I gripped the arms of the chair. A triple oath was a binding promise. You couldn’t break it by your own actions. It was one of the most basic spells, and I bet it came in hella handy as a mob boss.
“And if I don’t promise more than once?” I asked.
Maguire picked up a phone from the desk.
My
phone. With a few taps, he scrolled through my pictures. “You have a lovely family, Miss Goodnight. Lots of young cousins, lots of talented aunts. If you won’t work with me, I will work through
them
until I find one who’ll do the job.” He set the phone on his desk, propped so I could see the screen and the snap of my cousins and me at Aunt Hyacinth’s farm, our arms linked, faces flushed with laughter and summer heat.
“And please believe me, Daisy,” Maguire added in that same velvet tone, “the inconvenience of that will fray my temper in ways you do not want to imagine.”
The room had grown icier, and it wasn’t just the coldness of
his gaze holding mine. Remnants whispered wordless warnings in my ear, as frightened for me as I was for my family.
Anything he could do to me was insignificant next to the idea that someone I loved might be hurt or killed because of my refusal. The idea turned everything inside me dark and heavy, filling a noxious pool in the pit of my stomach.
“I’ll do it,” I said, my voice steady only because I forced it to be that way. The triple vow seemed unimportant when I was already bound by my fear that I would fail—fail Alexis, my family, my duty … everything.
Maguire smiled, as if I’d said something funny. “I know you will.”
“But without the binding oath,” I added, because redundant didn’t mean harmless.
He didn’t seem surprised or impressed by my rebellion. “I’m afraid it’s my way or the highway. Stand up,” he said, gesturing Lauren and Carson forward as well.
“Is this really necessary?” asked Carson. “She has plenty of incentive not to renege on the deal.”
Understatement of the century. But Maguire hauled me out of the chair and pushed me toward Carson. “Let’s just say I want no errors in judgment along the way.”
Carson steadied me when I stumbled and kept his hands on my shoulders, standing behind me so we both faced Maguire. It was probably a good thing. I wasn’t going to run, but my knees were high-diving-board shaky and might not hold me up.
My cousins and I played with this type of binding spell—
geas
was the old-fashioned term—as kids, the Goodnight version
of a triple-dog-dare. Nothing really mattered but the words and the intent. That was it. But the
witch’s
intent as she pulled a red silk cord from the pocket of her leather jacket and held out her hand for mine made me shrink back.
“What’s that for?” I asked. “No one in
my
family needs props.”
Lauren raised a thin brow. “But I know the value of a sense of ceremony.” She grabbed my hand and put it in Maguire’s waiting one.
The moment we touched, I felt the weight of the remnants that clung to him. Shreds of lives he’d ruined or taken. Frayed tatters of crimson rage and purple grief and black mourning. They hung from him like the chains on Marley’s Ghost, except Maguire didn’t seem to regret his, or even acknowledge their existence. I felt them, though, like a stone on my chest.
All that haunting pressure didn’t even include the brightness that had staggered me when I’d come in. That was not attached to Maguire. It was anchored to something else, but it was
focused
on him. And, I realized with a start, on Carson as well.
A remnant? It had to be, or I wouldn’t sense it. Too strong to be just one, yet too uniform in texture not to be the same psychic substance. I had never felt anything like it, and curiosity pulled me further into my other Sight. I wondered what on earth that fierce glow could be.
Maguire’s fingers tightened painfully on mine, snapping the thread of my question, yanking me back to the physical world and my current problem.
Lauren wrapped the cord around our linked hands, and I understood what she’d meant by “a sense of ceremony.” Symbols had power. The smooth scarlet against my skin elevated the very simple spell from kid stuff to something resonant and far-reaching.
I’d never felt magic at work before, but I was sure I felt it then—Lauren’s intent, racing along the points of our triangle.
“Your promise,” said Maguire, straightening his coat with his free hand.
I grit my teeth, still fighting coercion. “I promise to do everything in my power—”
“Not good enough,” said Maguire, almost carelessly, though I wasn’t fooled. “You’re a Texan. Where’s that ‘Remember the Alamo’ spirit?”
“Yeah, that didn’t work out so well for them.”
