Chapter Eleven

Kierse stood outside of Graves's mansion. Every entrance and exit was mapped out in her mind. The best places of shadow as the sun moved across the property. The movements of those who came in and out... except, apparently, the owner. She had done her homework, and still he'd caught her. Standing here now felt like she had given up a piece of her battle strategy to become someone else's pawn. But she was no one's pawn.

With a deep inhale of the frigid air, she cloaked herself in a shroud of overconfidence and climbed the stoop to the devil's mansion. Only a day earlier, she had worried about the snow and how it would leave footprints behind. Now, she purposely left them against the front walkway, announcing her arrival to all who were watching.

She shivered. Not from the cold this time.

The iron knocker was ancient: a slithering dragon shaped into a figure eight with its serpentine tale whipping around at the end and a crown of holly floating atop its head. Perhaps it was his mark. He certainly had holly all over the property. Either way, it left a weighty impression when she lifted the giant thing and banged it three times against the stately door.

The door creaked inward, and the butler appeared in the entranceway. He was a graying man of average height with sturdy steps and a kind blue gaze. She'd guessed him to be in his fifties, but up close she could tell that he was more fit than she'd assumed. As if his fifty years had hardened his body. To what purpose, she had no idea.

"Hello. Miss McKenna, I presume?" he said with a cheery disposition and slight British accent.

"Yes. That's me."

"Excellent. Come in out of the cold. It is wonderful to have you in residence."

"Umm, thanks," Kierse replied.

"Allow me to take your coat," he said, helping her out of her leather jacket.

"And you are?"

He smiled. "I am Edgar."

"Nice to meet you, Edgar."

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss McKenna."

"Kierse. You can call me Kierse," she said with her doe-eyed smile.

"As you wish."

"How long have you worked for Graves?"

Edgar just gestured her forward. "Follow me and we'll get you warmed up. The snow is really coming down."

Kierse appreciated the dodge. She hadn't expected him to give up his master's secret, but it was worth a shot. She let him lead her through the house. It was as grossly opulent as ever, with Persian rugs and tapestries and priceless paintings. She was a thief. She could put a price on every item she passed, knowing exactly how much she could fence it for. But Graves's house was something else altogether. A firedrake's hoard. The dragon on the knocker was certainly fitting.

His assets seemed to be limitless. And yet the one thing he wanted and couldn't get, he needed her for.

Edgar led her into a cozy sitting room, complete with a fire burning in a fireplace the size of a small child. No other light came from the room. No electricity at all. Just the soft glow from the fire revealing the velvet-lined chairs, luxurious fur throws, and carved wooden tables. A large matching wooden bookshelf was adorned with the kind of knickknacks she collected for her clients. Somehow the vases and carved figurines and candles didn't look out of place. They brought the rest of the room together.

He couldn't be a wraith. They loved their opulence as much as the vampires, but she couldn't imagine a wraith enjoying a roaring fire. Not to mention he'd touched her and she hadn't lost a part of her soul. She checked that off her list, too.

She'd told Gen and Ethan that he didn't seem like any other monster she'd met, but until she knew, she couldn't help but wonder.

"Well, have a seat, dear," a woman said, bustling in after her with a silver tray laden with a teapot, cups, and saucers as well as a few biscuits and tiny little delicacies. She had a thicker British accent than Edgar. As if he'd tried to train it out of himself but she reveled in it.

Kierse followed her to the most inviting chair and took a seat.

"I'm Isolde. Don't mind Edgar. He's not used to guests," she said with a warm smile. Everything was warm about her, from her brown hair up in a bun at the top of her head, to her black-and-white serving dress, to the softness in her lined face. "We are delighted to have you in residence. How do you like your tea?"

"Um... hot?"

Isolde chuckled. "We're British, dear. Tea should only be hot."

"Right. Of course. Earl Grey with honey is my preference, but however you like it is fine."

"I'll make a note of that," Isolde said easily. "But for now, milk and sugar it is."

Kierse watched her serve the tea with fascination. This was nothing like how Gen made tea in the attic. It was more like the fashionable ladies uptown with their little cups and saucers and finger sandwiches.

Isolde passed her the cup of tea, and Kierse brought it to her lips.

Her eyes widened. "This is excellent."

"We can make a Brit out of you yet," Isolde said, beaming. "Now, have a scone with some jam and cream. I'll be back if you need anything else."

Kierse tried to drink the tea as daintily as the cup and saucer suggested. She glanced at the tray to take a scone but saw that there were only biscuits. After slathering one with cream and strawberry jam, she bit into the biscuit. Then hastily devoured two of them. This food was... incredible. As if extra flavor was baked into every portion.

"I'm glad that you appear to enjoy my refreshments," Graves said from the doorway.

