“I’m here,” he said.
The fourth pulse hit the dome. It broke apart, the pieces of it crashing down.
Alexander Sturm hung within it, caught in the column of spinning air, his hands raised, his hair pulling with the wind.
He brought his hands together. A tornado moved toward us, a wall of enraged air digging a deep trench in the torn-up lawn. It slid over us, and for a moment I saw the clear sky above. Then it passed and we were still there, floating in the column of Rogan’s power.
Rogan smiled at Sturm.
Alexander bared his teeth. A second tornado swung over us and passed.
Sturm snarled something. I saw his lips moving but I couldn’t hear the words.
Magic sparked in a flash of crimson. Lenora Jordan appeared between us, nude and unafraid, her head held high. She’d risked a teleport. Oh wow.
Lenora looked up at Sturm and raised her hands.
Silver chains as thick as my leg shot out of the ground, pierced Sturm’s private tornado keeping him afloat, and wound about his body. He screamed, his face a mask of agony. The chains wound, squeezed, and dragged him down. He crashed onto the grass at Lenora’s feet.
She regarded him for a long moment, derision on her face, and raised her hand. Magic flashed from her in a wide circle. Another null space. She stood within it, Sturm bound at her feet, and waited until a new twister, light and transparent, brought Adeyemi Ade-Afefe over the wall and deposited her between us. Adeyemi raised her hands and began to dance.
She danced and danced, striking a quick rhythm, bending forward, then straightening again. As her feet moved, the tornados lost power. They spun slower and slower, breaking free of the ground, until finally they dissolved into the sky. The storm clouds tore open, revealing the first light of the sunrise.
Adeyemi smiled, lay on the grass on her back, and fell asleep.
A forest of swords studded the lawn. The tornado had picked up Sturm’s collection and seeded the grounds with them. For some freaky reason, all of the blades landed point down and now rose at a diagonal, like razor-sharp mutant flowers.
Rogan was holding me. He’d refused to let go of me and so we stood together, watching the flurry of activity on the lawn of Sturm’s fortress.
To the left my mother was trying to administer some first aid to Grandma Frida. Grandma Frida didn’t want to be aided.
“Will you stop fussing over me?’ Grandma Frida pushed my mother’s hand away.
“Be quiet, mother. You’re bleeding.”
Around us Lenora Jordan’s people were processing the scene. They had already taken Sturm off, bound, gagged, and sedated. Lenora was still here, fully clothed now, striding through the scene and shouting orders in a crisp voice.
Sturm’s people sat on the ground in handcuffs. Two psionics moved between them, broadcasting calm and happy thoughts. A helicopter had taken Catalina out of the area just before the storm broke, and faced with the several dozen hardened mercenaries crying and wailing because she was gone, Lenora Jordan resorted to the big guns and brought in psionics.
A few feet away from us, Rynda was trying her best to take care of Edward. He slumped on the ground, against the trunk of his cypress. Growing the massive beast of a tree must’ve taken every last reserve he had. The expression on her face wasn’t just concerned, it was tender.
An armored vehicle drove through the hole Romeo had made and stopped. The door opened, Rivera jumped out, and held the passenger door open, holding it deferentially. Brian Sherwood emerged into the light. Same height and build as Edward, broad shoulders, sturdy frame, long limbs. He looked like his brother and at the same time he looked nothing like him.
“Rynda,” he called out. “Oh my God, Rynda. Here you are.”
She turned and glared at him like she saw a snake.
“I missed you so much!” Brian started across the lawn toward his wife. He didn’t know that we were aware of his betrayal.
“Nobody told him?” I murmured.
“No.” The smile on Rogan’s face was frightening.
Rynda rose, her spine perfectly straight, her face iced over, every inch her mother’s daughter.
“Did you miss me?” she asked, her voice as cold as a glacier.
Brian halted. “Yes.”
“I missed you too, Brian. I endured so much while you were gone.”
