10. Liam

Jack and Laurie were lurking like two particularly unsubtle shadows. I wasn't sure what they expected Adam to do—explode into a pillar of flames like a fairytale phoenix?

Not going to happen. I needed precision rather than sheer power.

The induction cooktop sat on the workbench that faced the backyard, light streaming in through a row of greasy windows that desperately needed a clean. Above our heads, the occasional clang, thump, and clunk accompanied the office construction, Gale overseeing the contractors who'd arrived with two lorries that carried pre-assembled elements. If any neighbours asked, the necessary permits had been obtained weeks ago—unsurprisingly, the Harringtons kept someone on their payroll who could wave through smaller projects and backdate them as needed.

"This is what a stove looks like under the covering?" Adam studied the cooker coils, each of them a tightly wound spiral of copper wire.

"Induction stoves, yes. Not that you'd know the difference to a normal electric resistance stove given you don't, you know, cook." I flashed him a smile.

Adam leaned in slightly, tilting his head. "Pretty sure I've got one of these in my flat, actually."

"For decorative purposes, I take it?" I asked, and Laurie sighed.

"Imagine the things they could do if they stopped pulling each other's pigtails," she stage-whispered to Jack.

"More like comparing dick sizes," Jack said, and wow. This was a bit of a detour from the first time Adam and Gale had visited when my siblings had been on their best behaviour. Problem was they took their cues from me, always had. I couldn't expect them to handle Adam with kid gloves if I did no such thing.

"Mine's bigger," Adam said almost absently, the sly twist to his mouth belying his casual tone.

"Oh, excuse you," I told him. "I think you're jumping to conclusions here."

"Need a reminder?" He grinned at me, full and bright. When I'd initially mentioned that my entire family knew about our pub encounter a year ago, he'd needed a moment to digest it. Now, it seemed like he enjoyed being able to joke openly, to treat his sexuality like it was no big deal.

Which it shouldn't be. But, well. Bloodlines and all.

"Okay," Laurie said loudly before I could offer an appropriate response. "My childhood innocence just died a tragic death."

I scoffed. "Says the reigning queen of Cards Against Humanity."

"What's Cards Against Humanity?" Adam asked.

"Is he serious?" Jack asked.

"I don't know," I told him, and turned to Adam. "Are you serious?"

"Based on the name, it sounds like a game that my family would not play at the dinner table," he told me. "Or anywhere else, really."

Yes, fair.

"It's…" All right, how to explain this in one sentence, and for the uninitiated? "It's a card game where the funniest, most outrageous, or most politically incorrect answer to a question wins. It's not for the easily offended."

"I always win," Laurie said with pride.

"Because you have no filter," Jack told her.

"I do. I just use it selectively."

"Can you selectively use your filter somewhere not so…here?" I asked. "Might help if Adam and I could concentrate on the task at hand."

"Is that code for something?" Laurie asked. "It feels like that's code for something. If it isn't, it should be."

Fortunately, Jack chose this moment to activate his occasional ability to act like a proper adult. "Come on," he told her. "Let's go take another look at that watering system, see if we can make it work for a bigger area."

Laurie sighed as though it was an enormous burden to place on her bony shoulders. Truth was that she loved tinkering with machines and electronics. After taking a year to decide on her future, she'd begin studying engineering in the summer. I had no doubt she'd give all the boys a run for their money.

Once Jack and Laurie had left for the backyard, I sent Adam an apologetic look. "Sorry—they're under the delusion that they're funny. But they pick their moments, I promise. They wouldn't accidentally out you."

"I trust your word." His smile sat mostly around the eyes. "And honestly, they are a bit funny."

"Please don't encourage them, or I'll be paying the price."

He cocked his head at an inquisitive angle. "And that's my problem…how?"

"I'll make it your problem."

"You and whose army?" Something heavy clunked above our heads, and he moved on quickly. "Really, though—your family seems very close. It's nice."

The wistful note in his voice pulled me up short. We were, yeah, partly because we'd always been a little different. Nan Jean and I were able to see others' magic and several of us hid a talent for all four elements—it had made us a tight-knit bunch. Even more so with Dad's air magic sufficient for the construction job with J. Brown, but not enough to earn our family wealth or respect.

"You and Gale seem close," I replied gently, and Adam nodded, pursing his lips in thought.

"We are." He didn't bring up the rest of his family, and I didn't ask. No need when I already had a good idea of what the answer would be.

"He comes across as very sweet," I offered. "Clever, too."

