Peter’s heart jolted. “What?”
“She reminded me of someone, you know, one of those ‘I’ve seen that face before’ moments, and it was bugging me, and then I heard something the other day and?—”
“Martinelli! Whoisshe?”
“Marbella Draden. The vice president’s daughter.”
He stared at Martinelli, gripped by panic.“What?”
“Yup. A friend of mine is in the Secret Service. Apparently they’re under orders tonotkeep an eye on her beyond knowing her general whereabouts. Extremely unusual for a typic child of a VP.”
“Why in blazes is she masquerading as ‘Ella Knight’ and campaigning against wizards?”
Martinelli shrugged. “If my friend knows, he isn’t telling. You have any idea?”
“No,” Peter said, pressing a hand to his forehead.
He locked up behind Martinelli and strode to the brewing room, mind racing. Heknewthere was something off about her, heknewit—he’d even thumbed through his copy ofAmerican Wizardsto look for Knights, but there weren’tany, and that had seemed to be that. Now he plucked it from the bookcase and paged toDraden, James.
The book was seven years old, published when Draden was a U.S. senator. On one of the pages devoted to him was a large photo of the man, lips turned up in a slight smile that seemed to be mocking him. On the other was a photo of his family: fashionable wife, handsome wizard son and a daughter with upswept dark hair, dark eyes and a serious expression—a daughter who, now that he was looking for it, was unquestionably Miss Knight.
Good God.
She was under a Vow. Did that safeguard them? If Draden’s daughter was here in a long-game play, where the purpose was not to extract information but to influence them—get them to cause their own problems—how well would the Vow defend against that? Would it work at all if the contract was signed with a false name?
He had to tell Beatrix right away. It was imperative that they figure out what to do. He glanced at his watch to see if it was almost eight and realized with a start that it was twenty-one minutes past the hour.
Usually, she was early. She’d never once been this late. He had his hand on the telephone to dial her house, bugs be damned, because surely an employer could check up on the whereabouts of his employee, when he heard footsteps on the porch. The knock at the door wasn’t her shave-and-a-haircut. But when he squinted through the peephole, there she stood. She looked on edge but not as if some new terribleincident had happened, so he left her in the hall while he checked the house.
When he came back downstairs, she was in the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Felt rotten, but I think I’ve recovered.” She sounded off—her voice had a rasp to it, and she winced. “Coffee?”
She slid his cup into his hands. It was warm—she’d refilled it for him—so he drank some this time. “What happened?” he asked.
“Stress. Exhaustion.”
No wonder. “Can I get you anything? A brew?”
She shook her head.
He took another sip, trying to work out how best to tell her this information that would pain her. “Beatrix—I heard something troubling from Martinelli.”
Deciding in that moment to show her the picture, not tell her the story, he fetched the book, put it on the table and pointed to the girl in the photo.
She gasped.
He sat, expecting a rush of strong emotion to hit him as it washed over from her, but all he had to contend with were his own conflicted feelings. Which brought on another uncomfortable question.
“Did Miss Knight tell you?” he asked. “Did you already know?”
But as he looked more closely at her—shock and horror all over her face—it didn’t seem possible. She shook her head, still staring at the photograph.
“I don’t know what this is about,” he said, his hangover headache deepening, “but Martinelli says the Secret Service is under orders to keep their distance. That’s bad. It wouldn’t happen without Draden’s OK, and I can’t think of a reason he would agree to it except to give her anonymity. If she isn’t the vice president’s daughter, she can join the League. She can move in with you. She can gain everyone’s trust.”
Beatrix was shaking her head. “She’s under aVow.”
