Shifting my attention to the barrel, I will a little energy into that passage to dampen some of the blare of the shots.
We can’t make the magical effects too blatant, or the drab branches of the two syndicates we’re supplying will ask questions we don’t want to answer. All they need to know is the Cosgraves and Morellis are providing them with the best pieces money can buy.
The effect isn’t permanent. All enchantments lose their energy gradually as they’re used. But a truth I’d never admit to anyone outside the families is that no gangster actually fires their gun all that often.
You go around making a fool of yourself blasting left and right, and someone’s going to blowyouaway sooner rather than later. Probably someone from your own side.
I set the finished pistol on the worktable and inhale deeply. The earthy, almost sweet scent of gun oil fills my lungs. Rhythmic rustles and clicks rise from the other worktables where various relatives are working throughout the warehouse room.
Normally, I like losing myself in this job. After years of practice, the spellwork comes easily to me—no one could make a single complaint. The smell is as familiar as the mingled cologne-and-perfume tang of my parents’ house, and the sunlight that creeps through the high windows gives the place a warmth you wouldn’t expect.
Today, the second I stop concentrating on wielding ephemera, Elodie Devine’s face springs to the front of my mind again. Her sleek figure in that slinky dress, her hair spilling wild over her shoulders.
Her expression, so intense as she jabbed me in the chest.
“No one but you is going to get you out of this mess.”
How did she see so much about me? How could anyone at that stupid academy have ever guessed— Not even my own family suspects that my allegiance is anything but avid and unshakeable.
She didn’t even sound angry about it. The fervor flaring in her dark eyes, the raw conviction in her words…
Has anyone else in my life ever spoken to me,aboutme, with that much passion?
I don’t think so.
My fingers itch, but there’s nothing to reach out to.
She was right about other things too. I didn’t really know her. If I’d had any idea what a spitfire was hiding under that polished front, so smart and bold…
My honed instincts recognize my parents’ arrival before I hear the tread of their footsteps. Some shift in the air or softer sound has my stance tensing, my nerves spiking to alertness, just as a lance of magical energy whips across the floor to my feet.
My defensive shield is already snapping into place. The assault jars against it, radiating a faint sting from my heels to my ankles, but nothing worse.
Gods only know what it’d have done to me if I hadn’t dispersed most of the effect before it hit.
I fix a bored expression on my face and swivel casually to greet my parents as if I barely noticed their little test. From the small, sharp smile Mom’s sporting, it was her jab.
“We need to be sure you’re ready for anything,”she used to coo to me when I was a little kid swallowing sobs after the earliest tests.“Betrayal can come from any side at any time. Never let your guard down.”
They’ve sure as shit confirmed I’ll never trustthemfarther than I can spit.
Side by side, the two of them couldn’t look more mismatched. Dad is all hard lines and blocky muscle, his red hair blazing above his icy blue eyes, looming a foot taller than his wife. Mom stands slim and gracefully petite, her elegant features and the sculpted waves of her hair deceptively soft. Her presence fills the room just as much as his does.
It’s hard to say which of them is more vicious. I guess you have to be steel-hearted if you’re going to throw away your match to marry the heir to a family yours has spent the last century trying to slaughter.
Dad lifts his chin, his gaze turning even flintier. “We’ve got a situation to deal with. Sal, Shiv, Gabe, Simone, let’s go.”
I tug on the gloves I set aside while I worked—it’s easier to manipulate ephemera with close contact—and head over alongside my cousins of various closeness.
Gabrio tries to play the big man while puffing out his chest, as if he’s a decade rather than two years older than me. “What are we dealing with?”
Mom—his dad’s sister—cuts her gaze toward him with a look that clearly says,Stick to your place, foot soldier.Her tone comes out as icy as Dad’s eyes. “We’ll fill you in on the way there. Let’s go.”
She snaps her fingers and spins on her heel. She and Dad stride out together.
It’s funny how naturally they act in unison when they’ve spent my whole life reminding me of the fated unions they gave up to create this one.
To create me.
