“Yeah,” I lamely added, not sure what else I should say.
Binx nodded, then abruptly peeled off from us lifting her nose into the air.
I followed the charred paths—you could kind of see the paths that had previously been marked out by woodchips as some blackened woodchips still dotted them.
April followed me, and we stopped when we reached a charred empty pedestal.
“This must have been where the statue that House Tellier donated was placed,” April said.
I nodded, then—remembering I needed to keep practicing—added a belated, “Yes.” I paused. “I didn’t know stone statues can burn.”
“Fire can damage some stone, but only if the fire gets hot enough.” April squatted down and frowned at the pedestal that gleamed with leftover rain. “The problem is that I don’t know if the fire was hot enough because how did the stone pedestal make it through?”
She’s right. If the fire was so hot that it burnt the statue to a crisp so nothing was left—unlikely—the pedestal would be gone, and I think everything except the bronze statues would have disintegrated.
Was the statue designed to burn? There’d be no point to that…unless it somehow started the fire? Why would House Tellier want to start a fire at the human library?
I watched April inspect the area as I attempted to sift through my disorganized thoughts. “Could the statue have started the fire?” I paused, trying to figure out a better way to phrase my question. “I mean, could…could the statue have been used to start the fire?”
“It’s possible.” April tapped the char marks on the pedestal stone. “Gail said it was hollow and there were obvious cracks in it. It’s possible they could have stuck a fae charm in it to set it off but I didn’t pick up any trace of fae magic at the fire, and I’m not feeling any now.”
“Couldn’t they have used wizard magic?” I asked. “If the statue was hollow, they could have manifested flames inside it, creating an oven of sorts.”
“Yeah,” April agreed. “It’d be easier since you’d be working in a smaller space. It would take a couple of wizards to pour enough magic in to get it hot enough to destroy the stone and burst out.”
Thinking back to the fire, I narrowed my eyes. “Would five wizards be enough to do it?”
April nodded. “Yep.”
How convenient that House Tellier had five wizards show up to put the fire out. But I still don’t get what they’d gain by starting and then putting out a fire.
They had to be working some kind of angle. Even if we ignored the fire, I’d witnessed some odd behavior from House Tellier wizards over the last few weeks.
My mind busy, my fingers automatically checked over my weapons, the pads of my gloved fingers tracing across my belt. “Do wizard Houses usually have a lot of money?”
CHAPTER
NINE
Jade
April stood up and wiped her hands off on the thighs of her navy-blue pants. “As a House? Not really. We all must pay some basic dues for house upkeep—for fixes and replacements around the House. The House can repurpose some things, but it still needs to be fed materials to do it, and sometimes professionals need to be brought in.”
“But…um.” I paused, then blurted out, “Are wizards rich?”
“No,” April said. “Why?”
“How did House Tellier have enough money for this?” I pointed to the empty pedestal.
April frowned. “I don’t know. But it was just a one-time thing…”
I shook my head. “Last month House Tellier also sponsored a fireworks display at the supernatural fall market. They’re throwing around money—for the sake of humans. I didn’t think as a House they particularly liked humans?”
“No.” April planted a hand on the ground.
The sensation of heat followed by ice brushed my mind—my mental impression of wizard magic—before April’s black wizard tattoo surfaced on her skin and blue fire wrapped around her fingertips.
“In general, wizards don’t hate humans—we’re too closely related to them for that,” April explained. “But House Tellier doesn’t really care for them—they’re more focused on wizards. They are obsessed with maintaining power despite magic dying out—that’s why they picked a fight with the Adept of my House years ago.”
“Ahhhh,” I said.
Magic was dying—all supernatural society knew it.
Fewer werewolves and even smaller numbers of vampires survived the transformation from human to supernatural. The fae realm was shrinking, and wizards’ magical power was dwindling more and more with each generation.