Dark Heart of Magic by Jennifer Estep Read Free Book Online Page A

built vacation and other homes up here to take advantage of the sweeping views. Your mansion’s size and location on the mountain was a status symbol that let all your neighbors know how much money, magic, and power you had. Bigger and higher were better. Naturally.
    But the mansions quickly thinned out and disappeared, replaced by thick stone walls set with closed iron gates that led into the compounds of the various Families. Guards wearing boots, cloaks, hats, and swords patrolled behind the walls and gates, and thick screens of pine trees hid most of the compounds from view. Towers soared up out of the greenery, all of them topped with colorful flags bearing the crests of the different Families, including a wolf’s head for the Volkovs and a cluster of purple wisteria flowers for the Itos.
    Finally, we reached the Sinclair Family compound. The gates opened at our approach, and Devon steered through them, over a bridge, and along a circular driveway. An enormous mansion made out of black stone rose up in front of us—a rough, blocky structure that looked as if it had been carved out of the side of the mountain itself. Balconies, patios, and walkways fronted much of the sprawling, seven-story structure, swooping from one floor to the next, while several sections rose up and formed actual towers, just like at the other Family compounds.
    The Sinclair mansion was the highest structure on Cloudburst Mountain, so close to the top that the thick clouds that rimmed the peak year-round would often sink down into the trees and cloak the grounds at night. The white fog was actually mist that continually drifted up from the dozens of waterfalls tumbling down the mountain’s rocky ridges. Given that it was late afternoon, the sun was keeping the worst of the fog away; although the clouds were close enough to kiss the black flags on the tops of the towers.
    Devon parked the SUV next to the mansion’s main entrance. We’d barely gotten out of the vehicle when an older man with snow-white hair strode out the front door and stopped in the driveway, his stance as stiff and crisp as his three-piece black tweed suit.
    William Reginald eyed the three of us and our persimmon-spattered clothes, his nose twitching with obvious distaste. “I take it that things didn’t go so well with the tree troll?” an English accent colored his voice, making him sound exactly like the butler he was.
    Being a Family butler involved a lot more than supervising the cooking and cleaning. Reginald basically ran the mansion, overseeing the day-to-day operations of everything from the kitchen and cleaning staff to the groundskeepers to who got admitted inside the compound to talk business with the Sinclair higher-ups. Butler was one of the three most important positions in the Family—along with the bruiser and broker—making Reginald equal to Devon in terms of power.
    Felix threw his arm around Devon’s shoulder, making bits of persimmon slide off both their T-shirts. “Oh, it went just fine and dandy. Can’t you tell?”
    Reginald sniffed, clearly not amused. “Very well. Off with the lot of you. I will see about cleaning up this . . . mess.” He pointed his finger at us in a warning. “And don’t you dare touch or sit on anything in those clothes.”
    He waited until we’d all nodded our agreement before turning back to the vehicle. Reginald peered through the window into the backseat and grimaced, as though it physically pained him to see all the red stains on the leather.
    We left Reginald standing by the vehicle, muttering about cleaning solutions. Devon opened the front door, and he, Felix, and I headed inside.
    The outside of the mansion might be black, blocky stone, but the inside was white, airy elegance. Everything glimmered, from the white marble floors to the flecks of gold, silver, and bronze that swirled through the painted walls to the crystal chandeliers that dripped