My mouth twitched. He wasn’t wrong. Anyone who wanted to look suitably villainous had a tendency to buy a black cloak. And that cloak tripped them up and gave their enemies loose clothing to grab them in a fight. Cloaks were for low-level thugs and rookies.
“So the bad man came, and then what happened?”
Cil’s eyes filled with tears. “Dad told us to hide.”
“Was the bad man in the store?”
“No. He was on the street.”
“Okay, so your dad saw the bad man through the store windows. And then you hid in your secret hiding spot? The one I found you in?”
“Yes. Dad used hisI’m seriousvoice. If you don’t listen to that voice, you get no TV for a week.”
“Did you hear anything when you were hiding?”
Zip began to tremble, and Cil threw his arm around his brother’s shoulders. “We don’t want to talk anymore.”
I studied them. I wasn’t going to get anything out of them until they felt safer. “That’s okay. Gemma and the other witches here are going to look after you.” I leaned close. “If you’re lucky, maybe Charlene will make you her famous chocolate chip cookies.”
“Dad said you had to keep us safe.”
I nodded. “I am. This is the best place for you. These witches are the most powerful in Durham, and they’ll kick the butts of anyone who messes with you. I’m going to come back tomorrow, okay? Maybe we can talk some more then.”
“You’re going to find out who hurt our dad,” Zip said.
“Yes.”
“And then you’re going to kill them,” Cil stared into my eyes.
“That’s right.”
“Danica,” Gemma hissed, and I shook my head at her. “They’re big enough to hide and keep quiet when their dad tells them to. They’re big enough to know the truth.”
I turned back to Cil, and he smiled at me. Then he took the canvas bag from Zip and reached inside, pulling out a glittery gold marble. “You can have this.”
I grinned at him and ruffled his hair. “I can’t take one of your treasures.”
“You can borrow it. For good luck, until you find whoever hurt my dad.”
“Thanks.” I slipped it into my utility belt.
“Holy crap, turn that up.”
I didn’t recognize the voice, but I recognized the urgency in it. I spun as one of the witches grabbed the remote, turning the news up.
“Sources say the woman was a bounty hunter for the Mage Council before the incident,” the news anchor said. “When we reached out to the Council, they refused to comment, saying that Ms. Amana was a short-term contractor who is no longer employed by the council.”
I froze. On the TV, the shot cut away from the news anchor, and my face came into view.
I was trapped in a circle of witches, my face ashen. Samael was chained, and the witch recording the show zoomed in on my ankle. White bone poked through the ruin of my skin and the camera zoomed in on the compound fracture. One of the witches in the living room gagged.
My ankle still twinged occasionally. Unless I went back to a fae healer, it probably always would.
On the screen, I pulled out one of my throwing knives and nailed Veronica in the throat. She went down, choking on her own blood.
“Gnarly,” one of the kids said. They shouldn’t be watching this. But I couldn’t seem to look away.
Samael was staring at me, his silver eyes burning.
