Chapter Nineteen

Kierse could have forgone the makeover, but Isolde had insisted that appearances were everything. After all, it must be important if Graves had hired an entire team of people to pluck, wax, and prod her skin into shape. By the end of it, she was as soft and supple as a newborn baby. Even her hands, which she'd destroyed sparring, were smoothed over and made new, like magic. Her hair was parted severely down the middle and smoothed back into a low bun. The makeup was mesmerizing. Layer after layer after contouring layer until her features were both amplified and obscured. She was just a canvas for the artists.

At the end of it all, Isolde appeared with the dress. If you could call that thing a dress. No wonder Graves had said no weapons.

Still, she put it on along with a thick jacket. To complete her outfit, she had a bejeweled black clutch and four-inch heels that she was already cursing as she headed down the stairs. She was just missing her wren necklace, which Isolde had insisted she leave behind. She already felt lost without its comfortable weight against her chest.

Kierse huddled into the warmth of the fur-lined jacket. Thank god for Isolde's forethought. The snow had finally let up, but it was still below freezing out there.

As she reached the landing on the second floor, she noticed a light on in a room down the hall. When she had done her perusal of the residence, she'd guessed by the way Edgar and Isolde carefully avoided the area that these were Graves's quarters. Though she was incredibly curious about what lay beyond those doors, she'd respected his privacy.

Without another thought, she walked toward the light and knocked on the door. There was a stillness on the other side. As if Graves had even stopped breathing at that knock.

She cleared her throat. "Graves? Are we leaving soon?"

A second passed and then another before suddenly, the door opened. Her heart stuttered in her chest at the first sight of him. She'd known he was attractive underneath the hardened exterior, but in the all-black suit, he was something to behold. She could see the outline of a tattoo forming around his wrist as he slipped gloves over his long, strong fingers.

He cleared his throat, and she jerked her eyes back up to his, heat flushing her cheeks.

"Miss McKenna," he said. She barely got a glimpse inside of an office before he pulled the door firmly shut behind him. "I was just about to come fetch you. George was on an errand. He should be back any minute to escort us to the airport."

Kierse stumbled back to reality at those words. "The airport?"

He reached into his suit coat for his buzzing phone. "That's him now."

He held his arm out for her. A gesture of good faith, but her stomach was roiling. He hadn't mentioned that they'd have to fly to the party. She'd never been on a plane.

Right before the Monster War, the three major airlines had consolidated into a monopoly that the government hadn't even blinked at. They controlled the prices of transportation, weeding out the competition that tried to stay afloat. Then planes had been all but entirely grounded during the ten years of conflict. Transportation between cities was greatly reduced. National, let alone international, travel had been off the radar. Only in the last three years had any travel become common again, and the rich tourists had begun to flock back into New York. There was a whole world out there, and now... it all seemed to be possible.

She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow and allowed him to escort her to the garage, where George was indeed waiting. He'd traded out the limousine for a more practical black SUV with heavily tinted windows.

"Here," he said.

She pulled her attention back to him and found him holding out a worn copy of a small, brown leather book.

"I brought this for you."

"A new assignment?" She took the book from him with relief.

"You finished the last one."

She flicked through the pages. All the edges were worn thin and almost crumbling from use. The binding barely held the shoddy thing together. "Why did you choose it?"

"You have an affinity for wrens. The best story of the wren can be found in that book."

The book dropped open where the spine was creased as if that particular story had been read over and over and over again. "The Oak and the Holly King."

Graves said nothing. Wrens were one thing. She had always loved her wren necklace. The last thing she had from her mother. But holly was Graves's symbol. It was everywhere on his property, in his warding, in the library that took it as its namesake.

Her eyes lifted to his with a small smile. "Thank you."

"And when you're finished, you'll have to tell me your thoughts on the subject."

Kierse nodded, dropping into the story. George drove them smoothly to JFK International Airport. He pulled the SUV right out onto the tarmac and stopped in front of one of the planes.

"Are you sure we have to fly?" she asked, staring up at the mammoth thing.

Graves's attention shifted to her. "We're on a time crunch. How else are we going to get to Chicago?"

She had no response to that and hated that he got to see a flicker of fear creep into her.

"You've never flown," he said in understanding.

"No," she said with an exasperated expression. "When would I have flown?"

He shrugged. "Pre-monsters." His hand came to the small of her back, his warmth seeping in through the fur-lined coat. It was more reassuring than she wanted to let on, having him touch her like that. "It will be fine. I've kept the pilot on since before the collapse. It's safer than riding in a car, I assure you."

Stairs were wheeled out for them.

"What about the snow?" she asked, reaching for any excuse.

"They cleared the runway. The snow is letting up, but they can fly in snow regardless. Would I take you into the skies if I thought that we would be harmed?"

She wasn't sure about her safety, but he definitely wouldn't risk his. "No."

"You're right. I wouldn't."

"But..."

