Rogan POV 1 during Burn for Me

It was a beautiful day. The sun was warm, the sky was blue, and I would have liked nothing more than to take the afternoon off and be just about anywhere but sitting in a car waiting for a certain rogue Prime to show up. Adam Pierce was running around Houston setting fires and getting people killed. I didn’t know why, and I normally wouldn’t have gotten involved but he’d fucked with my family and now deserved my undivided attention. Not that I was particularly close to them, but, when your cousin comes to you crying and at the end of her rope because her teenage son is implicated in murder and on the run, you don’t just say no. I mean, you could, but then you’d be the cold bastard everyone thinks you are. Maybe I was, but she was my favorite cousin, and the thought of that flashy poser Pierce using the boy to help him do all his horrible shit really pissed me off.

I’d known guys like Adam my whole life. Born with the wealth and the looks, given the best education, the fanciest toys, everything but a sense of duty. No responsibility to do more than spend money and have a good time. Mostly they were harmless assholes who’d eventually settle down and raise more little useless assholes. Most didn’t blow up banks and incinerate off duty cops. 

What was Pierce playing at? He didn’t need the money. I knew his mommy was still giving him his allowance on the sly. Was he just having fun? The move from petty vandalism to murder was rather sudden. Despite being an incredibly powerful fire mage, Adam had seemed content to amuse himself with petty mischief until now: little fires, bar fights, trouble that his family had always gotten him out of. This was different. Now he’d killed a man, a cop, for no reason, and he’d involved my family in it.

The big question was why? Why go from bad boy heartthrob to Houston’s most wanted? Was somebody pulling his strings, manipulating him the way he was doing with Gavin? When I found him, I’d have to ask him before I ripped his tongue out and shoved it up his ass. The thought brought a smile to my lips.

But first I would have to find him and so far, that was easier said than done. It was supposed to be simple, but it turned out to be anything but. The man was a fucking ghost. None of my contacts turned up anything useful except a single lead, a motorcycle repair shop, where Adam supposedly picked up his mommy’s money once a month. Today was the day, so I set up in a neighboring parking lot and waited for him. Except now, he knew there was too much heat. He hadn’t shown up, but someone else had. A young woman in business clothes who didn’t look like she had any reason to be here. She looked around before going in, as if this was her first time in this corner of Houston. Not a cop, but something…

Who are you, pretty girl? Let’s find out.   

I snapped a quick pic of her in profile and one of her license plate after she disappeared inside. A short time later I knew that she was Nevada Baylor, chief investigator and co-owner of the Baylor Detective Agency. That told me nothing; however, the financial report stated that the business was mortgaged to MII.

Montgomery didn’t own them out right, but Augustine held their leash, which I confirmed once she left the repair shop and drove straight to MII. I parked two rows behind her and watched as she left the car and marched toward Augustine’s ridiculous building. No doubt to see Augustine Montgomery in person. I strolled by her car, attached a tracker, and came back to my vehicle. No security showed up to ask me what I was doing. Disappointing.

I sat in my car and watched the building.

So, Pancakes, what are you doing mixed up in all this? 

Then it hit me. House Pierce must’ve hired him to help Adam.

The check must have been huge. Adam was public enemy number one at the moment. Every cop in Houston wanted a piece.

Still, money was money. Plus, Pancakes would have dirt on them, and House Pierce would owe him, and House Montgomery, a favor. Had Mommy insisted that they also pass along little Adam’s lunch money? It was one thing to be on the run from every law enforcement agency in Houston but to have him destitute, well, that simply wouldn’t do.

The Augustine I remembered would never have soiled his hands with this kind of sordid business. If it came out that he had aided a cop killer… unless he forced someone else to do his dirty work, somebody he retained and could just as easily disavow should it become expedient to do so. Somebody like a pretty young girl. She had to know that aiding a notorious fugitive could mean losing her PI license and her family business. 

Was Augustine forcing her to do it or did she want to help? Most likely the latter. Attractive, eligible Primes always fascinated certain types of people. Perhaps the bad boy image had something to do with it, maybe being a wanted man made him even more alluring to her.

I half wanted to walk into the building and ask Augustine what the hell happened to the young idealist who was going to change the world and wanted no part of House politics? I guess he became his old man after all.

The girl burst out of MII at a near sprint to her car. Now, that was interesting. Where are we going now? She must’ve picked up the money from the repair store, brought it to Augustine, who called Pierce and okayed the payoff. She was going to meet Adam. I started the car.

Finally.

This was as simple as it got. Follow the girl, find Adam, wrap him up tight in this nice roll of military-grade fireproof cloth, (the perfect gift for the unstable pyromage in your life), take him home and spend some quality time together. Then, after he told me how to find Gavin, I’d drop what was left of him off at some police station.

She was driving like a bat out of hell, and I did my best to keep up with her without being noticed. The bug I’d placed on her car would let me find her anywhere in Houston but if it was discovered or if she noticed me, she’d be a lot more cautious. As long as she led me to Pierce.

The traffic ground to a halt, bumper to bumper, clogging the highway. One car ahead a guy with a hard hat and orange vest walked out from the exit marked with roadwork warnings and held up a stop sign. Dump trucks roared and began exiting onto the highway.

I took a deep breath and counted the dump trucks between us. One, two, three, four, five, …for fuck’s sake! God help me, I wanted to simply sweep them aside like a child’s toys or crush them and toss them away like empty soda cans. Most people felt this way sometimes. The difference was that I could do it. I could but I wouldn’t. These were just guys, civilians, doing their job, and I wasn’t going to harm them. No, that’s what someone like Adam would do. Which meant that per my rules, I could hurt him. In many wonderful ways. I thought about all of them, while I waited for the seemingly endless stream of construction vehicles to pass. Finally, after broken bones but before I moved on to chemical and electrical burns, we were allowed to proceed. Of course, by this time she had a ten to fifteen-minute lead on me.

