Madoc smiled at her.
“That’s how it’s always worked, Director Lawrence.”
She snorted and glanced past Madoc’s shoulder to her daughter. “This could end your career. If you aren’t willing to take part in this, nobody will make you.”
Lawrence crossed her arms. “I’m a Biter,” she said. “I’d think less of me.”
A faint smile touched Director Lawrence’s mouth. “Good girl,” she said. Then she glanced at Madoc and arched her eyebrow. “Although I think you’ve stolen my daughter, Agent Madoc. This assignment was just supposed to season her in the field, not make her yours for life.”
Madoc shrugged. “I have a knack for finding talent.”
Director Lawrence glanced over the assembled Biters and sighed. “That will be a shame if you mess this up.”
She killed the vid-link and the screen flickered to black.
“Do we have a plan?” Quick asked. “Because my backup plan to this career path is crime, so….”
Madoc just smirked as he strode out of the briefing room. As the rest of them followed, Took wondered if that was how people felt when he chased a theory. Maybe, but as he glanced down Madoc’s back from shoulders to lean hips, he doubted they got such a nice view when they followed him.
WARING LOOKEDtired. He was slumped over the table, his head on his arms, and he looked up with a sigh when the door opened. Heather Waring crossed the room at a run and tackled him into a hug. Her slim arms wrapped around him, bitten nails caught in his shirt, and she buried her face in his shoulder.
“Oh, Dom. My baby. My baby,” she sobbed into his shoulder as she tried to rock him as though he were still a baby. “I told them they were wrong about you. I told them you were a good boy.”
After a stiff moment, Dom awkwardly hugged her back. When the magic didn’t backlash into him, he sighed out two years of tension and slumped into his mother’s embrace.
“He still has to help us,” Took said as he slipped into the seat on the opposite side of the table. After a second, Waring looked up and gave him a bleak look, as though Took had finally worked out a trick that Waring couldn’t resist. It hadn’t worked the first time VINE tried it on him—Took had watched the videos—but two years under The Salt was a long time to be alone. “If he doesn’t, then all we have is a theory that we can’t prove. People will protest and your husband will rouse opposition in the Senate and maybe even stir up some old hostilities. At the end of the day, though, he’ll still be executed out there, and no protests will bring him back.”
Waring glared at him. He was lucky that he didn’t know the truth. There were a dozen sorcerers in the Senate worth their keep, plenty of street-corner oracles who traded an hour’s blindness for a five-second peep into the future, and warlocks with hex bags that, nine times out of ten, just rotted on the string. A true sorcerer, though? They’d wrap him in iron and send him to the New Scholomance to either learn his craft or serve as magic’s tithe.
From what Took had heard over the years, a clean death at Tac’s knife in The Salt might be a better choice. But it wasn’t one that he could offer. They needed Waring.
“We can’t tell your father about this yet,” Took said as he glanced toward the black glass wall where Madoc waited. “But we thought it would help if your mother was here with you?”
For a second, Waring buried his face back in his mother’s shoulder, but then he pushed her away. He gently stroked her cheek, tears wet on his fingers, and then shook his head firmly as he turned away.
Took raised a hand to get the guards to open the door.
“No,” Heather protested. “He’s my son. I won’t leave.”
“He has the right to decide who’s here,” Took said. “I’m sorry.”
Heather balked as she clutched her son’s arm and shook it to try to make him look at her. “You need me here, Dom. Please,” she said. When that didn’t work, she looked at Took. “He’s just a child. He can’t make these decisions.”
“He’s an adult now,” Took corrected her. He glanced at the door. “It’s his choice.”
One of the guards abandoned their post by the door and came in to escort her out. She resisted at first, head twisted to look over her shoulder as if that might be the last chance she got to see her son. But then gave in and let them march her out.
Waring waited until the door closed and then finally looked up. The expression on his narrow face was unfriendly but expectant.
“I’m going to tell you what I think I know,” Took said as he set a manila folder on the desk. “Unless you correct me, I’m going to assume I’m right. Don’t correct me unless I get something important wrong.”
Waring hunched his shoulders and chewed on the inside of his cheeks.
“Whatever protection they had,” Took pointed out, “disappeared when you spoke in The Salt. It will be a year before you can recast your spell. Do they have that long?”
They both knew the answer was no. After a second, Waring looked up and Took assumed that was agreement.
“Annabelle Franklin was your friend,” Took said as he slid the photo over the table. “You met because you were both interested in alchemy, but when that didn’t work as reliably as you wanted, you started to explore real magic.”
