Free Preview: Spark of Pursuit
Chapter One
Ara had never been afraid of flying.
Not when her feet barely dangled over the edge of the seat, her sparkly shoes kicking together. Not later, when she’d sulked to the back of the jet, headphones drowning out engine sounds and parental frowns. Nor when she’d been deemed mature enough to make the journey alone at just twelve years old. She never minded the suspended quiet of being above the clouds.
It was the landings that had her nails gouging lines into the armrests of her seat. The arrivals. For she was not afraid of flying, but she was afraid of crashing.
A pleasant ping chimed from the overhead speakers, and the private jet dropped, taking Ara’s stomach with it. She secured her seat belt, gave the buckle a reassuring tug. Beyond the window, the last kiss of sunset streaked the sky with inviting color, and her heartbeats escalated. Above the clouds, this part of the world felt just like any other; the same sun rose and fell here as it did back home. Ara reminded herself of that when whorls of black clouds swallowed the colors whole.
Darkness streamed past like smoke, mountain winds rattling the wings as they dropped again. Ara gripped the armrests and focused on the stale air puffing across her cheeks. A water bottle fell from her table with a plastic crunch. It rolled to the cockpit, hammering desperately against the door as if it, too, wished the pilots would turn them around.
But she wasn’t about to break her promise.
With a jolt, the plane bumped onto the tarmac, its wheels hissing as they slowed to a rocky stop. Ara’s hand went to her hair and smoothed the loose strands of her practical braid before straightening her clothes. Her nerves were a frayed clump. A canvas jacket and loose jeans were the closest things she’d found to modern fashion on short notice, and she felt painfully underdressed.
The stewardess opened the door, bringing the deep indigo sky into the plane. A sudden rush of crisp winter air raised goosebumps along Ara’s arms. She sucked in a breath of jet fuel and pine, shouldered her bag, and crept toward the exit.
For the first time in fifteen years, she found her toes hovering on the threshold of the place she once called home.
Wilderness and winter stretched for miles. Rows of thick trees shielded her private airstrip from prying eyes. Snow-capped mountains guarded the horizon, forming a blockade that domed up to the empty heavens. The land was raw—terrifying, even. Yet there was light in the distance, an unnatural glow sparkling over the treetops like it had stolen all the stars from the night. A city that refused to sleep.
To her relief—as much as her dismay—Veilfall was just how Ara remembered it.
Except for the older man waiting on the tarmac. He was leaning against a black car, holding a whiteboard that read Aravenna Kalladine.
That was definitely not her brother.
“Miss Kalladine,” the man called, professional pleasantness joining the creaks of the settling plane. “Welcome back.”
His smile felt like a memory, but he was vaguely familiar at best. Though his hair was buzzed into a military cut, he had that shade of peppered gray that commanded authority—a look some long-lived people paid good money to achieve. His brow pressed heavily into a set of steely eyes, made all the sharper by the fancy suit.
On sore, plane-stiffened legs, Ara descended the steps. Her nose wrinkled as her sneakers landed in an oily puddle, but the pollution wasn’t what drew her brows together. Where was he?
The man answered her question before she could raise it. “Your brother sends his sincerest apologies for not being able to meet you himself,” he informed her in rolling syllables as she stalked toward the car. Whatever his accent was, it didn’t belong to Veilfall. “He’s been overwhelmed with work the last few days.”
Her flash of disappointment was quickly lost to annoyance. Wasn’t that why she was here?
“May I?” He reached for the bag hitched on Ara’s shoulder.
She wrapped her fingers firmly around the strap. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
His laugh highlighted rivulets of age across his face. He had to be in his sixties. Mortal. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t recognize me,” he chuckled. “I haven’t seen you since you were about”—his lightly bronzed hand raised up to hip height—“this tall.”
Ara hoped the look on her face communicated that she didn’t consider that an answer.
“Rimiron Galinar at your service, Miss Kalladine.” He held out a weathered hand. “Head of Kalla security.”
Familiarity sharpened to recognition. She took his hand, the shake surprisingly firm. “You wouldn’t happen to be the same Mr. Galinar that ratted me out for running in the labs when I was six, would you?”
Rimiron’s grin was as good as an admission. “Kalla’s labs are dangerous places, Miss Kalladine. You were always tempting fate as a child.”
“Still do,” Ara said, offering a mild smile of her own. She surrendered her paltry luggage, noting how he favored his left leg as he deposited the bag in the back seat of the car.
Rimiron held the door. Ara dropped into the passenger seat and shivered as a blast of warm air caressed her chilled skin. She’d forgotten how cold it got in this wretched place. “Did Coren send anything for me?”
“Glove compartment,” he answered, sliding behind the wheel and starting the car.
Ara flicked open the latch and fished out an unsealed yellow envelope. She turned it upside down and dumped a shiny new cellular phone into her lap. It didn’t seem to have any buttons.
“You remember how to use one of those?” Rimiron quipped, briefly taking his eyes off the road to gauge her proficiency.
“Cirindril does have some technology, Mr. Galinar,” Ara returned. She pressed the single button on the side, and the screen exploded into animated color, blinding her. “Oh, that’s new.”
He laughed, and her cheeks heated. Ara pocketed the phone as a problem for later.
They turned onto the highway as the last light slipped under the horizon. Only the headlights gave color to the fluffy trees lining the road and the fine dust of snow melting from their branches.
“It was good of you to come, Miss Kalladine.”
Ara shifted to face him.
“Coren was already struggling with the unexpected transition to CEO. Everyone thought …” Rimiron trailed off, like the fact that Ara’s parents had secretly left the company to her younger brother might be a sore spot. It wasn’t. “Well.” He cleared his throat. “The robbery has only made it worse.”
That much she’d gathered from Coren himself when he’d broken years of radio silence to call her dusty old satellite phone. She had some ideas of her own, but Ara admitted, “I don’t know what he’s expecting me to do about it.”
“I’m sure Coren will explain everything when you see him. The police will want to meet you, though.”
“Why? Haven’t you given them everything they need?”
Rimiron gave her a look of unflappable patience. “A whole shipment of military-grade anti-magic weapons was stolen, Miss Kalladine. I believe they’re trying to cover their bases.”
