Kaliope adjusted her description of Franziska Falgor. The woman glided into the room. Her movements unnaturally graceful, as if she floated on a draft of air. 

Madam Falgor wore a flowy dress of sapphire blue. Twin chandeliers of diamonds hung from her ears, and a matching bouquet of gems graced her neckline. No stray strand blemished the crown of auburn ringlets on her head. Her eyes were a piercing hazel. Her skin impossibly pale and flawless. Almost like a marble statue had come to life and sashayed into the room—a not entirely impossible scenario with magic involved. Kaliope gaped. The woman’s pictures did her no justice.

“Wow.”

Ronin scowled as she reiterated her impolite response. Franziska smiled, exposing perfect white teeth. Her perfection surpassed otherworldly.

“It’s alright. I believe that is a human complement?”

Kaliope nodded at Madam Falgor. Remembering her handbook’s instructions on proper etiquette, she rested a hand on her chest and bowed. The appropriate greeting for the head of a Witcher House. “Definitely, Madam.”

Kaliope’s quick recovery eased the crease between Ronin’s brow. It annoyed her that he seemed to think she was an idiot. Kaliope endeavored to prove the insufferable man wrong. Ronin presented Kaliope as his associate, and she shook the woman’s delicate hand.

“Come, come, no need for formalities. Welcome to Falgor Estate.” Franziska gracefully settled into a chair. Then she waved them to retake theirs as they stood on her entry. “Please, have a seat. Don’t mind all the fineries,” she caressed the necklace she wore. “I had a charity auction. My daughter-in-law and son will be here shortly. I do apologize for the delay.”

Ronin pardoned Madam Falgor’s apology.

“I assume you have an update on the case?” Franziska’s eyes fleeted between the pair, resting on Ronin.

“We still haven’t uncovered evidence linking Katerina Kelmor or Zohar Falgor to the theft. My team and I have extensively investigated the suspects and the scene.”

“Are you suggesting the ring simply vanished into thin air?” Franziska waved her hand over her head. “I’m certain my belligerent, bumbling mess of a brother-in-law and his brood of ill-mannered spawns had something to do with it. It can’t be a coincidence that someone burgled the store the day after the news broke.” She paused, caught her breath, and regained her slipping composure. Franziska hated her in-laws. No doubts there. And from all accounts, they hated her in kind. “If Zohar inherits the family line, he’ll destroy it all.”

“Destroy it?” The question slid from her lips before Kaliope silenced it.

“A fool and his money will always part, my dear. Don’t let him trick you into believing his blusterings are for a noble cause.” Franziska moved her hand in a flourish. “The right to equal treatment. Zohar is an irresponsible clod—”

“Mother.” Ballister Falgor joined them with his wife Juniper linked arm to arm. “Let’s not badmouth the family in front of our guests.” The pacifying lilt of Ballister’s voice smoothed his mother’s ruffles. He regarded Kaliope, and she heard the word outsider, snugged underneath the guests.

Franziska ironed a hand over her dress, adapting a posture of innocence. “I’m not badmouthing the oaf. I’m simply stating a matter of fact that he is, in fact, an oaf.”

Ballister introduced himself and his wife and expressed regret for his mother’s harsh words. At the same time, Franziska neither affirmed nor disapproved of the apology. She harbored animosity towards her brother-in-law for his extravagant and impractical approach towards money, as evidenced by his gold cane adorned with gems.

Who even needs a gold cane adorned with gems?

Inola’s description of Franziska as a hardass matched. Kaliope’s theory of her being another power-grabbing matriarch wavered. The way Franziska smiled and patted Juniper’s hand when her daughter-in-law rested it on her shoulder. Even Kaliope’s pessimism toward family shriveled in the light of their genuine affection.

No, Franziska wouldn’t toss her daughter-in-law out for lack of children. 

“Any news on the case?” 

Ballister’s gaze darted towards Kaliope before settling on Ronin. In that fleeting moment, she detected a hint of something in his eyes, peeking from beneath his politeness. It vanished before she identified it. Was Ballister another entitled and disdainful witch like Gale, who looked down on humans? There was always at least one bad apple in the bunch. 

Kaliope suppressed a scoff. The Falgors were their clients, and she skated on thin ice.

“We’re pursuing a new lead.”

