Wildfire (Hidden Legacy, #3)

by Ilona Andrews

I had been hugged by a giant, superintelligent, pacifist bear. I could do this. I could do anything.

Vincent rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe I have to say this. You there, dashing male secretary! Drop the frying pan.”

You’re like spring, Nevada. My spring.”

His tentacles moved, caught my hand, and released. He stared at the cooler in my other hand. “No.” Zeus blinked his mahogany eyelashes. “No. You can’t have it.” He opened his mouth—it split and it just kept going and going—and licked his lips. “Absolutely not.”

“Can I give him cheese?” “I do believe he’s a mammal, so yes.” I tore several cheese sticks off the block, came back to my seat, opened one, and offered it to Zeus. He pondered the cheese for a long moment and opened his mouth. I deposited the stick into it. Zeus chewed thoughtfully.

The arcane tiger nudged me. I fed another stick to Zeus.

I gave the last stick to the tiger-hound and wiped my hands against each other to show him that I was out.

Zeus seized this opportunity to thrust himself in the space I vacated and give Garen a once-over. Garen froze in place. “Ignore him.” I nudged Zeus with my hip. He refused to budge. “He’s a recent rescue. We haven’t had a chance to train him. He isn’t used to strangers.” What the hell was coming out of my mouth? “Houston animal shelter?” Garen asked, a little spark in his eyes. “No. A summoner House, actually. Go see Cornelius.” The massive beast twitched his ears. “Zeus,” Cornelius called. The tiger-hound turned and hurried into the conference room with liquid grace. Garen stepped inside. I shut the front door and led him to my office. Sooner or later someone would

“You give me my bus back, and I’ll think about dropping the contract.” “No, that’s my bus. I earned it fair and square.”

“No, it’s human nature. Shaffer is a professional interrogator. But so am I.” I gave Bug my best reassuring smile. “I can see into your brain, Bug. I know what makes you tick.” He shuddered. “Don’t do that.” Bern laughed in his chair. Rogan remained stoic. Still no dice.

The door swung open, revealing Catalina. She stabbed her finger at Arabella. “Stay out of my business, you little psycho. You too, Matilda.” She slammed the door shut. Matilda looked at the door, looked at me, and laughed like little silver bells ringing.

981/8= She pointed at the last one with the chalk, turned, and looked at the Keeper. “Do your best,” the Keeper said. Arabella heaved a sigh. The first one gave her no trouble, although at some point she counted on her clawed fingers. The second she solved in seconds. The third . . . “It’s baby math,” Catalina growled. “I could do this in my sleep in second grade.” Arabella ran out of blackboard space, crouched, and began dividing on the floor. “This is what we get for teaching them Common Core,” one of the arbiters said. “There is nothing wrong with Common Core,” someone else said. Arabella wrote, “This sucks!” on the floor and kept dividing. Finally, she stood up, wrote 124 on the board, and glared at the Keeper. Catalina slapped her hand over her face. “I say we take it,” Linus said. “Otherwise we might be here all night.”