Chapter 14

...

Grant reappeared in the middle of the room with Keller's body a moment later. There was only a tiny hole in the middle of his head where Grant's pistol had done it's work, just a little bit of blood, trickling over the light hair. Paulson carefully helped Grant lay the body on the carpet, careful not to get evidence anywhere. It was so tiny. I don't know what I was expecting, but not this. It could have been a prop for some sort of movie, not a man I had seen talking only moments before. One minute he had been alive and the next...just a little pop and he was dead.

Nadira looked as upset as I felt, but when she spoke, I realized it was for different reasons. "How am I supposed to explain this?" she demanded. "What in the world can I possibly say? Papa's going to know you did this."

"Going to suspect," Bryce corrected. "He won't be able to prove anything this way. Grant will make it look like an accident. Your dad might just think you're trying to tell him to fuck off. Haven't I been telling you this entire time to just kill the little spy? It'll work out this way. Grant?"

"Already planning on how to make it look like an accident, sir."

"Good. Okay, I'm going to take a nap, unless there are any other problems around here?"

Nadira's voice was calm as she announced, "We might have to kill the girl as well."

That snapped me out of my reverie. I jerked backwards, already half muttering a knockback spell. Let them just try and kill me. But Bryce interrupted. "No one is going to kill you, Gillian, so calm the fuck down. Dira, I love you, but don't say shit like that."

Now that he was sort of paying attention to me, I blurted out: "You don't care. You don't care at all."

"Yes," Bryce said, as if I were slow. "I just got shot. I'm not standing at attention for some guy that I wanted dead."

"She's panicking, Bryce," Nadira said. "People who panic end up dead—and I am not dying for your current piece of ass."

"Hey," I snapped.

"Gillian is panicking because that's what Gillian does," Bryce explained. He was a little too amused by this for my liking. "It doesn't mean she actually cares. And Dira? Shut up. Understand?"

She regarded him coldly for a moment, a long moment, where I was a little afraid she would just attack him. The moment passed. Her face broke into an enormous smile. "Does this mean you're going to stay?"

"It looks that way," he said, though he had lost some of his nonchalance in the face of her enthusiasm.

"What about—?" I choked back her name. I didn't like Nadira very much and I sure wasn't going to talk about Savannah in front of her. "We have important things to do today, Bryce."

"He's not going anywhere today," Nadira announced.

"And you're not going back to that warehouse without me," he said. I think the whole operation was starting to catch up with him, because he was beginning to look just as bad as he had when we brought him here.

"You want to wait another day?"

"What part of 'Nast property' do you not understand? You're not going back there. Look through the books we got today. We'll go early tomorrow morning, I promise."

"Preferably before you change your mind and have me killed."

"I am not dignifying that with a response. Grant? Get Gillian to Leech's. And call Sean. He cannot know about this."

With us minions summarily dismissed, Bryce lowered his head to the pillows and closed his eyes. His message couldn't have been more obvious if he had taped a 'Do not disturb' sign to his forehead. Grant tried to take my elbow, but I found myself jerking away from him.

"I'm going," I snarled and headed towards the car. Honestly, I was just a little afraid this was going to be the last car ride I ever took. Grant stayed back to tell Paulson how to best cover up the murder.

As I stalked out of the house, I could hear Nadira calling after me: "Lovely to meet you, Gillian. If you're free next Tuesday, come over for lunch."

The worst part was that she sounded sincere.

Grant insisted I sit in the back of the car, but if he was going to kill me, I would prefer to die in the front. That was where I belonged, after all. I wasn't Cabal royalty—I should sit with the employees.

We drove in silence for a while and then Grant slowed the car down. I readied a lightning bolt spell as the gravel crunched underneath the car. I wasn't about to go down without a fight, but I wasn't about to start one either. He would have to make the first move. Because he had killed that man because he had been ordered to. I had spent too long absolving my father for that very same reason to hate Grant for it.

Grant turned the car off and took a deep breath. I was already turned sideways in my seat, back against the window, ready to attack if I had to. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and slowly turned his head.

"Miss MacArthur, I just wanted you to know how incredibly sorry I am for my negligence this morning. I want to personally assure you nothing like this will ever happen to you again. Ever."

