Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
The book dropped open where the spine was creased as if that particular story had been read over and over and over again. “The Oak and the Holly King.”
Graves said nothing. Wrens were one thing. She had always loved her wren necklace. The last thing she had from her mother. But holly was Graves’s symbol. It was everywhere on his property, in his warding, in the library that took it as its namesake.
Her eyes lifted to his with a small smile. “Thank you.”
“And when you’re finished, you’ll have to tell me your thoughts on the subject.”
Kierse nodded, dropping into the story. George drove them smoothly to JFK International Airport. He pulled the SUV right out onto the tarmac and stopped in front of one of the planes.
“Are you sure we have to fly?” she asked, staring up at the mammoth thing.
Graves’s attention shifted to her. “We’re on a time crunch. How else are we going to get to Chicago?”
She had no response to that and hated that he got to see a flicker of fear creep into her.
“You’ve never flown,” he said in understanding.
“No,” she said with an exasperated expression. “When would I have flown?”
He shrugged. “Pre-monsters.” His hand came to the small of her back, his warmth seeping in through the fur-lined coat. It was more reassuring than she wanted to let on, having him touch her like that. “It will be fine. I’ve kept the pilot on since before the collapse. It’s safer than riding in a car, I assure you.”
Stairs were wheeled out for them.
“What about the snow?” she asked, reaching for any excuse.
“They cleared the runway. The snow is letting up, but they can fly in snow regardless. Would I take you into the skies if I thought that we would be harmed?”
She wasn’t sure about her safety, but he definitely wouldn’t risk his. “No.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t.”
“But . . .”
“It will be fine, Wren,” he said softly but with perfect resonance, and the word held her in thrall.
She met his steely gaze. There was command in his eyes, and she took strength from it. He had never called her “wren” before, and she found that she liked it. Maybe a little too much. He’d never even called her by her first name. Only ever “Miss McKenna.” But now . . . wren. It was all just fairy tales and myth, but when he called her wren like that, her nerves settled.
He must have been able to tell, because he nodded. “Good. Let’s go.”
They exited the SUV together. She was glad for the hood and high collar to protect her from the brisk cold as Graves ushered her up the steps first. She took each one carefully in her heels and delighted in the warmth once inside the plane. She’d only ever seen pictures of commercial planes with seas of small seats, but this was a private jet complete with luxurious couches and a wet bar. It was beautiful, modern, and incredibly inviting.
“Have a seat wherever you like while they prepare for takeoff,” Graves said after he boarded behind her.
She settled onto one of the couches and jostled her foot nervously.
“No attendant?”
“I don’t particularly like people. If you haven’t noticed.”
“I have,” she admitted.
Graves sank comfortably into the seat next to her. “We have some last-minute things to discuss about this heist.”
“What last-minute things?”
“Things we didn’t get to during our training session.” Their eyes met, and she remembered exactly how close they’d gotten in that session.
“You couldn’t have given them to me at that time?”
“I could have, but you asked different questions.”
She huffed. “Fine. Tell me.”
“Imani and Montrell are fellow warlocks.”
“I guessed that,” she admitted. “Based on the other information you gave me.”
His answering smile was genuinely warm. As if her piecing together context clues from his words made him like her more.
“Good. You chose your questions carefully, then.”
“Yes, and now that I don’t have to fight for them, why are we breaking into monsters’ property to steal from them?”
“One, you’re not breaking in. We were invited. And two, you broke into my home.”
“I thought you might be human,” she argued.
He smirked. “Did you?”
As if he couldn’t fathom that.
“Well, I can see now that you’re all monster.” He pursed his lips and said nothing. But she just prodded him to continue. “Start at the beginning. If I’m breaking the Monster Treaty . . .”
“Again,” he quipped.
“Then I need more information.”
“I’ve been acquainted with Imani and Montrell for a long time.”
“What can you tell me about their powers?”
“Imani grants wishes. She’s tailored her abilities so that she can imbue substances with her wish-granting powers, usually very specific wishes. They call it wish powder.”
“That sounds powerful and mildly terrifying.”
“It’s not scary—at least, not the way she uses it . . . anymore.”
His eyes went distant as if he remembered a time when her powers weren’t used in such a benign way.