Any House that, by the activity of any member, Blood or Contract, exposes the Unseen World to mundane attention will be unmade. Any House that chooses not to participate will be unmade. Malicious interference in an active challenge may result in magic being stripped from the magician or the interfering House being unmade.
Miranda’s mouth twisted. All of that would be taken as seriously as it ever was, with the first major breach of one of the rules committed by the end of the first week, if not the end of the first duel, and then the first time someone shook off that breach with some variant of “Fortune’s Wheel does turn” immediately following. The Unseen World liked its rules, but only when they were convenient.
Any House whose champion, either Blood or Contracted, dies in the course of a duel will be exempt from the next required sacrifice to the House of Shadows.
The House ranked highest at the end of the Turning will become the head of the Unseen World.
And those last few clauses would be followed, convenient or not. Because underneath the pageantry and shine, those last few clauses were the purpose of the Turning.
Everything was as she expected. All the usual terms. No surprises. Those would come during the Turning itself. They always did.
Miranda refolded the letter, precise along its crease, and set it aside. House Prospero would maintain its tradition and contract out to a champion. There were always those willing to trade the risks inherent in a Turning for a large enough amount of money or the promise of membership in a House. She pulled her files, notes she’d kept on skilled younger sons and daughters, on talented cousins with no hope of inheriting a House on their own. She pushed aside the cold lump of fear that had settled itself in the center of her chest, and made her plans.
? ? ?
“Your mother,” Laurent said, “is going to lose her Chanel-wearing shit when she finds out you’re doing this.”
“As far as Miranda is concerned, I’m no longer her son, so I doubt she’ll do anything other than make sure that whoever she hires as champion knows I’m one more obstacle to be neutralized in her quest for power.” Grey poured whiskey, heavy with smoke and peat, for both of them, then set the bottle back on the bar cart. “Cheers.”
They sat at a long butcher-block table in Laurent’s apartment. Glass and chrome, granite and pale wood, high enough to make the lights and noise of New York City a scene in a silent movie below them. Laurent was particularly skilled in magic related to luck and chance, and had parlayed that and a more mundane skill set into a very healthy investment portfolio.
“Do you think so?” Laurent asked. “Even when she learns you’re representing yourself ? I mean, eventually the duels are mortal. I know you two aren’t speaking, but do you really think she’d be cool with you winding up dead?”
Five years ago, Laurent had bought his parents a retirement home in the Pacific Northwest, two hours north of Seattle. “Woods and water, that’s what I want,” his dad had always said. His mom added that she’d like some grandbabies to spoil: “And there’s certainly enough room here for you to come visit.” He’d told them he’d start with the woods and water, and putting the keys in their hands had been one of his happiest days. Opposite coasts and life happening meant he didn’t see his parents more than once or twice a year, but they loved each other. He couldn’t imagine either one of them coldly telling someone that all he was was an obstacle.
“If she were to lower herself to speak to me in any way whatsoever about this, she would simply remind me that”—Grey’s voice changed, becoming an exaggeration of Miranda’s pitch and cadences—“I had an excellent and assured place as the heir to House Prospero, and the fact that I now do not came about solely through my own folly. I agreed that I would accept the consequences of my actions, and these are no more than continuing consequences.” He smirked and took another drink.
Laurent laughed. “Your mother is a real piece of work.”
“Believe me,” Grey said. “I know.”
It had been just over three years since she had disinherited him. That particular procedure had been bloodless—swipes of pens on papers messengered from one office to the next.
The rift had begun over a matter of magic. Grey felt comfortable pushing boundaries, looking for access to power in places that Miranda didn’t. She was, at her heart, a traditionalist. She felt he had crossed a line, and so she had taken everything from him.
They hadn’t spoken since.
“Oh, and speaking of your family,” Laurent said.
“Do we have to?” Grey pushed back in his chair.
“I ran into your cousin Madison downtown the other day. She looked good. We grabbed coffee.”
“Oh, she looked that kind of good, did she?” Grey leered.
“Not everything is about getting laid, you player.” Laurent shook his head in mock disapproval.
“Yeah, but most things are. So, how is she? I haven’t seen her since she left school.”
“She said she had just made partner at some big law firm—Wellington & Ketchum, maybe?”
“Good firm. Prospero uses it. Actually, that’s probably why she’s there. Almost all the Houses have people in place to deal with their mundane world interests. It’s better when it’s family. They understand how important magic is, and they don’t complain about the secrecy.”
It wasn’t one of the things that got talked about, but it happened. Every so often there were members of Houses who weren’t strong enough magicians to maintain membership in the Unseen World, or who chose to renounce their magic. They were cast out, but only so far. The Unseen World might keep secrets from the mundane one, but it understood it was still part of it, and someone had to do the busywork.
“She asked about the Turning, didn’t seem surprised that you were in it,” Laurent said.
“I wouldn’t have thought it was the kind of thing she would care about.” Grey shrugged the thought away and finished his drink. “Have you found your champion?”
“I think so.”
“You think?” Grey poured himself more whiskey and held out the bottle to Laurent, who shook his head. “Things start soon. You need to have someone in place. Unless you’ve changed your mind and decided to represent yourself. It’s not like you don’t have the talent and balls to do well.”
Laurent snorted. “Thanks. No, I still want to watch one of these before I try it, so a champion it is. But she hasn’t signed the contract yet.”
“Do you honestly think that she won’t? Maybe you should invite her up here, impress her with all you can offer.” Grey gestured toward the window, the lights of city outside glittering like jewels spread out against velvet.
“Ha ha. It’s not that—I think she’s happy with the terms I offered, but she’s good enough to have her pick. More than good enough.” Laurent passed a hand over the tight crop of his black hair. “Her spell was astounding—complex and delicate, and completely hidden from the mundanes. Even the ones caught up in it. I’ve never seen anyone do magic like that, and she just walked in and out of the spell like this was what she did every Tuesday.”
Grey’s face tightened. “Where did you say she was from again?”