Not quite what I was expecting, but in its own way it was just as upsetting. "It's all right. You'll find out what happened. Then you'll stop it. It's what you do."

"You don't have to worry, Miss MacArthur. Mr Nast won't give the order to kill you."

"You willing to bet my life on that, Grant?"

"Nineteen years says I know how that boy thinks, Miss MacArthur. He won't kill you, not unless you push him into it. Even then—there's no need for you to worry. If he wanted you dead he would have sent Paulson with you."

"He looks too new to know how to dispose of someone properly."

"Death by incompetence," Grant muttered. "He's going to perform the disposal improperly and I'm going to have to redo it."

"I thought they covered body disposal on the first day."

"The first day is learning how to take a bullet for the team," he said cheerfully.

I couldn't help smiling.

"Thank you," I said, and Grant nodded and drove us back Leech's.

If I had thought Savannah had been displeased when I left that morning, it was nothing compared to how she was when I got back. Not only had I put my hands all over her grimoires, almost had sex with the evil half-brother and gotten said relation shot, I also hadn't contacted her once. She didn't like being ignored.

I didn't dare break the communication spell, just tried to patiently listen to her list of my failings. I did deserve it. I had been fairly useless while under attack and then I had completely screwed up everything.

"At least you're alive," Savannah said finally. "You okay?"

"Everything that happened is my fault. I have to be," I thought back.

Savannah sighed, filling my head "It's really annoying when you do that, you know. Not everything wrong with the planet's your fault, Gillian."

"Tell that to your brother when he gets back. I have a good feeling that he's not going to let me off the hook that easily. He's the murderer and he's going to blame me. Not fucking fair."

"Murderer?"

Belatedly, I realized I should have just kept my mouth shut. "Never mind."

"Murderer?" she repeated, her tone suggesting she wasn't just going to let me brush this one off.

"He's a Nast, obviously he's a killer. All the sorcerers are. You shouldn't sound so shocked."

"I guess it's better you remember that now rather than later."

"Yeah, could you not do that? I'm not an idiot, even when I'm making mistakes. I know what he is. And in my opinion, you should be getting to know him. He's your brother and I think the two of you would get along well."

"Don't," Savannah said. She sighed. "Don't do that, Gillian. I'm don't care about being friends just because we share DNA. And murderer is not something that can be excused."

"It was just business. You can't take it personally. Listen, I really am too tired to keep the spell up. Too many healing spells. You have your Dad to talk to, right?"

"Nah. He's gone to watch over Bryce. Nothing he can do for either of us, but it makes him feel better. Plus he spends most of his time around me feeling guilty that he's not my mother." I wasn't sure how to respond to that, but Savannah saved me the trouble by continuing. "I shouldn't have told him I wished they'd sent her instead. I didn't mean anything by it. He seems like an okay guy, even if he did let those bitches—but that was a long time ago. I don't mind him hanging around."

"I think it's really sweet, that you get to spend time with him, even if he is dead."

"It's not sweet," she protested. "Go find something to do." She remembered what I had done last night and corrected herself. "Go watch a movie and keep your hands to yourself."

"I can't jump you're brother if he's not here."

"There's still Leech. Though I suppose it's less interesting when they're not related to me, and, oh yeah, evil half-brothers from hell."

Avoiding the topic, which was only going to remind Savannah how annoying I was, I changed the subject. "When you're dad comes back tell him I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be sorry."

But I was. And I didn't want Kristof Nast mad at me. Dead or not, the man scared me. Further conversation was cut off by the entrance of Leech. He stood in the doorway, uncertain, as Savannah and I said quick goodbyes.

"Grant called in reinforcements. They've got twelve guys stationed around the house. Be careful when you go out."

"I don't think that's something we have to worry about." I wasn't going anywhere, not anymore. Not when there were so many other centuries for soldiers to come from. "Thank you," I added. "For all your help."

"Bryce wants to help you, I help you," he explained. Yesterday, I would have made some BFF comment. Now, I wasn't too sure. I waited for him as he added, "I owe him. More than I can ever repay. So I can suffer through having beautiful girls throw themselves at me, if that's what he wants."

