“The OPA is on standby, Linus is watching the show via his direct feeds, Tisdale is moving her people into position. The Clairmont, Loup Garou, and Kingsman alphas know to coordinate with Bishop.” She raked her fingers through her hair, and curls fell into her eyes. “What am I forgetting?”
Midas tapped her cell with his fingertip. “Are you telling Addie and Boaz?”
Their names shut down her expression, and her eyes darkened with determination. “No.”
As much as he hated picking at old wounds, he had to keep this one from festering.
“You don’t think,” he began, “they deserve to know what you’re risking by going into the archive?”
“The less they know, the safer they are.” She flinched when he struck the nerve, but she set her jaw. “I’m not involving them again.”
“You didn’t involve them last time.” He took her clammy hand in his. “The coven did.”
“Let’s think of it as an exercise in confidence.” She scooched closer and rested her head against his shoulder, the scent of her engulfing him. “I’m so sure we’re going to win the day, I don’t need to inform my next of kin.” Her arm threaded through his, linking them, and his inner beast relished the contact. “Oh, that reminds me. I have a playdate with Macon next week.”
The announcement sideswiped him, as she had known it would, and he began to understand why she had wrapped herself around him. She didn’t want to give him an avenue of escape, not that he had anywhere to go while they were in the back of Remy’s car.
“This is not a trap.” She laughed at what she saw in his expression. “Boaz called me crowing like a rooster the second the guardianship paperwork for our little brother hit his palms.”
Erring on the side of caution, Midas kept his mouth shut while he waited for the other shoe to drop.
“He explained to me about Mother’s change of heart and her sudden desire to relocate. He was fuzzy on the details of how this transformation occurred, what sparked this burst of personal growth, and he thought I could enlighten him. Funny thing was, I had no idea what he was talking about, but I could guess where my mother got the idea our lives would all be improved without her in them.”
Anyone who had ever met Matron Pritchard would agree her daughter’s life was better without her in it. The same could be said, to a lesser extent, of her sons. Midas only cared that Hadley was rid of her. For good.
“Your mom.” A soft smile, bordering on hopeful, warmed her face. “She handled it, didn’t she?”
Finally, a question he felt comfortable answering. “Yes.”
“You’re not asking any questions,” she said, amusement in her tone, “so you knew.”
There was nothing for it but to tell her the truth. He refused to lie to his mate, even to save his own hide. “I did.”
“You didn’t tell me.” A line bisected her forehead. “Why not?”
“I wasn’t involved in the arrangements. I found out after the fact. That’s no excuse, but it put me in a tight spot.” He should have told her the second he learned of it, the night she agreed to marry him, but he had wanted to keep her all to himself. “I didn’t want to give you hope if it fell through. I know how much you miss Macon, and I wasn’t sure the threats Mom made would stick after Matron Pritchard got clear of Atlanta.”
The wrinkle smoothed itself out, and her hold on him relaxed by degrees. “I figured.”
Daring to hope, Midas watched her face when he asked, “You’re not mad?”
“Right now, I’m too happy at the prospect of seeing my little brother again to care how it happened or what the repercussions might be down the line.” She made a contented sound. “This falls under the umbrella of things we should always make time to discuss going forward, but I’m willing to give you a one-time pass.”
“Next time,” he said, relief heavy in his voice, “I promise I’ll tell you.”
“I know you will.” She grinned up at him. “Or you’ll spend the next month sleeping on the couch.”
“It is a comfortable couch.”
“Maybe,” she agreed, “but I won’t be on it.”
The southernly drift of her hand down his stomach clued him in to what else he would be missing out on if he made the same mistake twice.
“The warehouse.” He caught her wrist, unable to think with her touching him that way, and moved her hand to safer territory. “How are you getting in?”
“Ambrose and I smashed the wards before.” Pouting, she let him set her palm on his chest. “We could again.”
“It would cost you time and put you out in the open,” he countered. “It would make you an easy target.”
“So, it’s not ideal.”
“To put it mildly.”
She leaned forward and snagged a backpack from the pile in the front seat.
“Hey.” Remy popped her hand. “That one’s mine.”
“They’re all identical.”
“This one and I have bonded during our brief time together.”
“Okay then.”
Hadley chose another and transferred the necromantic supplies from her cross-body bag into its front pocket.
Once she finished, Midas nudged her, determined to make her stop and think. “Any other ideas?”
“Wards degrade as powerful magic users cross their threshold, and that’s been happening for several hours minimum at the warehouse. Even if the practitioners were mid-level, lump enough of them together, and the power signature is the same.” She turned thoughtful. “The coven could raise and lower the wards each time, they have the numbers, but it would be exhausting on their schedule.”
The light in her eyes tempted him to hope. “What are you thinking?”
“The coven dropped the wards to let their people move freely between the archive, the warehouse, and their transportation to downtown. I’m willing to bet they kept them down. It’s the smart thing to do. It’s not like they need them. They have the manpower to protect the archive.” A smile spread across her face. “Heavy-duty wards like those aren’t exactly welcome mats. They’re meant for security when no one is home.”
“Okay.” He waited a beat, but she fell silent. “When do you get to the good news?”
“Um.” She squinched her eyes. “That was the good news. No wards. One less thing, right?”
“Optimism.” From the driver seat, Remy chortled with glee. “I love it.”
Availing himself to the expert sneak in their midst, he posed Remy a question. “How would you do it?”
“Very carefully.” Remy sobered. “No wards aren’t the same as a free pass.”
The somber twist of her mood made him curious if she was worried too. “Can you get in?”
“I can get in.” She rolled her eyes at him. “I don’t know if I can get Hadley in, if that’s what you mean.”
There was room for interpretation there, and he was curious. “Your infiltration skills are magic-based?”
“Experience-based.” She flashed her needle teeth at him in the rearview mirror. “I earned them.”