Page 40 of House of Embers
Wynter winked at her. “I’ll teach you how to do it. Come here. It’s easy.”
Then Wynter started twisting her hand to form a pocket in the nothing. Kerrigan tried a few times, but every time she tried to drop something into it, it just fell through and landed on her foot.
Fordham shook his head. “That’s not how it’s done. You have to form a hole in it that only you can access.”
“Like it’s so easy!” Kerrigan snapped.
Wynter chuckled. “It’s a parlor trick. Keep working on it. Maybe you’ll be better at this than fighting.”
Kerrigan glared at her, but a sharp rap on the door made them all turn.
“I thought I had another half hour,” Fordham called.
But it wasn’t Adelaide who stepped into the room but Prescott. There was a red mark on his neck and a haunted look in his eyes.
“Didn’t think this should wait,” he said.
“Gods, are you okay?” Wynter asked as Kerrigan pulled her air magic in tight to seal the room.
“I’m fine,” Prescott said with a quick smile. “Plan is going just fine. You’ll get this in a day or so, but I came as quickly as I could.”
Fordham had removed his jacket and cravat for training, so he was clad in nothing but a pair of fitted pants and a half-unbuttoned black shirt. Kerrigan had been admiring the sliver of skin of his chest and at this throat. In fact, it had been a big distraction when she’d gotten started. But now he moved to rebutton his shirt and slipped his arms into his kingly jacket with the expensive, silver stitching. It was likearmor and made him look twice as formidable as he had seconds earlier. It was all a deception though, because clothes didn’t change how scary he was—they just enhanced it.
“All right,” he said. “Now I’m ready.”
Prescott handed him a crisp, white envelope. “Barron’s plan.”
Kerrigan came to Fordham’s side as he broke the black wax seal of a jagged lightning bolt. He removed what was inside and turned it over to show a party invitation. He read it over before handing it to Kerrigan with a sigh.
“What is it?” Wynter asked, coming to stand at Kerrigan’s shoulder.
“A ball in our honor,” Kerrigan said.
“Hosted by Barron Laurent and Viviana Blanchard,” Wynter hissed.
“A trap,” Prescott said.
“Obviously,” Fordham said.
“This is the night of the autumnal equinox.”
Spirit magic worked strongest during times when the veil was the thinnest. Kerrigan had been planning to use the increased cosmic energy on the equinox to reach their allies and begin Fordham’s training.
“Of course it is,” Wynter said.
“Do you think he knows that’s when we’re working spirit magic?” Kerrigan asked.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Fordham said. He cast his gaze to his cousin, who, despite his ragged appearance, did look remarkably similar to Fordham. A muddled mirror. “Does he know, Pres?”
Prescott nodded. “I don’t know how he could, but he was talking about it when he thought I wasn’t listening.”
“You ingratiated yourself quickly,” Wynter noted.
“He’s a simple man. He likes an easy smile,” Prescott said with a shrug. “Fordham talking down to me and Arbor’s death helped matters. I don’t have to fake how I’m feeling. He assumes that means I’m starting to hate you.”
“This will be over soon,” Fordham assured him. “I’m sorry you’re in this position.”
“I’m glad that I can help.”
