Page 57 of Heir

Because if I told her what happened, she could have come clean about being a mage and maybe accompanied me home. We could have protected her.

I took a deep breath, shoved down my grief, and did the best I could to suppress my anger—for now. “Mr. Fiddleman, my aunt cast spells all over her house as contingencies for if something happened to her. I activated one today, or we all did, and it suffocated me. We need you to come to her house and see if there are any other spells. She’s hiding something. Protecting something. And I need to know what it is. I need to know why as soon as my father was killed and I got his power, my aunt was then hunted down and killed. Kase Blackwood came and we know that two men entered Delia’s home, both demons. They beat her and then fried her brain. They also took the most recent photo of me. So we assume they’re coming after me next.”

The bell chimed at the front door and Zandren ambled in, a foot-long sandwich in his hand and another one tucked under his arm. “I got you one since you haven’t eaten anything today.” He smiled at me as he took a bite of his own sub.

Blinking, and still trying to make sense of everything he heard, Mr. Fiddleman nodded. “Y-yes, of course.” Then he paused. “Who are these three men? If I might ask. Bodyguards?”

“Something like that,” I said blandly.

“We’re her Fated Mates and she refuses to mate any of us,” Drak said from his spot in the corner. “Even though it will help her get control of her powers.”

I glared at him. “Quiet in the corner or I’ll give you a dunce cap next.”

Mr. Fiddleman grabbed his coat and keys and followed us to the door, where he locked up. He kept shaking his head. “I’m just . . . I’m so torn up about Delia. This is just the most tragic news.”

“Do you know if she has any other family?” I asked. “I feel so stupid. This woman raised me since I was two-weeks-old and yet I know nothing about her.”

Mr. Fiddleman shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t know.”

I shrugged. “I understand.”

“You should eat something,” Zandren said, handing me the second sandwich he bought. “I wasn’t sure what you wanted. So I hope the honey-garlic chicken breast is okay?”

I glanced at him behind me. He was such a paradox.

Anybody who saw him would immediately assume he was a killing machine. Because he probably was. He could probably tear a person in half with his bare hands. While in human form too. And in bear form, I’m sure he could do even worse. And yet, he’d shown me such softness and caring. The genuine concern in his eyes over the fact that I hadn’t eaten yet, eased the ache of my tender, tattered heart.

“Just half, please,” I said, my belly grumbling. I never ate breakfast. I always waited until at least noon to eat. Sometimes later, like two in the afternoon, if I wasn’t hungry at lunchtime.

He nodded, opened up the wrapper for the honey-garlic chicken and handed me a six-inch sandwich. I took a bite as we walked.

“Is it okay?” he asked.

I nodded and looked at him over my shoulder. “It is, thank you.”

The relief and genuine happiness that creased his face tugged hard on my heart strings.

We reached my aunt’s house in no time and Maxar opened the gate for us to all step through onto the stone walkway.

All of us walked through except Mr. Fiddleman. The hair on the back of my neck lifted, and I paused just before the bottom step.

“What is it?” Maxar asked.

“This house has more spells on it than anywhere I’ve ever been,” he said, in awe, fear, and . . . sadness. He turned to me. “You say she’s been your guardian since you were a child?”

“Since I was two weeks old. That’s when my mother died. I don’t really know how Delia and I are related though. I assume she’s like a great aunt or something. So that means my mom was probably a mage too? Or a demon?”

He still hadn’t walked through the gate, but rather stared up at the top floor of the house and the small widow’s walk coming off the primary bedroom.

Did he see something we couldn’t?

“Powerful magic is at play here,” he said. “More powerful than me.” His cheeks ruddied a little, though it was tough to see from his dark complexion. “I knew she was a spellcaster mage. I just had no idea how powerful. I . . . feel stupid not knowing. Not getting to know her better when I had the chance.”

“Did your aunt have a mate?” Maxar added.

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Since I’ve known her, she’s never had a . . . lover. But maybe? If she was centuries old, perhaps she did, and he died?”

Mr. Fiddleman nodded. “Yes. She did have a mate. He died in the war between vampires and shifters some hundred and twenty years ago.”

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