I ignored the compliment. Just because I had looked like hell didn't mean he needed to boost myself esteem. He seemed to realize as much.

"Let's go watch TV."

Leech made me watch Will Ferrell comedies all night. He didn't want violent movies to upset me. They would have upset me less, I think. You had to be in the mood for frat boy humour, and I wasn't. I didn't have the heart to tell Leech that. He spent the whole time quoting along with the movie. Someone evidently loved them far too much.

We talked a little bit, both of us avoiding subjects that would lead to anything important. Leech settled for telling me a story about him, Bryce, a cabbage and a mobster's wife, back in their college days. Even after the day I had, I could still crack a brittle smile. I had always been able to do that. I think that's why Mom loved me best. Dana had forgotten to smile the second Dad left.

I couldn't help thinking of Dad as I talked to Leech, and not just because Bryce had brought my family to the forefront of my mind this morning. In a funny way, Leech sort of reminded me of my father with his patience and his light-hearted jokes, but the hint of power hiding underneath. I could see Leech making the same mistakes my father had. Assuming that because you were a decent sort of person, dedicated solely to your mission, everyone else would be too. I didn't ask about the ex-wife. I bet he never realized that when she ran away, all she really wanted was for him to come after her.

But I had long ago learned there are some fights that you can't stop and it's not worth getting in the middle of them. So I held my tongue and eventually went to sleep.

Breakfast should have been a simple affair. I simply wasn't hungry. But I wasn't the only one around. Leech was eating cereal, but there were twelve hungry men outside and it was the least I could do. Someone had to use the beautiful kitchen. I might even be able to convince Savannah I was eating if she saw me cooking. Savannah was currently waiting impatiently for Bryce to come home so we could get back to the warehouse and fix her.

With Leech's permission I set about cooking up some proper breakfast—pancakes, because it was both simple and delicious. Leech sat down and read the newspaper, talking to Savannah about some crisis or another.

I poked my head out of the back door and spotted Grant over by the gazebo. Waving him over, I noticed he looked distinctly ruffled this morning.

"I was going to ask if you wanted breakfast," I said. "Are you all right?"

"Everything seems quiet. Paulson's bringing Mr Nast home in an hour," he replied.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"I haven't made much progress on the communication malfunction yesterday."

"You'll find something," I assured him.

He dropped his voice, so that I could barely here. "The number on your phone? It came from the Nast building. The top floor, executive suite. That's one too many coincidences. First our warehouse, now our building...I don't like it."

"Breakfast?" I said somewhat desperately. "I made enough for all of them. I can bring it out, or you can come in one at a time."

"I wouldn't want to weaken the surveillance."

"No offence, but with the way the guarding me has been going, I'm probably safer if someone stays in my sight at all times, so when the rest of you disappear, at least I'm not alone."

He didn't find my joke particularly funny. "I want to apologize again, Miss MacArthur. This has never happened to us before."

I believed him. Call me naive, but I completely believed that he was honestly devastated—maybe even more than I had been—about the attack. Sympathy had never been my thing. "So breakfast?"

They came into the kitchen, one at a time, and I made more as they sat at the island and talked. Well, some of them talked. Others glared at Leech or at me or at the pancakes. They even glared at the invisible space where Savannah was, even though they didn't realize she was there. Nast employees—very unimpressive. Too many personal feelings.

Paulson came in last and he, at least, smiled. I smiled back. Bryce had returned, Paulson explained, but was talking to Grant about the communication breakdown the other day. I didn't mind the delay. I just asked Paulson: "Bacon as well?"

"Sounds good. You look busy back there."

The kitchen was a certifiable disaster, but I would clean up later. I didn't cook often enough to bother cleaning up as I went. Instead, I asked, "How's the arm?"

He held it out and I was pleased to see only a thin scab running down it. "I didn't even need stitches. Thanks for that."

I pulled up a chair and ate my pancakes with him. Paulson had been with the Nasts for only two years, having joined the day he turned twenty-one, just barely in control of his powers. The Nasts had been his first choice. The Cortezes had the best benefits, but the Nasts had a higher entry salary and better chances for climbing the ladder, quickly. The Boyds and St. Clouds had too little presence on the west coast.

