They were not alike. They couldn’t be. Matthew had never killed anyone. He couldn’t honestly say that he never would, but not for the reasons Alexander had. He wouldn’t kill someone to get them out of the way. He wouldn’t do it for power.
Or would he? Had he ever truly been put to the test?
“Are you really so much better than me?” Alexander’s low voice intruded into his thoughts. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You’ve influenced constituents for votes, and you’re influencing sorcerers now for support. You play with their memories and their emotions. You’re subtle – you’re good – I wouldn’t ask you to become my protégé if you weren’t. But underneath it all, who are you, and why are you doing it? It’s like I asked you before, what are you for? You can’t just be against me, you have to be for something, and it has to be something more than your own personal power. People won’t follow that. You don’t have the charisma. You can get around that handicap – I could show you – but you don’t have it now.”
“You can only be making this offer because you’re afraid.”
“No, I’m making this offer because I respect what you’ve done. But Matthew, it’s not going to work. You don’t even have the full trust of your inner circle. Scott, Evan, and Cassie hate you. The enemy of your enemy isn’t really a friend, only an ally, and such alliances can only be temporary.”
Matthew knew it was true. It’s what made the offer so compelling. Alexander knew exactly what to say and how to say it; the strongest mind magic wasn’t magic at all, and charms couldn’t protect a person from it. Even Matthew wasn’t immune.
But he and Alexander weren’t alike. There were things Alexander had done for power, lines he had crossed, that Matthew could and would not cross. If Matthew could only prove one of the two dozen separate cases he knew of, he would probably have all the support he needed to dethrone Alexander.
“You care,” Alexander said. “I can see that much in you. I wouldn’t have made the offer otherwise. Even with charisma, you have to believe what you say, or no one else is going to believe it.”
“Believe your own lies, you mean?”
“What have I lied about? I’m making a difference, Matthew. I’ve crippled slave trade, magic theft, and blood magic. I’ve built a place for sorcerers to come for help. I’ve created a pool of knowledge that sorcerers can use to protect themselves.” Alexander paused. “What have you done?”
Chapter 11
MATTHEW LEFT HIS MEETING WITH ALEXANDER feeling as if he didn’t know himself at all.
He’d known this risk. Expected it. Well, almost. He had not expected Alexander’s offer to make him his heir. That had blindsided him, as it had been meant to do. Matthew couldn’t even be certain that Alexander was serious about his offer. He only knew that one some level, on a level he didn’t want to analyze too closely for fear that it would say something horrible about himself, he was tempted.
Who am I really?
Damn, but it shouldn’t be so hard! Matthew was one of the best mind mages in the country; he knew that. He’d known that the first time he’d ever met Alexander DuPris, when the man had walked into his town and fought a silent battle of wills with him that, to all outside observers, had ended in a draw. It had not. Alexander had only spared Matthew his dignity by pretending it had. But Alexander had something... some combination of natural charisma and something else. Maybe it was all the pooled information he talked about. Matthew had to admit that some part of him liked that idea. Right up until the point where he had to share generations of his own family secrets.
What would sorcerers accomplish if they united and shared? A ruling class, perhaps? The most powerful sorcerers in each generation were becoming stronger, not weaker. Matthew had noted it himself through careful study of over five hundred years’ worth of family journals. He could do things today that his long-ago ancestors wouldn’t have dreamed possible. And it wasn’t all due to intermarrying for power. No, some of the greatest leaps in power had come from the children of normal humans.
One of Alexander’s security guards showed Matthew to his quarters after lunch, on one of the lower floors of the compound. The guard didn’t say anything and Matthew didn’t try to engage him in conversation; he simply followed and took the key when it was offered. Then he gave the guard a curt farewell before unlocking the door and stepping inside.
The interior was opulence itself. From the lush carpeting beneath his feet to the wall carvings trimmed in turquoise and gold, he felt as if he had walked into a king’s private quarters. The front room wasn’t a bedroom but a sitting room, complete with seating area and small dining room. There wasn’t one but two bedrooms connecting to the sitting area, one much smaller than the other. It was as if they had expected him to bring a personal valet. He wondered, idly, if one would be provided for him. Then he shoved the thought aside. This place wasn’t here to impress him, it was here to show him what kind of wealth and power Alexander had at his disposal. It was meant to intimidate.
Matthew couldn’t let it do that.
He spent the next hour going over the rooms with a fine-toothed comb, looking for bugs. Scott had shown him how to look for the mundane variety, while he had his own spells to hunt for the magical sort. In the end he uncovered a dozen of each style of spying device, and didn’t doubt that there would be more. In fact, he knew if he left this room, by the time he returned all his hard work would be undone.
Sighing, Matthew removed an ancient tome from his backpack and pressed his thumb against it to prove he had the right to read its contents. It opened for him, going straight to the page he had suspected he would need, to a spell he had only cast once before – in practice, two days ago. It was an exhausting spell, one that would drain considerable reserves from him, but it was the only way he felt sure he could have a place of sanctuary within these walls.
