Hotter on the Edge (41 page)

If she had a soul, which for once she was glad she didn’t, she’d be going to Hell. Score one for the soulless mages, though it didn’t make her feel any better. Getting married tomorrow would be punishment enough. She was trapped, just like him.

Kaye trembled as she shut the cellar door behind her. Her guts and bones ached as if she had the flu. She looked left and right. Nobody in the hallway.  Kitchen sounds beyond, the staff working up the night’s dinner. Smelled…fishy, among other things. 

She found the key and locked the door again, her throat tightening as the bolt snapped into place. The beautiful man was buried down there. 

The keys. She had to get them back before Dad noticed. Drop them in his coat pocket before he knew they were missing. Or toss them out the window and look stupid if he asked about them.

Kaye smoothed her little black dress, reminding herself that she was the woman of the house. And a Brand. 

Nothing had happened.  

Please, please don’t let me cry. 

She swallowed to wet her mouth, forced her chin up, and headed for her father’s study.

***

Kaye listened, forehead at the door, and hearing nothing did a quiet twist of the knob and a slow push. From the open sliver, she couldn’t see anyone. So far so good. She eased it farther, then froze at the sight of the old lady she’d met earlier today, the groom’s sister. Ms. Grey was supposed to act as Ferrol’s proxy in the marriage because times were too dangerous for him to come himself, which meant that Kaye had to say “I do” to her, though it meant “I do” to him. 

The whole thing was screwed up. Danger even on the inside of magekind. Whispers everywhere.

The old woman sat behind her dad’s new desk. Her face was deeply wrinkled like the up-down grooves of craggy tree bark, but with sour, thin lips. Her eyeballs were nested black marbles, hard and glossy, and they fixed on her.

Her dad had just turned from the bar cart with a couple of drinks. He had his usual cognac. And the old lady’s drink had a toothpick stuck in a drowned green olive. Martini. Once, secretly, Kaye had sampled all the booze. Most of it was nasty.

“Kaye?” Dad sounded polite, but he had that tight look that meant she was interrupting.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Kaye said, not sorry at all. “I didn’t know you were busy.”

She started to retreat. The keys, out a window then. Or in the trash. Right now they felt terribly conspicuous in her hand. 

“No, we’re not,” the old woman corrected. “Why don’t you come in for a moment?” She had a broken voice that added syllables and skipped others.

Dad’s lip twitched—he must be angry—but since he didn’t contradict the request, Kaye obeyed.

“Sure.” Kaye tucked the keys in her hand. There were more than ten on the ring. She stepped inside, sucking in her stomach and working on her shoulders. If she pushed them back, her flat chest stuck out, but any other way she stood was supposedly sloppy. Late bloomer, someone had called her. 

The flames in the fireplace leapt as she entered, but then fire did that when she was around. It was a Brand thing, a
Shadow
thing, and the reason her dad had fires lit in every room—to show off to his guests what she
could
do.

Her dad’s office was old-school, like he was, dark-toned with lots of new, thick furniture brought in to make them look rich for the wedding, including the hulking desk. Their family might be old blood, but those heavy antiques weren’t, and probably weren’t even theirs to keep. 

Standing behind the old lady was one of those sad, monster people, a wraith in a suit, who was supposed to be a bodyguard or something. Wraiths were horrible but couldn’t be beat in a fight. The old lady shouldn’t worry; the wraith looked scary mean, but it was his funky BO that would keep everyone away. 

The wraith’s attention fixed on her, and his nostrils flared. 

“Close the door, please,” Ms. Grey said, though it was not her door. 

First the old biddy sat in Dad’s chair, now she gave orders? Last time Kaye checked, this was
Brand
house. Kaye swatted behind her, and the door shut just shy of a slam.

“Kaye,” her father said smoothly, but she got the warning to behave, “Zelda and I were just discussing the continuation of your studies.”

Zelda. That’s what the old lady’s name was. A couple of weeks ago, Kaye would have been required to call her Ms. Grey or ma’am. Now it was Zelda. The perks of being suddenly all grown up. 

The wraith leaned down to the grand madam’s ear, whispering. 

