The new perimeter of the Missing Jewel case was: how to prevent Witcher society from imploding. As long as Franziska Falgor and the wider witcher society believed Zohar was responsible for the theft, the chances of the situation devolving were low. A family feud lacked the frightening effect of “unknown elements working to overthrow the social hierarchy.” 

With any luck, they’ll squash it before things progress beyond the point of no return. Maybe.

Kaliope evaluated her skill level for diffusing a crisis of this size. None of her previous experiences entailed “saving the world” or “preventing an insurrection.” Was she in over her head?

She tapped her cheeks as she reviewed the information on a clear glass dry-erase board she set up in the conference room and covered in her scribblings.

No punking out. You’ve got this.

“Smoke’s steaming out of your ears.”

Kaliope regarded Inola, who joined her in her new workspace in the conference room. The fox demon was curled up in one of the oversized office chairs, eating homemade peanut chips. Kaliope was halfway through her stash by lunch.

“How can you be so calm?”

Inola crunched a chip. “Working yourself up doesn’t help either.”

Kaliope huffed a breath. Her partner made sense. She wasn’t keen on having someone else in her space, but unlike her previous experiences, Inola—fit. In her short time at Sage, Kaliope was relaxing into her position, despite her resolve to remain detached. It was a dangerous sentiment to entertain. Kaliope mentally shook herself and refocused on the case. On the facts.

“We’re dealing with someone who has a grudge against the Falgors or someone with a vendetta against the Main Houses is using them as a statement—you’re not untouchable.”

Inola nodded in agreement. Tossed another chip in her mouth.

“Do the Falgors have any enemies?”

Inola shook her head. “Ronin had me check it out. Nothing popped. Unlike some of the others, Falgor House is pretty laid back. Lucius Falgor, the Patriarch, is well respected in the Occult and Noccult world. He worked in politics for a while. Franziska Falgor is the hardass of the family. She also has a soft spot for kids and runs a foundation that funds an orphanage and a children’s hospital. She wanted a big family, but after several miscarriages, she brought only her son Ballister to term.”

Kaliope revisited her impression of the woman. She assigned Franziska’s primary motive for the ring commission to the woman’s ambitions to keep her branch on top. But perhaps watching her son and daughter-in-law struggle with infertility influenced her actions. 

Ambition? Or motherly love? Hmm. Kaliope wrote the question on a sticky note and added it to Franziska’s section on the board. She retook the seat and folded her arms as she examined her notes.

What would become of Franziska if Juniper Falgor, daughter-in-law of the House, failed to sire an heir after all this? Ronin mentioned the House was under no immediate threat. There were other ways of securing succession and longevity of the main branch. 

Like replacing the daughter-in-law.

Franziska married into Falgor House. Her power hinged solely on her son, Ballister, fathering children. Would he think it his duty to find another wife? Kaliope squirmed at the prospect, indignant on the daughter-in-law’s behalf.

“You’re agitated. Have a snack.”

Inola stretched out a chip, and without thinking, Kaliope ate it from her partner’s fingers. Inola’s mother made two types of peanut chips—honey glazed and salted. Kaliope’s preference remained split. “This whole House Constitution causes more problems than it solves. Why can’t they just rip it up?”

Inola exaggerated a gasp, grabbing at the thin line of pearls around her neck. “Guard your tongue, human. They might burn you at the stake for being a witch with your radical ideas.”

The two burst out laughing. The door to the conference room opened, and the women sobered up at Ronin’s imposing frame filling the doorway.

“Inola. I’m sure I assigned you several tasks.”

“Yes. And one of them is to keep an eye on the newbie.” Inola showed her boss a broad smile, unabashed by the unspoken threat in Ronin’s eyes of a later throttling.

“Ms. Barnes, grab your things. You’re accompanying me to the Falgor Estate.”

Kaliope exchanged a puzzled look with Inola. “Me?”

“Why? Not up to it? If that’s the case—”

Kaliope shot to her feet. Her head protested at the sudden movement. To her credit, she remained composed. “I’ll grab my things.”