Expiscors weren't usually bodyguards, but Paulson made it sound like Bryce had been desperate to hire anyone and Paulson had signed up quickly, hoping to advance his career. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that this wasn't the way to go about it, but he wasn't going to be allowed to quit. No one else wanted to be Bryce's bodyguard, but Thomas Nast had insisted his least reliable grandson have two men on him at all times. Bryce wouldn't let go of Paulson without a fight. And you didn't fight Cabal royalty—not if you wanted to live.

Being an Expiscor, Paulson had overheard one too many secret deals to be allowed free reign. Super-hearing was one of the more invading powers, perfect for espionage and stories that involved completely embarrassed individuals. Though of course, like all Expiscors, there was the unenviable moment when they're powers allowed them to hear dear old single mom having sex.

"At least she wasn't a screamer. My mother's boyfriend wasn't happy until she was shouting so you could hear her down the block. Neighbours once called the cops," I told him. It hadn't been funny at the time—Dana had been deathly embarrassed and furious and had screamed at my mother afterwards. But looking back...I found it pretty damn funny.

"How old were you?"

"Eleven."

"Yikes." He dipped the bacon into the maple syrup. "Though at least you weren't stupid enough to think she was being attacked. I barged right into that room, waving a baseball bat. Almost gave the guy a heart attack."

I laughed and offered him more pancakes. Paulson shook his head. "I shouldn't, miss. I already think I ate too much."

"You should." I put the last pancake on his plate and he dug into it gamely. "You know, you really have to stop calling me that. My name is Gillian and I feel like a pretentious snob every time you say it."

He grinned but said carefully, "Grant would have my head. He's big on the rules. I've only ever heard him call Mr Nast by his first name once, and he still said mister in front of it. Plus, I don't like Mr Nast would like that very much, either."

"Mr Nast isn't here." Thanks to me, but we didn't have to get into that. "And he wouldn't care if it sounded like you were disrespecting me."

"I doubt that," Paulson said taking a swing of orange juice. "Not that it's any of my business."

I wanted to explain that it was just business, that I had just been bored, but I couldn't decide what track to take. So instead I settled for saying, "And I won't be his business for very long, either. Two more days and you'll be protecting the next girl."

"Actually—"

"Aren't you the perfect little housewife?"

I spun around to see Bryce standing in the doorway. I could make out the bandage on his arm through the shirt, but other than that he looked the same as ever. Blonde hair a mess, slouched over, scowl on his face and bright blue eyes glaring at me. It was so familiar I found myself grinning in spite of myself.

"You escaped," I said, instinctively standing.

"Let us not speak of that again," he said, wincing at the memories. Clearly Bryce did not like to spend the night gossiping. Then he turned to Paulson and demanded, "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

Paulson scrambled to his feet. He couldn't tell his boss to go to hell, but I could. "He's having breakfast, as you no doubt realize. Just because he hasn't killed anyone this morning, doesn't mean the day has been wasted."

Bryce ignored me. "Get out. Take the damn plate with you if you want."

"No thank you, sir," Paulson said, giving a quick salute. "Thank you for the pancakes, miss."

Paulson left quickly, eager to be out of the room. Bryce watched him go, disdain over his face.

"Of course you would befriend the talentless minion," he accused me.

"Drop dead."

"You already tried that." Even though he was joking, I stille felt guilty. Bryce settled onto the counter and waved Leech over. The big man got up from the table and sat down beside him as Bryce demanded, "So where are my pancakes?"

"Make them yourself."

Leech interrupted our joyful reunion. "What are you going to do about today? Savannah's getting impatient."

Bryce flipped off the air that Leech had just indicated. "I've called in a whole troop and I'm going to tell them that if they leave the premises without my expression, personal confirmation, I will have them all decapitated."

Leech got up to help Savannah exit the house as she began walking towards the warehouse; we expected her there around two. Bryce acknowledged the fact and took out his Blackberry to inform the teams he was bringing. If Bryce wanted to ignore me, it was fine with me.

Grant entered the room, carefully not looking at Bryce. He simply handed me my cell phone back. "Paige Winterbourne just called," he said.

Crap. I had a pretty good idea what that would be about. With a sigh, I asked, "Do you think Leech would mind if I used his phone to call Portland?"