“Then you’ll have to do better.”
Impasse. I could not clever my way out of this situation.
When I went too long without speaking, Maguire sighed, then grabbed my chin in his free hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Repeat after me, Daisy Goodnight,” he said, letting me glimpse beneath his veneer of civility. “Because the lives of the people you love best are at stake.”
My eyes stung, but crying would help no one, so I shoved the tears down, hard. Carson’s fingers tightened on my shoulders, and he was tense with some inner struggle of his own.
“Now,” said Maguire, “I, Daisy Goodnight, will follow the trail of Alexis Meredith Maguire and find her without delay.”
“I promise,” I said, feeling the geas start to take hold. The vow had to be spoken only once, then agreed to. “I promise. I promise.”
With the third oath, the slipknot of the spell drew tight. It was a yoke on my psyche and a hot pavement under my feet, and it would press at me until I did what I had sworn.
The thing that happened next, I couldn’t explain. A buzzing, like the hum of feedback from a loudspeaker, filled my skull, pushing out everything else. It crackled like static and lit my nerves—and then Lauren slipped the cord from our hands and the psychic sound vanished, leaving only clear, crisp fury.
“If you touch
any
of my family …” I spat the words at Maguire, still clasping his hand, and I was just
full
of intent. “If you even go near them, I swear I will find a way to curse you all the way to the Veil and push you through. I promise this. I pro—”
Carson clapped a hand over my mouth before I could complete the vow.
Now
I struggled, and he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me up against him with my elbows tucked against me and my legs unable to do anything but flail uselessly.
Maguire waved the three of us toward the door. “Get on with it. Tell me when you know something.”
“Yes, sir,” said Carson, then grunted as my foot found his shin. He adjusted his grip, tucked me under his arm, and marched to the office door.
“A
SSHOLE
,” I
GROWLED
as soon as we were out of the office. Lauren trailed after us, making choked sounds that I realized were laughter.
“I told you not to antagonize him,” said Carson, setting me onto my feet and slamming the door behind us.
“I wasn’t talking about
him
,” I snapped, and made sure my clothes were covering all the parts of me they were supposed to. My emotions needed some sorting, too. As much as I hated being manhandled, Carson had kept me from doing something really stupid.
Maguire scared the crap out of me. When I blinked, I could
See the glow of his remnant debt stamped on the dark of my eyelids. A man with a conscience would buckle under that weight. Maguire had none, and that gave a concrete reality to his threats.
So what did I do? Threaten him back. It was insanely stupid, but it was the only defense I had left.
Laughter made me jump. The guard from the door and the two gorillas who’d escorted Carson and me were clustered around a smartphone, paying no attention to us at all.
“Play it again!” said the guard, and the goon with the phone tapped the screen. “Look at her go! Like a red-haired gazelle, that one.” I couldn’t see the video, but I could guess they were watching the farce of my escape attempt. Their cackles when I hit Carson and the groans of sympathy when I kneed him were a giveaway.
“Something funny, Murphy?” asked Carson. A rhetorical question, because
clearly
, it was hilarious.
The goon squad sobered, but Murphy, the guard from the door, didn’t bother to hide his grin, even when he said, “No, sir.” Then he gestured to a cloth-covered tray on a console table tucked against the wall. “Bertram brought this up for your guest.”
Lauren went over and lifted the napkin to reveal a toasted sandwich, an avalanche of potato chips, and a pickle spear. “Do gazelles eat turkey sandwiches?”
Not voluntarily, but I was running on four Cokes and a long-gone snack pack of pretzels from the plane. I snatched up the sandwich before she had a chance to do anything witchy to it.
“You,”
I said with as much dark venom as I could muster over my growling stomach, “are going to be
so sorry
.”
She took a handful of potato chips. “You know that thing about magic coming back on you three times is a myth, right?”
“Not where my family is concerned. If anything bad happens to me because of this, the Goodnights will bring the rain. So pack an umbrella.”
Carson grabbed the napkin and handed it to me. “Walk and eat. I want you to get a read on Alexis’s room, see if there are any clues.”
