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.”
“I’m on it.” The man disconnected.
Josiah tossed the phone onto the desk and sat back, the fingers of one hand hooked over his mouth as he studied the image of the beautiful woman on his computer screen.
He had meticulously planned for so many contingencies, but he had not planned for this.
“You’re quite a complication, Molly Sullivan,” he murmured. “Now I have to figure out what to do about you.”
Chapter Two
Hours later, Molly had checked into a hotel suite and unpacked what she had stuffed into her suitcases, such as it was.
She hadn’t been as clear thinking as she’d thought. She had packed her toothbrush but hadn’t grabbed a tube of toothpaste. She had swept her cosmetics into a bag, but her facial cleanser had been sitting by her sink and she’d missed it.
She didn’t have the Xanax. She had packed a single shoe, not a pair, but at least she had the athletic sneakers she was wearing. And she had forgotten to grab any of her bras. She had her bathrobe, jeans and T-shirts, a light jacket, and a dove-gray two-piece suit to go with her single shoe.
At least she’d grabbed the most important things. She tossed the leather satchel full of the contents from the safe onto the table, unexamined. Then the fury that had propelled her forward ebbed, and her emotional landscape crashed.
A single comfort existed. It felt good to be somewhere Austin couldn’t find her, existing in the cool silence of a strange place. Temporary as it was, this was her space, and she finally felt like she could breathe again.
Calling the concierge desk, she requested an overnight bag of toiletries, then she called room service to order a dinner she didn’t think she could eat along with a bottle of wine that she had every intention of drinking.
After that, she wandered through the rooms, unable to sit or focus. She felt torn in two, as if the old Molly was starting to rip away from the person who now lived inside her skin, while bits and pieces of the scene at the party replayed in her head.
Jesus, she thought. The things we hurled at each other.
I am not a frigid bitch. I did not deserve any of this.
But Austin’s words had burrowed inside like poisonous worms, causing tissue damage in all her most vulnerable places, and as she looked out the window at the impenetrable night, the doubtful thoughts wouldn’t stop.
Did I really make him feel like he had to earn affection from me? she wondered. Did I really portion it out and make my love conditional, like my mom did with me? Or did he fire that salvo because he knew it was the one thing that would hurt the most?
Her breathing roughened, and tears burned at the back of her eyes until her attention snagged on the one anomaly from the whole debacle.
The vase. How had it broken? No one had been standing anywhere near it.
Why do I feel like… maybe I did that?
I’m not crazy. I’m not. Something came out of me. What was that indefinable, invisible thing?
And why did that man look at me with such a knowing expression? Russell called him Josiah. He must be the new DA. Why did he tip an imaginary hat to me? It’s almost as if he also knew I broke the vase. Which is patently impossible. Isn’t it?
She pressed her hands over her eyes, remembering the sparks of light at the edges of her sight and the burst of energy that had shot out of her body just before the vase crashed into a million irreparable pieces. Was she quite sure she wasn’t going crazy?
The angry hornet of her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Grabbing it, she checked the screen. There were many more texts and calls than before, and a low-battery warning that said she had less than ten percent power.
A power cord was another thing she hadn’t thought to grab. She made another call to the concierge desk. Then she sat, cupping the phone in her hands and staring into space until a knock sounded at her door and everything she had ordered arrived.
After eating a few bites of pasta and drinking most of the wine, she finally felt calm enough to shower and fall into bed. As soon as her head hit the pillow, she went out like a light.
After a formless darkness, she found herself in a kitchen.
It was large and Victorian, decorated with yellow-patterned tiles and pale green paint. Warm sunlight streamed through tall windows while, outside, someone was gardening. A man with shaggy blond hair walked by, carrying a rake over one broad shoulder.