Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime,” Graves said, handing her a picture. “This is King Louis.”
The resolution was grainy. He was broad and large yet healthy. His hair was thick and dark, and his alabaster hands clasped a cane. He looked as if he was going for refined but in the end didn’t quite make it there. His eyes were wild even in the poor quality. And there was a twist to his mouth as if life had been cruel to him and he intended to deal it back tenfold.
“He looks like there’s something wrong with him.” She knew at once that having this monster leading anyone was a bad idea.
“There is. Many, many things,” Graves said solemnly.
“But he’s not the reason you haven’t been able to get to the spear. He’s just a vampire. Vampires can’t make wards, right? So what’s the problem?”
Graves reached into his folder and passed her another image. When she reached for it, their hands brushed. Fire curled up her arm at the barest contact. She shuddered slightly and tried to hide it with a change in position and carefully looking down at the photo.
This one was of a gangly youth with wide, black-rimmed glasses. He had medium-brown skin with a thatch of curly brown hair and an overly eager expression.
“He is the problem,” Graves said.
Kierse looked skeptical. “This guy?”
“That is Walter Rodriguez. A base warlock who is causing a lot of trouble.”
“Wait. I thought you were the only warlock in the city.”
“I never said that. Simply that we’re territorial. I allow lesser warlocks to live within my boundaries as long as they know their place.”
“‘Lesser’?”
“Yes, there are three levels of warlocks—base, apprentice, and master.”
“And you are . . .” He stared straight through her. “Right. That’s obvious.” He had to be a master if he controlled who lived in his territory. She cleared her throat. “So, how is someone who is the lowest level causing trouble?”
“I met Walter several years ago. I approached him about training to be an apprentice. We worked together to attune his abilities. Some apprentices go on to become masters of their craft, like Imani. Others reveal that their promise was a flame in the night but will never grow, like Montrell. Walter’s flame burned out magnificently.”
Kierse soaked in all of the new information. She wanted to ask where that put her, but she didn’t want to derail the conversation. “So, how is he a problem?”
“He held on to one of his powers—force fields—and became nigh untouchable. Any warlock can use warding. It’s a base ability.”
“Really? Even I could do it?”
Graves nodded. “Yes.”
She buzzed with that new information. “Do all the wards look different? Will Walter’s look different than yours?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, leaning forward with curiosity.
“All the wards have symbols in them. Yours is holly and Imani’s is that bird?”
His expression was startled. “Yes, all magic is individual. And Imani’s symbol is a sankofa,” he explained. “It’s a West African symbol that means ‘look to the past to build a better future.’”
“Would my symbol be the wren?”
His smile was sharp and knowing. “I guess we’ll find out.”
Kierse couldn’t wait.
“But back to Walter,” Graves said. “Wards are strengthened by imbuing them with your power. Thus, my wards would be stronger than Imani’s, whose are stronger than Walter’s. Except that Walter discovered how to push his force fields into wards in the way Imani can put her wishes into powder. And now I cannot break his wards.”
“Unbreakable wards,” she said. “No wonder you need me.”
“Yes, I need a wardbreaker.”
“How did he learn to make these wards?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I still don’t know. I didn’t teach him. He must have figured it out on his own. He was a bit of a math genius and a tech guy when I first met him. He thought that he could program his magic like a computer.”
“Smart.” Kierse suddenly saw where this was heading. “He saw a way to be valuable, and he’s working with King Louis.”
“Protecting the Third Floor and, by extension, the spear.”
“That makes sense.”
“This is the plan, as I see it: You enter the Men of Valor’s winter solstice party with access through this invitation. You escape the festivities, break into the vault, retrieve the spear, and escape. If it goes south, this is where your training comes in. You can fight your way out with the spear.”
“That sounds simple enough.”
“And about a thousand ways it could go wrong.” His eyes moved back to all the paperwork on the table. “We have just over one week to acquire everything else that we need to pull it off.”
A week. Fuck.
“That’s close. What else do we need?”
Graves withdrew a small notebook from his suit pocket and began reading off of a list. “The easiest route to get you through the security system and wards into Third Floor—the invitation will get you into the party itself. The information on the vault so that you can break into it. A suitable ball gown. And an exit.”