Ara scowled at the darkening sky, at the thick sleet starting to plunk onto the windshield. Getting cozy with law enforcement was the exact opposite of her plan. “Am I a suspect or something?”
“I’d presume not. But I can’t be sure.”
“Seriously? My reputation doesn’t exactly lend itself to professional larceny. Even if the police believe I could pull something like that off, what could they possibly think I’m planning to do with the weapons?”
Rimiron gripped the steering wheel harder. “Miss Kalladine,” he said, “you know exactly what some Mortals would do if they got their hands on our tech.”
Ara’s retort wilted in her throat.
She was all too aware of the tensions between those with Immortal genes and those without. Those whose bloodlines gifted them with magic and time and those whose did not.
It was why her late parents had started Kalla Technologies.
Her father was the inventor of a magic-neutralizing chemical called Nullithium. Applied in just the right way, it could interrupt magic and, more importantly, subdue the user. Gone were the days when wars were won with supernatural power, when Mortals were overwhelmed by Immortal legions. Now, any Mortal soldier could be armed with magic-piercing bullets. By force, Nullithium became the greatest equalizer in history. It had changed the world.
However, not everyone agreed that the world had changed enough.
“If violent insurrection were a hobby of mine,” Ara said, addressing the real fear head-on, “I wouldn’t have to steal weapons to do it.”
“Oh, I have no doubt about that, Miss Kalladine,” Rimiron chuckled. Like he, too, knew the location of her dad’s secret lab. As head of security, perhaps he knew the locations of all the secret labs. “But from Detective Marr’s perspective, you’re something of an unconstrained variable.”
Ara groaned and closed her eyes. Things were already so much messier than she’d anticipated. “I’ll deal with it,” she conceded. Not right away, and not on some nosy detective’s terms, but she’d figure something out.
“He’s perceptive.”
She cracked an eye open. “So?”
Rimiron grimaced. “Just … be careful.”
The car rolled to a stop before an iron gate, the ornate protector of an unnecessarily long driveway. Ara lounged in her seat, a portrait of a party girl not particularly pleased to be dragged home. A camera scanned their faces, and, identities confirmed, the gate opened.
She’d fire the security team tomorrow.
Tires crunched down icy gravel. On either side, the forest thinned, giving way to architecture. Held up by red brick and classical columns, her parent’s mansion—now hers as per the will—stood with authoritative symmetry. Hollow black windows beckoned her, but it was more a call of the void than a welcome. The house looked old; very few people knew that it wasn’t.
Rimiron’s voice dragged her back to reality, from the shadows of memory cast by moonlight. She realized with a start that he’d already parked the car. Machines halted with so much less fanfare than horses.
“I really am glad to see you, Miss Kalladine.” He looked her over with an assessing glance, not quite landing on satisfaction. “Seems like the years in Cirindril have helped.”
Veiled words, kind words, that clamped like a vise around Ara’s ribs. And the uncertainty in his voice made the last part sound more like a question.
Ara grabbed her bag from the back, squeezing it awkwardly through the seats. “The simplicity of the Immortal Kingdom is … restorative.”
“That’s excellent to hear,” Rimiron praised, pity and relief mixing on his face. “As I said, running Kalla has been hard on Coren. Let’s all do our best not to increase his burden.”
A smile parted his lips, but the glimpse of teeth felt nothing like friendship. It felt like a warning, which Ara sent right back.
“Yes,” she said, pushing open the car door and glaring back at him through her contact lenses. “Let’s.”
Chapter Two
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Detective Graydon Marr of the Magical Control Unit stood on the icy pavement of the downtown core knowing already that he was wasting his time.
He withdrew a hand from his pocket and checked his watch. Twenty minutes he’d been waiting. Enough time for the protest in the plaza across the street to double in size, wreathing Veilfall’s courthouse in rage. It was why he’d waited outside, but it was not why he was here.
Graydon turned from the chanting and back to the task at hand: the black skyscraper that split the clouds and gave the dizzying sensation that it might fall forward and crush him. It was the tallest building in Veilfall for that very reason. To loom.
He walked closer to its glass doors, rimmed in thick marble and crackling with the stomach-dropping hum of an electric ward. Detective Edryd Serell, his best friend and partner on this case, was inside, tousling his auburn hair and smiling sensually at the woman behind the front desk. As if a little flirting would be enough to get them through the doors of the biggest anti-magic arms company in the world. As if the armed guards on either side of the desk weren’t starting to flex their biceps.
Graydon sighed. That wasn’t a fight he wished to have. He’d win, but it wasn’t worth the mess.
With a second sigh for good measure, he raised an irritated fist and pounded on the window. When Ed looked over his shoulder, Graydon pointed at his watch. His friend’s green eyes narrowed but took one last sweep of the receptionist, and, offering a particularly charming grin, Ed handed her his business card. She accepted it with an enthusiasm that suggested she’d use it—just not for this case.
“I take it the princess wasn’t in her castle?” Graydon said when Ed rejoined him. They started slowly down the slush-covered steps toward the car.
Ed closed his heavy wool coat with a bitter shudder. Born and raised in Veilfall, yet the man still hadn’t gotten used to the cold. “Apparently,” he said through an exaggerated chatter of teeth, “Aravenna has not yet deemed it necessary to stop by. We’ve been advised to try her personal residence instead.”
“I assume you mentioned that we already did?” Visiting the Kalladine mansion—or rather, standing uselessly outside its massive gate—was the first thing they’d done. Followed by an excessive amount of phone calls to a number that a receptionist had sworn was legitimate. Every single one went to voicemail.
A nod. “I don’t understand why she’s avoiding us,” Ed said. “She clearly came back because of the robbery.”
Graydon shrugged. “Doesn’t mean she wants to talk to the police.”
In fact, despite being the victims of this crime, nobody at Kalla seemed to want to talk. The police only knew two things, and neither could really be considered a lead.
First, one of Kalla’s shipping containers had been broken into and emptied—meaning that a horrifying variety of deadly weapons were now unaccounted for. Second, whoever had pulled off the heist knew precisely what they were doing. The security cameras had been cut, the electric ward disabled, and the twenty guards Kalla had stationed around the shipment were now the proud owners of a well-placed bullet to the head.