He took another tentative step forward. “It’s okay. I’m here now. Everything will be okay now.”
“Yes.” Rynda started toward him. “It will. I’m so glad you are here, Brian. Let me share with you everything I’ve been through.”
Magic lashed out of her in a torrent, so potent, I felt it from yards away. Terror, panic, despair, anxiety, worry, crushing sadness, and rage. So much rage. It merely brushed me and I nearly cried just to release the pressure.
Brian shuddered. His mouth gaped open. He crumpled to his knees.
“Stop! Rynda, stop!”
She kept walking, her face merciless. “Why aren’t you running away now, Brian? Are you stressed out yet?”
“Please stop! Please!”
“You wanted to murder me and the children. You wanted us dead. Our children! You should’ve shot me in my sleep, Brian. Because now, I will make you suffer. Feel, husband. Feel every drop.”
Tears streamed down his face. “Stop! Stop, you fucking bitch, stop!”
“No.”
Brian turned bright red, his eyes crazed. He jerked up, his face a furious grimace, and charged at Rynda, his hands stretched out toward her throat. Edward Sherwood lunged in his way, a huge sword in his hands. The blade rose and came down with awful finality. Brian Sherwood crashed to the ground, blood soaking his clothes. Edward raised the sword, thrust it straight down through his brother’s chest, and twisted it with a sharp tug.
Everyone stood completely still.
Edward straightened, his face impassive, like a medieval knight over the body of his enemy. “House Sherwood has resolved its internal conflict,” he said. “We are now whole.”
Epilogue
The arena of trials lay in front of me, a cavernous room with a clear space two hundred feet long and one hundred feet wide at its center, ringed by rows and rows of seats. Bern, Catalina, Arabella, and I stood at its edge. Midway down, a podium was placed to the side, like a referee’s chair. The Keeper of Records stood at it. To the right and left of him, three chairs waited on each side. Six people sat in them, the Primes who served as the arbiters of the trials. One of them was Sylvester Green, the current head of the Assembly. Two seats down from him sat Lenora Jordan, the Harris County District Attorney. She looked surprisingly serene, not peaceful, but imperturbable, as if nothing in this world could get a rise out of her right now. Between the arbiters, flanking the podium, our two witnesses stood, Rogan on one side and Linus Duncan on the other. “You will do fine,” Rogan had told me before walking out there.
I touched the Tear through my T-shirt. I was still wearing it.
My mother, Grandma Frida, and Leon sat on the opposite side in the chairs reserved for friends and family. We had opted for the sealed trials, which meant no audience except for family, and our entire family wouldn’t miss it for the world. Everyone was present, including Grandma Frida, who had a huge smile on her face and a bandage on her arm.
While Lenora’s people had sorted out the arrests of Sturm and his personnel, and first responders had pulled Grandma Frida from the rubble of the wall, Bern had broken the cypher on Olivia’s files. It detailed the entirety of what she knew about the conspiracy: names, details, crimes committed in the name of the cause. We knew everything except for the identity of Caesar. That remained a secret.
Just before the trials, Rogan and I made a deal: we would turn over the information on the conspiracy to Lenora if she put the weight of Houston behind Arabella’s registration. If my sister registered as a Prime, Houston would defend her against federal authorities. Lenora didn’t like it, but she agreed to do it.
Grandmother Victoria’s name
was among those listed in Olivia’s files. I had already warned her and I stood by what I said. The files were turned over to Lenora intact and unedited.
It was now all up to the four of us.
“I can’t do this,” Catalina whispered next to me. She took a step back. “I can’t.”
I hugged her and told her the same thing Rogan had told me. “You will do fine.”
“Let us begin,” the Keeper said into a microphone. “The Office of Records calls Nevada Frida Baylor. Present yourself and be tested.”
I walked down to the podium. It was only about a hundred feet, but it felt like a lifetime.
“Declare yourself,” the Keeper of Records said.
“I’m Nevada Frida Baylor. I come to be recognized as an Elenchus and to seek formation of House Baylor.”