He began by sitting cross-legged atop his bed (king-sized, with rich brocade hangings and more pillows than ten men could use) and began the process. He envisioned a tiny sphere, so tiny that nothing could fit inside it – not even him. The sphere would only allow Matthew access if he came in cleanly, which was why he began the sphere outside himself rather than within.
Slowly, ever so slowly, over the next hour, he increased the size of the sphere from the inside out. After thirty minutes he fit inside, and was relieved to discover that they had set no wards or spyware against him personally. After a full hour the sphere contained his bed. That’s where he stopped, sweating and exhausted. Perhaps tomorrow he could expand the sphere to contain the rest of the room.
He checked his watch, noting that it was past three o’clock. He still wanted to seek out Kaitlin, to determine if she might be of use to him, or at least become a friendly inroad to the inner workings of this place. He didn’t know when her shift ended; she hadn’t been thinking about it at lunchtime, but he would try her after dinner. In the meantime, he needed water, food, and rest – in that order.
* * *
When Matthew awoke near dinnertime, refreshed and ready for whatever challenges might come his way, he took some time to wander the compound. It was an impressive structure, a combination office, barracks, and recreation facility. The people who lived there were capable of staying there most of the time, having nearly all their needs met within its walls. It was a bit creepy, truth be told, but Alexander had the best magical minds in the country working with him. Working together. Building. Creating. Trusting.
What had Matthew done?
He pushed the nagging thought aside as he tested the mettle of the men and women he met in the public corridors. In the mundane world, he could read the minds of almost everyone. Here, in this compound, he found perhaps 10% of the minds were closed to him. That wasn’t bad. He hadn’t been certain, but based on his experience in Eagle Rock he had expected something like 25% to be able to keep him out. Clearly, with or without cooper
ation, the sheer magical potential here was lower than he was used to back home. That was something.
The people here didn’t like him. They made that abundantly clear with both hostile looks and hostile thoughts. When he went through the serving line to acquire a meal, the lady working the counter tried to give him half portions. He tried a subtle suggestion to change her mind, but ended up needing to rely on a more overt mental command. When he left, she had a dazed, unfocused look in her eyes.
There were all sorts of nudges he could give people to bend them to his will. The simplest, and the most preferred, were suggestions. These whispers of guidance were so subtle they felt as if they had come from the target’s own mind. Indeed, under the right circumstances they might have thought to do it themselves, but they hadn’t. He nudged them, and that’s all it took. They would never be the wiser, nor realize that they had done anything against their own will.
After suggestions came corrections, firmer pushes that wouldn’t go against the target’s basic nature, but which went against their current inclination. That’s what he had done to the serving lady – she had wanted to show her distaste for him, but she had a job to do and he felt no guilt about making her do it.
He tested his skill at random against the people who passed him while he ate in the large dining room. He could have had his dinner delivered to his room – Alexander had told him so – but his mission here was not to hide alone in his room. No, he needed to be around other people. To see into their thoughts. To comb them for memories that would help him, possibly even lost memories.
The Wizarding Word had not been any more hateful of late than usual, but that still left everyone thinking of him as “Mad Matt.” More than one person thought some variant of Oh God, it’s Mad Matt! What’s he doing here?
And Alexander wanted Matthew to join him? He would have to do a major mind wipe of every one of his followers first. Then again, judging from past encounters, this wasn’t beyond the scope of reason.
Someone near to hand began chanting a curse she intended to hurl at him. Matthew was not subtle in his correction this time. He simply slammed home a fierce Stop! When he turned, he saw a young woman with a face as white as a ghost and a dazed, almost drugged expression on her face. Served her right. Go to your room, he ordered. She stood and left without even carrying her tray to the disposal area.
I wonder if my dad sent him here.
The new thought, which skirted the periphery of his range, made Matthew whirl around to study the shifting crowd. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for at first, but in a matter of moments he found it. Or rather, her. Janelle, the beautiful mocha-skinned young woman from Devon’s mind, had just placed her tray in the tray return and was busily chatting up one of the members of the kitchen staff.
Matthew had finished most of his dinner; he could eat more, but he suddenly decided it was time to return his tray. Standing, he took the remnants of his meal and walked towards the tray return where Janelle stood near a large black man, flirting openly. She didn’t notice him at first, and her attention was focused entirely on the handsome young man who wanted much less to do with her than she wanted to do with him. At least, that was the immediate undercurrent. It could be hard to know these things for sure without more data points. But at the moment, he was looking at the clock, wishing it would move already so his shift would end – and not so he could go out with Janelle, as she hoped.
When Matthew set his tray down, Janelle glanced behind her. Like turning a switch, her thoughts shifted from the handsome man to Matthew himself, and to her father, who was a prisoner in this very facility, slowly being drained of his magic an hour at a time.
Matthew marveled at the power of a man to convince a girl that her own father had committed such a terrible crime. He didn’t think he could do it, change such a fundamental truth like that. Then again, he had never used blood magic.