One would think the company would allow the police to investigate their loss, to retrieve their incredibly valuable and incredibly dangerous merchandise, but since the report of the crime a few days ago, Graydon had met nothing but red tape. He got the distinct feeling that if it were possible to sweep that much missing artillery under the rug, Kalla would have done it. Especially considering the current political situation.
He clicked his keys, unlocking the silver truck that waited in puddles along the sidewalk. Last week’s snowstorm was melting into a veritable flood.
Ed frowned back at Kalla’s tower, pale cheeks already chilled to pink. “You know, considering they passed her over for CEO, she had motive.”
Graydon shook his head, holding in a derisive laugh. “As much as I would enjoy pinning this on her and calling it a day, I doubt Aravenna Kalladine had the wherewithal to pull it off.” Not with how evidently the time in rehab had failed her.
The heiress had been back in town for three days and was already kicking up debauchery with her stilettoed feet, making sure the world knew she was more interested in nightclubs than the company that had just lost $370 million in anti-magic weaponry. Her inebriated face plastered over the tabloids was the only reason Graydon believed she was even in the city, given how expertly she was dodging their requests for an interview.
But it would be naive to pass her over just because she seemed harmless. And, as frustrating as it was that she was so difficult to get a hold of, it wasn’t surprising. She was elusive by design.
Years ago, her late parents had shipped her out of the country under the guise of boarding school. Then university. Then something about seeing the world. But no matter how expertly their PR team dropped excuses into the rumor mill, everybody knew the truth.
Aravenna Kalladine was a screw-up, and Kalla was doing its best to hide her.
“So judgy,” Ed chuckled.
“You’re the one who just suggested she’s guilty.”
His friend winked. “Yes, but she has redeeming qualities.”
Graydon smothered his groan. As a rule, Edryd loved beautiful women, a courtesy he didn’t withhold from potential criminals. And Aravenna Kalladine was beautiful if the photographs were to be believed. Incredibly beautiful. But a criminal mastermind she was not.
He slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. Ed turned the radio to his favorite pop station. Graydon switched it to the news, and Ed switched it back.
“When we meet Aravenna,” Graydon lectured, because they would, “let’s keep things professional.”
Ed dismissed him with a flippant hand. “I’m always professional. And besides,” he said, lacing a smirk into his tone, “now that I know the perfect woman exists, I’m not interested in anyone else.”
This time, Graydon didn’t bother to hold back his groan. “Are you still on about that?”
“She’s real.”
His eyes rolled so deeply he lost sight of the road. “I believe you saw a woman.”
“Not just any woman. A masked woman in a black catsuit. Standing on a rooftop and silhouetted by the moon.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s—”
“She’s a superhero.”
Graydon’s fingers itched to smack his partner across the back of the head. “You’ve been watching too many movies,” he said. Again.
“Almost definitely,” Ed agreed, completely unruffled. “Yet, I know what I saw last night.”
“But it’s ridiculous.”
“I think it’s fun. Like a comic book.”
Graydon had never even touched a comic book. The real world was fantastical and violent enough as it was, and plenty of people were already dealing with it lawfully.
“Regardless,” he said, turning off the pop music once again, “when you inevitably lose interest in this delusion, Aravenna Kalladine is still off-limits.” She … just was.
“And when Mel eventually assigns us to the case, kicking off a star-crossed but epic love story between me and my superhero,” Ed returned pompously, “you are paying for our wedding.”
If that’s what it would take to put a pin in this conversation, then, “Fine. Whatever.”
Ed grinned and relaxed into his seat. Like he was actually looking forward to free nuptials with a woman who definitely did not exist.
But his smile faded with the conversation, their silence allowing the radio its turn to speak and reminding Graydon why he was navigating his truck so carefully through crowded streets.
Today marks the beginning of what many are calling the trial of the century. Following an altercation that ended the life of known criminal Vot Lannyn last month, Darix Sarrora, heir of the Sarrora Hotel chain, was charged with manslaughter and magical negligence, leaving thousands of citizens shocked and confused …
“Known criminal? Mel brought the kid in once,” Ed scoffed. “How much do you think the Sarroras paid the news outlets to call that execution an ‘altercation?’”
Graydon’s reply was only to turn the radio up.
Seen in tears today, Sarrora appeared in court while the prosecution presented its case against him. In the past, Sarrora has spoken publicly about what happened that fateful night, calling it a ‘mugging gone horribly awry’ …
That was one way to put it. But having been the one to make the arrest, Graydon knew better.
After a night of clubbing, Darix Sarrora had exited the Elemental Lounge drunk, alone, and flaunting his wealth. Vot Lannyn, a twenty-two-year-old Mortal with one count of petty theft on his record, followed Darix into a back alley, held him up at knifepoint, and demanded his wallet.
Darix wiped him off the face of the Earth.
The ability to influence matter—the true nature of magic—came in all shapes and forms. Some magic lent itself to good and some to bad, but nothing was more heinous than the type that the Sarroras wielded.
They were called Reductors, and that was a euphemism.
Reductors could destroy matter. Not change, not displace, destroy. On little more than a whim, a Reductor could erase every atom of their target. With a snap of their fingers, your life was over and extinguished.
The first time Graydon had brought him into the station, hours after a witness called it in, Darix had wept. He’d blubbered words like self-defense, painting a convincing tale that fear had taken over and his magic had acted on its own accord.
Obviously, Darix hadn’t expected them to check the neighboring corner store’s security camera.
The basic details were correct: Vot Lannyn had tried to mug Darix, but the hotel heir in that video showed no fear. Instead, he threw back his head and laughed. With a drunken smile and a wave of goodbye, Darix vanished his attacker from existence.
Graydon still got chills when he thought about that footage. He’d done his time in Cirindril’s military; he’d killed people. But never like that, never so callously. And he sure as fuck had never laughed.
Now Veilfall was divided between those who felt Darix was within his rights to defend himself and those who wondered how it could possibly be fair for an Immortal with the power of a god to execute a Mortal with a switchblade.