"Yes to both." Adam glanced away, then back at me. "You were right—he isn't very powerful. It's been hard on him."

Brief surprise at Adam volunteering such delicate information sparked and died. We'd made a deal to guard each other's secrets, hadn't we? People he trusted were in short supply, and it was a basic human need to be truthful with at least a chosen few. We all wanted to be seen.

I just hadn't expected to like him this much.

"It's been hard on you both, I imagine," I told him. Yes, the chronic disappointment to the Harrington clan must have chipped away at Gale's confidence. But also, Adam was expected to shoulder the entire burden of his father's expectations without batting an eye, and that was no walk in the park either. Especially not with a father like Benedict Harrington.

"It's…well. Yeah." Adam cleared his throat. "But anyway. Cooktop, right? So, walk me through what I'm supposed to do?"

"And the award for smoothest segue goes to…" I gestured at Adam, smiling to take any sting out of the words.

He smiled back. "I figured I can cry about my life another day."

"Let me know, and I'll bring the vodka. Until then—yes, let's get to work." With a light touch of his elbow, I turned us both to face the workbench. "So we're looking at the electric coil here, right? With induction stoves, an alternating current moves through this coil. It creates a changing electromagnetic field, and that's what makes your pan heat up. If you ever were to use one, that is."

Adam slid me a bright look. "Might do it just to spite you."

"Don't burn down your flat in the process—it's too pretty to die."

"You just like me for my flat." He paused for a dramatic frown. "Oh, wait—you don't like me."

"But I do," I said.

"Yeah?" The upwards curve to his mouth was soft and sweet. "Me too."

I winked to gloss over the stupid warmth in my cheeks. "You like yourself?"

"Oh, that part's still up for debate."

The truth dressed as a joke. Having to hide part of himself from most of his family was bound to weigh on his confidence. Funny how I'd mistaken him for conceited, back when I hadn't known him—but that was just a mask he donned.

Maybe I'd been quiet for too long because Adam nudged me. "Anyway. What do you need me to do?"

"Right." I dragged my attention away from him. "So, what we want is to replace the electric current with your magic. For that, we need to power it on, and then you feed it just a tendril of magic—enough to crowd out the electricity."

Adam frowned. "A tendril?"

I'd never tried explaining what went into one of my devices to someone who didn't know I could see magic, observe its flow in a way most couldn't. George knew and trusted my lead entirely. We also hadn't attempted anything quite this delicate together.

"Like…" I hesitated. "Definitely more than you'd use to light a candle. Roughly around what you'd need to light a normal fire in a fireplace, I guess? Like, it's the kind of amount that means I can do one burner, and then I'm tapped out. I'll guide you."

"Okay." Adam said it lightly, like he really did trust me. I tried to quell another rush of warmth.

"Good. So. Let me just…" I turned the knob to power on the first burner, letting my gaze soften until I saw the radiant orange glow enveloping Adam. Blinding light gathered around his right hand.

"Do I just…?" He reached out towards the burner, and I caught his wrist.

"Stop."

He stilled. "Am I doing it wrong? I wasn't about to electrocute myself, was I?"

"No." I gave his wrist a gentle squeeze. "But it's too much magic. I need you to use about half of that."

"How can you possibly tell?"

I'd already shared one secret with him—what harm would it do to add another? But my ability to read people's magic was dangerous, threatening to slice like a razor through the narratives of powerful families, revealing the emperor's true state. But he hasn't got anything on!

"Close your eyes," I said instead.

"Is this a Star Wars moment?" he asked, and I chuckled, the sound almost swallowed by another bang from upstairs and Jack's and Laurie's voices outside.

"The force will be with you, young Skywalker." I laced our fingers. "Close your eyes."

He didn't—kept watching me with an intensity that lit the ends of my nerves on fire. Breathing was a luxury best served in measured increments.

"What?" I asked.

Adam's grin burst into brightness, a contrast to the hazy light around us. "Didn't take you for a romantic."

"You bring out the best in me," I said dryly even though my pulse had kicked up a notch. "Now close your fucking eyes."

This time, he did.

"Thank you." I allowed myself just a second to take him in—dark lashes and pale skin, his straight nose and the curve of his bottom lip. "All right, now try to focus on your magic. Think of it like a light that surrounds you, and you're trying to gather enough of it in your hand that it's like…It should be the perfect amount for comfortably reading a book rather than, say, performing heart surgery."

