Beryl flips mid-air, laughing.Perhaps I should stay out of sight until she is less nervous.She zips out.
Life settles into a new rhythm.
Fred works; I mind the dog. I delight in teaching him to sit for floating treats, correcting him gently when he is naughty, and warding the house so he cannot steal Fred’s socks, shoes, or dinner.
I keep one eye on the Magic Hunter—he still prowls after my false leads—and note each of Beryl’s comings and goings. She returns from hunts with blood on her point and stories.
Evenings find us watching television and playing board games at the table: I float the pieces and Baylor insists on planting his nose on whichever square matters most.
Then things go wrong, as they tend to do.
Fred is bitten by a vampire.
My magic has not recovered from the last move, but I give her what I can. I twist the spell, careful and deliberate. As with Beryl and Lark, Fred’s blood carries everyderivative; this time I reach for the vampire thread. I weave it through her, and it saves her life.
The mix of our magic binds us tight. It allows us to speak mind-to-mind; it lets Fred talk to Beryl too. Fred is safe—for a little while.
And then the mages arrive. The Ministry of Magic sends an entire coven, and with them comes a familiar, handsome face: the Magic Hunter.
He has found me.
Chapter Twelve
Present Day
I sensetrouble long before Fred peeks through the upstairs curtains. My perimeter wards prickle as police cars seal both ends of the street, red-and-blue strobes licking across my brickwork. Sirens fade, leaving only the stutter of radios and the low murmur of human voices.
Thirty minutes later, the familiar tang of Ministry magic cuts through the air: a full coven—wizards, witches, and mages—fans out before my wards. Threads of power skim along the pavement, testing, tasting.
Amid the flurry of robes stands Lander Kane.
“This isn’t good,” Fred whispers.
No, it is not.
Part of me remains in the front bedroom with Fred andBaylor; another slips to the pavement, where the Magic Hunter paces, fury rolling off him. He gestures at me, arguing with the others; every jab of his finger feels meant to pin me in place.
“This is my hunt, the house is mine,” he snarls. “I’ve chased it for a year. You will not stop me from dealing with it.”
“Now, Councillor Kane,” a blonde woman says sharply, trudging up beside him with a superior expression on her face. Her blonde hair is scraped into a severe bun, and her dark blue robe flutters around her ankles. “Why aren’t you wearing your ceremonial robes? If you want to be useful, you should really look the part. This is a high-tier spell, and the humans are watching.”
Councillor Meredith Jackson. I have detailed knowledge of all the Ministry’s councillors.
She lowers her voice. “Let us work. You aren’t the only councillor here. The rest have already outvoted you. You let it escape last time.”
“I didn’t ‘let’ it escape,” he snaps. “The building has unusual magic. It isn’t like a normal sentient object—it’s as if it’s possessed. The bloody thing moved! No one could have planned for that.”
“Well, so you say,” she sneers. “You may assist if you must, but my coven doesn’t need your help. The human police have blocked the road; everything is ready. We’re not here for your vendetta. There was that shifter incident, and now the vampires have asked for support.”
The Magic Hunter flexes his fingers; his whole body tenses.
“This house has caused considerable political upheaval andseveral national incidents,” Meredith continues. “Other derivatives claim we can’t manage our own mess. The council has fielded numerous complaints. Half of them are about you.”
“I’ve traced its signature. It’s one hundred and sixty-two years old and dangerous. It laid false trails?—”
“Now, now, Councillor Kane,” she interrupts, patience fraying, “that’s irrelevant. The coven will handle this. We will destroy it.”
“You are not destroying it. Not until I understand it,” he says through clenched teeth. “I must know how this magic arose. I need to question her.”
