Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,27

around my ankles, the shadow hammed it up for a hit of sugar.

Careful to hide my actions from the others, I dropped the cup into the void to give him his treat.

“Remember this the next time I get thrown across the pavement,” I muttered, but he ignored me.

“Ford mentioned you have family visiting,” Lisbeth said shyly. “How do we keep them safe?”

That she offered without me asking meant a lot, but I had been wondering the same exact thing.

“They’re here to view an art installation.” I waved an absent hand. “Addie can tell us which one.”

The reminder I didn’t know, that I hadn’t even asked, burned me with shame. Once Addie confirmed my mother’s interest, some internal switch flipped in my head, and I ceased to care. It was callous and thoughtless to pin the outcome of the whole trip on Addie, and she deserved better from me.

Matron Pritchard was a stone around her neck, and I had to teach her how to swim before she drowned.

“A new Dale Chihuly at the botanical garden is my guess,” Anca said. “It’s the latest big draw.”

“Can they do that safely?” I pulled on my bottom lip. “Or is it too risky?”

An outdoors location would provide them with some protection. The crowd and media coverage of an opening night would also go a long way toward insulating them. Then again, the coven had proven they were willing to take out innocent bystanders to hit their target. They might not mind if their efforts landed them on the news. But would they act if I wasn’t in attendance? That was the real question.

After flicking a brief on the event on the screen for us, Reece declared, “The risk level is moderate.”

“So far the coven is targeting you.” Bishop rolled his neck. “They have eyes on you. Or ears. Or both.”

“A compromised enforcer makes sense,” Anca murmured. “Who else has that level of access to you?”

The thread of suspicion winding through my chest as she cast blame onto the pack made me ill. I hated what the coven was doing to us, making us doubt one another. They were tearing us apart from the inside, whether they had infiltrated us or not.

Leaving the kit with Bishop after I tested him ripped out my heart and stomped it flat as a pancake. I had trust issues aplenty. I didn’t need the coven pouring more insidious whispers in my ears. I tasted acid in the back of my throat when I ordered him to test the others. Worse, I had the gall to be grateful Bishop had to handle it since I didn’t know who they were or how to find them.

“Midas, Remy, and you guys are my social circle.” I leaned against the wall. “Tisdale could find out what I have on my schedule through Midas, but the only danger there is her penciling in more family dinners.” I thought about it. “That’s about it. I don’t get into the day-to-day with Boaz or Addie. I don’t much talk to anyone else.”

As far as social circles go, mine was small and slow to expand, but I trusted everyone in it. Or I had, before all this.

“We zeroed in on that glint you mentioned.” Bishop tapped a few keys and shared a short burst of footage with us. “Looks almost like a flashbang on its lowest setting.” He mashed his lips together. “The kind the pack uses.”

“Greaaat.”

Those tiny suckers, about the size of a scuppernong, were made for the pack by local witches. They were more flash than bang, unless you were gwyllgi. The high-pitched wail emitted upon detonation was outside of necromantic hearing, which explained why I had focused on the sight and not the sound it made. That would also explain the way Ambrose reacted to it. The magical burst had piqued his interest or appetite.

Urgent vibrations in my pocket reminded me I had muted my phone before our meeting.

The number belonged to Midas, and I ducked into the kitchen to answer. “Sorry I left without—”

“Claudia was killed last night.”

The words landed like bricks between us, and I smarted from the impact. “What?”

The outburst drew the team’s attention, and I tucked myself deeper into a corner to avoid their eyes and ears.

“A challenger took advantage of her grief. They fought, and she lost. Cameras caught all of it.”

“Two-thirds of their pack gets incinerated,” I snarled, “and they blame her?”

“Hadley—”

“I was the target.” I punched the nearest wall. “This was my fault. It wasn’t hers. How