“What are you doing here?” she asked sharply.
“Returning my tray,” Matthew replied.
Did my father send you?
Matthew frowned. Why would she wonder that? Why would she think her father would want her rescued if she also thought him the criminal who had drained her? It was a serious contradiction. Granted, there was cognitive dissonance everywhere he turned in the general population. But this didn’t feel right.
“I meant what are you doing here in this compound?” Janelle asked. “Everyone wants to know. I just have the nerve to ask.”
“Yes, you do.” And maybe more nerve than that. Quickly, Matthew drew together the threads of a truth spell. “And why are you here?”
“Money and power.” Janelle frowned, laughed halfheartedly and added. “Isn’t everyone?” But she left, glancing over her shoulder at him just as she stepped out of telepathic range. He would have loved to continue the conversation, but he couldn’t interrogate her here in public. Another time, though... she could count on it.
Chapter 12
MAGIC IS NOT AN ENDLESSLY RENEWABLE resource, as Matthew was reminded after spending over an hour tinkering with the minds of those around him. He was already worn out from lunch and an afternoon of spellcasting, and he hadn’t exactly taken it easy that evening. He wasn’t burnt out, but it was time to stop using magic for the day. He could use telepathy as much as he liked – it wasn’t magic, it was a gift. Some said gifts were tied to the soul whereas magic was tied to the blood, but Matthew didn’t believe it. He wasn’t sure he believed in souls at all. As for telepathy, it was simply something that was. He couldn’t turn it off and most of the time he didn’t want to. The rest of the time... well, he would take the good with the bad.
He had wanted to visit Kaitlin after dinner to get a feel for where she stood and how she had gone her entire life in Eagle Rock without letting anyone know she had a gift of her own, but he hesitated as he evaluated how tired he felt. He could manage a memory wipe in a pinch, he thought, but that was about it. Of course it was the best tool in his arsenal. It felt a little like reversing time under the right circumstances. A do-over, he’d called it when he’d first learned the spell at the age of thirteen. His grandfather, who had taught him the spell, warned him that it could be addictive, but so could any power.
He wanted a do-over with Kaitlin right now. He wanted to erase from her memory the night when Cassie had broken things off with him and, in a fit of temper, he had used strong compulsion on not only Cassie, but her two housemates – Madison and Kaitlin. That was what Kaitlin had recalled when she’d first seen him, but “smoothing things over” with her wouldn’t be as simple as erasing that memory. For one thing, erasing an old memory was much more difficult than erasing a fresh one. It carried more risk of exposing the target to unintended memory loss. An established memory tended to become cross-referenced in a person’s mind – filed into multiple drawers or across multiple neurons so that it was difficult to purge every instance. And easy to accidentally purge the things it was cross-referenced with.
So, no do-over, but he could take her temperature tonight and come up with a plan for tomorrow. With that thought in mind, he headed to the fifth floor below ground, where the janitors and kitchen staff and other barely-appreciated members of the community had their rooms. Judging by the spaces between doors, he could have fit six of them inside his guest suite. None of these people were immune to his telepathy, which made it easy for him to walk casually down the hall, “listening” to random thoughts until he found the one he sought.
She had her son with her. Matthew noticed that right off, because he heard the thoughts of the one-year-old right alongside his mother. His thoughts weren’t in words, not at this age. They were more basic, less cluttered, and in a way more honest. Matthew stood outside her door for a moment, focused on the boy’s thoughts – car vroom vroom! Mommy car vroom vroom! Mommy – he thought of his mother a lot. She was watching the news, giving both it and the child half her attent
ion.
He never played with cars before coming here, Kaitlin thought. She had no interest in the toys at all, but she made a show of rolling one of the little plastic toys off her knee so that it crashed to the floor, making the appropriate sounds as it fell.
Jay, delighted, clapped his hands and returned the car to his mother, wanting her to do it again. He didn’t ask in words, he didn’t even think it in words, but words were apparently not needed. Kaitlin took the car from him and repeated the exercise, this time adding the screams of the passengers in the car as it fell.
From his position outside, spying on the scene of domesticity, Matthew felt a pang of longing. He wanted a child. He’d wanted one for a few years now, since before he had dated Cassie. He had buried that desire over the past couple of years, focusing on building a political movement and an empire, but it hadn’t gone away. If anything, time had made it stronger. His brother hadn’t married yet, but he had cousins who were in their twenties and thirties, all of them getting married, most of them having kids. Christmas was a bit of a circus, but he had a way with children. They didn’t even need suggestions to come to like him, they just needed their simple, basic desires met. They were all a little different. Some wanted attention. Some wanted hugs. Some wanted toys. His newest cousin had only wanted her mother’s milk the last time he’d seen her, but her brother had wanted someone to remember that he was alive, and that Matthew had been able to do with aplomb.
Jay wanted... well, at the moment he was blissfully content with the car game and his mother’s divided attention. But there was something else, something too ill-formed for the young boy to understand it himself.
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