Kaliope touched her temple, quickly dropping her hand. Ronin noticed it, and his attention on her brought the attention of the others.

“Not feeling well?”

Ronin chimed in before Kaliope could dismiss Ballister’s inquiry. “She had a minor incident at work. Perhaps you’d like a break?” He asked the question, but Ronin’s expression told her to excuse herself.

Juniper escorted Kaliope to the guest bathroom. Locked away from observing eyes, Kaliope punched the air, wishing it was Ronin’s face. She would have cursed him and his kin to the far reaches of a frozen hellscape if not for the blinding pain that left her gasping for air. Indecipherable images flashed in her head. Blinding her as she fumbled with her bag. With her bottle of pills. After several attempts, she tossed one of her pills into her mouth and swallowed.

As the images played in frantic snippets, Kaliope grabbed for them. They slipped from her in an uncontrollable onslaught.

Were these memories? She pressed the heels of her hand into her temple. Memories of what?

Juniper knocked on the other side of the door. “Excuse me, Ms. Barnes? Are you alright? Should I tell—”

“No.” Kaliope drew in a deep breath to steady herself. The images and pain subsided. She washed the sweat from her face. Reapplied her tinted lip gloss. She forced a smile as she exited the bathroom. “I think I need some air.”

Juniper escorted Kaliope outside. She gulped in the fresh air as if her lungs were starved for it. What the hell was that? Those images? The pounding resumed in her temple when she tried to recall what they were. Kaliope suspended her efforts, not wanting to draw additional attention.

“You’re ill.”

Kaliope regarded Juniper and her wide doe eyes. She opened her mouth to pass it off, and “Yes,” escaped her lips. Kaliope frowned.

Juniper smiled, the kind of smile that melted away your worries and brightened the darkest days. Thoughtful. Compassionate. Infectious. Kaliope’s frown deepened.

“What kind of witch are you?”

“An anomaly? A mixed-blood. Part witch, part lycan. You can’t lie to me any more than you can lie to your boss.” Juniper leaned in. Tipped her head left, then right. “Yep. Your aura’s yellow.”

“My, what now?” Kaliope’s eyes scanned the area around her, searching for whatever Juniper saw.

“Aura. Your emotions emit a specific color, depending on what they are. Humans are kaleidoscopes. They’re the easiest to read. The colors for me are hazy because I’m not a full-blooded lycan.”

“My aura?” A memory surfaced.

Sit down, Kaliope. Your anxiety’s painting the walls yellow. 

Her mouth loosened at the jaw. 

Crud. Crud. Crud.

Kaliope shot a guilty look toward the house and bristled. Ballister was monitoring them from a window on the second floor. He answered his phone and moved out of view. Haughty little witch. She cut her eye, her back straight. Tch. No wonder someone was endeavoring to prune them down a size.

“My mix-blood is the reason for all this. Lycan genes are resistant to blending with others. Franziska was only trying to help us conceive.” Juniper’s voice thickened with emotions as she rested a hand over her womb. “Other witches warned her against allowing a mix-blood into the family. If Franziska hadn’t accepted me—”

Juniper gasped when Kaliope grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “Stop it. There is nothing wrong with you. And if Franziska Falgor cared about what those assholes said, would you be her daughter-in-law?” Kaliope released her hold, subduing her passionate outburst. “She doesn’t strike me as the give a fuck type.” She pursed her lips, fingers pressed over her mouth. “Sorry.”

Juniper laughed, dashing at a tear. “She really isn’t. Earlier at the charity auction, someone made a snide remark, and Franziska accidentally bumped into the woman and spilled red wine over the woman’s white silk dress.”

Kaliope’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Yes.” Juniper strained to stop herself from laughing long enough to speak. “It’s the truth. And—And Franziska hexed the stain so it’ll never come out, no matter how much magic they throw at it.”

The two broke out into a fit of laughter. Kaliope wheezed. Juniper snorted like a pig, worsening their fit, and they clutched each other for support.

“Oh.” Juniper pressed a hand to her chest, her cheeks flushed with warmth. “Haven’t laughed this hard in a while. Thank you, Kaliope.”

Kaliope shook her head, recovering. “No need for thanks. Sage Tower is a full-service firm.”

And they lost it again.