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Kierse knew it was a valid question. But she couldn’t help thinking about what monsters had done to her world. Shattering New York City into a million pieces and making every interaction ten times more difficult. Sure, she had monster friends now, and monsters she worked with. They weren’t all the same. It was just hard to shake the burning hatred she felt toward the monsters that had stolen Torra.
“You’re helping the very things that ruined our healthcare system. Not to mention killed millions.”
“Since you are working for a monster currently, I will assume that you are not naive enough to believe that it’s entirely black and white.”
“No,” Kierse said tersely. “There are just as many bad humans as there are good.”
“And just as many bad monsters as good.” Dr. Mafi’s pointed look toward the door said much of what side she thought Graves belonged on.
But before she could say anything else, Graves barged back into the room. “All through?”
“All through,” Dr. Mafi said with a wide, unassuming smile. “Girl talk out of the way, right, Kierse?” She winked at her.
Kierse managed a smile. “Indeed.”
“Okay. Then let’s get started,” Dr. Mafi said.
Kierse was there for another hour, giving samples to Dr. Mafi. It ended up being a whole lot more than a cheek swab to run her DNA. Apparently, warlock DNA sequencing was notoriously wily. Something about the changes in proteins or amino acids. She wasn’t entirely sure. Something to do with the genetic mutation, and her basic knowledge of biology hadn’t helped the matter.
“We’ll have results in a week or two,” Dr. Mafi said. “I’ll call to let you know what I find out.”
She and Graves were silent as they stalked back to the waiting limo. Kierse had a million questions rushing through her mind. Despite Dr. Mafi’s warning still ringing in her ears, she couldn’t keep quiet.
“So, how do you know Dr. Mafi?”
He sighed, waiting to respond until they were seated in the limo. “We were involved before she completed her medical degree.”
“Oh,” she said. “What happened?”
“She left.” He cracked open his book, going frigid. “They always leave.”
Chapter Eighteen
“I’m off to training,” Kierse said as they pulled back through to the tunnel that led to his house. “What’s your plan?”
Graves remained entrenched in his book. “I need to get to work.”
She tried to read over his shoulder, but he tugged the book away.
“What exactly do you do for a living? Why do you need to work?”
“I trade in the most powerful resource of all.”
She shot him a skeptical look. “Money?”
“Knowledge,” he said, gesturing to the book. “And there are things I need to learn tonight.”
“You’re a spy?”
He laughed, and it was with genuine surprise. “Not for many years.” He closed the book and met her expression as he continued. “I make it my business to know everything that I can about everyone of importance. I use that knowledge to get the things that I want and to sway the course of history.”
She met his gaze. “You make it sound like blackmail.”
“Sometimes,” he said without mirth.
“Oh.” She nodded as if that made sense.
He weighed her reaction. “You don’t seem surprised.”
“Should I? I make my living as a thief. You use people and information to get what you want.”
“Are you saying we’re much the same?”
She laughed. “Hardly.”
“Perhaps we’re more alike than you think.”
She waited for him to say more, but he said nothing. They were just walking around in circles. Every time she felt like she was cracking the surface of who he was, he switched up just as easily as she did.
Dr. Mafi’s warning still rang through her mind. It wouldn’t change anything about Kierse’s plan. She had one objective, one job. She would complete it. But the interaction had made her restless. This was the longest she had gone in years without seeing her friends, and already she missed them. She missed having Gen and Ethan and Corey around. She missed returning to a chastising Colette. She missed home.
When George finally stopped the car, she didn’t wait for him to come around to the back and release her. She just opened the door and stepped out.
“Good luck with work,” she told Graves as she made for the elevator.
She trekked up to the training facility and headed inside to find Edgar waiting for her. When he finished kicking her ass, she barely had enough time to read a story in the new book Graves had left for her while she scarfed down dinner impeccably prepared by Isolde before face-planting into bed.
The next day was the same—train, read, eat, repeat. Until her muscles ached and her head hurt and she wondered if Graves was torturing her.
On the fourth day of training, she stepped, bleary-eyed, into the training facility and froze.
Graves stood facing the weapons rack. His suit coat was discarded against the bench. The crisp white button-up’s sleeves had been rolled to three-quarters, revealing stretches of ivy-tattooed forearms. The corded muscles that the slivers of skin revealed made her swallow. His face was in profile, and the proud jut of his chin and sharp lines of his cheekbones caught the light. He was a Renaissance sculpture come to life.