Bryce gestured to the black plastic device on the wall, not caring. I waited for him to leave the room, but Bryce just got up to get cereal. With a sigh, I dialled Paige's cell.

She sounded relieved when she heard my voice. I couldn't blame her, not when I already suspected the reason she had called. We didn't waste much time with pleasantries.

"Have you talked to Savannah lately? I've been trying to reach her for days."

"Savannah?" It was the perfect note of guilt. "Um...have I seen her?"

"Gillian...." Paige could admonish well with just one syllable. "What's going on?"

Bryce looked at me like I was crazy but I let my eyes well with tears. "I promised her I wouldn't tell."

"Gillian."

Both her and Bryce said my name, both annoyed. I did what I had to do.

"Please, just don't tell her I told you."

"Are you fucking nuts?" Bryce hissed. I hushed him angrily. I did not need Paige knowing who I was hanging around with.

"I promise," Paige said. "What's going on?"

"Savannah got sick. I think it's strep throat, but she didn't want to worry you," I said in a rush. "I got her some antibiotics and dragged her to my place so I could look after her better." I hoped that the Cortezes hadn't realized that Tia was dead, because they would seriously start to wonder what kind of house Savannah was hanging around in and that would just make them suspicious. "She still not completely fine, but she's doing better."

"She sick? What's her temperature?" Paige launched into a list of questions that worried mother's everywhere had perfected over time. Even my mother knew them. I dodged them easily.

"Don't worry about it Paige. That's the whole point. I've got it under control. Trust me, I would call you if I needed you." I looked up from the counter to find Bryce staring at me. And this time, it wasn't anger on his face. I shivered and tried to keep my mind on the phone. Wasn't he supposed to be mad me? I had managed to put a bullet in him. "I'll tell her to call you when she's better."

Paige sighed. From the noise at her end, she was clearly walking briskly through a large crowd. Entrepreneurs never did get a break. She took my word, because she was too tired to bother suspecting me. "Thank you, Gillian. You're not getting sick, are you?"

"I'm fine," I said, catching Bryce's eye. 'Liar' he mouthed. I blushed and tried to ignore him. But that didn't work out so well when he got up and came over.

"You sure?"

His good hand was on my waist, gently brushing the skin exposed there. He had me pushed up against the counter, smirking down at me, as a hand began crawling up my shirt. Fingers brushed my ribs and I shivered.

"I'm good," I promised.

He kissed me then and I held the receiver away so Paige wouldn't accidently hear something she shouldn't. I could hear her saying goodbye and I pulled free and echoed the sentiment. I hung up just as Bryce brushed the underside of my breast.

"Strep throat?" He was laughing at me, a little.

"So she wouldn't ask to talk to her." I grabbed his hand and pushed it to his side. "What are you doing?"

"What do you think?"

"I got you shot."

"You felt bad about it."

"I watched you kill someone."

"You watched me order Grant to kill someone," he said. He was starting to sound annoyed. Good.

"Grant was just following orders. Your orders. You're the one who's responsible." I was just daring him to contradict me. "If you're in charge, you're responsible. That's the way it works Bryce. Once you had decided, Grant didn't have a choice. You did. You killed him."

"Is that you're way of asking why?"

I walked away, sitting down at the island. Bryce sighed and leaned against the counter. At least he had offered to explain. I hadn't expected that much. "If I'm going to get an answer."

He ran his hand through his hair. "I told you Nadira's father was on the board, right? That means...you know what that means. Dira's husband was a lot less well off than everyone thought he was. So he asked his wife for a few tips. What did Dira know? So she stole some information from her father."

"And she's still alive?" I asked, a little surprised. No one betrayed the Cabals. Even if it was Bryce who went out and spilled the family secrets, the assassins would be out before he could blink. It was loyalty or death.

"We didn't lose money because what she did. She just made money because of us. But the fact that she was willing to go even that far pissed off the board. So they punished her. Total supernatural silence. No one who works for the Nasts can talk to her. That includes me. We've figured out ways to keep in touch by phone, but it's too risky to see her in person."

"What could they possibly do to you?" I demanded.

