Page 58 of One For my Enemy

Bryn considered it. “You’re that good?”

“I’m that good,” she confirmed, and added, “My sister taught me.”

Interesting. Increasingly so.

“This conflicts with another deal,” Bryn said, drumming his fingers on the desk as he weighed his options. “It will be a matter of who can pay me first.”

“Fine,” the witch said, shrugging. “I can pay you tonight, if that helps.”

Ah, Bryn thought, remembering. “The intoxicants are moving forward?”

“Deal closes tonight,” the witch confirmed, and Bryn tilted his head, tutting quietly.

“You shouldn’t give away such sensitive information,” he warned, and her mouth quirked slightly.

“No?” she asked. “I suppose I shouldn’t tell you the place and the time, then, either. Heaven forbid you tell your Fedorov source,” she murmured. “After all, one of them mightbethere, and vulnerable, at that—”

Oh, she was good.

“Which Fedorov?” Bryn asked casually, testing her resolve.

“The dead one,” she replied, unfazed.

He smiled. She was very, very good. Besides, prior agreements or not, it wasn’t as if he was in a position to refuse any magic he was offered—particularly not for so low a price.

Bryn held out a hand, reaching across the desk. “Miss Antonova,” he beckoned, “I believe we’ve come to a fruitful conclusion. I’ll bring my Fedorov source right to your door, and in exchange, you’ll give me his magic. Do we have a deal?”

She glanced at Ivan, who tilted his head;Go ahead,he seemed to say grimly, conceding for lack of a better option, and she nodded, sliding forward to perch delicately at the edge of her seat.

“Deal,” she confirmed, closing her hand around Bryn’s and binding his word to hers.

III. 9

(Counsel.)

“Dima,” Lev said, finding his brother alone in the corner of his loft that served as his study. “Are you busy?”

Dimitri looked up, traveling a long distance through his thoughts to let his gaze fall on Lev’s before softening then, slightly. The eldest and youngest Fedorov been close, always, even with how untouchable Dimitri had always been; how out of reach and, in Lev’s view, godlike. It was a different relationship than the one between Lev and Roman, and certainly between Roman and Dimitri.

“Lev,” Dimitri said, and rose to his feet, the collar of his shirt gaping slightly as Lev frowned, spotting the outline of a bandage.

“Are you hurt?” Lev asked, and Dimitri looked down, running a hand over his chest.

“It’s nothing,” Dimitri said. “I’ll be fine.” He cleared his throat, gesturing for Lev to join him in one of the leather chairs. “You need something, Levka?”

“Sort of. I—” Lev hesitated, battling his instincts. “I wanted to talk to you about Roma. Well, about the Antonovas,” he amended. “About both, I suppose.”

Dimitri carefully lowered himself into the chair, wincing slightly. It appeared his previous suffering at the hands of Marya Antonova hadn’t quite faded. “About Roma’s aversion to them, you mean?”

“I just—” Lev swallowed. “I just wonder whether all this hatred is worth it, Dima.” He waited, flinching at the insecurity in his voice. “I know Roma’s afraid of something. I know something’s made him not quite himself, and I know Papa has his own opposition to Baba Yaga, but—”

“But you don’t have a place in it,” Dimitri guessed. “Is that it?”

“Sort of,” Lev said, and Dimitri arched a brow, listening to something unsaid.

“You don’twishto have a place in it, then,” Dimitri amended, and Lev looked down at his hands; confirmation enough. “Well,” Dimitri exhaled, “I don’t blame you. There are very few winners when witches have wars, and yours is inherited. It must make you feel rather…” He trailed off. “Unimportant, I suppose, in the scheme of things.”

“Yes,” Lev said, looking up. “It doesn’t feel like my war, Dima. And yes, Roma is our brother, and I love Papa, you know I’d do anything for him—”

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