Wildfire Read online

  “Question!” Leon said. “If she is the only Prime, how can she still be a House?”

  “Every time a new Prime is registered, the Office of Records checks to see if the family has two Primes,” Catalina said. “If there are two living Primes, the family is recertified as a House. They don’t take away the family’s rank until the last Prime alive at the last certification dies.”

  My sister had been reading up on Houses.

  “You know what I can do,” I said.

  I could do plenty. Being able to detect a lie was the least of my talents. I could crack a human mind like a walnut and pull whatever knowledge I needed out of it. And I didn’t have to leave the mind intact.

  “Victoria can do everything I do and much more, and she does it better. I’m just now figuring out the extent of my power. She’s been trained in the use of magic since she could hold chalk in her hand. She has power, money, and troops we don’t. She’ll do whatever she has to do to gain control of me and Catalina at the very least.”

  Grandma Frida put her hand over her mouth.

  Bernard was usually calm and steady, like a rock in a storm. But right now his eyes were full of fear. “She can do things with Catalina’s talent.”

  Unspeakable, ugly things. Things that would make my thoughtful, kind sister hate herself.

  “And if Arabella’s magic is discovered . . .” I didn’t finish.

  I didn’t even want to go there. They would lock her away and keep her sedated for the rest of her life. She would never get to see the sun. She’d never laugh again, never love, never live.

  My grandmother wouldn’t get her claws on my sisters. I wouldn’t let it happen.

  Catalina leaned forward, her eyes defiant. “What are our options?”

  I checked my mother’s face. She was sitting still, her expression grim.

  “We can roll over,” I said. “That will likely mean that you and I will have to do whatever Victoria says. We’ll have to walk away from our business.”

  Catalina winced. Our parents built Baylor Investigative Agency, and I spent seven years growing it. It wasn’t just a business. It was the future and the core of our family.

  I had to keep going. “We probably won’t see Mom, Grandma Frida, or Bern and Leon again for a while.”

  That got me a look of pure horror.

  “We’d have to obey her and do whatever she wanted. I would be doing interrogations and lobotomizing people.” I kept my voice even. They didn’t need emotion from me right now. “Eventually Victoria will die. She’s old.”

  And that didn’t sound morbid. Not at all.

  I forged on. “Eventually we’d inherit House Tremaine.”

  “How long?” Leon asked.

  “I don’t know. She’s in her seventies. Ten years, maybe twenty.”

  “Door number two, please,” Arabella said.

  “I agree,” Bern said. “We’re not doing that.”

  “We can fight,” I said. “Victoria has more money, more troops, and more of everything.”

  “But Rogan would help us, right?” Arabella asked.

  I struggled with the right words. “Yes. But we can’t always count on Rogan.”

  Strictly speaking, that was a lie. Rogan would do anything and everything to help me.

  “We shouldn’t always count on Rogan,” Mom said.

  Everyone looked at her.

  “This isn’t his problem,” she said. “It’s our problem.”

  “If we let Rogan save us, we’ll be tying ourselves to him,” I said. “We’d be viewed as his vassals. We’d have his protection, but we would inherit his enemies, and he has some powerful ones.”

  “And if your relationship with Rogan sours, things will get complicated,” Bern said.

  “Yes.”

  “So we don’t want to give up and we can’t fight the Evil Grandma. Is there a third option?” Arabella asked.

  “Yes. We can become a House.”

  My sisters and cousins stared at me. I’d brought up this possibility once before, but we were kind of busy at the time trying to solve a murder and accomplishing other important things like not getting killed.

  “Whoa.” Leon blinked.

  “No,” Mom said. “There has to be another way.”

  I leaned back. “Becoming a House would grant us provisional immunity from any attacks by other Houses for three years. That’s long enough for us to establish a power base.”

  “Would Victoria follow that rule?” Catalina asked.

