White Hot (Hidden Legacy 2)

“We kill him,” he said.

“Good. Let’s kill him and go home.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Rogan turned and studied the circle, chalk in his hand.

“Well, this is an exciting development.” David’s smile remained glued in place, but his eyes betrayed a hint of doubt.

Rogan stared at the lines, his gaze calculating. His lips were turning blue.

He would figure it out. If anyone could, he would be the one.

The cold seeped into my bones. My breath flittered from my lips, a pale cloud of vapor, carrying the precious warmth with it. I was so tired, but my heart was racing, and I couldn’t get it under control. My stomach begged for food, as if I hadn’t eaten for days. My body realized I was freezing to death and desperately sought a source of fuel to warm itself.

Rogan turned to me. “Do you remember what you told me in the elevator?”

I’d told him several things in the elevator.

“Does that promise still stand?”

What promise? What did I say? He had grabbed Cornelius; I told him to let go of my client; he had, and then I said . . . Try that again and I’ll shock you into oblivion.

“Yes,” I told him.

He pointed to a spot opposite and a little to the left of where the channel leading from David to us joined our circle. “Stand here.”

I moved to the spot. He hugged me to him, quickly, let go, crouched, and drew a perfect semicircle around my feet, cutting me off from the rest of the interior space. I had barely a foot and a half around me. Rogan stood up, his eyes meeting mine. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but the chalk line separated us and I could feel the first hints of power trickling through it.

“Trust me,” Rogan said.

I nodded.

“It’s pointless, you know,” David said. “You can’t break this circle. Even if by some miracle you could, it would accomplish nothing. Some changes are as inevitable as the rising of the tide.”

Rogan went down to one knee and began to draw. “You’ve made a concerted effort to destabilize Houston. What is it you want?” His voice was casual, as if we were having lunch somewhere.

“Me personally or us as collective?”

“Both.”

“Personally I get to witness the public destruction of House Howling.”

“Hate your brother and sister that much, huh?” My teeth clicked. It was hard to talk. The temperature dropped again.

David shrugged. “It’s the usual story. Man becomes a widower; man marries a much younger woman; the children from the first marriage see her as the evil usurper of their mother’s memory and make her life a living hell. House Howling wasn’t a pleasant household. As to the collective wants and needs, you should’ve figured it out by now.”

“Enlighten me.” Rogan sectioned off the circle, drawing perfect lines toward one side. I couldn’t stop trembling. The sheer power of will he had to use to keep his hand from shaking was frightening.

“History repeats itself,” David said. “You were usually good at history, Rogan. I sat behind you in Classics in your freshman year at Harvard. Professor Cormack was teaching it. The one who started every first lecture with ‘What you need to understand is ancient Greeks were predominantly homosexual.’”

Rogan kept drawing, creating a network of lines and glyphs on the floor.

“You don’t remember me. I stayed in the background while you were busy being young and brilliant.”

“I don’t,” Rogan said.

“I didn’t think so.” David smiled. The cold bit at me. “You do remember the lessons, however. Rome—corrupt, rich, and disorganized, a republic that ruled the world yet couldn’t rule itself. Its senators fighting for power in vicious political squabbles; the policies of compromise forgotten in favor of personal gain. Its armies pledging their loyalty to their generals rather than to the republic they were meant to serve. Its population torn between the Optimates, supporting the traditional rule, and the Populares, playing for the favor of the unwashed mass of plebs. Mob violence, treachery, murder.”

“Mhm.” Rogan wrote a string of glyphs along one of the lines and turned on his toes, drawing a perfect circle around himself.

David craned his neck, tilting his head to the side as he studied the lines.

Rogan sat cross-legged within the circle he had just made and drew two smaller circles, connecting them to the boundary with precise straight lines.

“Intriguing. Theoretically possible, but practically you’ll run out of power,” David said. “You’d have to break my hold first.”

“We’ll see.”

“You’re trying to save the girl. Whatever path you choose, you’re still dead, Rogan. That much magic expended that quickly comes with a price.”

Rogan closed his eyes, his face serene.

“It’s a race then.” David grinned. “Let’s see if I can freeze you first.”

I couldn’t help with whatever it was Rogan was doing, but I could keep David occupied. As long as David kept talking, he’d be splitting his attention between killing us and thinking. “What’s the point of the history lesson?”

“Like so many before us, we’re Rome,” David said. “The Houses concern themselves only with personal gains. The concept of true civil service is all but forgotten. Of those who are given much, much is required, and we’re falling short. We’re adrift without any purpose or direction. We believe in nothing and don’t belong to anything. There is honor in service. In standing for something larger than yourself.”

Dizziness came over me. I fought to keep from swaying.

“Every Rome has its Caesar,” Rogan said.

“Indeed,” David said. “We do as well.”

“So this is the plan?” My words came out garbled. I had to strain to make my lips move. It felt like my feet were turning into chunks of ice. My skin hurt, every muscle underneath awash with icy agony. “Throw Texas into chaos and use it to create a dictatorship? Do you think Texas will just stand for that?”

“By the time we’re done, they’ll welcome anyone who promises stability with open arms. And our Caesar is beyond reproach. A person of true honor.”

Keep him talking. “Even if you manage to do it here, the United States won’t stand for it.”

“It’s a slippery slope,” David said. “Our republic offers an illusion of freedom. You’d be surprised how many people would trade it in for certainty.”

“And you think this justifies killing innocent people.”

“Yes,” David said.

“Even children?”

“If necessary. The birth of a new nation is never gentle. If you’re referring to Matilda, I take no pleasure in child murder. I promise that when I tie up that loose end, it will be very quick.”

That bastard. “And Olivia Charles is okay with you murdering a little girl? Does she have any regrets or guilt over killing Matilda’s mother?”

“Olivia comes from an old House. She knows what’s required of her and she does it. Whether she feels guilt over killing Nari Harrison, I don’t know.”

I had my confirmation. Olivia Charles had killed Matilda’s mother. If I survived this, I would bring Cornelius the name of his wife’s murderer.

Rogan opened his eyes and planted his palms in the two small circles in front of him. Power punched through the circle like a huge gong being struck, melding the new and the old into a unified whole. White light burst from Rogan, running down the chalk lines like fire along the detonation cord, and crashed into the turquoise of the main circle.

David gritted his teeth. His shoulders shook.

The white and turquoise struggled, two waves trying to overwhelm each other.

Every muscle in Rogan’s body went rigid. David’s face shook with strain, as if lifting a weight that was too heavy. He groaned.

Rogan snarled, baring his teeth. A grimace wrinkled his face. His power coursed through the arcane lines, a raging torrent.

David jerked; his arms flung back.

White light claimed the circle, smothering the turquoise.

“It won’t help you.” David got to his feet, biting out the words like a pissed-off dog. “Do it! I outweigh her by fifty pounds and I’m a trained killer.”