“Before we begin, are there any affiliations and alliances to other Houses you wish to declare?”
“Yes. In the event of the formation of House Baylor, House Baylor intends to sign a Mutual Aid Pact with House Harrison.”
“So noted,” the Keeper stated.
“Also, I wish to announce my engagement to Connor Rogan of House Rogan.”
Everyone sat up straighter and looked at Rogan. For the first time since I’d known him, shock showed on Rogan’s face. It was there only for a fleeting second, but I saw it and I would savor it for the rest of my life.
Linus Duncan laughed quietly.
“Has anyone pressured or threatened you into making this engagement?” the Keeper asked.
“No. I agreed to marry Connor Rogan, because I love him.”
“Does House Rogan confirm the engagement?” the Keeper asked.
“Yes,” Rogan said, his face again a neutral mask. “I love Nevada Baylor and want to marry her.”
“So noted,” the Keeper said. “Let us proceed.”
A woman walked into the arena. She was tall and Asian. She looked to be about my mother’s age. She stopped on the other side of the white line drawn on the floor.
“Face your tester,” the Keeper stated.
I walked over and stopped on my side of the white line. The woman raised her hands. Her mind disappeared behind a dense curtain. A truthseeker, using the same trick as Shaffer. But her shield wasn’t quite as dense.
“Nevada Baylor, you must determine truth from lie,” the Keeper stated. “Your tester is a registered Elenchus. Voice your answers only once. If you change your mind, your second answer won’t be counted. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Prepare your magic. Are you ready?” the Keeper asked.
The woman nodded.
I wrapped my magic around her defensive cocoon and began slipping tendrils of it inside. I only needed one to make it through. And there it was.
“Yes,” I said.
“Begin,” the Keeper said.
“Mein Bruder hat einen Hund,” the woman said.
My magic buzzed. I had no idea what she said, but it didn’t matter. “Lie.”
The woman blinked, startled. She poured more magic into the cocoon. I fed a little more of mine into the tendrils.
“Ich besitze ein Boot.”
“Truth.”
“Rosen sind meine Lieblingsblume.”
“Lie.”
“Are the arbiters satisfied?” the Keeper asked.
“No,” Lenora said. “Let her continue.”
“Lie,” I told her.
Linus Duncan laughed again, showing even, white teeth.
“I’m forty-two years old,” an older arbiter said.
“Truth.” Although he looked a decade older.
“We are satisfied with her diagnostics,” Sylvester Green said. “We wish to see the demonstration of the voice before making the final decision.”
The Keeper bowed his head to my tester. She turned and departed. A man in his thirties replaced her, his face carefully neutral. I reached out to test the waters. His mind was closed off, wrapped in a nutshell of protection. It was very subtle, but it was there.
I looked at the Keeper. “Compelling another person to answer my questions against their will is traumatic.”
“The Office of Records understands your concern,” the Keeper said.
“This man has a protective shield around his mind. I can break through it by brute force, but if the Office would allow me to use chalk, I can compel him to answer with minimal damage.”
“No chalk,” the forty-two-year-old arbiter said.
I turned toward the man. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop stalling,” the man said.
I concentrated and stabbed with my magic, turning it into a dagger. The shell cracked and split. Thank you, Grandmother Victoria.
My magic snapped out and gripped the man’s mind into its fist.
“Tell me your name.”
My will crushed his.
“Benjamin Cars.”
“The shell on your mind isn’t yours. Who put it in place?”
“Orlando Gonzales.”
A commotion broke out behind me, but I couldn’t turn around.
“Why?”
“He doesn’t want you to become a House.”
“Why?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
I turned around. Everyone was looking at one of the arbiters, the one who told me his age.
I released the other man and clamped the arbiter with my will. Behind me Benjamin collapsed, weeping.
The shell around Orlando’s mind was thicker and stronger. I stabbed at it. It held. I stabbed again and again.
He got off his chair and staggered back.