Adam's brow furrowed even as his eyes remained closed. "A light that surrounds me?"

I gave his fingers a light squeeze. "Just try, please? You meditate, right?" Most of us did, but for the truly powerful, it was an essential part of controlling their magic. "Think of it like that. Slow, regular breaths, letting your thoughts come and go."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, his face relaxing as he nodded. I matched my breathing to his—inhale for the count of six, exhale for the count of six, pause for four. Again. My pulse slowed down, and I closed my eyes as well, the construction noise above us slipping away. When I blinked, the glow around Adam was like a starburst.

I'd never done this before. I'd never tried to pull someone into my reality where magic turned visible.

"Open your eyes," I said, barely more than a whisper.

"Okay." He did, then swallowed. "How…?"

"It doesn't matter." Breathe. I remembered how and raised our joined hands. "It listens to you, so call it. Start with just a tendril of light at first, no more than that."

He watched me for a beat, something heavy in his eyes. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly. A moment later, light began pooling around our hands—dim at first, then brighter and brighter.

"That's enough," I murmured.

Magic had a will of its own. With less capable mages, it could buck and twist, trying to break free of human control like a wild horse. I'd seen it happen a couple of times—a short-lived burst of torrential rain instead of a gentle drizzle meant to water a lawn, a gust of wind that scattered bricks like legos when it had been called upon to stack them into a neat wall.

But Adam's control was magnificent. His magic stilled, calm and obedient, and together, we reached towards the electric coil.

"Weave the light through the copper," I told him.

He slid me a sideways glance before he focused on the exposed burner. A thin rope of light snaked out, connected with the copper wire, and zipped along its length like a spark along a fuse. I held my breath. Please work.

I'd only tried it with our own electric stove so far, shying away from experimenting on an expensive induction model. The advance for the project had come in last week, though, and induction technology was not only more efficient—it already looked deceptively close to magic for the scientifically uninitiated.

"Like this?" Adam asked, so soft I barely caught it.

"Perfect. Double back once you reach the centre."

"Okay."

More magic twined around the copper until the glow around our hands was nearly gone. The end of the light rope faded into nothing, and Adam looked at me, waiting. While his face was calm, his grip on my fingers was vice-like.

With my free hand, I pulled the plug, the knob still turned to medium heat. Please, please work.

The electric coil remained lit up.

I turned down the heat, and the magic glow dimmed. Turned up the heat, and it brightened.

I dragged a breath through my teeth and met Adam's eyes. "I think it worked. We'll need to test it with a pot, see if it heats up the way it should, but…I really think it worked."

"That was…" He let go of my hand and touched his chest, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Fuck, Liam. How?"

"I don't really know. It's always a bit of a gamble with this stuff, and it's a fragile balance—too much magic fries electronics. You don't want to know how many light bulbs I've killed."

His eyebrows drew together. "Yeah, not what I meant."

"Oh." I coughed. "That."

"Yes, that. You…You see magic? And you made it so I could, too?"

"I guess so. I'd never tried that before, so I had no idea it would even work."

"Holy shit." He rubbed a hand down his face. "That's…Christ, Liam. I just—how?"

"Do you remember those Magic Eye books?" I asked him. "I think that's what it's always felt like to me. I let my gaze soften, and suddenly, it's like reality shifts. It doesn't take effort, not as such, but I need to consciously focus on it."

He stared at me, looking almost pained. "You already knew about Gale, didn't you?"

"Yes," I said simply.

"And my cousin Christian?"

"He's a Spark, too." I inclined my head. "I haven't met his sisters, but my best guess is that they are as well. You're the only Nova of your generation."

"Shh." His gaze darted around the space as though someone might overhear—unlikely with the commotion overhead and my siblings shouting in the backyard. "That's bloody dangerous, Liam. If my dad knew that you know…Or my aunt? Fuck."

"Oh." I feigned disappointment. "Guess I should cancel that pub crawl I invited them to next Saturday, huh?"

"It's not funny," Adam told me.

"Your lips are twitching."

"They're not." One corner of his mouth definitely twitched before concern took over once more. "Liam, I'm serious. They hate sharing the Green Horizon Initiative with your family, but that's nothing compared to this. They'd see you as a threat. You cannot let anything slip."

"I wasn't planning to." I lifted my shoulders. "Honestly, it's not like I ever talk to them. I have no plans to change that."

"Good." He exhaled slowly. "God, that was incredible. Like, actually seeing my magic? And yours, too. It's all these shades—blue and green and orange and white. Mine's mostly orange with a few spots of blue."