None of this boded well. Kaye was supposed to marry Ferrol tomorrow, but Zelda was the first Grey she’d ever met. And if the old lady was a crypt keeper, how old would that make her brother, Kaye’s soon-to-be husband? Old. Which was probably why they weren’t letting her meet him. 

Wasn’t fair, no matter how generous the marriage contract might be. She should just say no. It was now or never.

Zelda twitched her black eyeballs back to Kaye. “My companion says your smell is off.” 

As if the monster could talk. 

“I was in the kitchen,” Kaye explained. “They’re cooking fish.” She hoped it wasn’t the kind where they left the inside raw. What was his excuse?

“Not that smell,” Zelda said.

Silence in the office. The fire snapped, Shadows flickering. Dad paused, midmotion. Zelda’s eyes glinted. The wraith looked meaner.

Anxiety tickled Kaye. The old lady knew something.

Zelda leaned forward slightly, pinning her. “You’ve been in the cellar.” 

Wraiths were known for their sharp senses as well as their hunger for human souls. He had to have sniffed the musty, sour body smell from downstairs. She must have worn it into the room. Heels. Little black dress. Eau de Dying Man.

She was caught. Her heart sucked in so much blood that the edges of the room dimmed. She looked at her father, expecting wrath. She braced to take it.

But her dad casually sipped from his glass. “And how is our friend in the cellar doing?”

Not the reaction she expected.

“You knew about this?” Zelda asked.

“I gave her the keys,” he answered. To Kaye, he asked, “How is he looking today?” 

Another pounding second passed before Kaye realized that her dad was trying to make it
seem
like he was okay with her going down there. Because there was no way that he was.

In weirdly numb slow motion, Kaye held out the keys to him. She was caught anyway, so why not? They’d gotten so heavy, it was a relief when her father took them. 

She had no idea what to answer about the chained man, because she didn’t know why he was there in the first place. “He’s…” She went for the obvious. “…a little pasty.” 

Dad let out an odd, sharp laugh and drained his glass. Dad never laughed.

He was going to lock her up for sure. Take away her laptop, take away everything. No continuation of studies. Just Ferrol Grey’s bride.
Kaye’s brain filled with I’m-sorrys and excuses, but she held them back. It wouldn’t matter if she was sorry. And she wasn’t.

The old lady slid her beady gaze over to Dad. “I wasn’t aware Kaye knew about the angel.”

Angel.
The beautiful man was an angel. 

Kaye felt so stupid—she should have figured that much out on her own, what with the way he seemed to shine. And his imprisonment finally made sense: Angels were supposed to hate the mage families. Light against Shadow. They were supposed to kill mages whenever they could. She’d just never seen one before.

If she’d set him free, she might be dead by now. 

“They will hurt you,”
the angel had warned not five minutes ago. 

Ironic. He was the one who’d have done the hurting. And how dumb was he that he hadn’t let her undo his chains? Angels were supposed to be crazy strong. He could have fought his way out.

Wait. Then why
hadn’t
he let her undo his chains? 

Dad returned to the drink cart. “Kaye is a Brand,” he said. “She can keep her own counsel about family matters.” He shot her a look. “A glass of wine, honey?”

He never called her honey. He never offered her a drink, much less alcohol.

“Okay,” she answered lamely. The yellow stuff was better than most of the other drinks on the cart.

Zelda handed her martini to the wraith, who set it aside on a bookshelf. “Ferro will be displeased.”

Ferro, her soon-to-be’s nickname. Kaye knew his name meant iron, like hers did fire, but this sounded like pharaoh to her. King of the world. Very magey.

Kaye took Dad’s outstretched wineglass. His gaze bored into hers, full of meaning. She had no idea what he wanted.

She gulped without raising the glass. Umm…“Ferro won’t like my groom’s gift?” 

Dad gave a shallow nod of approval, though his skin had gone blotchy, which made Kaye shake deep inside. His anger was usually cold and pale. This was different. Something was going on.

“You were given specific instructions,” the old lady admonished her father.

“She’s his bride,” he answered back. 

“Run!”
the angel had said.

“You are not free to amend the dictates of Ferrol Grey, whether he marries your daughter or not.”

“Whether he…” Dad puffed. 

If Kaye had her way, she’d prefer not. Speak now? Or forever hold her peace?

