Cold Burn of Magic (24 page)

Grant let out a harsh, bitter laugh.

I scanned the parking lot again, searching for guards that Grant might have hired to help him. I didn't spot anyone, but I still felt like I was missing something. Hopefully, Felix, Claudia, and Mo were on their way here right now.

Grant finally quit laughing. “What am I doing? I'm finally taking what should have been mine all along.”

“And what would that be?” Devon asked.

Grant's eyes narrowed. “My place as second-in-command of the Sinclair Family.”

“But you're the broker,” Devon said, still confused. “You have more money and just as much power as I do. So why would you want to be me?”

“Because then, after I kill your mom, everyone will naturally turn to me to be the new head of the Family.”

Devon sucked in a breath at Grant's matter-of-fact tone.

Grant gave him another evil smile. “Something that your compulsion Talent will help make that much easier.”

“So you're the one who's been behind the attacks on Devon?” I asked, trying to keep him talking, trying to give the others time to find us.

I also put my hand on Devon's shoulder and slowly inched to the left, taking him with me. I wanted to put as much distance between us and Grant as possible, in case he had another weapon.

“Of course, it was me,” Grant sneered. “No one else in the Family has the brains to pull off something like this.”

Devon sucked in another breath. “You—
you
were the one who arranged the attack at the pawnshop? You're the one who gave those men orders to kill Ashley?”

“Oh, I didn't just give the order. I killed her myself.” Grant's face twisted. “The same way I killed your father.”

I frowned, wondering if Grant was lying. Because the mystery man had killed Ashley, not him. Unless . . . he
was
the mystery man. But how was that possible?

Devon surged forward, but I dug my fingers into his shoulder, warning him to stay back.

“Why?” He choked out the word, his hands clenching into tight fists. “Why did you kill my dad? What did he ever do to you?”

“Because he chose
you
to be the Family bruiser instead of me,” Grant hissed. “I was his right-hand man. I was older. I had more experience. But he told me that I wasn't a good enough fighter, that I wasn't as good a leader as his precious son. He made me broker as a consolation prize. Well, it wasn't enough.”

“And you think this will be?” I asked.

Grant blinked, as if he was just now noticing that Devon and I were still easing away from him. But instead of coming after us, he gave me another smirk, as though I was doing exactly what he wanted me to. I frowned again. Why would he be looking at me like that? Where were the men he should have with him? What was he up to?

“Actually, now that I think about it, I might as well take your Talent, too, Lila,” Grant said. “It's not as powerful as Devon's, but sight can be handy on occasion.”

“You're not getting my Talent,” I ground out. “I'll die before I let you rip my magic out of me.”

“You're gonna die anyway,” he said. “Might as well make it useful.”

Grant let out a sharp whistle. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, one by one, the doors on the cars in the parking lot opened, and men with swords started pouring out. I cursed my own stupidity. I'd been so concerned about people hiding in the shadows that I'd never considered the fact they could be waiting
in
the cars with their tinted windows. And now, Devon and I were both going to pay for my mistake.

Devon moved in front of me and raised his fists, but he couldn't take them all on, not even with his compulsion magic. There were just too many of them.

I spotted a movement out of the corner of my eye, and I realized that one of the men was racing toward me. He had to have a speed Talent to move so fast. I started turning in that direction, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to block the attack—

A fist slammed into the side of my face. I staggered back, feeling a cold burst of magic racing through my veins—but it wasn't enough.

The fist hit me again, and the last thing I heard was Devon yelling before the world went black.

T
he ache in my arms woke me.

For some reason, they seemed to be anchored over my head, as though I were trying to do some difficult yoga move. In fact, they seemed to be stretched up so high that I couldn't feel my fingers anymore. Everything just . . . hurt.

I tried to move my arms to take the pressure off them, but something heavy was wrapped around my wrists, holding them in place over my head. Still, I struggled, wondering what was wrong and why I was having such a strange dream—

The night came rushing back. Family dinner. Mo's call. Realizing Grant was behind the attacks. Grant confessing to killing Lawrence Sinclair and threatening to take Devon's Talent—

My eyes snapped open at the thought of Devon.

All I saw was darkness, but I blinked again and the world came into focus. A lone bulb burned in the ceiling, casting out long shadows that twisted every which way like monsters about to strike. I scanned the shadows, but all I saw was a warehouse with a dirty concrete floor and gray cinderblock walls. The air was cool enough to make me shiver, despite my black suit. But perhaps the most curious things were the drains that had been set into the floor at regular intervals. One was directly underneath my bare, bloody feet, which were sprawled across the concrete, since I'd been unconscious.

Since I couldn't really tell where I was, I moved on to how I was. My jaw pulsed with pain, but other than that, I seemed to be okay. I didn't feel any stinging cuts or throbbing bruises, although a dull ache filled every other part of me.

I looked up at the source of the pain—my arms. My hands were tied together with a heavy rope, which had been looped over a metal hook hanging down from the ceiling. Someone had strung me up on the hook and then left me to dangle for however long it took for me to wake up. More hooks hung from the ceiling, each one right over a drain.

