Wildfire (Hidden Legacy #3)(50)

Finally, I stripped down to a sports bra and spandex shorts to maximize the charge, stepped into the circle, and sat. My power shot through the circle. The chalk lines pulsed with white and faded. Magic flowed to me, sluggish at first, then a steady current, slipping into my body. I relaxed and closed my eyes.

"This one is crooked," Bug advised.

I opened my eyes and looked at the circle he was pointing at.

"It will be fine."

"You could've just asked the Major."

If Rogan had drawn the design, it would've taken him three minutes and all the circles would have been perfect. "I have to draw my own circles."

I glanced to the left. The second floor had a wide industrial door, which opened onto a large square patio of sealed concrete, flooded with sunlight. The doors stood ajar and I could see Rogan. He'd drawn circles on the concrete and moved within them, lunging, kicking, and striking, his large muscular body graceful and flexible. His grace wasn't that of a dancer but of an assassin trained to lock onto his target and pursue it at all costs. His feet were weapons; his hands cut like blades, then struck like hammers, breaking his invisible opponents. The Key of House Rogan was a warrior key, and when he moved through it, the savage, fierce thing that made him Mad Rogan surfaced and took over. It scared me and pulled me like a magnet, which is why I drew my charging circle here, so I could watch him.



       
         
       
        

I was hoping to watch him in privacy. But Bug parked himself on the sofa right behind me, with Napoleon tucked under his arm and the laptop resting on his lap. Ogling Rogan under these circumstances would be slightly creepy. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on the magic emanating from the circle like heat from the asphalt on a scorching Texas day.

"Is everything okay?" Bug asked.

"Mhm."

"You and him are on good terms?"

"Mhm."

"So you're talking?"

Damn it. I opened my eyes and looked at him over my shoulder.

"Good communication is important in a relationship," Bug said.

"Everything is fine."

"You're not fighting anymore?"

"No. I'm trying to recharge. I need to concentrate."

Bug nodded solemnly.

I turned back, savored the glimpse of Rogan, and closed my eyes.

"How's the sex?"

"Did you honestly just ask me that question?"

Bug and Napoleon scooted further away from me on the sofa. "We just want to know that everything's okay."

"We?"

"Uh . . . Napoleon and I."

Lie. "Bug, turn that laptop toward me and don't you dare hit any keys."

He hugged the laptop. "No."

"Is that Nguyen and Rivera on the other end?"

"No."

Lie.

"Here, I'll say it really loud so they can hear. Are you ready? Butt out of our relationship!"

"Okay, okay!" He waved his arms.

"If you really want to help, brief me on the Harcourts."

"What's there to brief? Owen Harcourt, sixty, Ella Harcourt, fifty-five, Alyssa Harcourt, twenty-three, and Liam Harcourt, eighteen. Everyone is a Prime summoner. It's going to be a bloodbath."

"Fine. I'm going to concentrate now, so hush."

I closed my eyes. For a few minutes, blissful silence reigned and I sank deeper into the stream of magic.

"Incoming," Bug announced.

I turned. Rynda came up the stairs, crossed the room, and sat on the other sofa. She wore black designer jeans and a pink silk wrap blouse that demurely covered her breasts while simultaneously dipping far between them. Bug pretended to ignore her. Napoleon gave Rynda the evil eye.

Rynda studied my circlework and very carefully didn't say anything. Yes, I know. It's crooked.

I sat quietly. Minutes stretched. Bug typed on his laptop, hitting the keys so loud, I could hear him from several feet away.

"Are you going with Rogan to fight the Harcourts?" she asked. 

"Yes."

"Is that wise?"

"Rogan will need my help when we question them."

"The Harcourts have a reputation," Rynda said. "It will be brutal. You're not a combat mage."

"Thank you for your concern. I'll be fine."

She fell silent, then glanced at Bug. "Could you get me some coffee?"

"No," Bug said.

She blinked.

"I'm a surveillance specialist, not a waiter," Bug said, his diction perfect, his voice flat. "The coffee is on the kitchen counter over there. Help yourself."

She opened her mouth and closed it.

"Nevada?" Bug said.

Don't do it, don't do it . . .