“It’s not often I miss the days of beheadings,” Ed said, reading his thoughts, “but that guy makes me nostalgic.”
Graydon grunted his agreement. It wasn’t the sort of joke they should be making, but Mel wasn’t there to censure them.
Protesters are calling Sarrora’s case a joke, saying anything less than a murder charge is unacceptable. Faina Tralar, leader of Mortals for Magical Justice, promised that her organization will not rest until a proper conclusion has been reached …
Ed turned down the radio. “So … do we think they did it?”
“Do we think Faina and her protesters stole Kalla’s weapons?” Graydon said, parsing his friend’s vague question. “I hope not.” It was difficult to imagine a grassroots organization having the resources to take out all of Kalla’s guards, but they couldn’t rule it out.
When they finally made it back to the police station, the sky was darker than it had any right to be, thick clouds blotting out the lingering winter light. Another protest had swelled from the parking lot to the station’s windows. Peaceful so far, but Darix’s trial hadn’t really started yet.
Graydon parked around back. Halfway through the truck’s door, Ed raised a manicured brow. “Aren’t you coming for drinks?”
“Not tonight.”
“Plans with Eleri?”
As if she’d been summoned, the IT specialist appeared at the door, olive cheeks already flushing from the cold.
Ed waved, and his mischievous grin had Graydon grumbling, “We’re just friends, Ed.”
“Yeah, but you’re sleeping with her, aren’t you?”
“Get out of my car.”
“Fine.” Ed did as he was told, save for his head still sticking through the window. “If you have time after, Mel and I will be at the usual spot.”
“Sure.”
He didn’t feel bad about the lie; Ed knew what sure meant. But as Graydon pulled away from the curb once again, a new passenger in tow, he got the strangest feeling that he was supposed to be somewhere else tonight.
Chapter Three
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Given how Ara had spent the last few nights, sleeping until the late afternoon wasn’t entirely part of the act.
The lack of rest hung heavy in her bones, turning her eyes blurry as she dragged her sore feet into the shower. Hot water pounded against the knots in her shoulders, washing away the grime and sweat that followed a night of lawlessness. Sweet shampoo rekindled her dull hair, and when she was done, contact lenses turned her irises a muddy brown.
Fifteen years later, Ara knew every step of that dance, even if it moved like a wound ripping open. She knew there were more important things than how it felt to meet the wrong eyes in the mirror, yet she could still feel her mother’s scrutiny like a breath down her neck.
It was why she’d chosen to sleep in a guest room, a space that had spent years collecting dust rather than people. If it weren’t for certain assets the Kalladine estate offered, she wouldn’t have stayed there at all, but at least this choice minimized the chances of ghosts floating through the walls.
A black car was waiting beyond the windows by the time she shimmied into a shimmery blue dress and six-inch heels—electric clothing was the one rule she and her mother had agreed on. She made her way down the grand curving staircase, scowling as it deposited her in front of the driver.
“Good afternoon, Miss Kalladine,” Rimiron greeted with a dip of his chin. Going by the stern look in his eyes, he’d clearly read the newspaper tucked beneath his arm. “Long night?”
Ara ignored that. “You again.” She walked halfway toward him, stopping right beneath the sharp points of the foyer’s crystal chandelier. “And you’re inside my house.”
Rimiron’s gaze glinted metallic. “A danger of firing the security team.”
“The staff, too.” They’d been the first to go.
His answer came as a sigh. “I suppose that explains the state of things.”
She could only assume he was referring to the plinths and tables and priceless pieces of art—all draped in white dust sheets. It gave the chilling sensation that spectral figures were watching her every move with invisible eyes, blanketed phantoms that had gathered to mourn the forgotten grandeur of the house. If Ara was being honest with herself, it was creepy as hell. She kept waiting for one of them to move.
But it was better than living amongst ghosts with faces.
“I’m not gonna be here very long.” Ara shrugged, making the sequins of her dress jingle. “Didn’t feel worth it to ready the house.”
The purse of Rimiron’s lips suggested he didn’t quite agree. He opened the front door, and a cold wind brushed into the foyer. The dust sheets quivered. “We should get moving. Roads are slow today.”
This time, Ara sat in the back seat, crossing her legs and fiddling with her new phone. She’d already figured it out, but it gave her something believable to do while she snuck glances at Rimiron through the rearview mirror. It was difficult to believe that one of Kalla’s executives, the man in charge of preventing things like robberies, had nothing better to do than ferry her around. She wondered if it wasn’t some way to keep an eye on her. Or maybe a punishment for keeping herself busy the last few days.
Coren certainly hadn’t volunteered for the job.
The Kalladine estate was located at the farthest reaches of Veilfall, masked from the city by a thick forest boundary. As they drove, the trees gave way to low-lying warehouses, then clusters of tired apartment blocks stacked on street-level shops.
Mismatched bricks were offset by prim yards and colorful community murals. People meandered down the snow-slushed sidewalks, some sporting gray hair—a novel sight compared to what Ara was used to. Above them hung signs for all manner of lifespan-based businesses: anti-aging medical spas, assisted living facilities, a funeral home.
Even after years away, Ara recognized these streets. The industrial district was older than she was, slowly turned from manufacturing to community by time. It was full of wrinkles that even Cirindril’s warm sun wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate, yet thanks to all the Mortals that called it home, the spirit and charm of the neighborhood hadn’t changed.
Then they crossed the Aedren River.
Ara crept forward in her seat as towers of crystal emerged from the mountainscape, piercing through the gray sky. It was a mirage: there but not, mirrors of glass blending nature into modern architecture.
A breath of awe escaped her. This part of Veilfall was not how she remembered it.
The car sped from the bridge, and the downtown core erupted, giving the disorienting feeling that the road was sinking into the earth. Skyscrapers sprang up on either side, soaring to heights so impossible she could only tilt back her head and gape.
Where she’d been able to spot cracks in the industrial district’s curbs, here the sidewalks were densely packed with umbrellas and suit jackets fighting through their lunch breaks. Every shop was two stories high, big enough to hold one of Cirindril’s markets. Backlit signs shouted brand names with enough furor to be visible from the moon. And so much glass. Windows so much larger than Cirindril’s ancient architecture could support. Windows larger than Veilfall’s architecture had been able to support only fifteen years ago.