~

Locked in the confines of a car with Ronin McIntyre was a never-ending dance of discomfort, uncertain and stilted as if the vehicle was a stage for an awkward performance. Silence stretched between them as they drove down the empty highway. The quiet of the open road was thick and oppressive, broken only by the engine’s soft hum and the occasional beep of Ronin’s phone when he received a message. 

Kaliope shrank into their seats, her body tense and coiled like springs as if waiting for something terrible to happen. It didn’t help that Ronin’s presence overpowered the space, pouring into her lungs like a spiced perfume. It made her head light. Her muscles ached with her effort to remain motionless.

The scenery passed in a haze as it transitioned from bustling cityscape to subdued urban. Kaliope rarely traveled to Midtown and never drove into Upper District, where the Falgor Estate and other palatial properties monopolized the area.

Should she make small talk? If they were going to work together, they needed to settle the negative tension between them. Her unauthorized visit to Kelmor hadn’t earned her marks with her boss. Ronin called her actions rash; Kaliope thought them a natural response to boredom and an ample amount of curiosity. Only the tiniest percentage of the human population knew the Occult world existed. She was one of the few. Who wouldn’t want to snoop around a little? Not that she’d be entering another room with a gold sign. Lesson learned.

If Ronin reciprocated her concerns about their turbulent association, he showed no signs of it—relaxed with his total concentration on the road. Her presence was of no consequence to him. His unruffled calm irritated Kaliope. Was he intentionally making the ride uncomfortable?

Kaliope’s nostrils flared, recalling he’d assigned Inola to babysit her. And here she was, dropping her guard, becoming—comfortable. Kaliope swatted at a loose strand of air. Ronin lowered the window letting in a stream of cool fresh air. She almost choked on it. Her eyes watered.

“How about a warning next time?”

“Looked like you needed the air.”

Ronin shot Kaliope a knowing glance, and she resisted the sudden childish urge to tell him to mind his business. She shook her head, baffled by her reaction. She wasn’t one for tantrums.

“You possess a singular superpower, Mr. McIntyre.”

“Which is?”

Ronin turned onto an immaculate street bracketed by pristine lawns and sprawling masterpieces of architectural design.

“Holy—” Kaliope forgot about her tiff with Ronin as she gawked at the charming neighborhood.

When they pulled up in front of the ornate gate leading onto the Falgor’s property, Ronin announced them over the intercom before the gate soundlessly parted and granted them entrance.

They drove up a long winding driveway lined by sprawling green lawns, and landscaped gardens, with their lush greenery and blooming flowers. The House at the heart of the luxury estate boasted grand marble columns, ornate facades, and intricate details. Kaliope exited the car and spun to take it all. It didn’t take an expert eye to recognize the landscaping was carefully designed to provide privacy and seclusion while also showcasing the beauty of the surrounding nature.

“How much would living in a place like this cost?”

“Magic and ten generations of inherited wealth.”

A maid ushered them into the House. The interior greeted them with the same opulence and sophistication as the exterior—soaring ceilings, intricate moldings, and designer finishes that created a warm and inviting atmosphere. The maid led them into a spacious living room with a cozy fireplace, perfect for entertaining guests or enjoying a quiet night with loved ones.

Magic and ten generations of inherited wealth. Yeah, definitely out of her lifetime budget.

Ronin monitored Kaliope as if afraid she might break the friendly neighbor’s fine porcelain. Kaliope sniffed. If he didn’t trust her, why should she trust him? She disregarded Roning, engrossed in her gawking. If there was another reason for his unwanted attention—like he suspected she lied about her health—all the better to ignore. A question popped into her head, and she shifted closer to Ronin, who stiffened at her proximity.

That’s right. Be uncomfortable for a change.

“Plan on telling her about…” Kaliope glanced around to confirm they were still alone. “Theory number three?”

“She’s our client. And it’s her House at risk.”

Kaliope nodded, anxious about the outcome. She’d barely settled into her original position on the sofa when Franziska Falgor walked into the room.

“Wow.”