1. Liam

Up and coming.

That was the polite term people used when referring to my family. By means of dirty magic, some added behind closed doors. We were an unknown quantity, yet untested—forget ‘Two households, both alike in dignity.' That was Shakespeare, and this was hardly fair Verona.

So, no ancient fatal feuds for us, thanks. No tales of star-crossed lovers either—just Adam Harrington and me, and a regrettable, drunken hookup over a year ago.

Anyway.

I adjusted my suit jacket, a bit snug around the shoulders over my fairly tall frame, while the door guards were judging me for dawdling outside the ballroom. All right, no time like the present. If you can't beat them, join them.

As my mind drew a blank on further motivational quotes, I squared my shoulders and strode into the ballroom. Alone. Because unlike others, I didn't need to demonstrate my status by parading arm candy around. Not casting shade or anything, just stating an innocent fact.

Since they had no skin in the game, the Blackwood family was hosting. For tonight, this meant their sprawling mansion on the outskirts of London was neutral ground—check your coats and hostile intentions at the door.

At first glance, it could have been any high-society gathering or posh charity event. Expensive fabric draped over equally expensive guests, bowtied waiters offered champagne and microscopic canapés, and gossip, no doubt, flowed freely. The grand hall, with its high ceilings and marble floors, echoed with the clink of crystal and soft laughter.

At second glance, a few details registered that would have seemed odd to the uninitiated observer. The walls emitted a soft, natural glow that illuminated the room, a water fountain at the centre danced to the tinkling notes of a piano, and a fragrance of fresh blossoms layered the air without clear origin. A chandelier that was more a work of art than a light fixture pulsed gently with a spectrum of colours, casting a kaleidoscope of shadows that played on the guests' faces. It was one of my designs, and seeing it so prominently displayed made me tip up my chin.

In a far corner of the room, the Prime Minister, flanked by two advisors, looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. I couldn't blame him, what with how he was surrounded by people who could kill him without breaking a sweat. Not me. While I could easily devise the tools, I didn't have the stomach for using them.

Well then. Game face on.

I accepted a glass from a passing waitress with a murmured thanks. She shot me a surprised glance from underneath demurely lowered lashes, and right, yeah. Acknowledging the hired help was not industry standard in these circles. But five years ago, I might have been in her place—just enough magic potential to orbit around those who mattered.

I reminded myself that I belonged. No, I couldn't trace my lineage back to, say, the Middle Ages—hell, I couldn't even trace it past my grandmother. But I had every bloody right to be here. Even if I was wearing one of only two designer suits I owned while most people in this room had likely chosen from a whole wardrobe of options.

The practice of publicly ranking families on the strength of their magic had largely fallen out of favour, but we still catered to them, didn't we? Only the Novas still registered officially, a testament to their towering might and their family's prestige. It set them apart from people like me who lacked either the power or the inclination to publicise their status. So, really, we hadn't stopped bowing to those chosen few who outclassed the rest of us.

Except I didn't bow anymore. Not to anyone.

"Well," a wry voice said from behind me. "Look what the cat dragged in."

I didn't bow to anyone, no. And especially not to Adam Harrington.

Slowly, leisurely, I turned and raised my glass in a friendly salute. "Adam. Opting for a tried and true classic on the insult front rather than using your brain?"

His smile didn't waver. "I'd respond, but I'd rather not engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed person."

God, he was infuriating. He carried himself with all the inbred entitlement of his family clout, a prince among commoners. Dark curls and hazel eyes that watched me with thinly veiled derision, and if I squinted just right, the warm, orange glow of his magic was so bright it bordered on blinding. Fun fact, though? He'd just about melted into me when I'd dragged my teeth along his throat.

"Where's darling Cassandra?" I asked sweetly. "Shouldn't she supervise you, make sure you don't accidentally end up with someone's dick in your mouth?"

Adam scowled. "She's not my fiancée."

Funny how that hadn't been my question. I countered his frown with a sunny grin. "You may want to clarify that with your father. Pretty sure the announcement is ready to go."