It was pure innovation. Unhindered growth. Completely unlike anything Cirindril’s leisurely population was capable of.
“Coren lives in the penthouse of that building right there,” Rimiron offered as Ara’s gaze locked onto something that claimed to be an electric charging station—for cars. She hardly glimpsed the tower in question before an even bigger one erased it from view.
“Is that more common now? For Mortals to live on this side of the bridge?”
“Yes, though usually in rentals.” The reflection of Rimiron’s expression was as unbiased as any good tour guide. “Housing prices have gone up considerably in the last decade.”
Ara frowned. “But there are so many more apartments here now. Shouldn’t that bring the cost down?”
The number of Immortals wasn’t skyrocketing. They had no biological clock, no need for a legacy, and as a result, produced children with about as much enthusiasm as Cirindril’s rare moon pandas—which was to say that the Immortal population didn’t need more places to live.
“For most people, Miss Kalladine, money is a game best played by time.” Rimiron caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “And there’s no safer investment than property.”
Her mouth popped open. She gawked at an apartment building that was bigger than the bridge they’d just crossed and quite literally built into a spiral. Was it all owned by a few select people?
Ara didn’t have time to linger on that question, however, as the car turned its final corner, and shadows fell over the road.
A shard of black marked their arrival at the center of Veilfall. Still the largest skyscraper on the continent, even now.
Kalladine Technologies headquarters.
She could have sworn dark clouds emanated from it, forming thick circles around the tower. It was as much a symbol as it was a threat, reminding the world who manufactured its liberty, who supplied the weapons that kept war at bay. Yet, as they pulled up to its curb, packed with protesters shouting at the courthouse across the street, Ara wondered if that symbol was losing its power.
She tried not to glower as Rimiron followed her out the car, handing keys off to one of his black suits. A gasp of pollution chased the last remnants of Cirindril’s clean air from her lungs, and she noted a silver truck pulling away from the slushy curb. She stared after it for a moment before setting her sights on Kalla's lobby doors.
Ara’s chest tightened, but it was too late to turn back now.
Heads swung to watch her heels clack across the tiles, Rimiron leading her on a path she’d memorized long ago but had never walked without holding a parent’s hand. Until the age of five, she’d been here almost daily, perched on her mother’s lap in conference rooms or following her father around in the subterranean labs. That was, of course, before they realized Ara wasn’t the heir they’d hoped for.
The elevator took them to the top floor, black marble and glass giving way to an empty view of clouds. It was quiet. Blank. Dissociated entirely from the city boiling at Kalla’s feet—a design element she suspected was intentional.
Rimiron took her past the large reception desk and pushed open a heavy door. Into the next room, he announced, “I have Miss Kalladine.”
Beneath a mop of honey-blond hair, a businessman looked up from her mother’s old desk. Light illuminated his brown eyes as he spotted Ara, their color an exact match for the shade of her contact lenses. Barest hints of a smile and a surprisingly deep voice, Coren Kalladine said, “Ara.”
Her heart did an unexpected jump at the sight of her little brother, all grown-up in a yellow tie. New cheekbones cut into either side of his smile, accentuating the straight line of the nose they shared. And he was so tall—almost too big for the chair he’d inherited—yet lanky enough that he still looked too young to sit there.
Emotion pushed at the back of Ara’s eyes, and she smothered it quickly. “Thanks for making time to see me, Mr. Kalladine.”
Coren shrank back into his seat, suppressing what looked like a full-body cringe. He cleared his throat and nodded wordlessly at Rimiron. The door clicked closed as their head of security slunk from the room.
Ara crossed her arms at her brother. He gestured to what appeared to be an armchair made of curving silver pipes and taut black leather. Reluctantly, she gave it a try. It was surprisingly bouncy.
“It’s really good to see you, Ara,” Coren said, tenting his hands beneath a sincere expression. The warm emphasis with which he said her name made her wonder if he’d learned it from a business negotiation book. How to talk clients off the ledge by making them feel like you’re friends. “It means a lot to me that you’re here. How … how have you been?”
Ara discarded the question. They weren’t going to do the catching up thing. “Considering it took you three days to squeeze me into your schedule, I find that a little hard to believe.”
Soft pink grazed his pale cheeks, a hint of the sweet boy she remembered, unable to keep his emotions close to the chest. Guilt spread in her abdomen, and she almost reached to smooth the fine lines between Coren’s brows—before realizing that his thirty-one years had gouged them out permanently. It had been so long since Ara had seen him in person; she could only marvel at the change in his skin.
Perhaps he was noting the lack of it in hers.
“You know what it took for me to come here,” she said quietly. “You begged me for help. I flew across an ocean, and then you didn’t even show. Explain this to me, Coren.”
“How about you explain this first?” He pulled a newspaper from his drawer and unfolded it onto the desk. Beneath more important headlines was an article wrapped around a picture of her face.
Scandalous Return: Kalla’s Rejected Heir Celebrates Amidst Missing Weapon Investigation
Ara grimaced at the photo. She looked really drunk. “I can feel Kalla’s share prices falling just reading that.”
“Oh, they did.” Coren folded the newspaper back up and shoved it aside. “Why are you still doing this?” Not an accusation but a sincere question.
She shifted in her strange bouncy chair, the movement almost ejecting her out of it. “What do you mean? I’m keeping up appearances.”
A deeper crease settled into Coren’s brow, this one not from age. “But things are different now.”
“Just because the people who made the rules are gone, dear brother, doesn’t mean they no longer apply.” For the first time in Ara’s life, they gave her an advantage. But that she kept to herself.
He looked at her a second too long. “Well … if you’re sure you’re comfortable with the optics of your situation …” He sighed, the shake of his head almost disappointed. “I’d like to talk about the reason you’re here.”
Even the bouncy chair couldn’t neutralize the formality of that sentence.
Coren produced a folder, opened the cover, and turned it for Ara to see. She leaned over the desk. It was Kalla’s shipping manifest. Various maps, lists of employee names. A page of notes scrawled in his handwriting.