Another stab. He fought me, his will bucking, but if I didn’t do this now, there would be some doubt about the legitimacy of my trial. I couldn’t afford doubt. Our family’s survival depended on it.
Stab. The shell cracked. I poured my magic through the gap and wrenched it open.
I thought about Sturm and Vincent and dead Kurt. Anger surged through me. The arbiter’s will snapped under my pressure.
“Why did you protect Benjamin’s mind?”
His whole body shook from the strain. I squeezed. The world wavered. So much magic spent so quickly.
They wouldn’t keep me from protecting my family. I didn’t care how much they sneered, how many obstacles they put in my way, I would become a House today.
“Answer me.”
The words came out one by one. “I . . . did it . . . because . . . Colleen Shaffer asked me.”
Colleen Shaffer was Garen’s mother.
“Why did Colleen ask you to interfere in my trials?”
“Because . . . she wants . . . you to accept her son. If you fail the trials, you . . . will be . . . vulnerable.”
I released him. Another second, and I would’ve blacked out.
Orlando collapsed on the floor in a heap. Tears rolled from his eyes.
“Interfering with the trials is a mortal offense,” the Keeper said.
Michael stepped forward as if materializing from thin air. He fastened his hand on Orlando, pulled him to his feet, and led him away.
“Are the arbiters satisfied?” the Keeper asked.
A chorus of yesses answered.
“Let it be known that Nevada Frida Baylor was tested and found to be an Elenchus. Congratulations, Ms. Baylor. You may sit down.”
Someone had replaced the muscles in my legs with wet cotton. Somehow, I made it to the chairs and sat down.
“Kick ass,” Arabella whispered in my ear from the right.
“You did it,” Catalina said from the left.
“The Office calls Bernard Adam Baylor.”
Bernard sorted a complex pattern out in record time. They registered him as upper-level Significant.
Catalina was next. She walked out to the line on wobbly legs.
Alessandro Sagredo was just as devastating as his Instagram photo.
“Catalina Baylor,” the Keeper announced. “To be certified as Prime, you must use your powers to make Alessand
ro step over the white line. If you are unable to compel him to do so, we have a mage of lesser ability ready for you.”
My sister swallowed. She was visibly shaking.
“Are you ready?”
“Do your worst,” Alessandro told her with a grin.
Catalina covered her face with her hands.
You can do it.
“Are you ready?” the Keeper repeated.
“Yes.” She lowered her hands and looked at him. “Do you live in Italy?”
“Yes.”
“There are nice beaches in Italy. One time I went to the beach with my family in Florida. The beaches there are not like they are here. The water is crystal clear, and the sand is white, and you can float for hours and hours, looking at little fishes. They dart around in the water and sometimes you can reach out and almost touch one.”
Sweat broke out on Alessandro’s forehead.
“Do you like the beach?”
“Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.
“I like swimming. One day I would like to go out on a boat. I was going to try the Jet Skis, but a storm came. We have terrible storms in Florida, and here in Texas, too. Do you have storms in Italy?”
“Yes.”
“Come and tell me about it?”
Alessandro took a step over the line and headed for my sister.
Four people tackled him. He threw two of them off and punched the third one in the face.
“I’m so sorry,” Catalina said.
“It’s fine.” Alessandro stopped struggling. “Let go of me. I said, it’s fine.”
The handlers let go of him. Alessandro shook himself, turned to the Keeper, and said, “The young lady is a Prime.”
“The Office of Records thanks House Sagredo for their services.”
Alessandro gave a short nod and walked off to the other door. Wow. That was the first time I had ever seen anyone besides us shrug off Catalina’s magic.
My sister was pronounced a Prime. She came and sat by me. I hugged her.
It was now Arabella’s turn. The arbiters stared holes in her as she walked to the white line. She wore a white robe and nothing else. She seemed so tiny, just a short, petite blond girl standing on the line.
“The Office will test your ability to reason,” the Keeper told her.