Page 15 of Junk Magic

“Their war.” I reached inside my coat and took out the pic from Cyrus’s fridge. It had somehow survived the carnage, and I’d rescued it when I went back for my boots. The Corps currently had the place cordoned off and would for a while, and I thought that he might like to make a copy since it had both Jace and Jayden in it.

I didn’t know how many photos Jace had of his brother, but in this one, he was laughing. I looked at it, and wave of pure rage swept over me for whoever had done this. Because somebody had. Relic strains that fearsome might exist in some people’s DNA, but they didn’t come out without help.

Somebody had turned a boy into a monster, and killed both Jace and Colin, too.

“Their war,” I said again, throwing the picture down. “Is our war now.”

Sophie slowly pulled the pic over to her, and regarded it silently for a moment. “The man’s a Were, too,” she said, talking about Cyrus. “He has the look.”

“They’re all Weres. Unaffiliated—called vargulfs—”

“I know what it means.”

“Then you know they’re outcastes, unwanted by anyone, even more than you. The magical community might not treat you fairly, but you’re still housed. You have clothes, food, an education. Yes, I know—what are you supposed to do with it, if you never get out of those schools. Or if you’re restricted and watched your whole life even if you do. But that life, the one I just described, the one you’re living now? Would seem like paradise to a vargulf.

“When the clans throw them out, they have nothing. They are literally tossed into the street, in the middle of a world that looks on Weres as dangerous predators, and left to fend for themselves. Most last a few months, maybe a year if they’re lucky.

“Many kill themselves immediately because they can’t handle the loneliness, the idea of having nobody give a damn about them for the rest of their lives.”

Sophie regarded the picture again. “They seem happy,” she said, but her voice was less sure than before.

“They were, for a little while. The man in the pic is named Cyrus. He’s been trying to help them, to give them a sense of belonging again. It was working—until tonight.”

“Tonight?” Her eyes met mine.

“Somebody got to one of them, a guy named Colin, and gave him this.” I put a vial on the table. It was empty now, but had contained just enough residue when I took it off Colin’s corpse for the lab guys to identify it.

“And what is that?” Sophie asked, wisely not touching it.

I told her.

Chapter Five

For the second time in twenty-four hours, I came home to a house with extra vehicles in the driveway. My old truck was still there, as was Cyrus’s bike, which cheered me up. I hadn’t known when I’d see him again, because I’d assumed the boys would need him. But nobody drove his baby but him, so he’d clearly made it back.

And so had someone else.

The third vehicle in my drive wasn’t one I knew. It was a rental, with the company sticker marring the shiny fender of a brand-new BMW. I frowned at it, but parked over to the side so that I didn’t risk scratching the paint. Then I went in—

And almost tripped over a body lying on the floor.

There were a lot of them, I realized, my hand on my newly restocked potion belt. But considering that they were in sleeping bags and gently snoring, I decided that maybe I wasn’t about to be attacked again. I slowly unclenched my hand and picked my way across the sprawled forms of Cyrus’s boys to the hall and then to the kitchen, where a single light burned.

Two handsome men were sitting at my prep table, having coffee. One of them was Cyrus, with tired lines etched around his mouth and wearing a clean tank top that showed off the powerful lines of his shoulders and chest. I couldn’t see his legs, but knew they’d be denim clad, and if he had on footwear, it would probably be boots.

Arnou, his old clan, was based in Jersey, which was why he’d come out to Vegas after the challenge. Some distance had definitely been needed, and I liked to think that my transfer within the Corps also had something to do with it. But he’d embraced the West with enthusiasm, and frequently looked like a cowboy just in from the range.

The contrast with his companion could not have been more striking.

Sebastian Arnou might not have the title, but he still looked like a king, albeit a modern one. A platinum watch gleamed on his wrist, which was probably worth more than my house, especially now. His suit hugged the hard lines of his body like it had been made for them, which it probably had. It was a dark blue power variety that matched his eyes and would have been perfect in a boardroom in New York.

Here in my still somewhat trashed kitchen, it was a bit out of place. But then, so was he. Especially with Cyrus, his outcast and supposedly hated brother, right across the table. If their farce was to work, they couldn’t be seen together.

My glance went to the kitchen window, which thankfully had curtains drawn over it, and then to the tarp-covered hole in the wall. It was still battened down nice and snug, which was a relief. Although less of one than if I hadn’t just passed through a living room full of witnesses!

“Out cold,” Cyrus told me, before I could ask. “Gave them redfern.”

I relaxed slightly. Redfern was the name for a mix of herbs and magical plants used by Weres to calm the effects of the full moon. In slightly larger doses, it was also a really good sedative.

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