Kierse jostled some tea onto the saucer, setting it down as she came swiftly to her feet at the sound of his voice. She hadn't heard him approach.

But he held his gloved hand out. "Please, stay seated." Graves leaned against the doorframe.

When she did no such thing, he stepped into the room and drew the door closed behind him. He took the seat across from her, and then finally she eased back down.

"You know, once it was commonplace to drink from the saucer. It's gauche now, of course."

A new thought bubbled to the surface. She shot him a shrewd look. "Is it magicked?"

His lip quirked up on one side. "The food? No. Isolde is just the best cook I've ever encountered. I also devour her scones with a sick fascination."

Her eyes flickered to his lips as she imagined a man like this devouring anything.

"You've decided to take the job." It was said as a statement, not a question, and she bristled.

"We'll get to that," she said, leaning back and forcing calm into her expression. The negotiations had already begun. She couldn't back out now. "I have a few questions first."

His own face was blank, but he held his hand out to allow her to proceed.

"What's your association with the Druids?"

If he was surprised by this line of questioning, he didn't show it.

"‘Association' is the incorrect word," he said, crossing one leg at the knee and leaning against an arm of the chair.

"Enemy?" she suggested. "Is that what they are? Are you going to tell me that the Irish are the bad guys and the British are the good guys? Because it's a bad look."

"Not everything is as it seems." His face was passive as he added, "There are no good guys or bad guys. This isn't a fairy tale."

"No, I'm not chased down at gunpoint in a fairy tale."

"Depends on what story you're reading." He arched an eyebrow as if daring her to argue. "And once you are in my employ, you'll be under my protection. The Druids will not be a concern."

"Lorcan suddenly won't want me dead?"

Graves frowned at that name. "Lorcan and I are under an... agreement. I won't go after his if he doesn't go after mine."

"A cease-fire with the enemy. That's convenient but does nothing to assure the safety of my friends, who he also tried to kill."

Graves raised one gloved hand. "They seem safe enough with your Dreadlord friends."

Kierse didn't balk at that. Of course he already knew what had happened and where exactly Gen and Ethan were. And she had to take him at face value. Gen and Ethan were safe with Nate. She wasn't going to get more out of him about it without giving something in return. She needed to change tactics if she was going to get through these negotiations.

"Are you the reason we have the Treaty?"

"I was involved," he said all nonchalant as if it hadn't changed the entire world.

"And did you sign it?"

He looked amused. "Did you?"

"I wasn't involved," she reminded him. "But you were."

"I assure you that I did it for my own aims."

"I'm sure you did," she said dryly.

She waited to see if he would say more, but he didn't. Normally, leading people to the point got them to start talking. Most people wanted to talk about themselves. But Graves seemed content with the silence.

Well, it had been worth a shot. She'd gotten at least a handful of reassurances from him, if not explicitly. Gen and Ethan would be safe. Lorcan wouldn't bother her. Graves had helped with the Monster Treaty, but he hadn't signed it. He must agree with it if he'd been involved. So he probably wasn't going to kill her for no reason. Probably.

"I accept your job offer with some conditions."

"Oh?" He leaned backward, dropping his foot back to the floor. His hands were still in those slim black leather gloves. His cheekbones were razor-sharp in the firelight.

She gritted her teeth, holding his gaze. She nearly choked on the words that came out of her mouth. "I want ten million dollars."

Graves didn't blink. "Three million."

"I am not negotiating my salary. If you won't pay me, I'll walk."

"Five million."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm the only person who can do this for you, which means I know my worth. Ten million. And half up front."

"Fine," he growled, clearly upset that he was giving in to her demands. "But I will only pay the full amount upon completion of the task. Your expenses will come through me."

"Done."

She kept her smile to herself. Holy shit. She hadn't expected him to go over three mil.

She'd already gotten the main things she wanted: money and safety. She didn't expect him to guarantee hers. She could die in this job. She'd known that from the start. Her real concern was her friends.

Because she was going to fucking make it out of here if she could help it, but in the event that she couldn't, they were all that mattered. Her chosen family had to survive.

She lifted her chin. "And if I die, the money goes to Gen and Ethan."

He nodded once.

"I need you to say you agree," she demanded. "They are what matters here. I do the job. They get the money. They remain safe."

Something like surprise shone in his eyes at the demand, but all he said was, "Done."

"Good."

"Anything else?" he pressed.

The only other thing she really wanted was information. But Graves hardly seemed like the kind of person who was going to tell her everything she wanted to know. She actually doubted he'd tell her everything she even needed.

It was sort of how she operated anyway. Need-to-know basis. She couldn't flat-out ask him to give her the info she wanted, but she wasn't doing this without hoping to find out more about herself, too.

