“FLYNN’S RIGHT, Madame President. This is too dangerous. You’ll be completely helpless.” Nate is literally wringing his hands in concern. I thought that was something people only did in sappy novels, but nope. Pretty soon he’ll be chafing the skin on the backs of his knuckles.
He does have a point, though. I’ve drawn power from Linda Argyle, at her insistence that her magic-dampening skill would come in handy. She’s right. It will. But it’s left her pale, shaky, and defenseless. I’m impressed. I never in a million years thought she’d allow herself to be in this position given how threatened she appears to be by me. I could drain her dry right now, and there isn’t a damn thing she could do about it.
But I won’t.
Granfeld, however, just might. Because the other half of her plan is a surefire way to get Tempest to come out of whatever hidey-hole she’s dug herself into. Madame President wants to present the other succubus with a target she can’t possibly resist going after—the two of us.
I have to admit, she’s finally earned my respect.
And Nate’s hand-wringing anxiety meltdown.
“I’ll be fine, Nathaniel. I have every confidence that Ms. Dalton can do what needs to be done.” Argyle glances at me. My utter shock must show on my face because she adds, “Really.”
Really?
With a shared nod, the two of us stand up straight, or as straight as Madame President can manage in her weakened condition, but other than a slight slumping of her shoulders, no one would guess that she’s been diminished in any way. I look over my shoulder at the clock mounted high on the downtown Festivity bank’s tower. Seventeen minutes. That’s how long the entire battle has lasted so far, from the moment Granfeld attacked me and Chris, through the arrival of the other psychics and the drawing of their energy, to now.
Time flies when you’re scared shitless, I guess.
We leave the safety of our vehicular barricade, moving to stand in the middle of the center row between parked cars. Nate guessed that Granfeld was hiding somewhere toward the opposite end of the same row. The bait is cast. We wait for her to take it.
While the sun beats down on us and a trickle of sweat runs between my breasts, I watch Argyle in my peripheral vision. “Why the sudden change of heart?” I mutter out of the corner of my mouth.
She hmmphs. “Things weren’t what they seemed,” she says.
I remain silent, waiting her out.
“My parents…,” she begins. And for a few seconds, there is real sadness, a pain and sorrow about her that is the most vulnerable I’ve encountered from this woman of fire and steel. It’s gone as fast as it appears, but it gives me a glimpse into who she might be under different circumstances. “My parents died when I was twelve. Car accident. But I’ve had glimpses,” she says, scanning the parking lot while her words tumble forth. “Flashes of memory. They’re older in those memories. Much older. I think—”
“Granfeld erased them,” I finish for her. Then, softer, “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. They were kind, generous people, and very magically talented. Both had been board members when I was a child, and much beloved by the Registry. I spoke to Nathaniel. He says I was a very different leader prior to about a year ago. I think that’s when the timeline was changed. It’s all very confusing and hard to follow, but I don’t think I’m the person I was meant to be. I’d like to find that person, be that leader.”
I nod. And the story makes me wonder, were Genesis’s parents taken also? Was the boating accident that killed them really how they were meant to die? “Well, one thing I’m certain of,” I tell her. “You’ll have no competition from me. Despite what I said in Atlantic City, I have no desire to be the ringleader of this particular shitshow. So when Granfeld does show herself, you fucking run like hell, you hear me? No heroics. You have almost no power left, and the Registry needs you.”
She rests a hand on my shoulder. It’s a move so uncharacteristic of her up to this point that I jump a little at the contact, but she solidifies her grip. “No worries. Heroics are your specialty, not mine. But maybe you’ll consider running for the board—”
Huh. The old “keep your enemies close” strategy. Because no matter what she’s saying now, I still don’t count us as friends. I’d tell her where she can shove that idea, but Granfeld chooses that moment to make her reappearance, and it’s a dramatic one, all green dark magic lightning and a couple of orange lassos of pulling energy thrown in for good measure. I grab Argyle and bodily throw her to the side, taking the brunt of the blast myself. The shield of Cassie’s healing energy surrounding my body absorbs most of the impact, but some trickles crack through, beginning the drain on my collected power through a half dozen tiny fissures.
Fuck.
Just like with my parents, it’s going to come down to brute magical strength. One of us will drain the other. One will cease to exist. Except this time, I can’t tackle her. I can’t touch her at all. I’m not out-of-body and she’s a spirit. Only Genesis’s magic would have allowed me to do that, and thankfully, Gen is at home and safe.
So, which of us has more power? The offspring of both a succubus and an incubus or a gone-mad, hundred-something-year-old undead succubus who’s had generations of practice and experience, not to mention knowledge of doing what we do?
The cracks in my shield spread wider.
I think I’m about to find out.