Like most everything he used in his line of work, he’d crafted them himself, and each one had a specific function.
Using the tip of his claw, Silas carefully peeled a sticker off of the paper before tucking the notebook back into his pocket. That done, he raised his arm and, gently enough to not accidentally move the ornament, placed the sticker just out of sight.
A flare of magic, hot and bright and metallic, filled the air. Silas rocked back on his heels, gut still roiling with anger but at least momentarily satisfied that no one would watch her now.
Except him, of course, but that was okay. She was his.
He would have liked to rip the ornament off the wall and smash it under his boot heel, but that wasn’t smart. It was better to have Petra’s watchers simply view the loop of the last week, as he’d programmed into the sticker. It usually took days, sometimes even weeks, for people to notice they were watching the same footage, especially if there was a rotating crew assigned to the surveillance.
That bought him plenty of time to get information out of Petra, track down who was behind it, kill them, and then delete any footage they’d saved.
Silas turned his head back and forth, judging the line of sight from the hidden camera. Fury snapped again, a lightning bolt through his very being.
It was situated directly across from Petra’s bed.
There was no telling what they’d seen, but even if it wasn’t those manicured fingers pulling sad little orgasms from her pretty pink cunt, it was too much. He didn’tlikethe thought of someone else watching her sleep. He didn’tlikeknowing that they’d seen her dress. He didn’tlikesharing Petra and all the mundane, private things she did when she thought she was alone.
He didn’t like it at all.
Silas wasn’t entirely sure what he expected to find in Petra’s bare little bedroom, but rigidly folded clothing, a box of cremated human remains, and three separate caches of non-perishable food wasn’t it.
There were no frills, baubles, ornaments, or hidden luxuries. Her makeup kit fit in one tiny bag, neatly stored on her small bathroom counter. The entirety of her wardrobe was contained in the top two drawers of her dresser. The most lavish things he discovered were her formal robes and the Crown of Glory, the elaborate headdress and veil she wore during the equinox services.
Well, that and a disproportionate amount of lingerie. It appeared his witch had a weakness for satin and lace, but only a small one. The only reason it was notable — besides his obvious interest — was because she had so little clothing to begin with. All of it was high quality, elegant, and well-cared for, but there was solittleof it that he actually went looking for more.
But no, in the closet he found only a thick peacoat, her lavish and jewel-encrusted ceremonial gown, and a small, dented suitcase.
The only things he discovered in abundance were food and the ashes of a man named Maximilian Dooraker.
Silas sat on Petra’s bed, his boots off and her softest nightgown draped over his shoulders. Around him were her caches — each one squirreled away in a discreet but accessible spot. He’d discovered one in her office as well and hadn’t thought much of it, butthreestashes of food seemed excessive. Granola bars, crackers, bottles of water, fruit snacks, trail mix…It looked like an assortment of things one might filch from a snack table at a convention.
Or,he thought, brows bunching,from the dining hall of a cathedral.
Something about that bothered him, and it wasn’t just because the more he dug into Petra’s life, the more questions he had. He stared at a flashing neon sign and yet somehow couldn’t make sense of what it was telling him.
More troubling, of course, were the ashes.
Silas turned the box over in his hand, examining the plain, waxed wood and the simple plaque on top. He knew the name, of course. Maximilian Dooraker had been the previous High Priest of St. Emaine’s cathedral and died unexpectedly some years prior, leaving a small power vacuum Petra, a no-name witch, had filled.
It made sense that his remains would be interred in the cathedral and, perhaps in the interim, be placed into the care of the new High Priestess, but something about it seemed off to him.
Silas scowled at the box.Why does she keep you next to her bed?
He gave the box a good, hearty shake, but he wasn’t sure if it was to startle an answer out of a dead man or to listen to the tell-tale rattle of bone fragments and dust.
Tal’s innocent question rose unbidden:Is that an ex-lover of hers, do you think?
Dooraker would have been centuries her senior, but odder pairings had happened, particularly in corrupt power structures like Glory’s Temple. So long as she was a fully-grown woman who knew her own mind, something as inconsequential as an age gap certainly wouldn’t have stoppedhimfrom fucking Petra. He didn’t relish the thought of dying long before her, though.
Centuries was an awfully long time for her to have to stay single.
“Tough shit, old man. She won’t be doing that for you,” he told the box. Silas gave it one more resentful rattle before he leaned over to tuck it back into its hiding place beside her bed. He didn’t particularly care if she knew he’d gone through her stuff — that would be obvious — but he tried to be measured about these things.
Petra would be upset knowing he did it, butseeinghim casually inspecting the remains of her dusty lover would take that to a level he didn’t have the patience to deal with.
She didn’tseemlike a shrieker, but the more he peered past her masks, the more she surprised him, so he really couldn’t be sure.
I’m about to find out,he thought, lounging back against her too-soft pillows. He listened to the sound of her opening the outer door as he ripped open a pack of chocolate candies with his teeth. His other hand mindlessly bunched her nightgown, rubbing the petal-soft fabric against the callused skin of his palm.
