Alecto said she was a thief.”
Cora refilled their glasses. “Losing your wings is the worst punishment we have. It’s reserved for very serious crimes. But anything that puts our working relationship with humans in jeopardy qualifies. Like I said, we can’t be seen as criminals who hex people wrongly. It has to be justice. Our livelihood depends on that image.”
Thea scowled. “Not to mention it’s just the right thing to do.”
Cora waved that away. “Of course,” she said, but it didn’t sound like it was a very big concern for her.
Thea set down her glass and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Well, Graves is trying to cover something up.”
“Yeah, I guess he must be. But why?”
Thea hesitated, but she’d told Cora so much already. She might as well tell her about the visions, that horrible circus. Slightly lightheaded from the wine, she even took out The Book of Flower Friends .
“So you’re psychic.” Cora didn’t seem grossed out by the old book. On the contrary, she ran a finger lightly over the blood stains. “That makes sense. We already knew you had heightened senses for certain things.”
“My mother thought it was the work of the devil.” Thea shrugged. “But the point is, I’ve never known anything I’ve seen to be wrong.”
“Well, it’s at least a little wrong. Your cousin’s obviously not off somewhere with the dead balloon girl.”
“But she might think she is. Nightmares. Hallucinations. Maybe they’ve drugged her. I don’t know.” Thea divided the last of the wine between their glasses. “But whatever it is, you’ve just confirmed that Graves has been lying to me about Flannery this whole time. And about who knows what else.”
“So, confront him.”
Thea smiled. Typical fury, wanting to rush in with the most aggressive plan possible. But Thea wasn’t a full fury yet, and she didn’t yet have a fury’s fearlessness. Or recklessness. She looked at Cora and shook her head.
“It’s not like he’s just going to give me the truth for the asking. Tipping him off that I’m onto him can only hurt me. Flannery isn’t the only one in danger.”
Cora reached for Thea’s arm. The scratch wasn’t scabbed over anymore, but it had left a thin red scar behind. “This is healing up okay. You think this was Graves and not Philip?”
Thea raised an eyebrow. “You’re conceding it was someone besides me?”
Cora sighed. “Your take on it seemed far-fetched. But now…”
“Now I’m suggesting there’s a conspiracy to cover some unknown crime, and that seems like a better story than Philip just being an asshole?”
“Actually, yes. Someone trying to cover their tracks might be more willing to risk a serious offense, versus someone who just doesn’t like you.”
“A serious offense like what?” Thea traced the scar with her finger. “If they wanted to kill me, they could have done it while I was sleeping. What were they doing to me? And why did Graves want me so badly? And what did he do to Flannery?”
“All very good questions,” Cora said. “I have no idea, but I guess we’d better figure it all out.”
“And quietly,” said Thea with a sigh. “Before they decide it’d be easier to just kill me, after all.”
“Your target is Gregory ‘Greggy’ Rockwell, a forty-two-year-old white male.” The head of Infliction, a grim, gray-haired fury called Persephone, clicked a key on her laptop and a picture came up on the conference room screen.
Thea had been afraid that Alecto was right, and she might be too soft-hearted to hex anyone. But as she took in the broad, fake smile, the square chin, she thought it might not be that bad. Gregory Rockwell reminded her of Baird.
“He’s being hexed with honesty, as punishment for the sin of falseness,” Persephone went on. “He’s conned several elderly people out of their retirement funds. One of them committed suicide. It was her niece who hired us. Apparently he managed to escape official
Cora refilled their glasses. “Losing your wings is the worst punishment we have. It’s reserved for very serious crimes. But anything that puts our working relationship with humans in jeopardy qualifies. Like I said, we can’t be seen as criminals who hex people wrongly. It has to be justice. Our livelihood depends on that image.”
Thea scowled. “Not to mention it’s just the right thing to do.”
Cora waved that away. “Of course,” she said, but it didn’t sound like it was a very big concern for her.
Thea set down her glass and leaned back, staring at the ceiling. “Well, Graves is trying to cover something up.”
“Yeah, I guess he must be. But why?”
Thea hesitated, but she’d told Cora so much already. She might as well tell her about the visions, that horrible circus. Slightly lightheaded from the wine, she even took out The Book of Flower Friends .
“So you’re psychic.” Cora didn’t seem grossed out by the old book. On the contrary, she ran a finger lightly over the blood stains. “That makes sense. We already knew you had heightened senses for certain things.”
“My mother thought it was the work of the devil.” Thea shrugged. “But the point is, I’ve never known anything I’ve seen to be wrong.”
“Well, it’s at least a little wrong. Your cousin’s obviously not off somewhere with the dead balloon girl.”
“But she might think she is. Nightmares. Hallucinations. Maybe they’ve drugged her. I don’t know.” Thea divided the last of the wine between their glasses. “But whatever it is, you’ve just confirmed that Graves has been lying to me about Flannery this whole time. And about who knows what else.”
“So, confront him.”
Thea smiled. Typical fury, wanting to rush in with the most aggressive plan possible. But Thea wasn’t a full fury yet, and she didn’t yet have a fury’s fearlessness. Or recklessness. She looked at Cora and shook her head.
“It’s not like he’s just going to give me the truth for the asking. Tipping him off that I’m onto him can only hurt me. Flannery isn’t the only one in danger.”
Cora reached for Thea’s arm. The scratch wasn’t scabbed over anymore, but it had left a thin red scar behind. “This is healing up okay. You think this was Graves and not Philip?”
Thea raised an eyebrow. “You’re conceding it was someone besides me?”
Cora sighed. “Your take on it seemed far-fetched. But now…”
“Now I’m suggesting there’s a conspiracy to cover some unknown crime, and that seems like a better story than Philip just being an asshole?”
“Actually, yes. Someone trying to cover their tracks might be more willing to risk a serious offense, versus someone who just doesn’t like you.”
“A serious offense like what?” Thea traced the scar with her finger. “If they wanted to kill me, they could have done it while I was sleeping. What were they doing to me? And why did Graves want me so badly? And what did he do to Flannery?”
“All very good questions,” Cora said. “I have no idea, but I guess we’d better figure it all out.”
“And quietly,” said Thea with a sigh. “Before they decide it’d be easier to just kill me, after all.”
“Your target is Gregory ‘Greggy’ Rockwell, a forty-two-year-old white male.” The head of Infliction, a grim, gray-haired fury called Persephone, clicked a key on her laptop and a picture came up on the conference room screen.
Thea had been afraid that Alecto was right, and she might be too soft-hearted to hex anyone. But as she took in the broad, fake smile, the square chin, she thought it might not be that bad. Gregory Rockwell reminded her of Baird.
“He’s being hexed with honesty, as punishment for the sin of falseness,” Persephone went on. “He’s conned several elderly people out of their retirement funds. One of them committed suicide. It was her niece who hired us. Apparently he managed to escape official
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