The thought of Alexis made the gourmet turkey and bread about as appetizing as a boot-leather-and-cardboard sandwich, but I wolfed it down anyway. It wasn’t bravado, it was biology. I needed food if I was going to be good for anything.
I followed the platinum cockscomb of Lauren’s spiked hair down another of the house’s hallways into another wing of the building. That made three. I’d lost track of the number of corridors.
Carson had fallen into step beside me. Not crowding, but within arm’s length. He wasn’t taking any chances.
“I don’t know where you think I’m going to go,” I said around a mouthful of sandwich. My aunts would be appalled. “I don’t think I could find my way out of here with a GPS and a team of Army Rangers.”
He shot me a sideways look, and I noticed the darkening bruise on his cheekbone, corresponding to the lump on my head. “I’m not going to underestimate you twice. You just threatened to shove Devlin Maguire into the afterlife.”
I shrugged to hide a shudder. “I was very angry.” I was
still
angry, which was unusual. Mostly it’s all explosion, no simmer
with me, which I hate because I’ve known too many dead people not to have learned where hotheadedness gets you.
But as hunger receded, I still had a knot in my gut—the slow burn of outrage turning into a coiled spring of tension, telling me to move, act, swing for the bleachers.
Unless it wasn’t anger, but something else.
I slowed my steps, wondering what would happen. If I was just pissed, then nothing. But as soon as I started dragging my feet, my muscles tensed and my heart pounded and my chest tightened with term-paper-due-tomorrow tension.
I wasn’t just pissed. I was
bound
.
Son of a witch.
Whatever
I
knew, so did the geas. Turning away from Alexis’s room with no other plan would not find the missing girl. The spell gave my subconscious power over me, like OCD dialed up to eleven.
“What’s wrong?” asked Carson, with a sharpness I didn’t understand.
“Seriously?”
Stopping to look at him wasn’t difficult. Clearly my subconscious knew the value of venting. “I am
ensorcelled
. Bound by magic to find Alexis or die trying. Which, by the way, I would have done for free, if your boss had asked politely.”
His shoulders shifted as if he were trying to ease an itch of guilt. It was a small movement, but I was used to reading the slightest inflection in a remnant. Reading this Carson guy was sort of the same. “Then what’s the problem?” he asked.
“The problem,” I said, “is I don’t
know
what problems this
will make. Is it going to cloud my judgment? What if I can’t find her? What if I
die—
”
Oh God.
It was a prayer, not a curse. If I died, would I still be bound to Devlin Maguire? If I got stuck here because of the oath, who would cut my spirit free? I didn’t know anyone else who could do what I did.
Carson had reached out like he wanted to steady me, but I leveled a glare that made him wisely draw his hand back.
“If I die and get stuck here,” I swore coldly, “I’m going to chew myself loose from your boss and make your life a living hell until you find someone to free me.”
If I hadn’t been glaring at him, I would have missed his flinch, a neuron flash of pain like the dart of a fish beneath a sheet of ice. “That’s not going to happen,” he said. “Lauren said the spell is harmless in the long term, and I’m not going to let you get hurt in the meantime.”
“Dude.” I rolled my eyes. “Did you tell yourself that before or after you kidnapped me from the back of the police station?” Without waiting for an answer, I set off purposefully after Lauren—or rather, the corner she’d disappeared around.
“Trust me,” Carson said, easily matching my pace. “I wasn’t nuts about doing that even before I knew what a pain in the butt you were going to be.”
Weirdly, I sort of believed he hadn’t thought I’d come to harm. Not that it let him off the hook. “Did you dump me in the trunk, or just toss me in the backseat with a blanket over my head?”
“You should thank me for springing you from testosterone
central.” He defrosted a little as the argument turned superficial. “Your junior G-man must be half dead not to realize how short that skirt is.”
I refused to blush, even though my strides down the hall sort of emphasized his point. “The skirt is standard issue. My legs are too long.”
“Oh, I disagree,” he said, in a matter-of-fact way that wasn’t matter-of-fact at all. It sounded like approval. Young, handsome Mr. Carson approval. I suspected he was just trading one mask for another, but even I’m susceptible to flattery.
Then he added in a bland tone, “Your knees are a little bony, though.”