Magical Midlife Battle （Leveling Up, #8）(69)

He’d explained his worry that Kingsley wouldn’t agree to the means necessary to extract information from the mage. A worry Austin had shared. Given they sorely needed the information, Tristan had known something needed to be done.

That something had presented itself in the midnight hours, it seemed, when the mage had awoken in a sort of fever dream. Since his pulse had beaten strongly, and he hadn’t seemed in any danger of

dying, Tristan had leaned on him with his nightmare magic. All the information about Momar had come tumbling out, including the reports he’d sent in to his boss. Mutterings, mostly, but coherent enough to be incredibly useful.

In the end, however, Tristan’s magic had proven too powerful—he’d pushed too hard, and it had pulled the mage under.

This was all told to Austin with infallible confidence. Tristan’s body language corroborated his story perfectly, relaying the facts and omitting nothing.

Kingsley would have believed it easily.

Austin wasn’t Kingsley.

Austin had lived a rougher life than his brother. He’d learned not to take things at face value, an education he’d paid for dearly many times over.

Tristan’s story had been wrapped up just a little too perfectly. Taking the blame was the nice bow on top. Jess would be absolved of any guilt, Nessa and Sebastian wouldn’t have to take matters into their own hands to protect Sebastian’s slip-up, and Austin didn’t have to go against Kingsley’s wishes or admit he’d lost control of his people. All while they gained incredibly necessary information and rid themselves of the source. A perfect end to a flawlessly executed subterfuge.

He hadn’t pushed, because the result had been necessary, but he wouldn’t forget the little inconsistencies. Like the mage’s voice, raw and rough at the end, an effect that usually resulted from intense and consistent screaming. Or the strange smell, like some sort of chemical, that had hovered around the mage’s face. Or the fact that Tristan had seemed a little too knowledgeable about how Momar would react to learning Elliot Graves was working with Jess.

Austin also couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been omitted regarding Tristan’s magic.

He struggled to believe so much information had been extracted with nothing but his swirling nightmare power, especially if the mage had been screaming （and, if so, why had no one heard that?）。

There had to be more to the story.

That gargoyle had secrets, and he wasn’t keen on sharing.

Austin wasn’t the type of leader to turn a blind eye.

For now, though, they had the information they needed about that mage’s dealings with Momar.

Austin trusted Tristan enough to believe in that. Anything else was peripheral at the moment. When the time came, he felt sure Niamh would love to help sort it all out.

“A reminder,” he told Tristan, “to keep your expression neutral through this meeting. It’s what they expect. Otherwise they might think you’re taunting them. We don’t need any more tension.”

“Yes, sir.”

“When the unexpected happens—not if, when—roll with it. There’s no telling how Kingsley’s people are going to react to Jess’s people, but I assume it won’t be rationally.”

“No problem, sir,” Tristan said, watching Kingsley’s people walk toward them in two orderly rows with Kingsley at the pinnacle. “Having been on the other end of that, it’ll be nice to watch the fireworks this time.”

“Funny. That’s what Niamh always says.” Austin walked down his line of people, all shifters, with Brochan at their head.

His beta stood the way he always did, spine straight and shoulders back, head high, gaze just a fraction lower than straight on. His posturing was just shy of alpha. Dangerously shy, it seemed, judging by how Kingsley bristled and his people coiled with tension.

Brochan’s status had never bothered Austin. They knew where each other stood, and the beta was appropriately respectful. If Kingsley and his enforcers were worried about their inability to challenge

Brochan and win, that was their problem. Austin would not cut the legs out from under his people to ensure others stood taller, not even for his brother.

It was a wonder, though, why they hadn’t had the same reaction to Tristan, who was just as mighty in battle as Brochan—maybe even more so, depending on those secrets he was hiding. Too different, maybe. Unable to properly size him up. Or maybe it came down to the fact that he always looked like he was wearing a cape.

“Austin.” Kingsley stopped in front of him.

“Alpha.” Austin bent his head in greeting.

Kingsley’s gaze roamed over the people Austin had brought and then over Jess’s crew, settling on the cooler at Niamh’s feet and the doily-wrapped can in her hand.

“Is that alcohol?” he asked, unable to hide how mystified he was.

“Champagne.” Niamh hoisted it up. “I found it in the corner store near the hotel. They didn’t have any proper black tae, so I figured this would do the trick. Fierce handy, putting it in a can like this.”

“It’s nine o’clock,” Kingsley said.

“Yeah. That’s why I’m drinking champagne.” She said it like duh. “It’s a perfectly respectable drink for the morning. Like a mimosa, but without the orange juice.”

Kingsley stared at her for a moment, then at Austin. Without a word, he passed into the building, his people following.