-defense. They were shot while running at us with their weapons out.”
Munoz looked at the corpses and back at me. “From how far away?”
“Don’t answer that!” the woman in leather snapped.
Munoz turned to her.
“Don’t answer anything.” She pulled an ID out and thrust it in front of Munoz. “My name is Sabrian Turner. I’m the legal counsel to House Rogan and future House Baylor.”
“We have multiple homicides. Your client needs to answer my questions.”
“You’re asking for information that’s privileged under the House Protection Act. And you’re doing it in the middle of the parking lot, where you can’t guarantee the information won’t be overheard. My client is under no obligation to disclose the exact extent and nature of her magic or the magic of her family members unless you can guarantee its confidentiality.”
Munoz clenched his jaw. “Your client isn’t a member of a House.”
“My client is registered to undergo the trials. Until she fails them, House protections and rights extend to her.”
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Under the same act, your client is supposed to offer full cooperation in cases where the safety of the public is in question.”
“What public? These people were hired by House Madero. This is House warfare.”
“Excuse me,” I said louder.
“I will be the judge of whether this is House warfare.”
Sabrian crossed her arms. “Oh really?”
“Hey!” I barked.
The two of them looked at me.
“There is a camera above us,” I said. “I’m sure it caught the whole thing.”
“We’ll get to that,” Munoz promised, and turned back to Sabrian. “Maybe I’ll just have to take your client somewhere more private.”
Sabrian narrowed her eyes. “My client will answer your questions when she chooses.”
“You should just get some swords and have it out,” I said.
“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary, do you?” Linus Duncan said.
Munoz stepped aside, revealing Linus Duncan in a flawless black suit. A long blue scarf hung from his shoulders. He smiled, showing even white teeth against his dark beard, touched with silver. “After all, House Madero was involved, and we all know what that means. Excuse me.”
He stepped between Sabrian and Munoz and offered me his hand. I took it, and he helped me off the curb. “Ms. Baylor owes me a coffee. We’ll be in the hospital cafeteria if you need us.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Munoz said.
The coffee shop was small and intimate, furnished in rich brown and soothing beige, and only a third full. Linus and I stood in a short line. He ordered espresso and I settled on an herbal tea. My hands were trembling slightly, the aftereffect of adrenaline and nerves.
We took our order number and sat at an isolated table by the window. From there I had an excellent view of the pandemonium in the parking lot. At least Leon was safe. I seriously doubted that anyone could get past Kurt to talk to him.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your day,” I said.
Linus winked at me. “Please. Invitations for a coffee with an interesting young woman are rare at my age. How could I pass it up?”
I smiled. Something about Linus made me feel at ease. You knew that he was sincere and whatever he told you wouldn’t be a lie.
The barista brought our drinks and departed.
Linus sipped the jet-black brew out of a small white cup and tilted his head from side to side, thinking. He must’ve decided the espresso was adequate, because he took another small sip.
“Shall we talk about your grandmother?”
“What is she like?”
“Victoria? Smart. Ruthless. Determined. She thinks she’s always right and frequently is. This”—he glanced at the window—“is very unlike her. She prefers to operate quietly. She must be getting desperate.”
“Why?”
“You’re family,” he said. “Family is all any of us have. You’re her hidden legacy, the future of her House. Her parents died when she was only twelve. She wanted a child so badly. I saw her shortly after James was born. She seemed happy for the first time since I’d known her. She practically glowed.”
“She was horrible to my father.”
“I don’t doubt it. She’s demanding and difficult. She holds herself to the highest standard and never stops to consider that perhaps not everyone possesses the ability or will to match hers.”
“This is the second time she attacked us.”
“When was the first time?” he asked.
“Two days ago. Dave Madero chased Rogan and me in his Jeep.”
He sipped his espresso. “How did it end?”
“Rogan broke Dave’s arms in five places.”
Linus smiled. “If Dave Madero chased the woman I loved, I would’ve broken his legs as well.”
“Oh, he tried. I asked him not to.”