  “Rogan says she will. It’s in everyone’s best interest to protect emerging Houses, because otherwise inbreeding would become a real danger. Apparently, this is one of those rules Primes won’t break under any circumstances. It would buy us time to build up our power base and make alliances and do all the things Houses do.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Mom said.

  “I am.”

  “She isn’t going to obey any rules. That woman is a monster. You can’t be that naive, Nevada.”

  I met my mother’s gaze. “Yes, she may still attack us. But she will have to do it in a way that can’t lead back to her. Becoming a House would make it much harder for her to hit us.” And once we became a House, we could make alliances as equals.

  “You’re filling their heads with visions of being a House. Why don’t you tell them what it’s really like? Tell them about Baranovsky.”

  “Mom is right,” I said. “Houses are vicious. You remember that charity gala I went to in the black dress? It was very exclusive. The man who hosted it, Gabriel Baranovsky, was drinking champagne at the top of the stairs in the ballroom. David Howling froze the wine in Gabriel’s throat. He turned it into a blade that sliced Gabriel’s neck from inside out.”

  “Badass,” Leon offered.

  We all looked at him.

  “It’s elegant,” he said. “The ice melts, and there is no evidence. There are no prints, no murder weapon, there is nothing.”

  I had to tell him about his magic. There just wasn’t any escaping it. That’s the way his mind worked and there was no way to rewire him. Maybe I could just get it over with now.

  My mother cleared her throat and hit me with a warning stare. It’s like she was telepathic or something.

  “When Baranovsky choked on his own blood and collapsed, nobody helped him,” I said. “Nobody screamed. Hundreds of Primes turned and calmly started walking toward the exit, because the mansion would be locked down and they didn’t want to be inconvenienced.”

  I waited a moment to let it sink in.

  “Primes won’t care that you are young. They won’t be kind. They will try to use us, manipulate us, or destroy us. You could be standing in the middle of the Assembly, and if a Prime summoned a pack of wild wolves to rip you to pieces, I’m not sure anyone would help. This would be our life.”

  Their faces were grim. I was losing them. I expected that Mom wouldn’t be on my side, but I had to at least convince my sisters.

  “But if we do this, we can build up our strength for three years,” I said. “Victoria is coming for us now. Right now. She’s in town. The only reason she isn’t attacking us is because Rogan’s people are fortified around us. She’d have to go through them, and she doesn’t want to start a fight with House Rogan unless she has to.”

  “Pack your bags,” Mom said. “The five of you are leaving.”

  “Mom?” Arabella stared at her. “We can’t leave.”

  “Out of the question.” I knew she would react like this.

  “I’m not quitting college,” Bern said.

  “We aren’t leaving you!” Catalina’s voice spiked. “We are not abandoning you and Grandma!”

  My mother put steel into her voice. “You heard me.”

  “Where?” Grandma Frida asked, her voice so high, it sounded broken.

  Mom turned to her.

  “Where can you send them so that bitch doesn’t find them, Penelope? She knows what they look like. She knows their names. She knows their
social security numbers. She can pull the truth out of anyone she meets. Where on the planet can you find a place where her money and power won’t reach?”

  “Mom,” my mother said quietly, looking stunned.

  “I told you twenty-six years ago that if you married him, you would pay the price. I told you to let him go. You didn’t listen. You raised them to fight. They’re not going to cut and run now.”

  “They will do what I say,” Mom ground out. “I’m their mother.”

  Grandma Frida squinted at her. “Aha. And how did that work out for me?”

  Mom opened her mouth and clicked it shut.

  “What’s involved in becoming a House?” Catalina asked.

  “At least two of us will have to undergo the trials and register as Primes,” I said. “Most likely it will be you and me.”

  My sister frowned. “What if I don’t qualify?”

  “I’ll do it!” Arabella announced.

  “No,” everyone said at the same time.

  “Why not?”

  “You know why not,” my mother said. “Don’t make me pull that documentary out again.”

  My sister took a deep breath. Uh-oh.