"It would undercut all my credibility with the shamans, except maybe Alba. Not to mention the entire board. I'm useless if no one will talk to me and Grandpa won't tolerate useless. That man, Keller, he worked for her father, to ensure I didn't do exactly what I did yesterday. I had to kill him, so no one would know I was there."

"I still don't get why you can't just order everyone to leave you alone."

"I wish I could tell them to fuck off," he said. "But I only get everything I want if I don't remind people of that fact too often. Now, since I've been so patient, what do you say we get out of this kitchen?"

"I do know the spells backwards and forwards. There really is nothing I can do until we go to the portal," I admitted.

He was coming over again, but this time I let him. His lips were soft, but still as demanding as always. I titled my head up to give him better access. But it was tamer than usual—I was being careful not to jar his left arm, unsure how it would handle anything. His left hand was staying on my hip and I think it had more to do with him not wanting to lift it than anything else. Though I wasn't complaining.

He placed light kisses against my jaw and neck, breath warm against my skin as he whispered, "And maybe if we're really lucky, the she-devil will get lost on the way and you won't even have to go save her."

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry. Maybe Savannah will get lost."

"Maybe she'll be stuck in some sort of horrible non-existence for the rest of eternity. Is that what you meant, Bryce?" I stood up and it was much less impressive considering he towered over me, but I didn't let that stop me. "Who cares what happens to her, as long as you get laid?"

His face went steely. "That would be the general idea, yes."

"And the man was just collateral damage. He had to die, so your life wouldn't be inconvenienced. Is that right to?"

"You're going to repeat everything I say, Gillian?"

"What is wrong with you? Shouldn't that sort of unbelievable selfishness make you incapable of functioning? It's disgusting."

Bryce groaned. "As great as it is to listen to listen to your moral outrage, Gillian, I have a little bit of advice. Either shut up or get over it. You don't want to push me."

"Because people who do that end up dead, right, Bryce? Because annoying you is a crime, apparently, punishable by death. Should I be quaking in my boots? Writing my last will and testament? Seriously, Bryce, how many people have you killed? Fifty? A hundred?"

"I don't kill many people myself. I just give the order. You want to know how many I'm responsible for? I couldn't tell you. I honestly don't remember."

"How do you not care?"

Jealousy wasn't the right word, but I did want to know how he managed to cut everything out so effortlessly. Because that was what you had to do to survive—Dad had tried to teach me, but hadn't managed to succeed. After all this time, I wanted to be let in on the secret.

"Anyone who gets involved with a Cabal knows what they're getting into. If they don't, they're idiots and that's not my problem." Bryce shook his head. "Wait a minute—are you mad at me or congratulating me? No wonder they threw you in therapy."

I slapped him because that seemed like the best idea. Because I couldn't hurt him the way he could hurt him, so I might as well resort to physical violence. This was worse than Paulson listening during sex. He wasn't supposed to look. "You checked up on me? I told you not to. You bastard. You—"

"I guessed. At least now I know why you're angry. Your doctor must not be very good."

"Which you only care about because it means we're not having sex."

"Clearly you don't know what you're talking about. We can still have sex if your pissed. Hell, sometimes it's even better when you can't stand each other."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. I might actually have to feel sorry for you."

For the first time, he looked as angry as I wanted him to be. Color appeared on his cheeks and his nostrils flared. "Don't. And don't pretend you didn't get on your back just to help the she-devil. I prefer the honestly."

I threw a glass of milk at him; I think it might have clipped his ear. Either way, it shattered on the wall behind him. "Go to hell."

"That was twice, Gillian. Three times and I'm hitting back."

"You mean you'll have Grant hit me, don't you?" I rolled my eyes. "Find another whore, Bryce. I'm going for a walk."

I didn't wait for him to answer, just walked out of that kitchen as fast as I could. No sooner had I gone outside than Grant was in front of me. Not looking me in the eye, he informed me: "It's better if you stay on the property, Miss MacArthur. We can't guarantee security."

"I wasn't—Paulson listened?" Of course he did. It was his job. "Never mind. I'm just going to go lie down."

I pushed past him, up the ladder that was still up against the wall. I climbed up, felt the tiles burning under my skin. I lay there, trying to get warm, trying to not to remember how I really was exactly like my mother.

...