at the violent effect this would have. She was under no illusions about how humans dealt with what frightened them.
It would be a bloodbath.
“We’ll check the security tapes and councilors’ alibis,” she said. Tedious but necessary footwork.
“Do you think it was one of us?”
Michaela shrugged. “I don’t want to bias the investigation with an assumption.” The words were rote; both knew the chances were good. Her security had been designed to keep those not affiliated with the Pharos Council out of any of their headquarters.
Madden chuckled drily. “I’d expect nothing less. Have something to present in an hour.”
“I will.”
He turned at the door. “Michaela?”
“Yes?”
“Be ready for questions.”
With that, he was gone. Michaela frowned after him. Why a warning? Then she shrugged. She had fifty-five minutes left and no time to worry about mysteries apart from the one right in front of her.
Chapter 3
Cormac swept into the council boardroom, bidding farewell to his bitter little security shadow at the threshold with a big, eat-shit smile and wave that nearly made her head explode. He would have felt pity for the vampire had she not treated him like a prisoner. She wanted to play? Then she’d learn to lose.
Speaking of losing, he wondered if Michaela had enjoyed her visit from Oksana. Judging from the expression of utter disdain she leveled at him across the table, he thought not.
Excellent. They were even.
Michaela opened her laptop and began to tap away, busy organizing some bloody list or another. In the time they’d been councilors together, he’d never seen her without one. Lists, plans, strategies, all laid out and ready to be plugged in and presented, with appropriately colored graphs, at a moment’s notice. He wouldn’t be surprised if underneath her flesh were Excel spreadsheets.
How dreary, to spend one’s life mapping out the entire journey to prevent any surprises or wrong turns. So safe. So boring.
The other Pharos masquerada, Baptiste, slid into the tufted velvet green chair beside Michaela and the two chatted in low voices. Unable to eavesdrop, Cormac glanced around the room. The Toronto headquarters were not as chic as some of the other locations—the Cairene building in particular came to mind—but it was the most comfortable. Cormac liked it, and he enjoyed the city. Toronto had enough green space that he could soak in the energy all fey needed without going out of his way. Too much concrete destroyed his ability to focus—as well as being hideous. He winced. Truly, humans had an innate ability to kill every enchanting thing in their realm. They were parasites.
Of course, the arcana seated around the table would probably have done the same thing. Pharos had representatives from all the major arcane groups, two each from the fey, masquerada, witch, warlock, vampire, and were. The lithu seats were vacant, as their people had not attended a meeting since the Pharos was established seven hundred years ago. Other, smaller groups, such as ghouls, were called in when necessary to canvas their opinion.
Then there was him, the special one. Cormac had managed to wrangle his position from the previous council head after coming into possession of some fascinating information about the warlock’s personal life, but it meant nothing. He had no vote, and no say. The only thing it did was keep him busy enough to avoid insanity, allow for a little intrigue, and ensure he knew at least some of what was going on in the arcane world. It was amusing, and provided an anchor in an otherwise untethered existence. In the endless years of his banishment, Pharos had ended up being the only place where he could return and see familiar, if not necessarily friendly, faces after each of his haphazard journeys.
Rendell and Drina, the two fey councilors, came into the room talking animatedly. Since they refused to speak to Cormac, a dishonored exile, he didn’t bother to greet them.
“I heard he wanted to be mated but she refused,” Rendell said. Cormac listened shamelessly. Information was always valuable.
Also, he wanted to know who they were gossiping about. The fey took mating so seriously that he knew very few who had taken the step. Not even his parents had been mated. Like most, they preferred the much less intense legal partnership.
Drina’s lilting voice carried from down the table. “That’s why she left, then. I’d refuse too. Who in their right mind would risk mating?”
Cormac mentally shuddered at the thought of the mating bond. Bond was the right word—mating resulted in an unbreakable union as appealing as being roped to a dying tree. The two fey councilors changed subjects before revealing who the poor lovelorn bastard was. Cormac caught Michaela’s gaze and for a moment had the singular sensation they were the only ones in the room. His hands instinctively sought the wooden hand rests of his chair before pulling back to lay on his thighs. It had been centuries since he’d allowed himself to link with any aspect of the dolma, the natural world. That connection would have exposed him as one of the outlawed caintir, a risk too great to take and a secret he’d buried deep in his heart.
Michaela broke their glance and a pang of disappointment surprised him. She was too rule-bound for his tastes, attractive though she was. Paradoxically, she was also one of the reasons he continued to return to the Council from his journeys. She was always…Michaela. Whether he’d been gone for a week or a year, she was always the first Pharos member he’d seek out, knowing that when he saw her she would be dressed in the same neat black outfit with her hair tied back in a smooth bun. In her hands would be her laptop or a notebook. She was a small slice of security in this world and he’d come to crave that unchanging support.
Ironic that it was a masquerada who had provided him with that sense of ageless permanence.
That she didn’t like him was moot. Few did. Despite her many flaws, he liked her.
Well, admired.
Fine. Lusted after. After all, she was stunning, even if she had the emotional capacity of a marigold.
“Let’s get started.”
Madden’s deep voice drew Cormac’s attention. Michaela glanced back at Cormac and shook her head slightly as though forcing herself out of a dream. She laid her hands on the varnished oak table and sat still with her head tilted down.
They were back in the council room, tainted by murder.
Cormac leaned back to enjoy what he anticipated would be a very interesting meeting. The air almost vibrated with the ghoulish curiosity of the councilors. Madden sat down at the head of the table and nodded to Oksana. “We will find the one who killed your counterpart,” he said. “We stand with you in your grief.”
A murmur went around the table and Cormac hid a smile. Few, if any, of the arcana muttering their condolences cared if Hiro was dead. Hypocrisy and politics were eager bedmates. Down the table, Baptiste rolled his eyes.
“I will grieve for Hiro when his killer is found.” Oksana kept her voice steady.
Madden nodded with approval. “This seems like a good time to hear from Michaela.”
The security chief’s findings were meager. Beyond knowing Hiro had been killed and how, there was little to tell. There were no fingerprints or a murder weapon. Her office, like all of them, was spelled to ensure privacy, which meant that neither witches nor warlocks could be called in to raise Hiro’s spirit and question it.
“We’re investigating and will be speaking to each of you today,” Michaela finished. “I know you’ll be happy to cooperate.” Her dark eyes lingered in turn on each individual but deliberately passed over Cormac. He grinned at the stab, subtler than he thought Michaela capable of.
However, she was still no match for one raised in the Lilac Court. Time to get this show going. “Michaela. Let’s discuss the political angle of Hiro’s death.”
Madden