"She petitioned the State of Texas for recognition of her powers," the Keeper said. "She's in the book. It is done."
"Linus?" she ground out.
"I'm a witness," Duncan said. "I'm honor bound to protect her, Victoria. You know how this works."
Victoria Tremaine's eyes narrowed. "I'm taking her out of here."
"I'm afraid I can't allow that." The Keeper's eyes turned completely black. No white remained.
Darkness shivered in the alcoves between the books and grew, slithering across the walls, swallowing the light, a living terrible darkness. An ancient primal thing. Every hair on the back of my neck rose.
Blue fire sheathed Michael's hands, burning bright against the rising black tide that smothered the ceiling.
"You know the rules, Victoria," the Keeper said, his voice pure magic. "You will have no contact with any member of the Baylor family. You'll make no effort to disrupt these trials. We wouldn't want any unpleasantness."
Rage shivered in the corners of my grandmother's mouth. She glared at me. "You're an idiot. You will regret this."
Her gaze stabbed at Rogan. "You should've returned my calls. You think you have her, but you'll never keep her. She'll dump you the moment the Scroll gets a request."
She turned around and marched out, her human Rottweilers in tow.
"Well, that was tense," Linus Duncan said. He opened a billfold, took a card out of his wallet, and offered it to me. It had no name, only a phone number. "In case you need help or advice. Call any time."
"Thank you." I took the card.
The darkness vanished. The Keeper smiled at me. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Baylor. We'll be watching you. We'll be there in case of any problems, won't we, Michael?"
Michael nodded.
Rogan and I didn't speak the whole way to the car. Outside, the sun had set and the bottomless Texas sky spread above us, an upside-down black ocean studded with stars. We got into the car, and Rogan drove out of the parking lot.
The night city slid past my window while the whole scene kept replaying in my head over and over: petitioning, my name in calligraphy on the page of an ancient book, the raptor stare of my grandmother, the living darkness on the ceiling . . . It didn't seem real, as if it had happened to someone else.
I glanced at Rogan. There was this odd distance between us. He was there, in the car with me, but he seemed contained, as if I were a stranger.
"She called you?" I asked finally.
"She left a message," he said.
I waited but he didn't elaborate. "What did she say?"
"That if I helped her bring you into House Tremaine, she would give you to me."
"Nice. And was I just supposed to go along with that plan?"
"You would if she had your sisters. Or your mother." His voice was casual. "Holding a knife to your mother's throat would make you very agreeable."
Connor was gone, and I got Mad Rogan instead: cold, calculating, cruel when he had to be.
"And the Scroll?"
"The Scroll is one of the three main DNA databases," he said. "You will be required to submit a sample to the Keeper to prove that you and Catalina are sisters. Once the sample is submitted, you must choose a database. They will sequence your entire family."
"Is it used for genetic matches for future spouses?"
"Primarily, yes. Also in cases when paternity is in doubt."
The gulf between us was getting wider. He was pulling back from me. He was still thinking about children and matches. Was he trying to give me an out?
"Please pull over," I said.
He guided the car onto the shoulder. I unbuckled my seat belt, reached over, and kissed him. His lips were like fire. He didn't respond, but I tried harder, licking his lips with the tip of my tongue, wanting to taste him.
His seat belt snapped free. He caught the back of my head with his hand and claimed my mouth. His magic wrapped around me, mixing with mine. The taste of Connor, the heady intoxicating taste that burned with lust, power, and need, filled me, and I drank it in, melting into it. The strokes of his tongue turned possessive, his fingers tangled in my hair, holding me to him. There was a hint of menace in the way he kissed that warned me that when I tasted dragon fire, I'd get burned and then I would never be the same. It made me want to strip and climb naked on top of him.
Magic slid over the back of my neck, like molten honey, sizzling pleasure on my skin. I gasped into his mouth.
"You're mine," he said, his voice rough. "I'm not letting you go."