"I'm not going to ask for a guarantee of my safety, but I think we both know the real currency in this city is information. I can't be the valuable asset you need me to be without knowing what I can do."

"You'll be trained," he said flatly.

"On my magic?" She nearly choked on the word but managed to keep her head up and meet his mercurial gaze.

"Your magic, your mind, your body."

Her eyes widened at those words. "Explain what that means."

"If you're going to be working with me, then you'll have educational assignments and weapons training."

"Trust me, I'm pretty handy with weapons."

"Not spears."

She shot him a skeptical look. "Why would I need to know how to wield a spear?"

"Because, Miss McKenna," he said gravely, "that's what you're stealing."

"Oh," she whispered. Well, now she had more questions. "Why are you stealing a spear?"

"I'm a collector. I collect rare objects. As you might have noticed when you cased my house."

No use denying it. "I did notice that. And you need this for your collection? For ten million dollars?"

He didn't even blink. "It's worth it to me."

"Okay." She ground her teeth together. "Fine. Weapons training. But educational assignments? What kind of assignments?"

"I don't deal with the uncultured," he told her flatly. "I'll provide you books to read, and we'll discuss them."

"Uncultured," she said with narrowed eyes. He just stared her down as if willing her to disagree with him. She was a thief; she hadn't the luxury of culture. "So, reading, weapons, and magic lessons."

"When you're ready for them, yes."

"And will I learn about your magic?" she asked.

Those gray eyes seemed almost impressed with her audacity. "You have spirit, I'll give you that."

"So, is that a no?"

He rose to his feet, buttoning the front of his dark suit. "If information is what you're after, I applaud you for trying. I am a man of many secrets. No one person knows all of them. Very few know any of them. Most people don't even know my name or my likeness. You're going to have to take what I will offer."

"And what is that?"

"I will train you the way I know how. You may or may not enjoy that. What you discover about yourself in the process is at your disposal, but all else..." He waved his hand as if to say that was beyond him. "My secrets are my own."

Kierse stood and held his gaze, despite feeling like she should shrink under it. He'd seen right through her line of questioning. This was going to be more difficult than she'd thought.

"I understand," she said, offering her hand.

He didn't take it but instead said, "Then I will provide my terms."

She let her hand drop and waited for his side of the negotiations. Other than the money, hers hadn't gone as well as planned. She didn't want to make it easy for him, either.

"Which are?"

"You must stay in my residence." She opened her mouth to reject—no way was she staying here—but he barreled on. "It is mandatory. You cannot stay with your friends and hope to keep them safe. You stay here." He waited for her to argue, but she could hardly do so.

"Their safety is my first priority."

She hated that he knew that information about her. But they were allies now, however tenuous. Hopefully that meant they would stay safe.

"Understood," he said. "The next requirement is that you keep a cell phone on you."

"I don't have a cell phone." Which he probably knew. So many of the towers had come down during the Monster War, and after they'd finally gotten people to work on them, the plans were outrageously priced. Kierse couldn't manage the expense.

Graves shrugged. "I can provide one."

"Two. So I can give one to Gen and Ethan."

"No. They are precious to you, which means they can be used against you. It will be best for you, and them, if you cease seeing them entirely."

"That's out of the question."

"Do you want to get them killed?" he asked sharply. "Would you like to see Lorcan put a bullet in them? Have one of his lackeys follow you around until you give up their location and they're murdered in cold blood?"

She swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, hating that he was right. She would never sacrifice Gen and Ethan. She was taking this job for their safety. But she couldn't just let them think she was never coming back.

"You can't forbid contact until I let them know I'm staying. They'll do something stupid, like try to find me," she told him.

"Contact your Dreadlord and let him know. After that, you work for me. That means you live here and you no longer risk their lives."

Her jaw flexed in frustration, but she nodded. How would she survive all this time without them? But then, wasn't it more important that they survive without her?

When he saw that she had agreed, he continued. "The last is the most important—you don't tell anyone else my secrets."

"What secrets?" she asked coyly.

His gaze cut straight through her. "I cannot bind you to your promise. And this partnership requires a level of trust that I have not given in years. Give me a reason to trust you with this."

Good. She was glad that he couldn't bind her to her promises. He'd just admitted to another benefit of his magic not working on her. She was not just valuable. She was a liability. He wasn't keeping her close to train her. He wanted to keep an eye on her. So much was slotting into place now.

"Your secrets are your own." She threw his words back at him.

But she made no promises. And she could see that he despised not being able to force her to keep her word. She just met that steely gaze with a smile. Negotiations worked both ways.

He waited for her to say more, but she held her tongue. Flames danced in his irises. "That will have to be enough." He held his hand out. "Deal?"

She was making a deal with the devil, but still, she placed her hand in his. An old sort of magic, this bond between them.

"Deal."