Chapter Seventeen

When Kierse came downstairs the next morning, Graves stood in the entranceway in an impeccable three-piece suit with his face buried in a different book than what he'd been reading at dinner last night. She tilted her head to try to make out the title, but when he sensed her approach, he snapped it closed and tucked it under his arm.

"Just some light reading?" she asked.

"Something like that." He eyed her workout attire. "We're going out."

"I thought I had weapons training. We only have a few weeks," she reminded him.

"I'm well aware of the timeline. You will train when we return. This is more pressing."

She sighed. "Where are we going?"

"I'll tell you on the way." He gestured toward the entrance to what she presumed was the garage.

Before they could enter, Edgar appeared, offering her a long, black woolen jacket. "For the chill."

"Thanks," she said, sliding her arms into it. Compared to Graves, she was grossly underdressed, but he seemed unconcerned.

Edgar swung the door wide for them, and she followed Graves into an elevator. Graves pressed the button for the bottom floor. It opened again on a darkened room big enough to hold a dozen cars. A limo idled silently on a circular underground driveway. The driver, a gruff-looking man in his fifties, stood at attention, clad in an all-black suit and hat. A third employee that she had never seen in her stakeouts. What the fuck?

"George," Graves said in greeting.

"Sir," George said as he whisked the door open at their approach. "Miss McKenna."

"Thank you, George," she said with a polite smile before getting into the limo.

Graves settled into the backseat next to her as George closed the door and walked around to the driver's side.

"Does George always drive for you?" Kierse asked.

"He does."

"Does he know what you are?" She had to assume that Edgar and Isolde did. They couldn't serve him day in and day out and not know there was something else, something more to him.

"George has been in my employ for many years."

Which seemed to be answer enough because he returned to the book he'd been reading.

"Is he magic, too?"

Graves sighed heavily, as if unused to someone interrupting his reading time. "He is not a warlock, if that is what you are inquiring."

"But there are other beings with magic," she pressed.

George sank into the driver's seat and closed the door heavily behind him. "Ready, sir?"

"Yes, George. You know the way," Graves told him, then returned to Kierse's question. "There is other magic in this world. But those of my employ are just good workers who I pay handsomely for their time."

"And silence," Kierse guessed.

George coughed under his breath at her impertinence as he pulled away from their spot and into an underground tunnel that led away from the property.

"Silence is preferable, yes," he said pointedly.

Kierse bit her lip as she watched the limo climb toward the surface. An automatic garage door lifted, and they pulled out onto the New York City street. She craned her neck at the cross street, surprised to find they were several blocks away from Graves's house. It was clever. No one would ever suspect that a mansion lay half a mile on the other side of the garage they'd just exited. No wonder she hadn't ever seen him coming or going.

"You seem fascinated by my garage," Graves said.

"I like exits. A thief's first resource is their surroundings," she told him, slouching back into the seat. "Stealing is as much or more where things are kept as what you need to get."

He listened as if interested in learning her trade. "How so?"

"Well, it's in the architecture. Front doors aren't for stealth. They're guarded. You have to look at the place as a blueprint. Entrances and exits, visible or made."

"Made?"

"Sometimes it's easier to cut through the ceiling or break through hinges than pick a lock. It depends on if you want anyone to know you were there." Kierse lifted her hands and held them about a foot apart. "Think of it like a rat. Rats don't come in through the front door. They climb through the walls, rip apart insulation, bite holes into surfaces. They're agile little thieves. You don't even know they're there if they don't want you to. Mimic what they do. Use the house to your advantage."

"Hmm." He considered what she said. "Blueprints and rats. It's like you're an architect. You have to build the property in your mind to gain the advantage."

"That's a good analogy."

"I'll have to think on that. We can use that mapping to our advantage when we infiltrate the Men of Valor."

"That's where my favorite part comes in: reconnaissance."

"Indeed," he said thoughtfully. He was silent another moment before changing the subject. "We're going to a hospital."

"I'm not sick."

"While everything I've told you has been rather... mythical thus far, there is a science to it. Warlocks over the years have tried to map what makes us unique. Covertly, of course. We still don't know exactly why we can do the things that we can. But we do know that there is a gene for it."

"A warlock gene?" she asked.

