“I totally knew that.”
“He had an account for gaming, under Advent Infinity. I made copies of correspondence that links him to the Amhersts, Ms. March, and Lacky.” Her pause held an unexpected gravity. “His primary email, however, was for work. It took me longer to crack its encryption, but I’ve got it now.” She blew out a slow exhale. “Advent? He’s Jai Parish.”
“The dragon?” I slotted those pieces into what we already knew, or tried to, but most didn’t fit. “He’s already the director’s right hand. What does he have to gain? Control of the entire Bureau?”
“You say that like it’s as disgusting as bathing in a tub full of slugs,” Clay intoned, “but we’re talking about the Black Hat Bureau.”
“I know that.” I dug my nails into my palms. “I don’t need a refresher course on family history.”
As the founder’s granddaughter, and a victim of his constant scheming, I wore no blinders. I never had. I hadn’t been afforded the luxury.
“That’s the problem. You view it as the family business, but it’s not. It’s an organization that has taken on a life of its own. Your grandfather awarded himself the power to punish any member of any faction at his discretion. He chooses who lives, who dies, who serves.”
The bitterness in those last two words speared me through the heart. “I’m aware.”
“I don’t think you are,” he insisted. “People outside the organization don’t care who runs it as long as it runs smoothly. They’re willing to turn a blind eye to us creeping in the shadows, cleaning up their messes, making their worst villains go away. Dollface, I think you fall in that category. I think you’re happy to be there. To pretend the director is the worst fate to befall us, but he’s not. Trust me. The Bureau is a powerful tool, and in the wrong hands, it will become a weapon against anyone the new director decides to punish.”
“The whole premise behind the Black Hats are we enforce justice.”
“Whose justice?” he demanded of me. “Whose orders do we follow to the letter or else?”
“We stop dangerous predators. We protect the paranormal community from discovery. We might not be doing the job out of the goodness of our hearts, but we put in the work.”
“I love you for your idealism,” Asa entered the conversation, “but Clay is right that it matters who runs the bureau. As bad as it is, it can get worse. Things can always get worse.”
“Parish isn’t walking away from this. Even if I trusted the director to slap him on the wrist, and I don’t, Dad won’t give him the chance. He’ll kill Parish for the insult to my mother.” I focused on Clay. “We need to anticipate what comes next. Who comes next. After Parish. Do you have anyone on the inside who’s in a position to snag the promotion?”
“No one in my pocket is that high in the organization, no.”
As persona non grata in the Bureau, I had no strings to pull that wouldn’t garrote me in the process.
Asa, who wasn’t in the habit of making friends or forging alliances, didn’t have anything to add either.
“One step at a time.” Asa massaged between my shoulders. “The director will recover. He always does. He’ll name a second. Things will go on as they have.”
“If you believe that, then why push back? Why agree with Clay?”
“He thinks you can do a better job than Parish. Or the director.” Clay made it sound obvious. “That’s why.”
“A dead bird in a cat’s belly could do better,” I argued. “That’s not saying much.”
“You care.” Asa made it sound obvious. “That alone qualifies you.”
“You want me chained behind a desk for the rest of my life?” I recoiled from the idea. “I’m not going to be the director, or the director’s pet. I don’t want that much power. I can’t handle it. It would corrupt me, and people would die.” Their endorsement terrified me. “I don’t want it.”
This much, Asa and I had in common. Ambitious families. Powerful fathers. And the weight of expectation that came along with it. As if either of us wanted to step into the roles we had rebelled against all our lives. As if either of us wanted to become the next director or the next high king. As if either of us owed our bloodlines for anything, let alone for being born and forced into the role of heir.
Goddess bless, what a mess.
The world was safer with the Bureau in it, I believed that, but could I stand in Dad’s path to preserve it?
Dad, who had spirited away my mother rather than work with me to release her.
Dad, who had stared a hole in my chest as if he could sense the nearness of the grimoire.
Dad, who was eager to fulfill his bargains and be done with a life he no longer wanted to live.
And Parish, that bastard, had handed Dad the perfect distraction to keep him off the director’s back.
A black witch, such as my father, had no afterlife ahead of him. Mom, on the other hand, as a white witch, would join Meg. Unless the fuzzy area of gray magic they practiced together blurred those edges too much one way or another for them both.
How far would Dad go to spend one more day, week, month, year with Mom?
And how would I convince him to ever let her go?