She blinked. “Have you set a date for the ceremony?”
“No.”
“So it’s not official?”
“Yes.”
She glanced at my hand. Oh right,if you liked it then you shoulda put a ring on itsprang into my head, and I had the irrational urge to stand up and start the iconic dance.
My fists clenched, I would not allow my grandmother to wobble my security. Hudson was committed to me, I didn’t need a piece of jewelry to prove it. “We’ve been a little preoccupied with a mass death in Peach Tree.”
I’ll give it to her, my grandmother had a poker face Vegas would admire—she gave nothing away. “What happened?” she asked.
I studied her pose, slightly too rigid, and just a little too well put together, but her body leaned toward me ever so slightly. She knew exactly what had happened and wanted to figure out what I knew.
“There was an elaborate, yet clumsy cover up trying to pin it on an amateur Satanic cult ritual.”
“Did you glean what really happened?”
Ha, she was testing me. Had I uncovered her plans? If I had, I knew too much, and if I hadn’t, I would see disappointment on her face, but at least I wouldn’t be in danger.
“No.”
She hummed. “If you had to hazard a guess?”
Tread carefully, Cora, remember blood counts for little when dealing with this woman.
“A spell gone awry perhaps?”
Her brows furrowed. Damn it, too close. “To what end?” she pushed.
I resisted the urge to fidget, it was a tell I’d long since gotten rid of. “That remains to be seen.” If I revealed the discovery of the flower, then all bets were off. That key piece of evidence had led us down the trail right to her fields of death, where she’d sent her best elementals to protect the crop, and now they were dead. Shit, shit, shit. The more I thought about it, the more dangerous it became. Perhaps a little deflection?
I leaned toward her. “Whomever committed the crime in Peach Tree knew to ward against my gift, I couldn’t get a retro read from any of the dead. There are some in The Order that know of my power, perhaps we should start by looking at them.”
My grandmother’s face relaxed. “I will see to it myself that they are questioned, if they don’t squeal then I’ll send in Michael Glaister.”
I grimaced. Michael Glaister, The Hound. The Order’s terrifying torturer. But I’d won her over by trusting her with this information and putting her in charge of finding the perpetrator. Needlessly, given she had at least given the order and more than likely been present for the massacre.
“Is the vault ready?” my grandmother asked. My shoulders relaxed as I welcomed the change in topic.
“Yes.”
“Excellent, I have little time to waste on tea and cookies this visit. Perhaps next time.”
I stood and led the way to the vaults. It would need a little more of my blood to complete the opening, because it was my blood that started it. I also had this sick sensation that there would be no next time, because if what I suspected was true, my grandmother was committing crimes I could not overlook.
Everyone in the house was studiously avoiding bumping into us, and I didn’t blame them. Being caught in the glare of Eloise Roberts was a disconcerting experience. We made it to the vault uninterrupted and I sliced open my palm once more and held my hand against the plate. The vault clicked.
My grandmother raised a brow at me. Yes, yes, I was leaving. I wasn’t dumb. “I’ll wait for you upstairs,” I said, closing the door to the basement behind me and leaving my grandmother with priceless and powerful artifacts. Knowing what she had taken would be crucial in understanding what her plans were.
Ten minutes later, Eloise Roberts swept through the house with a leather satchel at her side. She cast me a look as she rushed toward the door. My grandmother didn’t rush—anywhere. What the hell was in that bag?
“I’ll be in touch,” she said and the door thumped closed behind her.
My friends emerged one by one from the kitchen. So that’s where they’d been hiding? Figures. Even my ghostly sidekick hovered behind the group, a frown etched onto his face. However, for the first time in weeks, neither Dave nor Hudson were present. I wondered what was keeping them occupied. Sebastian was brandishing a tray with a plate of fatty goodness on it. Yum, a cooked breakfast. He placed it on my lap and handed me the silverware.
“Now what?” Rebecca asked.