It was hardly even an exaggeration—rumour had it their families had drawn up the marriage contract the moment both Adam and Cassandra Hartley manifested as powerful fire mages. The only surprise was that she wasn't popping out kids yet.

"You don't?—"

Whatever Adam intended to say got cut off by Cassandra herself, smoothly gliding into the space between us. "Adam, there you are! Your father's been looking for you." Her gaze slid to me, blue eyes assessing me as her tone cooled. "Ah, and Liam Morgan. Built any weapons of mass destruction lately?"

That was rich coming from someone who could burn down an entire city block—who'd been trained for it too, because the mightiest families were nothing if not paranoid. Then again, their paranoia may be justified. The last time two ancient families had clashed, an unfortunate mix of fire and wind magic burnt down Notre Dame.

"Not for a few days, no." I gave a regretful shrug. "Just couldn"t get the colour scheme right, you know?"

Not for months, really. But I wasn't about to volunteer that while the vultures were circling. I wasn't about to volunteer either that the first one had been an accident. My mum's knack for infusing everyday items with decorative or amusing enhancements—a necklace that predicted rainfall, stones that smelled like flowers in bloom—had inspired me to fiddle with a dehumidifier after our basement had flooded. Turned out that it could extract moisture directly from living beings.

It had put us on the radar. No one bullied my little sister anymore, and my dad had quit his grinding job with a construction company that worked exclusively for the Harringtons. We'd also had to move and reinforce our security.

"Aesthetics do matter," Adam agreed. "Like a suit that fits, for one."

Oh, fuck him—not literally. Jesus, I must have been close to alcohol poisoning when I'd decided that sticking my tongue down his throat was the way to go. Just because this suit hadn't been tailor-made for me…

"True." I inclined my head. "But even the finest bespoke suit can lose its charm up close. Much like certain personalities."

To my surprise, Cassandra's lips twisted with a hint of amusement. Adam, on the other hand, sent me a haughty look. "I seem to remember you weren't all that opposed to examining the details from up close."

Wow, okay. And in front of his…whatever, no less? Girlfriend, future fiancée—like I cared.

Also, we were starting to draw attention. No one dared to venture close, of course, because one simply did not eavesdrop on Adam Harrington or Cassandra Hartley, daughter to one of the Prime Minister's shadow advisors. But as someone who'd been raised to be both aware and wary of my surroundings, I noticed the covert glances directed at us, the way other groups shifted just enough to keep us in sight.

"There is that." I shot Adam a smile that might pass for polite. "Alcohol tends to blur vision and standards, doesn't it?"

Adam's eyes flashed with momentary irritation before he smiled back. I had to hand it to him—he'd mastered the art of donning a polite facade. "Sure does. Makes ‘never in a million years' suddenly seem like a good idea."

That arse.

I was about to counter with something cutting and devastatingly smart. I really was. Sadly, the words I had yet to find were cut off by a resounding gong. Everyone turned towards the stage, where the Prime Minister and his cabinet had gathered behind Mrs Blackwood, our hostess for the night. In front of them, five models were lined up, all depicting miniature visions of an urban landscape.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome!" Her voice resonated in the grand hall. "Please, enjoy the music, the dance, and refreshments. Our esteemed guests will present their pitches in half an hour."

Her words were met by applause. Right. Because only the magical elite would think that several competitors presenting their competing visions for a massive, magic-fused development project was a legitimate reason to hold a ball.

Too bad I had to stay. After all, one of those pitches was mine.

* * *

Generally speaking,I did not attend parties that involved mingling with a champagne glass. Give me a shot of vodka, a heavy bass line, and a dance floor—I'd be right at home. But sometimes, you just had to bite the bullet.

I left Adam and Cassandra behind and drifted for a while, forcing myself to stick to just the one glass as I waved off any waiter who tried to take it from me. Empty it might be, but it was still something to hold on to. No matter how tempted I was to have a second, I needed to stay sharp.

My pitch didn't stand a chance. I knew it, Adam knew it—hell, even the waiters probably knew it. The Green Horizon Initiative was far too big for my family. To this day, the most ambitious thing we'd done was overhaul the security concept of a business compound run by one of the medium-ranking families. We didn't have the Harringtons' experience or extensive network of contractors and suppliers, nor did we possess their ruthless efficiency in keeping costs under control.

