Bring It On. Laura Anne GilmanЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Tea and biscuits were served out by a young Filipina girl with large dark eyes and delicate hands, in a sitting room filled with light and pastel watercolors hanging in too-close profusion on the walls. Working with the owner of an art gallery might not have changed Wren’s tastes much, but she had learned to recognize good presentation, and that wasn’t it.

      “I still don’t understand quite how things went wrong.” The target shook her head, the soft waves falling just so around her face, so carefully made-up her features appeared completely natural in the muted sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. The room itself was larger than Wren’s entire apartment. “It’s as though Anna overnight became a different person. The sweet, loving girl I knew became shrill, coarse, accusing me of trying to cut her out, of stealing…. Anything of her mother’s was hers, of course. That had been established long ago, before her father even fell ill.”

      Fell ill, Wren noted. Not died, or Anna’s blunt “was murdered.”

      Melanie continued, holding her teacup in her hand and staring down into the oolong-scented liquid as though her script was printed there. “But the necklace was a gift, from her father to me. Anna refused to accept that.”

      Melanie’s confusion over her stepdaughter’s attitude seemed real. But Wren knew that the Push could be used on Talents, too, and if the older woman were better at it than she, Wren wouldn’t be able to tell. That was always the risk; you could use your skills on a fellow Talent, and maybe they wouldn’t realize it…and maybe they would. Wren preferred to fly under the radar, depending on defensive skills rather than offensive ones. The current keeping her appearance intact was subtle, so subtle almost as to not register, according to Neezer, back when he was first teaching her, and she’d only gotten better at it in the decade-plus since then. But Melanie was older, had been practicing longer, and so Wren couldn’t take any emotional response at face value.

      “She seemed so certain,” Wren said, picking out a flaky-delicate butter cookie and biting into it with relish, wishing for a mug of coffee to dunk it into. That would probably give the maid a heart attack, if not Melanie. “May I ask…why not just give it to her, if it’s so important? Forgive me if I intrude, but it seemed not a particularly valuable piece…”

      Melanie’s face twisted for just an instant, those lovely well-bred features showing an unpleasant cast before returning to their socially acceptable sweetness. Something Wren had just said struck home, hard. “Valuable? Not in the way most would think of it, no. But it has certain…properties that make it better to remain in my possession.”

      Mmm. Wren hadn’t even blinked when the target’s expression changed, but she had filed the moment down for later contemplation. Properties, huh? There was something going on there, something more than just sentimental—or even financial—value. Wren suspected suddenly that she was being played. She hated being played.

      “I see,” she replied, in a voice that said clearly that she was merely being polite. There were a handful of pointed questions Wren would have loved to have asked, but from the tone in Melanie’s voice when she said the last, the Retriever didn’t think she was going to get anything more out of her, no matter what the “legal mediator” might have to say.

      “Well, still, this has been useful, indeed. Knowing where you’re coming from? Helps me help my client understand, too. And maybe we can all get out of this without too much more upset?”

      “That would be lovely,” Melanie said with evident relief. “I miss my stepdaughter, Jenny. I truly do.”

      Wren believed her. But she also believed that the woman was not going to give up the necklace, not to Anna, not to anyone. There was something going on that was not sitting well with the sweetness and light and perfectly blended family pose she was giving off.

      So. Back to plan the first. Retrieval, the old-fashioned way.

      “Miss Melanie?” The maid was back, her serene expression broken by a frown. “Miss Anna. She’s…here.”

      Damn it. Wren thought, struggling to not be thrown totally out of character by this new and extremely unwelcome news. Thankfully Miss Melanie seemed almost as disturbed, and for a moment Wren hoped the older woman would simply refuse to allow the girl access. But that, apparently, wasn’t stepmomma’s way.

      “Mel, you bitch! I can’t believe you changed the—” Anna stormed in, then stopped, taken aback to see Wren sitting there.

      “Anna, honey.” Wren stood, hoping that by taking the lead she could get them both out of there without further incident. “If you were going to hire me to talk to your stepmomma, you’ve got to let me talk to your stepmomma, no?”

      Anna was upset, not stupid. “I hired you before I knew what she was doing. This is my home, too, you old witch, and you can’t keep me out!”

      She turned to Wren, her lovely eyes glittering with tears. Wren couldn’t tell if they were of sadness, rage, or something in-between.

      “She used her magic on the doors! The one thing Daddy would never ever let her do, and the moment he’s gone…”

      “Anna!” Melanie appeared flustered beyond measure, and for a moment Wren couldn’t understand why. Oh. Right. Me not knowing. The last thing Wren wanted was to be outed as a Talent, so she headed that one off at the pass, as best she could.

      “Anna, sweetheart, I think you’re a little overemotional.” She placed one hand on the girl’s elbow, just below where her lacy little sleeve ended, expecting to be shaken off, but Anna let the hand remain there long enough for Wren to exert a very specific Push to make Anna trust her. God, she hated doing that. It made her feel dirty. “Why don’t we just go sit down together, and Melanie and I can—”

      Damn. Too much Push.

      Because Anna turned on her then, irate as a betrayed lover. “You and Mel, huh? Since when has it been you and Mel? Take my money, say you’ll help me, and suddenly she’s got your ear and it’s all ‘cozy on the sofa’?” The anger pouring off her was so palpable, Wren and Melanie both took a step back. Anna might be a Null, but by God, she could project!

      “Anna, you’re being a foolish child.”

      Melanie’s voice had gone sharp and hard, exactly like the parent of a five-year-old pushed to the final limit, and Wren could hear the train alarms ringing, signaling blood about to hit the tracks.

      Right. She was out of there. The maid could do cleanup. She was a Retriever, not a referee.

      “Child? I’m a child? I’m more woman than you could ever be, relying on your tricks and toys.”

      “You ungrateful little…”

      “Go on, say it.” Anna taunted her stepmother, moving farther into the room. “You always wanted to call me that. I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t Talented enough. Too bad you didn’t manage to pop out any real kids, make my daddy forget all about me.”

      Oh God, yeah. Wren was out of there. Now.

      “Don’t mind me, I’ll let myself out,” she said to the maid, who looked like she wanted to join her, and backed out of the apartment, deciding to take the stairs rather than risk waiting around for the elevator. She’d rather face a twisted ankle than be in the vicinity of those two another moment.