Alistair hurried to his sister. “What’s going on?”
“Sullivan will rebuild The Pride for us,” she said simply.
He wanted to be relieved, even happy, but… “In exchange for what?”
“One favor.” Her golden gaze avoided meeting his. “Then we’re free.”
Oh, he did not trust this at all. “And you believe him?”
Now she looked at him, eyes narrowed in anger. “This is our last chance—surely you, of all people, understand that!”
He’d just snapped at Doris for not understanding that The Pride was more than a business for him and Wanda. He really, truly wanted to believe Sullivan.
Maybe his trust had been broken too many times. Maybe he was just a contrarian. Probably, he was just an asshole.
“And what is this favor?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.
“He needs witches and bonded familiars. Sam will tell you—I need to talk to Joel. And Teresa and Reinhold.”
Of course Sam was caught up in all this. As Wanda started away down the sidewalk, Sam got out of the front seat of the car, where he’d been sitting by the driver. He, Turner, and Wanda had all been having a cozy little confab, while Alistair was downstairs mourning.
Fur and feathers.
The car pulled away, leaving Sam standing alone on the curb. Alistair joined him. “Wanda said Sullivan’s up to something magic.”
Sam looked down at the sidewalk and nodded. “Yeah.”
Great—both Sam and Wanda were acting cagey. This had to be worse than he feared. “Does it have something to do with that hex you’ve been working on? The one you couldn’t tell me about?”
“It does.”
“Whatever Sullivan is promising?—”
“I’m going to fix everything, Alistair.” Sam finally met his gaze, brown eyes dark with something Alistair couldn’t name. Fear? Regret? “I’m sorry The Pride burned. If I hadn’t tried to grab the bottle bomb, it wouldn’t have gone straight into the alcohol.”
This was the first Alistair had heard of it. “So? Philip told me what happened. The mouse familiar was still the one who made and threw the bomb, wasn’t she?”
“Well, yes, but?—”
“But nothing! The place was going up one way or another. This was her doing, not yours.” If Alistair ever got his hands on the mouse familiar…he didn’t know, other than it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Either way, I’m going to set things right. We are.”
“What are you talking about? Wanda said?—”
“Not here.” Sam looked around, as if someone might overhear. But the excitement of the fire had died down, any crowd dispersed before Alistair even arrived. Doris and Philip had cleared out, along with Wanda, Teresa, and Reinhold.
Still, maybe he could get through to Sam if they were in the comfort of their own home. “All right. We’ll stop at the chop suey place on the way and get something to take back for dinner. But then, you’ll tell me what you and Wanda have gotten yourselves into, all right?”
Sam nodded. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you everything.”
It took restraint for Alistair to keep from demanding answers the second they stepped into their house. But he forced himself to grab plates and a couple of bottles of ginger ale, while Sam spooned out pork chow mein and chicken noodles. As soon as they were both seated, he said, “So this is about the hex you’ve been working on. The Egyptian one.”
“Yes.” Sam kept his eyes on his plate.
“What the hell does this hex do that Sullivan needs it so bad? That’s worth rebuilding The Pride in exchange? Because after today, he controls the booze in Chicago. Sure, the little syndicates are still around, but they’ll either be absorbed or taken down by the end of the year. What more could he possibly want?”
“His son back.”
