he held on like an octopus gripping with all tentacles.
In the end, however, he didn’t hold a candle to Josiah’s force of will. After finally extricating himself, Josiah drove swiftly, taking a circuitous route as his mind filled with images from the wrecked dinner party, like lurid snapshots of a crime scene.
The district attorney had a two-bedroom loft apartment in an upscale building near downtown Atlanta, and it was filled with carefully curated items. Josiah also owned an old four-bedroom, two-story house outside the city limits that he had bought under a different identity, and that was where he drove now.
The house was located down a quiet country lane that dead-ended at the property. It had a three-quarter-acre yard that bordered a large farm field and a patch of old-growth woods. The isolation and privacy suited him.
This place, too, had carefully curated furniture—just enough arranged at the front window so that the house looked occupied when the blinds were up. Aside from a few lamps that were scattered throughout the rooms and set to operate on timers, most of the house was empty.
Except for the basement.
Pulling into the driveway, he mentally checked the subtle magical spells that he had woven around the perimeter of the property. Nothing had been disturbed. Still, he didn’t relax until he had let himself inside and walked through the house to inspect it visually. Only then did he descend the old, bare-wood stairs into the basement.
Months of planning and work had gone into this space. When he had bought the house, there had been a utilitarian bathroom and a large game room in the basement. Now there were two finished rooms, with more protection and obscuring spells layered over the floors, walls, and ceiling and anchored into place by runes made of magic-sensitive silver.
The earth itself was another layer of protection and concealment. You could do a lot of magic in a basement before it began to leak out and became potentially noticeable to outside observers.
This was his real base of operations. One room held a bed that was large enough to be comfortable for his tall frame, a closet filled with clothes, a nightstand, and a bedside lamp.
The other room was larger. At one end it held three computers, several phones, and a monitor for the extensive security system he had installed. The other end held magical paraphernalia—all his current tools—along with a large floor safe that held the more dangerous items. He always locked the safe and the door to the room before he left.
There were two ways to enter or exit the basement. One was the obvious way, by using the old stairs that led up to the large empty kitchen. Josiah had created the other way, which was part of the reason it had taken so long to adapt the space to suit his needs.
After chiseling out a hole in the concrete wall of the basement, he had patiently dug a tunnel that came out under the cover of the thick tangle of old-growth forest behind the house. No one in the basement was going to get trapped in an underground space if he could avoid it.
He owned still other properties in other areas that he had bought under yet other names. Many of those properties had undergone similar adaptations, but none of them were relevant to his current persona as Josiah Mason.
Sitting in front of one of the computers, he conducted an internet search on Molly Sullivan and scrolled through local news articles and photos. Most of the hits were from society pages or charities.
She was right—she was the perfect wife, especially for a law partner at a high-profile firm. At least on the surface. In the photos she was cool, elegant, and composed, completely unlike the haggard, angry woman who had confronted Austin with such steely determination.
He picked up one of the phones and punched a number set on speed dial. When the person on the other end picked up, he said, “Change of plans.”
“Okay,” the man said. “What’s up?”
“Build a file on a woman named Molly Sullivan. Blond, blue eyes, five ten or so, between thirty-five and forty-five, wife to Austin Sullivan from Sherman & Associates.” At least for now. “Dig into her past and her known associates, but most especially, find out where she lands tonight. She left her husband after a messy, public confrontation at the party I attended. I want to know where she goes and what she does next.”