“Good afternoon.”
I walked through the metal detector and kept going to the stainless-steel elevator doors. Cornelius and Leon followed me. We took the elevator to the 17th floor. The double doors whispered open to glossy indigo floors and whiter walls. To the left lay a waiting area, tinted by the light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling wall of blue glass. Directly in front of us Lina sat at the reception desk. Today her hair was a rich purple and twisted into a conservative slick bun, contrasting nicely with her deep bronze skin and blue eyes. She wore an impeccably tailored olive-green sheath dress, which, combined with her hair, made her look like a stalk of flowering lavender.
“He’s expecting you,” she said.
I nodded and turned right at her desk, trailing the curving white wall. Behind me Lina asked, “Can I get you some refreshments, gentlemen?”
“Could I trouble you for some grapes?” Cornelius asked. “For the monkey.”
“We can get her all the grapes ever, because she is so adorable, yes, she is,” Lina cooed.
Walking through Augustine’s domain was like swimming underwater. The entire left wall was cobalt glass, two floors high, the city distant and remote behind it. The blue light colored the pale floor and walls, the pattern within the glass creating a perfect illusion of sunlight fracturing on the surface of water. It was its own little world, away from everything, soothing and calm, and I treasured the few moments I had to enjoy it.
I was about to expose my official status to Augustine. There would be no turning back from it.
Ahead a wall of frosted glass blocked the way. When Augustine wanted to impress, he projected his magic onto it, painting it with shifting patterns like frost growing on a window. But I had been to his office before and he felt no need to impress me. The wall remained beautiful but mundane. And solid. Augustine must’ve been wrapping up some business. I had to wait.
I crossed the floor to the wall of cobalt glass and looked at the city below, a great big sea of people. Towers of glass, steel, and concrete were its islands and icebergs, the currents of cars through the streets were the schools of its fish, and within its depths, hidden in luxurious offices, human sharks ran their magic empires.
The world didn’t always have magic. Oh, there were rumors and legends, but nothing obvious. Then, a century and a half ago, half a dozen countries were looking for the cure for the influenza pandemic ravaging the globe. They shared their research and discovered the Osiris serum, almost simultaneously. Those who took the serum could expect one of the three equally likely outcomes: they would die, they would turn into a monster and die after living for a couple of years, or they would gain magic powers. The quality of magic varied: one could have a minor talent, or one could become a Prime, able to unleash devastating power.
At first, the serum was given to anyone brave enough to chance the consequences. Nobody stopped to think that randomly handing people the power to incinerate entire city blocks and spew deadly plagues could be a terrible idea. Then the World War broke out. The eight years that followed were known as the Time of Horrors.
Lord Acton, a 19th century historian, once wrote that power tended to corrupt. According to him, great men were almost always bad men. Great mages of the Time of Horrors proved him right. They were abominations who slaughtered their fellow human beings like cattle because they felt like it. People died by the thousands. Revolts and riots sparked all over the planet. The world caught on fire, and when the blaze finally died down, humanity learned three lessons.
First, the use of Osiris serum had to be banned by an international decree.
Second, the magic powers turned out to be hereditary. Primes beget Primes, leading to the formation of magic families referred to as Houses.
Third, the magic community had to find a way to stabilize itself. During the Time of Horrors people without magic weren’t the only ones who died. Stronger magic users had preyed on the weaker mages, and those who committed atrocities eventually met mob justice. No matter how powerful an individual mage was, they were always vastly outnumbered. Nobody wanted the repeat of riots and mass executions. They were bad for business, and having achieved power, the Houses now wanted order and safety to reap its benefits.
The Houses came together and instituted state Assemblies, where each Prime had voting power. The state Assemblies answered to the National Assembly, the ultimate authority on all things magic. The National Assembly required someone to investigate breaches of its laws. That’s where the Office of the Warden came in. The Texas Rangers’ official motto was “One riot, One Ranger.” The National Assembly subscribed to that philosophy. There was only one Warden per state, a mage of outstanding power whose identity remained confidential. Each Warden was allowed one apprentice.
Linus Duncan was the Warden of Texas and six months ago I became his Deputy. It happened almost by accident. If you had asked me a year ago who Linus Duncan was, I would’ve said that he was a family friend. He’d been one of the two official witnesses at the formation of our House and had taken an interest in us from that point. He invited us to his backyard barbecues. He’d been to our home multiple times. He was like a rich uncle everyone liked.
Now I knew better. Linus Duncan was the last line of defense between humanity and the horrors spawned by people with too much magic and consumed by lust for money and power. In the past six months, I had seen things that made me wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Between that and the crucible of Victoria Tremaine, they forged me from a shy person who stammered when an older adult gave her a critical look into this new version of me.
I became the Deputy to keep the people I loved safe. No matter how many family dinners Linus attended, how much he doted on us, and how often he invited the entire House Baylor to his ranch and his mansion, if I breached the boundaries he laid out for me, he would eliminate us without hesitation. So no matter how many cute comments my cousin made, I would tell him nothing. I would follow my orders and do my job.
A section of the glass slid aside. Prime Montgomery was finally ready for me.
I strode into the ultramodern office. Augustine looked at me from behind his desk. An illusion Prime, he could look like anyone, including me. He chose to look like a demigod. His pale skin all but glowed. His face was masculine but heartbreaking in its beauty. His nearly white hair framed his features with impossible perfection. If it wasn’t for the sharp awareness in his green eyes and wire-thin glasses, people would worship him when they saw him on the street.
The demigod in a three-thousand-dollar suit spoke. “Ms. Baylor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Augustine hoarded information. Keeping my deputy status confidential was in my best interest, but he would never give me the case without it. I had walked into his place of business and was about to strong-arm him. That would infuriate any Prime, and I would need his cooperation through this investigation.
I had to soften the blow. The only way to do that was to make him think he was forcing me to do something I didn’t want to. It would give him the illusion of having the upper hand.
“I would like you to give me the Morton case.”
Augustine leaned back in his chair, his eyes amused. “And why would I do that?”
“I would consider it a personal favor.”
“No. Even if I were inclined to pass on this lucrative opportunity, I wouldn’t be doing you any favors. This case is a nightmare, which explains its commensurate price tag.”