  “I’m not going to spend my life hiding. Nobody will ever see what I can do!” She pounded her small fist on the table. “I’m going to qualify.”

  My mother’s face told me that I had to fix this fast or she would snap and try to send everyone into exile again.

  “You can control your magic,” I said.

  “Yes!” Arabella said.

  “We know this but nobody else does. People are afraid, because the last person with your magic went crazy. The only way they’ll accept you is if all of us demonstrate that you have complete control over yourself, and we, as a family, have complete control of you. This takes time. If you give us these three years, by the end of it we’ll be established as a House. And then, at eighteen, you can qualify.”

  “Nevada!” Mom snarled.

  “But this also means that for the next three years all of us will be in the limelight,” I continued. “And you have to stop acting like an impulsive brat.”

  “Yes,” Catalina piled on. “No more angry outbursts, no more screaming, no more punching people, or starting stupid shit on Twitter.”

  Arabella crossed her arms on her chest. “Fine. But you promise me! You promise me right now that if I behave, I’ll qualify in three years.”

  “I promise.”

  My mother punched the table.

  “So that’s where she gets it from,” Bern observed.

  “What’s the alternative?” Grandma Frida asked Mom.

  “Not getting locked away for life, where they would keep her constantly sedated,” Mom growled.

  “There are some other formalities,” I said. “Everyone who is qualifying will have to give a DNA sample, so they can make sure we are all related. We’ll have to submit some paperwork, they will set the date for the trials, then we are tested, and if we qualify, we become a House.”

  “That’s it?” Leon asked.

  “Yes.” I put my hand on the stack of paperwork. “If we decide to do this, that’s it. There is no backing out.”

  “What if we don’t qualify?” Catalina asked. “We’ll look like idiots who wanted to be Primes and fell short. Nobody would do business with us again.”

  “We’ll qualify. I’m a Prime and so are you.”

  “They might not even know what my magic is,” she insisted. “What if I permanently affect people? What if—”

  “Oh shut up,” Arabella told her. “You made an army of hired killers sit on the floor and listen to your story like they were in kindergarten. And they’re all fine now.”

  “I want to register as well,” Bern said. “Maybe not as a Prime, but the last time they tested me, I was ten. I’m stronger now.”

  Leon dramatically collapsed on the back of his chair. “Rub it in, all of you. You and your magic. I’ll just sit here with my dud self.”

  I opened my mouth and shut it. Now wasn’t the time to spring it on him.

  “Nevada, there has to be another way,” Mom said.

  “I don’t know what that is,” I told her. “And neither does Rogan. If I knew of another way, I would take it, Mom. I promise you, I would. This is the only way we can keep all of us safe.”

  “If we do this, we’ll never be safe,” Mom said.

  “Things will never be the same if we do this.” That wasn’t exactly a response to what she said, but I had to keep going. “Which is why we have to vote as a family. We all share responsibility for this decision. Once we make it, nobody complains and everyone has to work together. Does anyone want to add anything?”

  Silence.

  “Everyone for becoming a House, raise your hands.”

  I held my hand up. Bern, Arabella, Leon, and Grandma.

  “Everyone for running away and hiding?”

  Mom raised her hand.

  I looked at Catalina.

  “I’m abstaining,” she said.

  “You don’t get to abstain,” Arabella said. “For once in your life, make a decision!”

  Catalina took a deep breath. “I vote for the House.”

  “Fools,” my mother said. “I’ve raised a pack of idiots.”

  “But we’re your idiots, Aunt Penelope,” Leon said.

  I picked up the paperwork bristling with colored flags indicating signature lines. “I need all of you to sign.”

  “Wait!” Grandma Frida grabbed her phone. “We must take a picture for posterity.”

  They crowded into the shot around me. Grandma Frida set the phone on a delay and it snapped an image of all of them around me, the paperwork in front of me, a pen in my hand. Cold froze my stomach.