But it was a platform. The moment I'd heard that it would be a public display with most of the magical elite gathered in the room, I'd thrown myself into the preparations. My mirror knew my speech by heart, as did the rest of my family.

"Is that your resting bitch face, mate?" The question came from behind me, voiced in a bright, airy tone that carried a hint of laughter. "Thought you're here to mingle."

I turned to grin at my best mate George, glad to spot a friendly fish in this sea of sharks. "Just my true colours shining through for a second."

"Isn't that a rainbow?"

"I prefer to think of it as a multihued spectacle."

"Aye, I'll drink to that." True to his word, George raised his own glass in a toast and proceeded to empty it in one go. He snatched another from a passing waiter just as Mrs Blackwood returned to the stage.

Showtime.

I gripped my glass more tightly, forcing deep, even breaths into my lungs, while Jasper Ashton ascended to present his pitch. It was solid if a tad predictable, just like Jasper himself—well-established magical enhancements and means to speed up the construction process, but nothing groundbreaking. Polite applause followed him off the stage.

"If they want boring, look no further." George's comment was a murmur, meant for my ears only.

I bit my cheek to stifle a grin. "Harsh."

"But accurate. Let's face it, the most interesting thing about the Ashtons has always been how much they hate the Harringtons, and vice versa." He bumped our shoulders together. "You'll do better than him."

"Thank you." Well, at least one of us had faith in me. I raised my glass for a sip only to remember it was empty, and watched Adam take the stage.

The contrast to Jasper Ashton was immediate and obvious. Groomed since birth for this precise job, Adam had stepped up as the youthful public front of his family about a year ago. He exuded confidence and charm.

"Ladies and gentlemen." His voice was warm and smooth, no trace of the biting edge it had held during our conversation. "The Green Horizon Initiative is a revolution. It's a chance for us as a magical community to bring our unique set of talents to the table and improve the city we live in. To make it a better, more attractive, and sustainable place."

He was laying it on thick. That didn't mean he was wrong.

London was our home. We lived and shopped here, many with weaker abilities holding perfectly normal jobs because, guess what, lighting a cigarette without a match didn't pay the bills. There were similar communities in Athens, Paris, and Rome, in Xi'An and Mexico City—big, old cities with preserved history and religious landmarks seemed to create ideal conditions for magic to thrive, even though its manifestation apparently varied. But for all that we lived here in London, we remained separate, our existence a secret.

Oh, there were some who knew. The political elite, for one, was informed upon taking office, two shadow advisors representing the magical community in cabinet meetings. So far, no one had blabbed. Whether it was well-placed threats, the fear of being dismissed as crazy, or a genuine belief that ignorance was bliss when it came to knowing that there were individuals with enormously destructive powers walking among normal people? Whatever the answer, it was above my security clearance.

The Green Horizon Initiative would mark a first. Under the guise of technological advances, it would bring magic into new urban structures, seeking to reduce the city's environmental footprint. It was a revolution, albeit a quiet one.

Meanwhile, Adam had moved on to showcasing the Harringtons' model, pointing out details of the three pilot areas—a commercial district that harnessed wind, green spaces that were designed to flourish under any conditions, and low-energy homes in the residential area, their walls infused with enchanted water to control the temperature. I was willing to bet those enchantments would require periodic renewal. Et voilà: service contract.

"The Harrington family has long been a steward of elemental magic," he finished. "Let's make this a new chapter in our shared heritage—one that respects the past while boldly stepping into the future."

Translation: this is not a job for amateurs.

"Friendly reminder to control your face." George elbowed me as generous applause rose from the crowd. "You can murder him later."

He was right, so I slapped on a smile. Maintaining it even when Adam's gaze found me, a smug glint in his eyes, took some dedicated effort. I didn't get nearly enough credit for my self-restraint.

"I don't want to murder him," I told George in an undertone while Marissa De Gendt got ready for her turn. "Maim him a little, maybe. In a way that aligns with my pacifist values."