“You should’ve let him. House Madero has waged a war on subtlety for the last fifty years. They understand brute strength and clear messages.”
“That is almost word for word what Rogan told me.” I drank my tea through a straw. It tasted sour, but it was better than the metallic coppery patina on my tongue.
Linus sighed. “Rogan is well-versed in House politics. He’s been playing the game for a long time. He was born into it, and his instincts are usually right. However, he’s in a delicate position. Pardon me for inquiring, but have you discussed your potential future?”
I coughed.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Linus fixed me with his dark eyes. “Allow me to hazard a guess: he pushed and you pushed back. He pushed harder, and you set some boundaries and refused to back away from them.”
I managed to make a word. “Yes.”
“That was likely a new experience for him.”
“Yes.” I had a sudden urge to crawl under the table. It felt like I was twelve again and my mom decided to have the Talk with me. “Do you know him?”
“I knew his father when he was Connor’s age. We had business dealings together, mostly military contracts. Connor was twelve at the time, and I could tell by the way they butted heads that the apple didn’t roll far from the tree.”
True. I tried to imagine two Rogans and failed.
“Rogan is very conscious of the fact that you’ll soon be the Head of an emerging House. As the Head of his own House, he has certain ethical obligations, and he can’t obviously steer your entrance into our society, because he cares about you and he wants House Baylor to emerge as an independent entity, not a vassal of House Rogan. As a man who loves you, he doesn’t want to impose his will on yours, even when it’s in the interests of your safety, because he wouldn’t allow himself to be treated that way. He knows if he pushes too far, you’ll leave him. Unfortunately, you’re obviously a target in both the physical and emotional sense of the word. People want to kidnap you, manipulate you, and take advantage of your inexperience. He sees all of it, so he’s fighting a powerful urge to shove you into full body armor, lock you in a windowless room, and stand guard by it until the trials are over. I sympathize. I once had to go through a similar thing.”
True.
“It was a uniquely frustrating experience. It gave me grey hair. See?” He pointed to his temple.
I didn’t know what to say.
“My unsolicited advice would be to continue on your present course. You’ve terrified the Harcourts, stood up to Madero, and resisted Tremaine. You seem to be managing quite well.”
“What do I do about my grandmother?”
“What do your instincts tell you to do?”
I sighed. “She’s attacked me twice. It requires a response.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“I thought about complaining to the Office of House Records, but it may make us look weak.”
“Do you want to be the
“No.”
“I didn’t think so. You have a choice. You can be seen as a House who relies on others or a House who handles its own problems. Leave your grandmother a message. Make it short and to the point.”
I flicked through my phone and dialed the second number Bug sent me.
“Trust your instincts,” Linus said, and smiled.
“TRM Enterprises,” a cultured male voice answered.
“Take a message for my grandmother,” I said.
He didn’t even pause. “Yes, Ms. Baylor.”
“House Madero is out. Your move.”
I hung up.
“Good,” Linus said, and sipped his espresso. “Things would be much easier if the two of you could sit down and talk.”
“She doesn’t want to talk. She wants to kidnap me and force me to serve her.”
“Victoria is practical. Eventually, she’ll come to the realization that she must settle, just as you’ll come to the realization that you can’t completely escape her. Surely the two of you can find some middle ground. Your grandmother just needs a slight push. If you met somewhere public and talked things out, you would come to a compromise.”
“What if she won’t compromise?”
“Then you’re no worse off than when you started.”
True.
“Would you like me to nudge her in the right direction?” he asked.
“Yes, but how do I know she won’t try anything?”
“You know because I’m giving you my word and personally arranging for your safety with Victoria. If she doesn’t agree to my terms, then there’s no meeting.”
“Okay.”
“Then it will be taken care of. And here comes the avenging angel with her flaming sword.”
Sabrian marched toward us and stopped. “Frank Madero came to and confirmed that this matter was House business. You are free to go.”
“Thank you.”
She nodded to me and walked away.
“Thank you,” I said to Linus.