"It is, but it reacts to your mood." I immediately wished I hadn't said a word. Move along. "Anyway. Let's test the stove with a pan?"

Adam shot me a curious look. "Sure, yeah. But what do you mean, it reacts to my mood?"

Uh.

"It twitches when you're angry." I held his gaze. No one was forcing me to continue, and yet I did. "And it kind of…sparks when you're turned on."

"Does it." He didn't phrase it like a question, voice a hint deeper than usual. I wanted him, God. But I didn't want to share his closet.

"Yeah." It came out throaty when I'd aimed for casual. I looked away, started moving towards the kitchen. "Let me just grab a pan, okay? I'll be right back."

If Adam replied, I didn't catch it. Just as well.

* * *

It worked.

It fucking worked.

Even unplugged, the burner responded to the turn of the knob as though the most beautiful, pure electricity was coursing through it. Adam watched me run through a series of tests, and when I declared it a success, his grin could have powered a city. Or our road, at the very least.

I grinned back. "Think it's time for a check mark on that progress sheet of yours."

"Because I helped," he said, and he seemed so happy that I didn't bother denying it.

"Ready to help some more?" I asked. The one electric coil we'd done would have exhausted my reserves for a couple of days, but Adam's glow seemed just as bright as before. Bloody powerful bastard. Even in my mind, it sounded fond.

He rubbed his hands. "Bring it on."

* * *

We finishedthe stove that morning and could have tackled five more, had I ordered them in bulk. Since I'd wanted to see how the prototype turned out, no such luck.

For lunch, my dad served a huge pot of pasta, the mild weather allowing us to spread out in the backyard on lawn chairs and beer benches. One day, when things slowed down, we'd call in George to give our garden a proper makeover, but today was not that day. The guys and one woman helping Gale with the office construction were not complaining, though. "We're used to bringing our own sandwich lunches," one of them said. "Most people we work for don't think about feeding us. Just doesn't occur to them."

"I used to be in your shoes," my dad said. "You need anything—coffee, water, toilet break—just let me know."

"Also," Adam added, straddling a plastic chair, "you ever hear about misconduct on any of our construction sites, you come straight to Gale or me." He'd refilled his plate once already, the only obvious sign that he'd been using his magic. His reserves seemed inexhaustible. I squashed a spark of envy.

"You should take him at his word," my dad said with a glance at Adam that carried approval. "It's not just lip service."

Adam ducked his head, but not before I caught the glimmer of a pleased smile. I pulled my attention away, then got up to stop Nan Jean from collecting empty plates and carrying them inside all by herself. Yes, she'd waited tables for years, but no, she wasn't twenty-five anymore.

By early afternoon, Adam and I were tinkering with the waste recycling unit, sitting outside under a makeshift tarp roof, while the office was taking shape even faster than I'd expected.

When I brought up Adam's enthusiasm about helping out, the brightness in his eyes dimmed. "It's nice to feel useful, you know? Like I told you already, I'm just the public face of my family. In the background, it's still my dad and aunt who run the show, with a bit of help from my uncle."

Until he was ready to accept his responsibility for the family line, that's what he'd said. Ideally by means of fathering a couple of children.

God, it was messed up.

Before I could think of an appropriate response, he moved on. "By the way, just so I don't forget—I started checking our library. Nothing in the two books I found on British magical families. Any chance he wasn't British?"

"I have no idea. Nan Jean hasn't been very forthcoming." I sat back on my haunches, poking at the base of the recycling unit. It was the section where rich, enchanted soil broke down biodegradable waste by enhanced microbial activity. While we'd managed to upscale the process so it could easily handle the necessary quantities, we were still working on reducing the smell by means of air magic. Adam had been less squeamish than I'd expected.

"She was born in the forties, right?" he asked.

"1943."

"So we're talking wartime Britain." Cross-legged in the grass, he frowned up at the fire chamber, its flames swaying with an invisible breeze. "Could have been an allied soldier. I mean, hey, you actually tan, so…Seems likely there's a non-British contribution somewhere in there. Could even have been someone with latent magic potential that didn't manifest until he passed on his genes."

"Could be." I sighed, shaking my head. "Too many options. I guess it was a shot in the dark to begin with, and anyway, if she doesn't want to tell us? She'll have her reasons."

"Probably, yeah—you know her better than I do."