  I loved them so much. I just hoped I made the right call.

  The Office of House Records occupied a short tower of black glass on Old Spanish Trail, across the street from the Bureau of Vital Statistics. The asymmetric building leaned back, textured, its profile odd. As Rogan pulled his gunmetal-grey Range Rover into the parking lot, I saw the front of the tower. It was shaped like a feathered quill.

  The setting sun played on the dark glass. Only a handful of cars waited in the parking lot.

  “Are you sure he will be there?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It’s Christmas Day.”

  Rogan turned to me. “He will be there, because I called and asked.”

  I gripped the zippered file so hard, my fingers went white. Last chance to back out.

  Rogan reached over, his magic curling around me. He took my hand and held it in his. “Do you want me to turn around?”

  “No.” I swallowed. “Let’s do this.”

  We got out of the car and walked to the door. It slid open with a whisper, and we stepped into a modern lobby. Black granite sheathed the walls, grey granite shone on the floor, and in the center of the lobby, thin lines of gold traced a magic circle. A guard looked at us from behind his desk and bowed his head. Rogan led me past him to the elevators.

  The folder seemed so heavy in my hands. All my doubts bubbled up and refused to disappear.

  “Am I doing the right thing?”

  “You’re doing the only thing that makes sense to keep your family safe.”

  “What if I don’t qualify?”

  “You stood toe-to-toe with Olivia Charles, a manipulator Prime, and you won.” His voice was steady. “You will qualify.”

  “Thank you for coming with me.”

  He didn’t answer. He’d made it clear in the past that he expected me to walk away from him the moment our family became a House. He didn’t think our magic was compatible. If we had children, they might not even be Primes. He viewed this as the beginning of our end, but he came anyway. He was also a complete idiot if he thought I’d let him get away. He was mine. My Connor.

  The elevator opened. We stepped into a hallway, with a dozen doors branching off from it, all closed. At the very end of the row of doo
rs, large double doors stood open. We walked toward those doors, then through the doorway, into a huge circular room. Books lined the walls, thousands of books on the curved wooden shelves, three stories high, each floor with its own railed balcony. A grouping of comfortable couches upholstered in dark leather occupied the center of the room. Directly in front of it, between us and the couches, a round counter rose.

  An old man sat behind the counter, reading a book. His skin was a warm brown, pointing at a Latin American heritage, his hair was white, and he wore a three-piece grey suit with a tartan bow tie. He raised his head, smiled at us, and hopped off his chair. His eyes, behind large glasses, were very dark, almost black, and shiny like two pieces of obsidian.

  “Ms. Baylor,” he said, his voice soft and cultured. “Finally.”

  “I’m sorry to trouble you on a holiday.”

  He smiled wider, showing white teeth. “Don’t mention it. It is, after all, my job. I would’ve done it anyway. I was in downtown Houston, in the tunnels, when the Old Justice Center fell. I owe you and Mr. Rogan my life.”

  A man emerged from a shadowy alcove in the side wall, moving silently across the floor. In his mid-twenties, he wore expensive shoes and a sharp black suit, with a white shirt that looked even whiter against his light bronze skin, and a black tie. Black and grey tattoos covered his hands and neck. His dark brown hair, cut short on the sides, but longer on top of his head and slicked back, defined a long handsome face, with intelligent eyes the color of whiskey. He looked dangerous and slightly mournful, like a Prohibition-era gangster at a funeral.

  “It’s not every day one gets to register an emerging House,” the Records Keeper continued. He leaned closer and smiled at me, as if sharing a secret. “Especially one with a truthseeker in it. I’m so very excited to meet you. Michael is also very excited, aren’t you, Michael?”

  Michael nodded.

  The Records Keeper put on a pair of linen gloves and turned around. Behind him a massive book lay on a pedestal under a glass hood. He raised the hood, picked up the heavy volume, bound in marbled leather, and placed it on the counter. An elaborate gold crest decorated the front panel.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said.