“What other measures have you taken for my safety?” I asked.

“You know everything I’ve done.”

True.

“I didn’t do it to control you. I did it because you were vulnerable.”

“Did anyone attempt to purchase my mortgage from you?”

“Yes.”

True. “Who and when?”

“A boutique bank, yesterday. My people are tracking it down. We’ll know who’s behind it in the next twenty-four hours.”

I had a strong feeling it would lead back to House Montgomery. “Why do you care what happens to me, Rogan?”

“It amuses me.” Neither his voice, nor his face betrayed any delight.

“Really, Connor?” I turned and looked into his eyes. My magic licked him and liked the taste.

“If you do this to a member of a House, it’s a declaration of war,” he warned, his eyes dark. “Keep your magic to yourself.”

“Then answer the question so I don’t have to go to war with you.”

Rogan turned and walked away, leaving me standing wrapped in his jacket.

I pulled the jacket tighter around myself and looked back at the garden. If we had calculated correctly, Baranovsky would approach me.

Measured steps broke the silence behind me. Someone walked out onto the balcony and leaned on the rail next to me. I turned my head. Baranovsky looked at me with his remarkable eyes. In the hallway, the two bodyguards waited, far enough to not obviously intrude on the conversation but close enough to shoot me in the head and not miss. I pretended not to see them and turned back to the garden.

“Enjoying the brisk air?” Baranovsky asked.

“Yes,” I said. I wanted to babble to ease off the pressure, but the more we spoke, the less mysterious I would seem.

We stood in silence.

“A woman of few words,” he said. “A rarity.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “You’re too sophisticated for that remark.”

A self-deprecating smile stretched his lips. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re a collector. You value each item in your collection for its unique charm. A broad generalization, especially one so ham-fisted, would be out of character for a connoisseur.”

His eyes narrowed. He was looking at the bruise on my neck. “And you believe me to be one?”

“You had an affair with Elena de Trevino, a woman with perfect recall, who can reproduce every wrong thing you have ever said to her.”

“One could say every woman possesses such power.”

I shook my head. “No, we only remember things that emotionally wound us. Elena remembered everything.”

Baranovsky shook his head, smiling. “This is a dangerous conversation.”

“You’re right. You should save yourself and gracefully retreat.”

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice holding a note of wonder.

Got him. Now I just had to keep him. “And guest.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s how I was announced. And guest, one of many. Nameless, anonymous, here for one night, and then gone.”

“But hardly forgotten.”

I looked back at the garden.

“Do you know why I’m drawn to roses?” he asked.

“You like their thorns?” He couldn’t possibly be this lame.

“No. Each seedling is unique. Two seeds from the same cross, originating from the same two parent plants, will show variation in color, in the shape of petals, in the whorls themselves, even in how long the bloom will last.”

“See? A connoisseur of dangerous women and flowers with thorns.”

“You’re making fun of me,” he said, still smiling.

“Only a little.”

He offered me his arm. “Walk with me.”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re right—this conversation is too dangerous for you.”

“Should I be worried about Rogan?” A mischievous light sparked in his eyes. Gabriel Baranovsky liked walking a tight rope.

“You should be worried about me.” I gave him a sad smile and for once actually meant it. “I’m a monster of a different kind. I think some would prefer Rogan over me.”

“What do you do?”

Wouldn’t you like to know? “Do you miss Elena?”

“Yes.”

Truth. My magic wrapped him, saturating the air but not touching. I could almost sense the hesitation in his words, something he was trying to hide. His will was strong, but unlike Rogan’s steel-hard determination, Baranovsky seemed flexible. Almost pliant. I could try to nudge him toward the right answers. Not enough pressure to compel a direct reply, but just enough to keep him talking more than he would have otherwise. I had never done it before.

If he sensed my magic, he would have me killed. Baranovsky wasn’t a combat Prime, so he would rely on more conventional means of security and he would have a great deal of it, because currently his house was full of people who shot lightning from their fingertips and belched fire. I knew for sure there was one sniper in the window. There were likely to be more in the garden. If I grabbed him with my power and made him tell me what I wanted to know, I’d never make it out of this gala alive.

“We were more than lovers,” he said. “We were friends.”

“Does it bother you that she died?” I kept pushing, trying to stay subtle, but keeping him on the balcony with me.

He leaned back on the rail and let out a sigh. “It’s the way of our universe. A never-ending chain of cannibalism: the stronger prey on the weaker only to become prey in return. The only way to win the game is to not play.”

“Do you know why they killed her?”

“No.”

Lie. Outright, direct, bold lie. He knew.

“Did you know Elena?” he asked.

“No,” I told him. “I met her husband.”

I focused on him so completely my voice sounded like it was coming out of a stranger’s mouth.

“Ah.” He’d sunk a world of meaning into that one sound.

“Elena is dead. Someone has to pay for it,” I told him. My magic slid tighter around him.

His smile fled. “A bit of advice. Don’t go digging in that grave. I don’t know what hold you have on Montgomery and Rogan, but they won’t risk themselves for your sake.”

In my head, somehow, he was glowing, an almost silvery figure with a dark spot to one side of his silhouette, on the left side of his skull. He was hiding something in that spot and I needed to get at it. I was concentrating so hard my head threatened to burst.

“She came to see you before she died.”

“You know too much about this.” He was staring at me carefully.

Gently, delicately I pulled the noose of my magic around him, tethering him to me. I pushed him, steering his answers to the place I wanted him to go.

“Did she leave anything with you?”

The spot turned darker. Yes, yes she had. What could she have given him?

“A memento of your relationship, perhaps?” The vision of the freckled soldier tossing a USB drive out of the window flashed before me. “A USB drive containing documents meant to be released after her death?”