“Look, I’ll call it temporary or just until Lawler has been dealt with. Then, if you want to leave after, I’ll let you.”
I hit him with a flat look.
He crossed his heart and smirked at me. “Scout’s honour.”
“There’s no way you were a boy scout.”
He shrugged but didn’t confirm or deny it.
The broken lock on my door pulled my attention away from him. I dreaded to think what I was going to find beyond the door. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to break the charms around my house. I wasn’t usually one to blow my own trumpet, but I was really good at building wards. Better than good, I was brilliant.
It still pissed me off that Acheron had managed to get something charmed for Byron to use to sneak into my house. I guess that didn’t really break my wards but fooled them instead. But this… this was utter destruction. It was power, raw and brutal and it had smashed through my wards with the finesse of a wrecking ball.
“Do you think this is Lawler’s handiwork?” Byron asked as he stood next to me.
“Probably. From what I remember about my father, he wasn’t subtle.”
“He must have known we’d be at the warehouse.” Byron shifted in the street, his eyes tracking every little movement he could see. “Somebody has been watching you.”
A shiver ran up my spine with his words. I’d thought someone had been following me, but now I was sure that they had.
There was also still the matter of the box to look at. Had it really only been this morning when we’d visited the store? It felt like a lifetime ago. I’d been putting off looking at it because I wasn’t sure what cruel thing my father would have put in such a small box, but I knew I’d have to look in there. I needed to figure out what my father was planning and when we got back to Byron’s place, we’d have to take a look inside. Maybe there’d be another clue. I doubted it. It’d most likely be something Lawler could use to further his advantage in whatever game he was playing.
Byron headed up the steps to the front door, pulling out his gun and readying his little manbag full of potions. Maybe I could craft him a luck charm to help him avoid some of the claws and bullets he always seemed to be straying into.
“Stay behind me,” he said over his shoulder as he stepped through the door.
I followed him across the threshold and into the darkness. There was something lingering in the house. An eerie sense of calm in the aftermath of the violence that someone had wrought on my private space.
Strange that this felt like a violation of my privacy, but Byron breaking in didn’t.
I stepped over scattered discs and broken vinyls, my heart clenching at seeing my collection destroyed. I loved my music. Loved the way I could disappear from the world and lose myself in the sounds and lyrics. Music became my saviour after Dara and I left our coven and the louder and more aggressive it was, the quieter my mind would be.
There was no way I’d be able to replace all this and the loss hit me harder than I thought it would.
“I can’t sense anyone in the building,” Byron said, his voice barely a whisper. His steps were slow and precise. Silent and sure. Watching him move was like seeing a panther stalking its prey. He was all lethal energy and quiet, deadly precision. A shiver danced up my spine and a bolt of desire shot straight to my gut. I suddenly wondered what it would be like to be on the receiving end of all that lethal prowess.
“I’m going to check upstairs. Wait here,” Byron commanded as he slowly made his way to the upper floors.
I didn’t think he’d find anyone up there. This was all for me. My father wanted me to know that he could reach me, that there was no way that I could protect myself. I could feel my wards in ribbons. They’d been ripped to shreds and decimated by his magic. Panic, tinged with a bite of fear, started to churn in my stomach.
What use was I if I couldn’t even defend my own home? My father clearly wanted me, maybe I should hand myself over and be done with it. If I couldn’t even protect myself, how was I going to protect anyone else?
I cast my eyes over the lounge again and spotted a folded piece of paper on the mantlepiece with my name on the front. I lifted the crisp white paper, and I was hit with a wave of memories at seeing my father’s handwriting. There were times when he would treat me like his favourite child. We went snorkelling in the Caribbean once. Just me and him. All those white beaches and the clear blue sea, just the two of us and all the time in the world. It had been my favourite holiday. Looking back, I knew he’d only done it so he could dangle it over my head. It was just another way for him to keep me in line and pressed neatly under his thumb.
The piece of paper was from his personal stationery. It had the ‘LR’ watermarked in it and there was a hefty weight to it. I rolled my eyes at it. I mean, who even sent letters anymore?
The cursive script of my name was perfectly positioned in the centre of the paper, and he’d used a fountain pen to write it. I looked at the back of my hand where there was a faint scar. He’d stabbed me with his fountain pen once and it had reached right down to the bone.
There wasn’t going to be anything pleasant in this particular note.
I flipped the paper open and read through his words.
Wilder,
The time has come for you to give me what I am owed.
On your birthday, meet me at the Misthaven Central Park at midnight.