George snorted, though not unkindly. "Says the guy selling weapons to half the room."

It was a gross exaggeration, as he knew well. We'd become friends back in uni when we'd picked the same elective, and he'd been right there when my initial excitement about the Aqua Reclaimer had made room for a growing sense of unease. Sure, it had been gratifying to prove them all wrong—magic and modern technology can be melded, see? The respect had been particularly nice given my elemental magic potential was…unimpressive. I had a little bit of everything, which was exceedingly rare, but not enough of anything to be truly useful. At least not until I'd put my engineering degree to good use and combined my understanding of what made things work with my understanding of how magic flowed.

But I didn't want to be the guy handing out deadly tools to the highest bidder. We'd pivoted to security tech and were doing okay, certainly enough to pay the mortgage on our home and the attached workshop. Yet as my brother Jack liked to point out, we could be making fifty times that if we'd had no moral qualms. Too bad we'd been raised with values.

This pitch, though? It was my shot to expand our portfolio of offerings.

Marissa De Gendt cut a striking figure on stage—short of stature but with an energy that commandeered attention. An ancient family of earth mages with ties into all sorts of high-society circles, the De Gendts were the Harringtons' only serious competition, so I really hoped they'd give Adam a run for their money. And they tried, really, by modelling sprawling greenery and multi-layered gardens for all three sites. While beautiful, it didn't measure up to the Harringtons' proposal.

I suppose you'll win this round, Adam.

Just like three out of the four last rounds, then. I told myself it wasn't personal.

It was. Of course it fucking was.

De Gendt left the stage to warm applause, which signalled that my five minutes of fame had arrived. Right, then. Chin fucking up. I ran a quick hand through my light brown hair, fashionably messy—or so I claimed, though it was more a case of not finding time for a haircut. With a nod at George, I made my way through the crowd and pretended that I didn't even notice the glances that trailed me like…Like something. Gluey tentacles? Brain freeze, bloody hell.

Breathe, Liam. Fucking breathe. You've got this.

God, I should've brought my family, made sure George's wasn't the only friendly face in the crowd. But my dad had no interest in posh events and my mum lacked the patience, Laurie was too young to handle the sharks, and Jack was better at communicating with computers than people. And anyway, I didn't need them to hold my hand. I was fine.

As I passed, Adam arched a sardonic brow that said he knew I wasn't. What an arse. Funny enough, the hot sting of anger propelled me up the three steps to the stage, and when I walked up to our model, my brain kicked into gear.

I'd practised for this. So much, so much.

Chin up, shoulders back. I might not be wearing a bespoke suit, no, but I had every damn right to be here. With a smile, I turned to face the crowd and sought out Adam, somehow buoyed by the open disdain that curved his mouth.

"Imagine," I said slowly, enunciating clearly, "a city where modern technology speaks the language of magic. Where scientific advances enable us to go further than we thought possible."

Intrigue and scepticism, but I definitely had their attention. It made me bold, and no, I hadn't planned the next bit. But if it was offered on a silver platter? It'd be impolite to refuse.

My smile widening, I glanced at Adam just long enough to make a point before I focused back on the room. "Ladies and gentlemen." I paused to indicate the model that had cost us weeks to assemble. "This, here? Is our proposal. And it isn't just a blueprint for some buildings and a park, no—this truly is a revolution."

Did I have a chip on my shoulder and a side of pettiness to go with it? Oh, yes.

But hey, who didn't love being part of a good uprising? Even if it was just a temporary tempest in a teapot.

* * *

Once the lastproposal had been presented, the models were moved to the centre of the room so everyone could study them from up close. A decision would be announced next week, once the cabinet had convened to discuss the details. In the meantime, the piano player had launched back into his inoffensive oeuvre that most guests here probably knew from shopping at Selfridges or Harrods. Me, I was more likely to browse for a T-shirt at HM than schedule a wardrobe consultation with a personal shopper.

I took a sip of the bubbly stuff—sparkling wine or champagne, not like I could tell the difference—and tried to project a sense of purpose as I moved through the crowd, looking for George. A few people nodded at me as I passed, several offering generic compliments on my pitch. It felt genuine, but I couldn't be sure it wasn't down to exceeding laughably low expectations.