The hooks, the cool air, the drains in the concrete floor. My heart dropped like a stone. This wasn't a warehouse—it was a slaughterhouse.

The sort of place where they hung slabs of beef and pork in cold storage before shipping them out to butcher shops. A perfect metaphor for what Grant wanted to do to Devon—

“Mm ! Mm-mmm!”

A muffled sound caught my attention. I looked to my right to find Devon tied to a chair. My eyes scanned over him, but he seemed to be okay. Red welts and bruises marred his face, and his knuckles were scraped and bloody, probably from his fight with Grant and his goons. The ropes binding him to the chair were as thick and heavy as mine, and a strip of silver tape covered his mouth, to keep him from speaking and using his compulsion magic.

Questions crowded into my mind, mainly about whether Felix and the others realized what had happened yet, if they were tracking us, and how close they might be to finding us. But I forced myself to push those thoughts away and focus on Devon. All that mattered right now was getting both of us out of here—alive.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

Devon nodded, then abruptly stopped. He looked past me, his eyes narrowing in anger, rage, and hate.

“He's fine,” a snide voice answered me. “For now.”

Footsteps sounded, and Grant walked in front of me. He wasn't alone. Two men also appeared and moved behind him, flanking him like soldiers. I looked around, but I didn't see anyone else. Once they'd captured Devon, Grant must have paid off all the other men he'd hired and sent them away.

“Oh good,” he sneered. “Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.”

It took me a couple of tries, but I managed to get my bare feet under me and stand up straight. That eased the ache in my arms, although pins and needles started stabbing into my shoulders from the uncomfortable position I'd been in for . . . well, I didn't know how long. But I started flexing my fingers, opening them as wide as I could, given the ropes, and then clenching them together, trying to get the blood flowing again. I needed as much of me to be in the best shape possible if Devon and I had any chance of escaping. Even if I had no idea how I was going to get out of my ropes to start with, much less the ones that bound Devon to his chair.

To distract myself from the pins and needles, I scanned the slaughterhouse again, this time looking for exits. No windows were set into the walls, although I did notice a door at the far end of this section. Where that door led, I didn't know, but it had to be better than being trapped in here with Grant.

“I'm glad you're awake,” Grant said. “I wanted you to be the first to witness my newfound power—after I take it from Devon.”

He held up the same dagger he'd attacked Devon with earlier, and I realized it was a black blade—bloodiron—with a hand holding a sword carved into the hilt. The Sinclair crest. He must have gotten it from the training room at the mansion.

Grant twirled the dagger around and around in his hand, like a cowboy spinning a six-shooter on his finger. Devon kept glaring at him, the anger in his eyes flaring hotter and brighter. Grant gave him an evil grin and stepped in that direction, ready to hurt Devon if I didn't figure out a way to stop him.

“How did you find out about Devon's Talent?” I called out.

Yeah, it was a weak ploy at best, but ego was the one thing that Grant had more of than anything else, and I was counting on it to buy me a few more minutes to do . . . something.

Grant stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. “You mean his compulsion magic?”

I nodded.

“I overheard Claudia and Reginald talking about it with Oscar. Apparently, they were reminiscing about how they once saw Devon use his power to make a kitten climb down out of a tree in one of the squares. It's not a big secret, no matter what Claudia likes to think.”

“And you decided that you wanted Devon's magic for yourself.”

Grant shrugged. “You don't know what it's like, always taking orders from somebody else. Just because Claudia Sinclair and the heads of the other Families have a little bit of magic and a whole lot of money, they think they're better than the rest of us. Even though
we're
the ones who do all their dirty work. Who keep the monsters under control. Who keep the rubes in line. Who save their sorry asses from the other Families' plots and assassination attempts time and time again. Well, I'm
sick
of it. I worked so hard and so long to move up in the Family, but Lawrence still chose Devon over me in the end. When I heard about Devon's power, I finally figured out a way I could get my revenge—a way that I could get
everything,
including my own Family. People who follow
my
orders.”

He swung his dagger in a vicious arc. Behind him, the two guys with swords crossed their arms over their chests, nodding their heads, agreeing with him. Bronze cuffs with a hacienda stamped into them flashed on their right wrists. So Grant had hired Salazar guards this time. I'd always thought that he knew everyone, and now I realized why—so he could have more people to use for his schemes when the time was right.

“You didn't have to stay. You didn't have to take orders. You could have quit. Left the Family. Gone somewhere else. Done something else.”

Grant let out a bitter laugh. “Like what? My father was stupid enough to gamble away my trust fund, which is why I ended up working for the Sinclairs in the first place. At least I got to live in a mansion again, even if it wasn't my own. Besides, being part of a Family let me learn all sorts of secrets.”

“And Lawrence, Devon's dad?” I asked. “Why did you kill him?”

Grant shrugged again. “Because he passed me over. Actually, I was trying to kidnap Devon that night. Killing Lawrence was just a bonus.”

Devon made a snarling sound deep in his throat, and Grant glanced at him.