“How much do you remember about our electric wards?” he asked.
Ara shrugged, not thrilled to be quizzed. “They’re unbreakable Nullithium-fueled barriers that stop magic—and everything else—from getting through.”
Electric wards were the bread and butter of Kalla’s product line, divided into two grades: military and commercial. The military ones operated on generators. Simply drop a generator down, flick the switch, and a protective dome would appear around you. The commercial ones were often built into walls as part of a greater security system—likely the kind used on their shipping containers. Regardless of model, nothing got past a ward.
“The ones on our shipments are a bit unique. Having an external off switch would be an obvious security risk, but we can’t exactly put people in the shipping containers to turn the ward off from the inside either,” Coren said. “So they operate on timers. Before a shipment leaves the building, we program it to open about two weeks after it reaches its final destination.”
“Let me guess. The ward opened early?”
Coren’s nod was severe. “Which means someone programmed it to do so. In theory, it could have been an accident and the robbery just a crime of convenience. But Detective Marr believes it was an inside job, and I’m tempted to agree.”
“Want me to go yell at the employees for you?”
His lips twitched. “Dear sister,” he said, turning the endearment back on her, “I want you to go undercover and find the mole.”
Ara’s jaw slacked. Her anxious hands went to a jar of pens on the desk, fingers fiddling through them. “Like … here?” She looked over her shoulder at the sleek office, the minimalist rejection of color. “At Kalla?”
“In the labs,” Coren clarified—which, yes, were here. “Given your reputation, you’re perfectly positioned to fly under the radar. We can tell everyone that losing Kalla was a moment of realization for you, a push to start taking your life and this company seriously. Maybe you came back to Veilfall to learn Kalla from the ground up.”
He was explaining an alibi she’d already devised, but suggesting such a different use for it. “You want me to spy on people by the water cooler?”
“I want you to observe and get to know people. Our head engineer, Dr. Brynn Aetheras, has been churning through assistants faster than HR can file the paperwork. She’s willing to take you—that is, if you agree.”
Ara’s lips squished flat. She wouldn’t have come to Veilfall if she hadn’t intended to help, but she still hated the confirmation that he’d only asked her back to take advantage of her reputation. She’d known that line about things being different now was bullshit.
Beyond finding the weapons, she didn’t want anything to do with the company full stop. She had plans of her own, things that would take time, and Coren’s request couldn’t be further from her comfort zone. Yet she couldn’t ignore her brother’s hopeful smile, nor the anxious tap of his foot beneath the desk. Her heart tugged.
Just as it had when it pulled her onto the plane.
“Assistant better not be code for lab rat,” Ara muttered to the sparkles of her shoes.
Coren’s answering smile was even flashier. “I can’t promise that.”
Fantastic.
“You’ll start tomorrow. Wear practical clothes—nothing you’d be sad to ruin.”
Even better.
Ara struggled out of the bouncy chair, Coren’s soft chuckle accompanying the squeak of her sequins against the leather. Next time, she decided as she went for the door, she’d stand.
“Ara?”
The quietness of his voice made her turn. Coren’s throat bobbed, and he fidgeted his thumbs, just as he’d done as a child. “It took me three days to work up the courage to see you because I was nervous. I missed you … and I was nervous.”
Ara stared at him, nodded her head, and left.
Chapter Four
Hooked yet?
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“What about Kiss My Soul? Or maybe Easy Forever?”
Disguising his wince with a turn of his head, Graydon looked between the movie posters, backlit and mounted high on the wall. They were indistinguishable. From each other and from all the other movies they’d come here to watch over the past few months.
He pressed his lips together on that comment, however. “What about Scourge?”
“The new slasher?” Eleri scrunched up her nose. “Don’t you see enough of that stuff at work? You really want to watch people get chopped up in your downtime?”
“More than the alternative.”
Eleri rolled her hazel eyes affectionately—and dismissed him just as quickly. “I guess we can watch Scourge if you really want,” she said, tucking a dark shoulder-length curl behind her ear. “But if we watch Easy Forever, I’ll make it worth your while.”
Graydon couldn’t help but chuckle. They had been casually seeing each other for about three months, a friendship turned mutually beneficial. It was a practical way to scratch an itch, knowing nothing real could ever happen between them.
At the end of the day, Eleri Emlyn was Mortal and Graydon was not. She had decades ahead of her, while he had centuries. Though barely a line graced her features today, soon their lives and bodies would fall out of sync, guaranteeing that the time they spent together now remained inconsequential.
Sure, some people crossed that bridge—Mortal and Immortal pairings weren’t unheard of—but Graydon couldn’t stomach it. Not the thought of watching his lover die while he was left behind, nor the reality of it. Having a best-by date gave him peace of mind.
Already knowing he’d lost to the suggestive twinkle in her eyes, Graydon stepped up to the ticket machine. “Your negotiation skills are unparalleled.”
He managed only a few taps to the screen before an error message popped up, and Eleri pushed him aside. Another benefit of Mortals: they understood the always different and always poorly designed self-checkout machines.
It wasn’t that Graydon was anti-change. Had that been the case, he’d have stayed in the magical comfort of Cirindril with all the culturally fossilized Immortals who believed the world was good enough as it was. But after two decades in Veilfall, the rate at which Mortals invented still shocked him. Limited time and physiologically guaranteed life stages created one hell of a sense of urgency.
He just wished they’d perfect the self-checkout machines a little more quickly.
“You don’t have to pretend you hate these movies, you know,” Eleri said as she navigated the interface with ease. “I already know your secret.”
“And what would that be?”
She smirked at him over her shoulder. “You’re a hopeless romantic.”
He wasn’t talking to Ed, so Graydon gave Eleri the courtesy of not laughing.
He wouldn’t deny that she had an almost disturbing ability to draw correct conclusions from very little evidence. Had some politician not decided Graydon’s career was too dangerous without magic, she’d have made an excellent detective. But on this particular conclusion, she was completely wrong.
“Is that so?”
“Mm-hmm. I think you find love stories just as charming as the rest of us.” She handed him a ticket. “Maybe even more so.”