“This is a delicate matter,” Zelda continued, “one beyond your narrow understanding, and certainly beyond hers.”

Zelda’s condescending tone made Kaye burn all the way down to her toes. A log crackled in the fire like a gunshot. 

There was no way Kaye was going to live with that old hag the rest of her life, no matter how generous Ferrol was, no matter how much the union would help the Brand family. She was going from one keeper to the next, and all because she couldn’t set anything on fire. Well, her dad couldn’t either, so who was he to sell her off to the highest bidder?  And who was Mr. Grey, who had bought her without meeting her, who had sent this mean old woman to sit in her dad’s chair? Shadow was the only important thing—who had it and who could control it. 

“This life is not for you,”
the angel had said.

The angel might have been dangerous, but he was the only one who had seemed to know the difference between
Kaye
and
Brand.

Family. Politics. More like control. 

“No,” she blurted out.

“Quiet,” her father said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. 

But the word was out, finally out. It had been much easier to say to the old lady than to her dad.

“I don’t want to marry Mr. Grey,” Kaye said to Zelda. 

Her dad’s skin got that strange mottled look again. “Kaye doesn’t know what she’s saying,” he said. “You goaded her, and her temper flared. Just look at the fire. That’s the Brand promise—Shadow is thick in our blood.”

Sounded like a sales pitch to Kaye, but she was taking herself off the market. “I won’t marry your brother.”

A bright burst of light, and Kaye fell to the floor, her jaw throbbing, the room tilting at an odd angle. The wineglass lay broken, its contents soaking the rug, its fruity smell in her nose. Her father stood over her, so he must have been the one who  hit her, another thing he’d never done before. 

“She’ll comply,” he said. “She can be made to cooperate. She can be made to understand.”

Before, he’d only taken away privileges, only isolated her. Kaye looked up at her father, through her tears, with all the hate and hurt she could.
Daddy?

Her dad wiped sweat from his forehead. His hand was shaking. 

She’d never seen him shake. Never seen him look like this. He’d never struck her. Why was he being like this?

Then it clicked. Her dad wasn’t angry. He was scared.

The realization made the pulsing ache in her jaw worse, her heart thudding as she took on his fear.

“And this is the young woman you allowed down into the cellar, into our affairs?” Zelda lifted a brow. “I think not.”

Kaye crawled to standing. She’d lost a shoe, and stepped out of the other instead of searching for the first. A kid again. She swiped at her mouth with her wrist and it came away with a smear of spit and blood. 

The old lady lifted her hand, a finger raised to signal the wraith. Sighing, she said, “You may have her.”

Kaye didn’t understand.  

But her dad lunged, shoving her backward hard, as the wraith vaulted over the desk. 

Kaye hit the fireplace—the stone scraped, but the flames never burned—as the wraith pushed her father out of his way, a bony hand to her dad’s face. 

Dad fell back. The wraith advanced, his monster teeth extending in his mouth, which made no sense whatsoever. Wraiths fed on souls. Mages didn’t have them. 

What could he want from her?

“Run!”
the angel’s voice echoed in her memory.

Kaye flung open the door. To her left the hallway led to the warren of kitchen and pantry back rooms. Right led to the entrance foyer and guarded front door. 

She took the hallway. Shouldered past the help, dodged around a corner. The wraith was after her.

Her father’s voice rose in a shout behind her, but she didn’t understand and wasn’t about to stop now. 

“And keep running.”

She skittered through the kitchen and burst out of the pantry door onto the wet ice-slick of a brick walkway. The evening air was sharp, bitter, cold. The world gold and white as the sun fell.

A crash behind her. A woman shrieked, and then the sound was cut off abruptly.

Kaye took off toward the trees. Her flight was just like it would have been for that angel—nowhere to go. Nothing nearby. 

Just running. Running. The cold stung her exposed skin while inside her blood pumped hot.  Her feet skittered across the lawn and through the frozen brush. Scraping and cutting.
Daddy! I didn’t mean it!

The shadow gained, silent and quick.

Running. The winter woods went black, sunset turning the sky from gold to licking red. The trees were solemn black spears, stuck into the ground like the picture of the afterdeath of the great ancient battle in her childhood storybook—angels against mages.