It sounded as silly as the magic. And yet, based on her rudimentary biology lessons, she knew that gene mutations happened in humans as well as monsters. Despite the monsters not wanting the information disseminated, recent research said there was a biological component to why vampires needed to drink blood or why wraiths lived off of human essence or even what caused werewolves to shift at the full moon. It made sense, then, that warlocks would have scientists or become scientists to look into the source of their magic, too.

"Not exactly," he said. "I'll let Emmaline explain it when we get to The Covenant."

"The Covenant?"

He just grinned wickedly. "You'll see."

Forty-five minutes later, they veered off the parkway in Queens and pulled to the entrance to a stunning two-story building. In big, bold letters, THE COVENANT was written on the front with a symbol underneath it of a circle and two opposite-facing crescent moons. She hadn't been inside a hospital like this since before the war. Most of them had been taken over by private for-profit companies. Many people resorted to back-alley medicine, or if you were in good with a gang, they usually had a medic on the payroll, like Maura. People either went into debt or—more often—just died. And no one cared. It made her ache for a past she could hardly remember yet felt viscerally.

Graves buzzed them into a side entrance to the building. She shook snowflakes out of her hair and off the shoulders of her jacket as she looked around. The small waiting area was empty, save for a woman in a white frock with a name tag that read Harper, who Graves approached.

"Hello," Harper said pleasantly. "Welcome to The Covenant. How can I help you?"

"We have an appointment with Dr. Mafi," Graves said brusquely.

"Excellent. Name?"

"Under Kierse McKenna."

"Ah, Kierse," Harper said with a smile, turning to Kierse. "Have you ever been here before, dear?"

Kierse shook her head. Who could afford a hospital?

"I need you to fill this out." Harper slid a clipboard across the counter. "Answer the questions on the first two pages and sign the last one."

Kierse plopped into a chair and filled out the paperwork. So much of it she didn't know how to answer. Like her current address. She couldn't put Graves's house down, but she couldn't put Colette's, either. She decided to leave it blank. It got worse as they asked about family history. She had no clue if her mother had had breast cancer or her father's side had a history of high blood pressure. She eventually gave up, flipped to the back page, and scribbled her signature.

She took it back up to Harper. "Here you go."

"Thank you, dear. It'll just be a few minutes."

Kierse shot her a small smile before returning to her seat. Just as she'd dropped her butt into the uncomfortable cushion, a door opened and a woman said, "Kierse."

She was in a dark-purple frock that matched Harper's. The color emphasized her black hair and wide-set eyes. Kierse liked her on sight.

"That's me," Kierse said, stepping forward. Graves was close on her heels.

"Friends wait out here," the woman said quickly. Graves shot her a look of pure wrath. The woman hardly blinked.

"He can come with me," Kierse insisted.

"Are you sure?"

Kierse nodded. "Promise. It's fine."

Plus, Graves would probably kill someone before he let her go in there alone. Not when he had planned all of this and knew the doctor. Everything else felt like a formality. Bureaucratic nonsense, to be honest. She would have thought Graves would have a doctor make house calls. Not put her through this.

"All right. Well, I'm Jesy," she said, holding the door so they could step inside. "Welcome to The Covenant."

They went through basic measurements—height, weight, blood pressure, temperature, et cetera. Then Jesy brought them back to a room. Kierse sat awkwardly on a bed with paper that crinkled under her weight. Graves looked completely out of place, standing next to a small teal chair that wouldn't have held all of him. The light was harsh against his midnight-blue hair yet somehow softened his sharp features. He looked more human here.

A few minutes later, another woman, who Kierse guessed was in her late thirties, walked in. This one was wearing a black frock, with beautiful, sun-kissed brown skin and a stylish red hijab. She had a small stud in her nose and eyelashes for days.

"Ah, hello, Kierse." She held her hand out. Kierse was unnerved by the woman's enthusiasm as she shook her hand. "I'm Dr. Mafi. It's great to have you at The Covenant today."

Graves cleared his throat. Dr. Mafi took him in with a sniff. "Emmaline."

"Graves."

The tension was palpable between them. They were either natural-born enemies or lovers. There was no in-between in their expressions.

"It's been a while," Dr. Mafi said. "I didn't think I'd see you in here again. Not after last time."

Graves shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "I'm here for Miss McKenna. As we discussed."

Dr. Mafi huffed. "Yes. For Miss McKenna."

"Well, then let's begin."

"I'm going to request that you wait outside while I talk to my patient for a moment."

"No."