"It will be fine, Wren," he said softly but with perfect resonance, and the word held her in thrall.

She met his steely gaze. There was command in his eyes, and she took strength from it. He had never called her "wren" before, and she found that she liked it. Maybe a little too much. He'd never even called her by her first name. Only ever "Miss McKenna." But now... wren. It was all just fairy tales and myth, but when he called her wren like that, her nerves settled.

He must have been able to tell, because he nodded. "Good. Let's go."

They exited the SUV together. She was glad for the hood and high collar to protect her from the brisk cold as Graves ushered her up the steps first. She took each one carefully in her heels and delighted in the warmth once inside the plane. She'd only ever seen pictures of commercial planes with seas of small seats, but this was a private jet complete with luxurious couches and a wet bar. It was beautiful, modern, and incredibly inviting.

"Have a seat wherever you like while they prepare for takeoff," Graves said after he boarded behind her.

She settled onto one of the couches and jostled her foot nervously.

"No attendant?"

"I don't particularly like people. If you haven't noticed."

"I have," she admitted.

Graves sank comfortably into the seat next to her. "We have some last-minute things to discuss about this heist."

"What last-minute things?"

"Things we didn't get to during our training session." Their eyes met, and she remembered exactly how close they'd gotten in that session.

"You couldn't have given them to me at that time?"

"I could have, but you asked different questions."

She huffed. "Fine. Tell me."

"Imani and Montrell are fellow warlocks."

"I guessed that," she admitted. "Based on the other information you gave me."

His answering smile was genuinely warm. As if her piecing together context clues from his words made him like her more.

"Good. You chose your questions carefully, then."

"Yes, and now that I don't have to fight for them, why are we breaking into monsters' property to steal from them?"

"One, you're not breaking in. We were invited. And two, you broke into my home."

"I thought you might be human," she argued.

He smirked. "Did you?"

As if he couldn't fathom that.

"Well, I can see now that you're all monster." He pursed his lips and said nothing. But she just prodded him to continue. "Start at the beginning. If I'm breaking the Monster Treaty..."

"Again," he quipped.

"Then I need more information."

"I've been acquainted with Imani and Montrell for a long time."

"What can you tell me about their powers?"

"Imani grants wishes. She's tailored her abilities so that she can imbue substances with her wish-granting powers, usually very specific wishes. They call it wish powder."

"That sounds powerful and mildly terrifying."

"It's not scary—at least, not the way she uses it... anymore."

His eyes went distant as if he remembered a time when her powers weren't used in such a benign way.

"She mostly focuses on wishes of the... sexual nature. The wish powder isn't dangerous. It's not like a drug, even though it has effects like getting high. You can't overdose on sexual desire."

"So, she grants sexual wishes. Isn't that... assault?"

Her stomach clenched at that word. It certainly sounded like it could get problematic fast. As with most things.

"Not at all. She is very specific in what she will grant. You can't just ask for anything that will harm someone else and she'll do it. The wishes don't work like that."

"Okay. I don't know how the magic works. If I'm going to meet her, I want to feel prepared."

"There are rules to her magic. Everyone who attends the party does so with their consent, and wishes can only be fulfilled by a willing participant. If a person wants a certain sexual act, then someone who wants to do that act would fulfill that wish. It's not a free-for-all."

It took her considerable training not to break eye contact. "Got it. So, I won't be in any trouble. And if I just don't wish anything, then nothing will happen."

His eyes flickered to her mouth and then away. "You will be immune to her magic. You will have nothing to worry about."

"As long as it's not past the limits of my powers," she argued.

"I'll be there," he assured her.

"And her husband?"

Graves clenched his fist for a beat at that question before saying, "Montrell has several smaller base powers. Mostly, perfect recall."

"So, he's not as powerful as you?"

Graves huffed, his ego filling the cabin. "No one is as powerful as I am."

The words weren't boastful; they were fact.

She glanced down at the book still in her lap. "How much do you know about what we're stealing?"

"A great deal. We're collecting a packet of letters. I have blueprints of the house, and I can show you where I expect the letters to be located."

That sounded more than satisfactory. She'd gone off of less and succeeded. She just hoped it was as easy as Graves made it seem. She would be stealing from monsters again, and the last time hadn't exactly gone to plan. If this didn't work, she'd be subject to the Monster Treaty. Graves might be all-powerful, but that wouldn't stop the Catos from killing her.

"What is in these letters?" she asked. "Will they help us get to the spear?"

"Once we complete the mission, I'll have a much better understanding of how to proceed with the spear."

"Okay," she answered. Something about what he said sounded off, but at the same time, it made perfect sense to test her. If that helped them get to the spear, all the better. "Show me the maps."

By the time they were high over the world below, she was engrossed in the new information. It put her at ease, but it didn't make her completely forget her fears—or the persistent thought at the back of her mind that she was walking into enemy territory in a gown as thin as vellum with two predators at her front and one at her back.