“Would you like something to eat?” Dayna asks softly. “I could make you breakfast.”
I do not want breakfast with a stranger. I am unsurehow this body will cope with food—swallowing, digesting, sitting at a table, and pretending to be normal.
“No, thank you.” I begin unpacking the bags instead.
She has bought an impressive variety, something to suit every palate—bread, fruit, yoghurt, cereal, even biscuits. I appreciate the thought, yet caution prevails: I do not know this woman.
Dayna watches for a moment, then leans on the worktop, chin cradled in her hands.
“Tell me about yourself,” she says.
Her eyes are sharp and curious. I recall that she, too, is a councillor. I have followed their careers; Dayna would not hold her post without being dangerously clever.
When Lander said I could stay with him, he neglected to mention that ‘with him’ meantin this building. I did not neglect to notice that the children are wearing pyjamas.
I was always going to end up here. He is manipulative—accustomed to charming women with that handsome face and affable persona, feigning kindness until he snaps on the anti-magic cuff. In truth, he orchestrated everything, and I should not have forgotten it.
Dayna smiles at me. I try to soften my features, but I am beyond smiling right now. I will need to practise. She is trying hard to be kind, and it is difficult to fight kindness—hard to argue with someone soft-spoken and polite.
The trap works both ways, though.
She is also using her children to soften me up, and I am polite and kind in return, which makes it harder for her to pick me apart, to find a weakness.
Keeping your cool is a different sort ofpower. People forget being polite, kind, and unbothered does not make you weak; it keeps the power where it belongs—with you.
I shall not react to their threats, nor to their false friendliness.
They are playing games.
I am not playing at all.
“My daughter is right,” she murmurs. “I can’t read you.”
Before I can answer, the main door opens with a soft click.
“Uncle Lander!” three voices shriek at once.
The girls explode off the sofa in a tangle of limbs and flying hair. Dayna startles, then relaxes; a fond smile tugs at her mouth.
Heavy footsteps, a low laugh, and then Lander appears in the kitchen. One girl has attached herself to his right leg, another to his left, and the smallest, Cathy, has somehow scrambled up his back like a determined squirrel, arms looped around his neck.
He is still in his combat gear—sans weapons—sleeves pushed up, hair rumpled. The famous Magic Hunter, ambushed by children.
“You lot,” he groans, stagger-dragging them into the kitchen as the girls giggle. “I am under attack. Dayna, help. They’re feral.”
Philis clings tighter. “We areshifters, thank you very much,” she declares.
“Shifters don’t climb people like monkeys,” he says, reaching back to hook an arm under Cathy before she slides off. She squeals, delighted, and wraps her legs aroundhis waist.
“You were supposed to wait until I called you,” Dayna scolds mildly. “Let your uncle breathe.”
“But you said he was coming,” Elizabeth protests, peering up at him. “And you said we had to sit on the sofa because we were mean. We waitedages.”
“How long is ‘ages’?” Lander asks gravely.
“Ten minutes,” Dayna says.
“An eternity,” he agrees. He shifts Cathy with practised ease, keeping her balanced in his arms as if she weighs nothing at all.