"Then I cannot help you and you will need to find someone else to keep your secrets," Dr. Mafi said with bite in her voice.

Graves looked like he wanted to argue. He didn't like his wishes disrespected. Kierse had seen that he expected—no, demanded—respect. Beyond respect. He was a god to his underlings. How he tolerated Kierse, she didn't know. But this thing with Dr. Mafi seemed to go beyond that. She was challenging him, giving him an ultimatum.

Graves tipped his head. "I'll remember this."

"I'm sure you will," Dr. Mafi said with an actual eye roll.

As soon as Graves walked out of the room, Dr. Mafi faced Kierse. "Well, I don't know how long we have, but I thought I'd cut to the point. Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?"

"I'm going to guess the answer is no?"

"You do not want to work for him. And this testing... you don't want it."

"Why not?" she asked. "I thought we were just looking for a gene mutation."

"You are. That and a physical and a blood test and a drug test and a pregnancy test and..."

"Wait, a pregnancy test?" she asked in confusion. "Whatever for?"

"Standard procedure," Dr. Mafi said automatically.

"That doesn't feel standard."

"Have you had sex?" she asked blithely.

"Ever?"

"Recently?" Dr. Mafi corrected herself. "In the last month?"

"No?"

"Then we could probably skip it, but it's completely standard." She shook her head. "But that's not what matters. What matters is that he'll have access. You can try to keep it private, but if you know him at all, as I once did, then you know privacy is a lie. He has his hands in everything."

Kierse apparently didn't know him as well as this doctor. "Why should I trust you?"

Dr. Mafi let out a breathless laugh. "You probably shouldn't. But you shouldn't trust him, either."

"I trust myself."

The doctor looked unconvinced. "I don't know what he told you about our hospital. The Covenant was started by a coven of witches."

Kierse eyed her skeptically. "Witches?"

"Not like what you're thinking. We mostly specialize in herbs and remedies."

"No magic?" she asked, her eyes darting to the door, where another magical being stood out of sight.

"There's some magic. Nothing like warlocks," she assured her. "We started the hospital as a cover. We work with much of the supernatural community. We help them, heal them, hide them," she said, meeting Kierse's gaze with her own. "So if you ever need any of those services, you know where to find us."

Kierse held her hand up in disbelief. "You're helping monsters?"

"I'm working with Graves right now," she said in frustration.

"But, like... other monsters. Wolves and vamps and wraiths and such?"

Dr. Mafi raised an eyebrow in question. "Why shouldn't we? Humans have their places for healing. Why shouldn't monsters?"

Kierse knew it was a valid question. But she couldn't help thinking about what monsters had done to her world. Shattering New York City into a million pieces and making every interaction ten times more difficult. Sure, she had monster friends now, and monsters she worked with. They weren't all the same. It was just hard to shake the burning hatred she felt toward the monsters that had stolen Torra.

"You're helping the very things that ruined our healthcare system. Not to mention killed millions."

"Since you are working for a monster currently, I will assume that you are not naive enough to believe that it's entirely black and white."

"No," Kierse said tersely. "There are just as many bad humans as there are good."

"And just as many bad monsters as good." Dr. Mafi's pointed look toward the door said much of what side she thought Graves belonged on.

But before she could say anything else, Graves barged back into the room. "All through?"

"All through," Dr. Mafi said with a wide, unassuming smile. "Girl talk out of the way, right, Kierse?" She winked at her.

Kierse managed a smile. "Indeed."

"Okay. Then let's get started," Dr. Mafi said.

Kierse was there for another hour, giving samples to Dr. Mafi. It ended up being a whole lot more than a cheek swab to run her DNA. Apparently, warlock DNA sequencing was notoriously wily. Something about the changes in proteins or amino acids. She wasn't entirely sure. Something to do with the genetic mutation, and her basic knowledge of biology hadn't helped the matter.

"We'll have results in a week or two," Dr. Mafi said. "I'll call to let you know what I find out."

She and Graves were silent as they stalked back to the waiting limo. Kierse had a million questions rushing through her mind. Despite Dr. Mafi's warning still ringing in her ears, she couldn't keep quiet.

"So, how do you know Dr. Mafi?"

He sighed, waiting to respond until they were seated in the limo. "We were involved before she completed her medical degree."

"Oh," she said. "What happened?"

"She left." He cracked open his book, going frigid. "They always leave."