Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(17)

       
         
       
        

"Do you think this is connected to the conspiracy her mother was involved in?"

"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe her husband is a stressed-out workaholic who snapped and decided to disappear for a few days."

Cornelius pondered it.

"I also should mention that I filed to be recognized as a House."

He blinked again. "Congratulations."

"Victoria Tremaine is my grandmother," I continued. "She was none too happy about this development, and while there are rules which prevent her from interfering, I can't promise she won't try something."

"Are you nervous?" Cornelius asked.

"Yes." There was no point in lying. "Given a choice, I would rather hide here until the trials, but I promised Rynda I'd look for her husband."

"You can't hide," Cornelius said quietly. "Your name is in the book. People are watching all of you, but especially you, to see what sort of House you'll become. First impressions matter."

"First impressions?"

Cornelius paused. "When the petition of House formation is filed, it's read before the Assembly and, more practically, it's announced in their internal newsletter."

Great. Every House in Texas would see our name in their email box. "So everyone knows?"

"Yes. This is done to discourage interference from other Houses."

"Will they know what talents we are requesting to be tested?"

"Yes."

So the cat was out of the bag. I had announced myself as a truthseeker to the entire state of Texas.

"You will be watched," Cornelius said. "The way you conduct yourself now is very important."

He was right. Hiding was out of the question. We couldn't afford to look like cowards.

I looked at Cornelius. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"Are you in or out?"

He didn't miss a beat. "In. Let me grab a travel cup for my coffee."



BioCore occupied a rectangular building of black glass off of Post Oak Circle, across from the Houstonian. Unlike the towers of downtown, this building was long, eating up a lot of real estate, but only a few stories high.

Cornelius and I parked in front of it. A few weeks ago Rogan had destroyed my Mazda minivan by ripping it in half and throwing pieces at some mages who were attacking us. He'd replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, which, I discovered after the fact, was armored to the gills. Grandma Frida had tons of fun tweaking it. If we faced magic and bullets, I'd just sprint to my car.

I realized I was scanning the building, looking for hidden danger. My adventures with Rogan had made me paranoid. 

I crossed the lot to the heavy glass doors. Talon settled himself on Cornelius' shoulder. Cornelius wore a pinched expression. I couldn't tell if he was concentrating, nervous, or both. This wouldn't do. I needed him to be calm and professional.

"Have you thought of investing in a wooden leg and a tricorn hat?"

He blinked. "No, why?"

I pointed at his reflection in the glass door. He studied it.

"I suppose Talon does very slightly resemble a parrot. I'm afraid I'm not much of a pirate though."

"It's all in the attitude," I told him. "Just imagine that this building is a Spanish galleon loaded with stolen treasure, and you are a captain of a pirate crew."

Cornelius studied himself some more, taking in his perfectly styled hair, his clean-shaven face, and his expensive tailored suit, opened his mouth, and said, "Arrr."

I grinned and pushed the revolving door.

Inside, a sterile, crescent-shaped lobby greeted us: white walls, ultramodern lights, and black marble floors. At the widest part of the crescent, a barely visible outline in the pale wall indicated a double door. To the left of it, two guards in olive green uniforms sat at the reception desk. The guards looked at us and gave Talon the evil eye. We approached the desk. I gave the guards my name and my card and asked to speak to Edward Sherwood. The shorter of the guards picked up the phone and spoke into it quietly.

We waited.

The doors whispered open and a tall man emerged. He was in his late thirties, with brown hair, light hazel eyes, and a square jaw. He moved like a former jock who hadn't quite gone soft, mostly because he didn't know how. The tailored grey suit made his shoulders even wider. You had a feeling that if you stood between him and something that really mattered, he would go through you, and he wouldn't lose his cool, because it wouldn't be personal. He also matched the photographs I'd looked up this morning. Edward Sherwood, Brian's older brother.