Page 57 of One For my Enemy

“I am,” said Bryn, letting the contract fall from his hand as he gestured to the vacant chairs across from him. “I take it you’re in need of my services?”

She took a seat, wary. “I want to know how you knew about the Fedorovs.”

A common request these days, it seemed.

“Declined,” replied Bryn. “Anything else?”

Her expression stiffened. “Declined?”

“Yes, declined. Overruled, if you prefer. I don’t part with my information for free,” Bryn told her. “Neither as a fairy or an attorney. It’s what makes me so darn effective at my job,” he added, raising hisWorld’s Best Lawyermug with his pinky aloft for emphasis, “and which makes me free to say things like ‘no’ when presented with inane requests. Call it attorney-client privilege.”

To his surprise, the witch smiled, satisfied. “So you do know what the Fedorovs are up to, then,” she judged, and Bryn paused.

“Huh,” he said, impressed against his will. “Well, you’re younger than Marya, but well-trained, I take it.”

The witch flinched, but barely. He wondered what that was about.

“I take it you know the business my sister had?”

“That’s between your sister and me,” Bryn told her.

“Not anymore,” the witch replied. “My sister’s dead.”

Bryn blinked, genuinely startled. “What?”

“Marya was murdered last night,” the witch clarified, “and it was a Fedorov witch who killed her.”

Bryn cleared his throat, moderately discomfited. Strange to think he’d seen her the previous evening; stranger still that he hadn’t yet heard the news from Roman. Had it been his doing? If it had, then perhaps he’d come through on their deal. If it hadn’t…

“What do you want from me?” Bryn asked, biding his time, and the witch leaned forward.

“I want you to help me kill a Fedorov,” she said.

Surprising, Bryn thought. Not too many women, witch or otherwise, had Marya Antonova’s stomach for things like that. He rested his chin on his hand, staring at the woman who sat across from him.

“You’re Marya’s successor,” he guessed, piecing things together, and she shrugged.

“Maybe,” the witch replied. “Or maybe I’m just really pissed off.”

Ah, he liked her. He tried not to show it; instead brushed his thumb over his lip, thinking.

“I operate in deals, you know,” he pointed out. “If you want my help, you certainly can’t have it for nothing.”

“I didn’t say I’d offer you nothing,” she replied, and though Ivan gave her a questioning glance, she didn’t acknowledge his attention. “I do have some relevant business acumen, if a deal is what you want.”

“Have you?”

She smiled thinly. “Everything is a matter of leverage.”

“Is there something you think I lack?” He waved a hand around his office. “You’d be hard-pressed to offer me something compelling.”

She seemed to disagree. “You’re a fairy, right?” she prompted, and he stiffened, apprehensive. “So, I take it you don’t have magic in this realm.”

“No, I don’t,” Bryn confirmed neutrally, withholding a bristle of agitation at the reminder. “Are you offering me yours?”

“Of course not,” she replied. “I’m not an idiot, and besides, I could hardly offer you much of it while I’m alive. I’m offering you the Fedorov who dies as restitution for my sister,” she explained, and Bryn, much to his displeasure, found himself leaning forward, curious.

“There’s magic in a witch’s organs,” she explained. “The heart, the liver. The kidneys, especially,” she clarified, and though Ivan flinched slightly beside her, she notably did not. “Anywhere blood is processed would hold several years’ worth of magic, preserved well enough, and I could help you preserve it.”

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