Damn. Where had my on-stage bravado dashed off to?

"Mr Morgan," someone said. Just that was enough to paint a speaker who expected people to listen.

I turned and—oh, holy shit. Archer Summers. One of our two elected advisors to the Prime Minister. In her late sixties, Summers' hair was starting to thin, but her brain was as sharp as ever. I'd attended one of her election events, and she had a memory for details that made the rest of us look daft as a brush.

I cleared my throat. "Ms Summers. How do you do?"

"Splendid, just splendid." She moved on immediately, clearly not interested in chitchat. "Listen, about those waste recycling units you mentioned. Can you give me a bit more meat on the bone, so to speak?"

Rubbish.

One of the most influential people in the country stopped me for a personal talk, and she wanted to discuss rubbish. Of course it was all in the detailed written proposal shared with the cabinet, but if Summers wanted my personal spin? Yeah, I wasn't about to deny her.

"Certainly." I took another quick, fortifying mouthful that fizzed on my tongue. "All right, yes. So basically, they combine elemental magic and advanced engineering—fire magic for incineration, earth magic to break down and repurpose materials, and air and water magic to purify emissions." I reminded myself to take a breath, nerves buzzing in my fingertips. "What you get is a zero-waste process. Bonus, it even generates a small amount of energy that can be redirected into the power grid."

"And it is truly self-sustaining?"

"It is, yes. The idea is to balance the forms of elemental magic in a way that they sustain each other once the initial energy has been fed into it." At least we'd achieved that with our prototype, small enough to fit into Laurie's old aquarium and assembled from stuff we'd ordered online. True to size might be a whole different beast.

Summers studied me for a second, then nodded. "Fascinating."

Christ, did she actually mean it? Or was it the standard British version, wrapped in a tea cosy of sarcasm? People were bloody hard to read sometimes.

"Thank you," I said carefully.

Her sharp eyes assessed me for another moment before she smiled. "Thank you, my lad."

My lad. My lad?

I was thirty, for fuck's sake, not a doe-eyed teen who'd just won a handwriting competition. Since this was not the kind of thing I should point out to Archer Summers, I smiled back. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Not presently, but I look forward to studying your proposal."

Dear God, she did sound like she meant it. Did that—no, surely not. I loved my family and fully believed that with a bit of time and practice, we could build something great. But right now, at this particular point in time? No one in their right frame of mind would hand a project of such proportions to us.

The Harringtons were going to win this race.

An exchange of pleasantries, and Summers moved on because places to be, people more important than me to see—although, to be fair, she didn't make it obvious. Once she'd departed, I simply stood there for a moment, buzzing to myself.

TheArcher Summers. One of the leading figures of London's magical community, and easily the one I admired the most. Before she'd become a shadow advisor, relations with the government had been much more contentious, the tone harsh even as they feared what some of us could do, or maybe because of it. Somehow, she'd found a way to calm tempers and ease tensions. The Green Horizon Initiative was a direct result of that.

Right, okay. Act like you've been there before.

I sipped from my glass and glanced around, only to become aware that people were watching me. Most turned away quickly, but not all—one of the younger Harringtons kept staring with a pointed frown. Shouldn't he be circling the room like the rest of his tribe, cosying up to anyone who might sway the vote in their favour? Because that sure seemed to be the Harrington agenda tonight, and they'd shown up in considerable force to carry it through. I wouldn't put it past them to have come armed with a stakeholder mapping and key speaking points. Summers seeking me out must have ruffled some feathers.

With a smug smile, I tilted my head in a silent invitation. The bloke drew closer. What was his name again? Christopher, possibly. A cousin of Adam's, if I wasn't mistaken. Another fire mage, although a quick blink had his aura register as a mere flicker of brightness. Hello there, Spark. Thought I'd be the only one here not making the ground shake.

"Nice presentation," was his opening line, doused in sarcasm. "Playing in the big leagues now, are you? Air's a bit thinner up here."

Aww, really? If he thought he could intimidate me, he had another think coming.