“Realistic ones, perhaps,” Graydon said rather generously. He gestured to all the posters. “But these are just cruel.”
Because they all featured the same incredibly rare thing.
The Bond.
A magical link between two people that went deeper than romantic love or desire, the Bond rewrote the code of their existence until devotion was all that remained. One soul, split down the middle and doomed to spend a lifetime searching for its other half. These days, people pleasantly used the term soulbound to describe the Bond, but Graydon had always thought it sounded more curse than blessing.
Eleri rolled her eyes. “It’s a fantasy. Like falling in love with a prince.”
“The odds of finding a prince,” he countered, “are significantly higher.”
She huffed. “You do know one of your closest friends found her soulbound, right?”
“Yes.” Mel and Brynn had been together for four years now. “Which means, statistically, everyone else in the country should give up.”
An argument formed on Eleri’s face, but she didn’t voice it. Maybe she could read the resolve in his eyes, maybe he was doing that thing with his jaw she always talked about. Either way, he wasn’t going to budge on this one. People wasted away on the dream those movies sold, waiting for perfect while perfectly good passed them by.
They headed into theater number 4 and took their seats, settling into the darkness. Between the blaring advertisements, Eleri leaned over and whispered, “You know, some people say the Bond only seems rare because we don’t fully understand it yet. This podcast I listen to suggested lots of people might actually know their soulbound already, and it just takes a while to build the connection.”
Even in the low light, Graydon registered the sheen of hope in her eyes. But he’d been there when Mel had met her soulbound. A black-and-white world had come to life with electric color that day, and Graydon had never seen anything else like it. Not once. The Bond was unmistakable. Which meant knowing someone wasn’t your soulbound was too.
But he didn’t have the heart to tell Eleri that.
“Yeah. Maybe.”
The two words were quiet and noncommittal, but she smiled like it was enough.
***
Graydon slipped out of bed just after midnight.
He crept across the old wooden floorboards of his bedroom, careful not to wake Eleri up with the movement. He’d lain awake as long as he could, feeling the hours tick away as he turned the Kalla case over in his head. It was nagging at him. More than cases usually did after twenty years of solving Veilfall’s crimes. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the shipping manifest and the autopsy reports on the guards. Aravenna Kalladine’s most recent paparazzi photos.
Perhaps it was the worry of knowing exactly how many deadly weapons were unaccounted for, but Graydon wasn’t the type to be shaken by such things. This case was different, and he couldn’t put his finger on why.
He’d surveyed Kalla’s crime scene half a dozen times, and now that the snow had melted into rivers that washed the city clean, it was even less likely he’d spot something new. But half an hour later, Graydon found himself walking up and down the rows of shipping containers, inhaling diesel and salt water as he loosely followed the path to the scene of the crime.
The shipyard was as quiet as it should have been at this late hour, doused in poor lighting. Graydon pointed a flashlight ahead of his feet, its shine glinting back to him on puddles of rainwater and metal hinges. Boxes of red and blue climbed high into the bleak night sky, and enough of a chill remained for his breaths to form clouds as they mixed with the soft misting of rain.
Cold silence surrounded him, no signs of life skittering between the crates. He didn’t think it likely one of the thieves would return for a victory stroll, but he just kept coming to the conclusion he must have missed something.
Kalla’s shipping container materialized from the gloom. Graydon walked around its every side, dragging a hand over each corrugation of cold metal. Crime scene tape hung limply from the open door, already ravaged by Veilfall’s merciless weather. Flashlight aimed forward, he ducked beneath the tape and went inside.
Just like last time, and the time before, and the time before that, he found himself in an empty box. As underwhelming and inconclusive as it had always been.
Graydon sighed to himself. Why had he come here?
If only to make the trip worthwhile, he walked to the end. Each footstep resonated through the container with a metallic thud, but he paused as something cold dropped onto his cheek. He wiped it away, old instincts praying it wasn’t monster venom, and turned the flashlight to the ceiling.
Droplets of water glistened under its beam. There must have been a crack in the metal. It would have been impossible to notice a few days ago without snowmelt and rainwater seeping through.
He forced the brief rush of his heart to quiet and went back outside. A few jumps and a little bit of magic had Graydon landing silently on the roof. Estimating where the crack had been, he lowered to his knees and scanned the flashlight’s beam across the container’s surface.
And there it was. The tiniest lip of raised metal. A hole that grazed sharply against his finger. But what intrigued him more was the scrap of fabric clinging to it, black on one side and vibrant red on the other.
He reached inside his coat, pulling out tweezers and a small plastic bag. The fabric looked to be a heavy canvas—military, maybe. Hopefully, distinct enough for forensics to identify. He was about to tuck it into his pocket when metal rang behind him.
A footstep. And then another.
“I’m going to have to take that from you, I’m afraid,” a female voice drawled to his back.
Graydon rose to his full height, impressed she’d been able to get so close without detection. So rare it was that an assailant didn’t raise the hairs on the back of his neck.
Slowly, he turned to face her—and promptly had to bite down on a surprised laugh.
Hand on her hip, a woman stood at the other end of the container, her smirk one of the only things not hidden behind a thick black mask. What little skin he could see was fairer than his own and icier somehow. A tight braid of white-blond hair swept over her shoulder, drawing his gaze lower, across a body clad in form-fitting black armor and wrapped in a belt of gadgets. Graydon looked her up and down until he came back to her face.
Ancient, opalescent eyes peered back at him, undeniably Immortal. A rarity akin to myth.
It couldn’t be. But it had to be. Because Ed’s superhero was standing right in front of him.
And she had an attitude.
“Not possible,” Graydon replied with equal cool, still scanning her over. He didn’t have security footage of the people who had robbed Kalla, but he’d stake his career on them having worn something like that.
“I think you’ll find I can be quite persuasive,” she purred, slowly moving toward him. The innuendo didn’t meet her eyes.
His feet started moving of their own accord, matching her predatory pace. Ed was going to kill him when he found out Graydon had brought her in alone.
“What’s it to you?” He gave the evidence bag a shake.
Her mouth quirked to the side. “Do you always ask women such personal questions upon meeting them?”
