Page 121 of One For my Enemy

“Go talk to Santos. I’ll deal with Lev.”

“Solnyshko, you mean?” Ivan said knowingly, and Marya sighed.

“It slipped out,” she muttered.

Ivan chuckled, and then, briefly, his humor faltered. He hesitated, then asked her gently, “Could you wish someone better for Sasha?”

An unfair question, to which the answer was obvious.

“We have things to do right now, Ivan,” Marya reminded him. “I swear, I’ll tell them both eventually, but not yet. Not now. I have things to do.” Lev was right, after all. Marya Antonova knew what she was doing, and the money was just the beginning.

Ivan nodded. “I trust you, Marya,” he said, and inclined his head, taking his leave as she turned back towards her office.

“Lev,” she called, opening the door to find him staring vacantly out the window. “You said your brother always has a plan, right?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, turning to look at her. “Though none as good as yours, of course,” he remarked, sparing her a teasing look of impertinence. “If you ever cared to share your plans with me, I’d be happy to tell you just how much superior they are.”

Marya sighed, shaking her head.

“You’re impossible, Solnyshko,” she told him.

For a moment, his smile flickered and waned.

“So I’ve heard,” he agreed, looking a little lost once more.

V. 7

(Keen Observation.)

“Why would Dima want the Borough seat?”

“Holy hell,” Bryn sputtered, promptly knocking over his mug of coffee as Marya sighed, pausing the motion of the liquid before returning it to the cup. “Thanks,” he muttered under his breath, and she shrugged.

“Think of time as a series of threads,” she said. “Strings to be plucked at will. A few seconds here and there isn’t difficult—time has its own rules. The way it goes slowly when you’re waiting for something,” she explained, “or how it speeds up when you’re running behind. It’s all very easy to toy with when you know how it works.”

Bryn stared at her for a second, his fingers twitching apprehensively; she could see him discreetly feeling around for them, though she figured he was too proud to chance making a mistake in front of her.

“Try it,” she said. “You have witch magic now. You should be able to feel them.”

He eyed her warily, then stroked his thumb over something in the air, sending a small, barely noticeable ripple between them.

“Oh,” said The Bridge.

“You’re welcome,” Marya said, falling into the seat across his desk. “Though, I can smell that,” she said with a gesture to his mug, “and frankly, it’s a little early in the day. That’s not magic, by the way,” she assured him drily. “Just keen observation.”

Bryn made a face.

“What do you want?” he said gruffly, looking as if he didn’t particularly want to be helpful. She knew him, though. He couldn’t be entirely useless; she’d already offered him something without a price, and his fae blood would ultimately sway him to her favor.

“Why is Dimitri Fedorov running for a seat with the Borough witches?” Marya asked again. “I told you to encourage him to turn on his father, not to take up some idealistic new politics and waste both our time.”

“I’ve done nothing of the sort,” Bryn scoffed. “Whatever the Fedorov prince is up to is entirely his making.”

“I doubt that,” Marya said, and eyed him. “You’re keeping something from me.”

“Yes,” Bryn said. “Though, a small thing, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Marya sighed doubtfully, shaking her head. “Bridge, you exhaust me.”

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