"Honestly?" I shrugged one shoulder, easy as you please. "Right now, the air feels hot rather than thin to me. But yeah, it's fun trying to actually earn my stripes rather than having them stitched in gold by the family tailor."

A sneer distorted his otherwise pretty face. "Just be sure you can handle the burn."

Man, who'd let this little terrier out of the basement? If he absolutely had to lob threats around, he could at least try to be subtle about it—wasn't that the patented Harrington way? Smile in your face and stab you once you turn your back.

This wasn't medieval times; we did have some form of justice system in place that went beyond ‘survival of the strongest'. But it had more holes than a Swiss cheese, and exploiting those was a skill mastered by some more than others. The police stayed out of it, of course—the Home Secretary made sure of that, and it wasn't like there'd be any point in running to the cops for help anyway. They wouldn't stand a chance.

But also, screw this kid and his inbred sense of entitlement. I was about to tell him just where he could stick his attitude when someone else beat me to it.

"Christian." Adam's voice was sharp. He left it at just that, but the message must have been clear because Christian ducked his head and slunk off after a sullen look at me.

Wow. Every single member of my family would have given me an earful for using that tone with them.

"Your family," I told Adam sweetly, "should do a better job house-training your puppies before letting them off the leash."

He turned to face me with that delightful scowl he seemed to reserve for me. How flattering. "Decent pitch. Almost made me believe it's something you could handle."

"Why thank you." I made sure to flash him a particularly toothy smile. "It so pleases me when I amuse you, darling."

His face twitched like he'd tasted something rotten. Chill, mate. Hating his guts didn't mean that I was going to drag him kicking and screaming out of the closet—lines needed to be drawn, and that was one I personally wouldn't cross.

Our magical community was rooted in conservative traditions. I was out, and while few openly objected, I was treated with amused indulgence, as though I must be mistaken. Gay and a mage? Surely not. As though the two were mutually exclusive when I was convinced that plenty of people in this room didn't score a zero on the Kinsey scale. Case in point? Adam.

Yet in our world, professional matchmakers were judged not by the joy they brought to couples, but rather on their effectiveness in ensuring the birth of suitable heirs. It rendered deviations from the sexual norm an inconvenience.

Adam folded his arms and leaned in, voice a disgruntled murmur. "I'm not?—"

"Your darling," I interjected smoothly, equally quiet. We were close enough that I caught a whiff of his aftershave. Still the same as—hold that thought. "That's just fine with me. I have standards, you see, and they include a moral compass. So if you want to hang out in that nice, comfy closet of yours? Stay put. It's none of my business."

He stared at me for a full second before his eyes darted away. Checking to see if we were being watched, no doubt, and of course we were. In these circles, knowing who spoke to whom wasn't just idle gossip but its own form of currency. I'd learned that the hard way when a prospective client I'd lunched with went to the Harringtons instead, choosing their overqualified services for a project that was clearly beneath their usual scale.

Live, grow, and learn to trust no one other than your immediate family and the people who'd greeted you before you were on the guest list.

Adam's gaze caught mine, another moment of silence spinning out between us. "Thank you," he said then, so quiet I barely caught it. "For not outing me."

What.

"Thank you?" I echoed. My shock must have been obvious because his lips twitched, and for once it wasn't in distaste but amusement.

"Don't get used to it."

"Yeah, no." I shook my head. "Definitely not. I expect that was a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

For a second, it looked as though Adam was going to say something else. Then his attention slid past me, and the moment was gone. I glanced over my shoulder to find another Harrington glowering at me—Adam's dad. Well, I sure was a popular guy tonight, wasn't I? All the sharks wanted a taste.

Except I'd had it up to here.

"And on that note," I told Adam flatly, "enjoy the rest of your evening. I hope I won't see you anytime soon."

I slipped away before he had a chance to respond. God, I was so fucking done with this crowd. I'd wanted attention and I'd got it, yes—that warranted a celebration. Preferably in a pub with a well-curated selection of beers on tap and not a single cufflink in sight.

In other words: grab George and get the hell out of here. Anyone wanted to discuss business? They knew where to find me.

Just not tonight.