Graydon chuckled, and the gears started turning in his head. “If you’re here because you missed a spot while cleaning up the crime scene, you’re already too late,” he probed. When she didn’t answer, he slid the evidence into his coat as planned and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. He tossed them at her feet. “Save us both the trouble.”
“Police, then?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Aren’t you worried I’ll use those on you?”
“Not particularly.”
If the flicker of her eyes was any indication, those words were not ones she wanted to hear. “Look,” she sighed, “handsome as you are, I can’t play this game with you all night.” She stepped forward and opened her hand. “Give me the evidence.”
“No, I don’t think I will,” Graydon taunted, patting his coat pocket. “And if you’re planning on assaulting me to get it, I’ll have you know people frown upon that sort of thing these days.”
As if he’d given a kaleidoscope a harsh turn, the colors of her eyes changed—a threat he wasn’t sure she even realized she was making. His magic surged to his fingertips.
“Give. Me. The. Evidence.”
He grinned. “No.”
And then Ed’s superhero launched at him.
***
Ara was smiling when she dashed at the cop. It didn’t matter that he was built like he single-handedly won wars for a living. Plenty of her trainers had been just like him, and in the end, she’d brought them all to their knees.
Maybe a twinge of regret pulled back on the hand she was curling into a fist. It wasn’t his fault they’d crossed paths. Wrong place, wrong time. But it didn’t change the facts. He’d pilfered the evidence she needed, and that wouldn’t do. One good hit and a parting concussion, however? That would do nicely.
But when Ara pitched her fist, it met air. Her heart stopped dead in her chest as her target vanished. Perhaps if she had not been so sure of herself, she might have noticed the cop was smiling too.
He intercepted her next punch with an open palm, knocking her arm to the side, sheer strength overwhelming skill. Ara swung again and again, each blow pushed away like she was nothing more than a trainee. She growled, feinting left, striking right. The bastard dodged to the side, and then again as she threw out her other hand. Before she could pull it back, he grabbed it in an iron grip. She stumbled forward, and then he spun, flipping her hard onto her back.
She gasped, splinters of pain shooting down her spine. Impossible.
“I don’t want to fight you,” he said down to her. There was no flush in his cheeks. He wasn’t even winded. But there was a glint in his black eyes.
Ara bared her teeth in a snarl. “Liar.”
In a quick movement, she scooped her hand through a puddle and flung water into his face. The second of blindness allowed her to get back to her feet. She kicked out his legs, dropping him onto his back. The cop had the good sense to look surprised as she climbed on top of him. But before Ara could acquaint his face with her fist, his foot shot out, connecting with her thigh.
The force of it sent her backward, and he was up again, running her way. Ara barely found her footing before they collided, his arms wrapping around her waist in a vicious tackle that shot them right off the container’s roof.
They landed with an agonizing thud, the cop taking the brunt of the fall. Ears ringing, Ara scrambled off of him, gasping for the breath that had been knocked out of her lungs. Her heart hammered against her bruised ribs. She couldn’t beat him if it came to grappling.
The cop got to his knees, and she kicked him in the chest. A solid, savage blow. But her ears detected neither the crack of bone nor the rush of breath, and then he was on his feet, blocking her next attack.
“Enough,” he hissed.
Ara didn’t listen.
Desperation more than strategy had her flinging out a hand, aiming for his face, his hair, something. And the move cost her. The cop punched her straight in the stomach, slamming her back against a wall of hard metal. She folded over herself, wheezing.
“I’m just trying to arrest you,” he said, his soothing tone at odds with his hunter’s stride. Ara tracked his open palms as they rose into the air, the anti-magic handcuffs somehow dangling from his thumb.
Her stomach lurched. Not at the brute before her, but at the reality of what would happen if she got caught. He couldn’t know who she was. He couldn’t get those cursed Kalla cuffs around her wrists.
White sparks of magic welled in her hands, and without a second thought, Ara shot every flicker of fear and fury and frenzy straight at his head. The shock wave tore through the air, blinding and explosive. It was about to make contact, about to blast him into millions of atomic pieces—Gods, she’d never meant to hurt him like that—
He dodged it.
He took a fucking step out of the way and dodged it. Her magic slammed into a shipping container, eating a hole from one side to another and snuffing itself out.
Then the cop lifted a hand of his own.
Ara gasped as an unseen force grabbed her in an invisible fist. Magic snaked around her arms and legs, locking her body up tight and freezing her in stillness. Her heart screamed for magic to come back to her constricted hands, but a torrent of panic was all that answered. She could breathe and blink, but the rest of her was suspended in time.
With a mind of their own, her arms lifted out into the air before her, wrists spaced only a few inches apart. Metal glinted, and the cop’s face appeared. It was the best look she’d been able to get of him.
There was a scrape over his cheekbone, and his short black hair was tousled into disarray. Up close, his eyes were dark brown, not black.
A beautiful color were it not on an enemy closing in.
“You’re a Kinetic,” Ara wheezed, hopelessly pulling at her petrified hands as the handcuffs appeared floating next to his head. The cop grabbed them from the air and gently snapped the first link onto her wrist. Blue light glowed in answer, cutting off the connection to Ara’s magic.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She believed him. Saw the agony on his face, the loathing for what he was doing. And as he reached for her other wrist, she met his eyes, pained and looking straight back at her—
Something clicked.
Ara fell from his magic’s grip like she’d burned him. The relief was sharp, her body instantly her own again. She staggered backward into a wall of metal, almost slumping down it.
But that was secondary to the truth barreling through her.
Ara felt it in her rushing blood, the fabric of her very soul. Something so certain, so completely life-altering, snapped into place between them. And her eyes stretched impossibly wide.
The cop gaped back at her in pure shock. His gaze filled with wonder and vulnerable curiosity as he searched her for a confirmation she was too stunned to give. He opened his mouth a few times, struggling to find the words.
“What’s your name?” he breathed.
She wanted to tell him. Even more, she wanted to ask for his.
But his guard was down.
So Ara kicked her soulbound hard between the legs, grabbed the evidence from within his coat, and left him doubled over and groaning in the rain.