“Oh, don't worry, Devon. Your daddy didn't suffer— much. Not like you're going to suffer when I cut you open.”

He slashed out with the dagger. Devon snarled again, but Grant just laughed at his anger.

“You know, maybe I won't even bother getting your mom to promote me to bruiser. Maybe I'll just go ahead and take over the Family myself. Once I have your compulsion magic, I'll be able to make anyone do anything I want them to, even Claudia Sinclair herself.” He paused. “What do you think, Devon? Wouldn't you like to see your mom bowing her head to me for a change? I certainly would.”

Devon couldn't say anything, but the look he gave Grant radiated hate. Yeah. I knew the feeling.

“But how did you do it?” I asked, still trying to keep him talking.

Grant turned back to me. “Do what?”

“You said that you were in the pawnshop and the library. You said that you killed Ashley. But you don't look anything like that guy, the mystery man. So how did you do it?”

Grant stared at me. I thought he wasn't going to answer, but then, his face began to . . . ripple.

And I watched while Grant's features slowly changed.

His perfect nose, his chiseled cheekbones, his square chin, blue eyes, and golden hair. In an instant, they all softened, dulled, and disappeared, replaced by brown hair, brown eyes, and the other plain, average features of the guy I'd seen twice before. The mystery man who'd taken such delight in killing Ashley, trying to kidnap Devon, and attacking me.

But as quickly as the change came over him, he reversed it, and a second later, I was staring at the perfect, polished, handsome Grant that I knew. A faint chill of magic radiated off his body, and I finally knew what he was using his power for—what he'd been using it for all along.

“You have a Talent for illusions—for changing your appearance.”

Grant sneered. “Way to state the obvious, Lila.”

“The brown hair and eyes . . . that's the real you, isn't it? The pretty boy face you have on now is just what you let everyone else see. What you
want
them to see.”

“Of course it is.” His voice escaped in an evil hiss. “You think that anyone would look at me twice with a nobody face like that? You think anyone would notice me, pay attention to me, take orders from me? Of course not. Especially not with
him
around.”

He stalked over and bent down so that he was face to face with Devon. “It wasn't enough that you were born with compulsion magic, was it, Devon? Oh no. You had to get good looks, too. Muscles, fighting skills, a rich Family, an adoring entourage of friends. I guess some people really do have all the luck.” Grant's mouth twisted more. “Well, I don't
need
luck.”

He straightened up and looked down his nose at Devon. “And I think it's high time your luck ran out—permanently.”

He twirled the dagger in his hand, moving it into a better position so he could stab Devon with it—

“Wait !” I yelled, desperate to save Devon. “Wait!”

Grant looked over his shoulder at me. “And why should I do that?”

“Because what if you get it wrong?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Have you ever taken anyone's Talent before? Ripped their magic out of them?”

His silence told me that he hadn't. Behind him, the two guards exchanged a surprised, worried look. Apparently, Grant hadn't told them he'd never swiped someone's Talent before.

“What if you do something wrong?” I asked. “What if you mess up? Then you won't get Devon's magic, and you'll just have a dead body on your hands.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

I opened my mouth, then clamped my lips shut, like I'd just realized the huge mistake I'd made.

Grant gave me an evil grin. “You know, you're absolutely right. It would be better if I practiced on someone else first—you, Lila. After all, your sight Talent will let me see all of Devon's suffering in supersharp detail. And won't that be so much more
fun
?”

I made my eyes bulge as wide as they would go and started thrashing against my bonds, as though I were completely terrified. Not too hard to do. At the very least, I was moderately terrified.

I didn't want my Talent to be ripped out of me, and not just because it would kill me. My soulsight and transference power were as much a part of me as my mind, body, and heart were. I didn't want to lose them because I didn't know who I
was
without them.

But it had to be this way. Because I had to break free of my bonds if I had any chance of saving myself, much less Devon, and there was only one way to do that.

“Oh yes,” Grant purred. “This will be
so
much better. And Devon will get to see exactly what I have in store for him.”

“Mm!” Devon tried to yell through the tape over his mouth. “Mm-mmm!”

He tried to get loose, but the heavy ropes bound him too tightly to the chair, and all he could do was strain and strain against them and go nowhere. Our eyes locked, and his cold despair punched me straight in the heart.

But I forced myself to look away from Devon and focus on Grant, who was swaggering toward me. He slashed the dagger through the air again, and I couldn't stop myself from shivering. So maybe I was a little more than just moderately terrified, but I'd planted the idea in his head and now I had to use it to my advantage—or die trying.

Grant stopped in front of me. I started struggling, even going so far as to kick out at him with my legs. Of course, he easily sidestepped my clumsy blow. He jerked his head at the two men still standing behind him.

“Hold her still,” he said. “I don't want any mistakes.”

The men came to stand on either side of me. They clenched their hands around my upper arms, using their strength Talents to hold me in place. I waited a second, then strained my hands against my bonds. Nothing happened. The men weren't using enough of their magic on me to get my own transference power to kick in. Not nearly enough.