"She's…" I hesitated, never having described Nan Jean to someone who didn't know her well. "She's one of the toughest people I know. My grandfather—her husband—died young, when my mum was still a toddler, and Nan Jean raised her while working a full-time job. No small feat for a woman in the seventies."

"Based on the one time I met her, she's very protective of you," Adam said. "And she doesn't scare easily."

I stifled a grin, remembering Nan Jean asking Adam if he was being nice to me. "No, she doesn't. And yes, she is protective—not just of me, but all of us."

"Do you think there's a bad story there, and that's why she doesn't want you to know?"

"It's possible. But…I don't know." I closed the access hatch of the biodegradable section. "Somehow, that's not the sense I got from her."

"I could ask Gale." Adam continued quickly. "Not explicitly about you—just whether he's aware of mages who combine, say, fire and earth. Unlike me, he knows just about every book in our library. He knows theory too, so he'd probably have an opinion on whether controlling four elements is an international oddity. Maybe it's more common elsewhere."

"Doesn't magic vary in other parts of the world?" I asked. "Like in China, it's more about balancing light and darkness, and in Mexico, I heard it's largely plant-based. I think it's just Europe where we even go by elements."

"Then maybe four elements are more common in other European countries."

"Maybe." I should care—I knew I should. This was my ancestry. But the last few weeks had been exhausting, and my mental capacity was at its limits. "Please don't ask Gale, okay? Let's just park it for now, at least until I'm a little less busy with eighteen different prototypes."

"Yeah, all right." Yet Adam still sounded thoughtful, the flames in the fire chamber dancing faster than before.

"Speaking of prototypes…" I nudged his thigh with my foot. "How are yours coming along? Pretty sure we defined timelines and milestones, didn't we? As your business partner, I feel it's my duty to check in on your progress."

The pensive distance in Adam's eyes faded and made room for a lopsided smile. "You'd love for my dad and aunt to know that you asked, don't you?"

"Lies and slander," I said, all dignity, only to ruin the effect with a smirk. "But yes. Please do tell them."

"I will. Followed by a sprint to take me away from the hot blast of their outrage."

While Adam's tone had been light, his words pulled me up short. I didn't want to add to the pressure he already faced, I really didn't.

"Hey." I nudged him again. "Forget I asked, okay? Just me making a nuisance of myself. I know your family will deliver, and it's only two things anyway."

"Because all we offer are cute little tweaks rather than actual innovation, isn't that what you said?" The corners of his mouth hitched up, and right, yeah, I had said that. While not wrong as such, I sure hadn't been in a diplomatic mood. Then again, Adam hadn't been either.

"That's why combining our proposals was a stroke of brilliance by the government," I told Adam. "You bring experience, we bring new ideas. It's a perfect match."

"My father begs to differ." Still sitting in the grass, Adam raised his hands in the air and stretched his back. A tiny sliver of stomach showed when his T-shirt lifted with the motion. "Also, you can thank Archer Summers. Alaric would have handed it to my family, but Summers insisted on bringing you in."

I averted my eyes. "Of course Hartley would have handed it to you."

"Yeah, well." Adam was quiet for a second. "And for the record, because fair's fair…My uncle mentioned last week that the earth-magic coated windows are fully ready. Those were easy, though. Seems the"—humour coated his voice—"energy penises are proving much trickier. My dad and aunt have been working on them."

Without him, of course. I shook my head. "They're idiots for not bringing you in."

The curve of his mouth softened. "Your gain, I guess."

"It is," I said. "Honestly, Adam—I'm sorry your family is like that, but if it means you're available to help around here? It is so appreciated. What we did with that stove in just one morning would have taken me a week without you."

"Careful there." Adam's smile carried a hint of bashfulness. "I'm a sucker for compliments. Keep them coming, and I'll be here most days."

"Good," I said simply.

"Yeah?" He sounded younger than usual, his smile still careful as though he found it hard to believe I wanted him around. The boy I remembered from school had swaggered through the corridors like he owned the place, always surrounded by friends. Had that been a mask already?

A question for another day.

"Yeah. In fact…" I got up and dusted off my jeans, then offered Adam a hand to help him up as well. "Let's do a proper introduction to Lila so you're pre-approved for future visits."

His fingers closed around mine. "Lila?"

"Our drone."

"Oh." He grinned. "I thought she was friendly?"

"If you pass inspection."

"And do I?" The flirtatious note was hard to miss.

"You'll do," I told him and let go of his hand after holding on a second too long.