The tracker blinked on my display, moving north. Where the hell was she going?

Five minutes later she pulled into Mercer Botanical Gardens. The tracker stopped. Damn it.

Fifteen minutes later I ran past her car through the parking lot at Mercer Arboretum, the bolt of fabric under my arm. It made sense. A public place, while at the same time secluded. The trail wound through the botanical gardens, branching in a dozen places, peppered by pavilions, fountains, and plazas. They had to be somewhere on the trails. That’s what I would do. Too many people in the plazas. He had a target on his back and she was probably infatuated, so they would want at least some privacy. Where would I take a pretty girl who was bringing me money?

Bamboo garden. Easy to hide, while still suitably picturesque. I sped up.

I was ten yards away, when the sound of a motorcycle roaring to life came from close by. Definitely within the park. It had to be him. Who else was enough of a dickhead to bring a motorcycle into a place like this? And now he was taking off and there was no handy tracking bug on his bike. I couldn’t make him crash if I couldn’t see him and I’d never catch him on foot before he roared out of the park and into the city.

This day just kept getting better and better. Adam, when I find you, and I will, I’ll be sure to throw in a nice scaphoid fracture or two, no extra charge. Even once it healed, his motorcycle riding days would be over. Hard to ride with your wrists hurting like hell.

Not everything was lost. Adam took off, but the girl would be on foot. She brought him money; likely as not she would know how to find him again. The motorcycle roar had come from the left. She’d likely walk out through the plaza. I sped up.

A minute later I walked into the plaza. A blonde woman on a bench by the fountain. Yep, that’s her. Nevada Baylor. 

Hey girl, we need to talk. 

I slowed down. Don’t stalk her, don’t scare her, remember to stroll up, nice and casual. You’re just a pleasant guy who sees a pretty girl and wants to chat her up. What’s this under my arm? Oh, that’s not fireproof high-tech fabric. It’s just a giant fruit roll up, you want some? Don’t worry, I’m harmless. I’m not interested in you or the fact that you are aiding a murderer who burned a man to death and used my kid cousin to help him. That death would be forever on Gavin’s soul. Adam didn’t care, but a sixteen-year-old kid would have to live the rest of his life with it.

She looked up.

Maybe she didn’t see me.

Shit. She saw me. Don’t run, please don’t run. Damn it.

I sprinted after her. She dashed through the park like she was on fire.

Yelling, “I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to wrap you up and sedate you, so I can take you to my secret torture dungeon to interrogate you” probably wouldn’t help. She veered onto the trail, heading back toward the exit. So convenient. Less people around.

She was pretty fast, but I knew I’d catch her before she got to the gift shop by the exit to the park. The trick to catching someone with fabric is to not suffocate them. I gathered my magic, realigning it. Wrap her in fabric, pick her up, and carry her right out. Neat and easy.

She whipped around.

And now she had a gun. I really didn’t like when people pointed guns at me.

She sighted me and yelled, “Stop, I’ll shoot you.”

I looked into her eyes. No, she wouldn’t shoot me. I kept walking. Even if she did, others had shot at me before and it never turned out well for them.

“Help me,” she yelled at no one in particular.

No, they won’t. There wasn’t a soul in this place that could save her now. It was much too late. It was over the minute she pulled that pistol out. Nobody would want to get involved and she just went from an enemy sympathizer to an active threat. Now she was fair game.

She fired the gun, not at me but high and toward the trees. Should have taken the shot. I used my magic to push the fire blanket at her and wrapped her up nice and tight. I caught her before she hit the ground and pulled the sedative out.

There we go, it’s almost over now, a quick shot and then you get to take a nice long nap. I scooped her up and headed for the exit.

“Hey!” Some guy in a cowboy hat started toward us. Big mistake.

“I wouldn’t advise it,” I told him. I looked at him, promising that if he took one more step, it would be his last. He must have believed me because he stopped dead in his tracks. Lucky for him.

The woman stirred and tried to say something. I shifted her in my arms so that I could see her face. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. Then it dawned on her.

“Meh…ma.. mad.”

There it was. It is nice to be recognized.

“Mad Rogan,” I finished for her. It’s good that you know who I am. It will make this next part easier for both of us, I hoped.

Rogan POV 2 during Burn for Me

A short while later, I deposited Sleeping Beauty on a cot in my basement and prepared for the next exciting episode entitled Uncle Connor’s Torture Time. Can our hero break the will of Adam’s gun toting moll and find a way to stop the bastard before he burns Houston to the ground? Yeah, probably. Once she awoke in the “Claw”, technically Acubens Exemplar, it was really a foregone conclusion. She would tell me all she knew, willingly and gratefully. Though I would, if it came to it, wring the truth out of her like water from a wet towel.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Waking up chained to the floor was usually enough to put most of my… guests in a sufficiently cooperative state of mind. The thing is, most people, even in a big city like Houston, feel safe. The idea that they could be taken off the street, kidnapped away and held in a remote location, subjected to intensive questioning or even torture is absurd. Something like that could never happen to them. Then it does. And it scares the shit out of them. You’ve just ripped away the illusion of security and most will do anything to get it back. First comes outrage, then realization and despair. Some fight, some cry, eventually they all give up. No one has ever resisted the Claw or the pressure I could bring to bear on them, at least not for long.

Nevada Baylor would be no different. She was still sleeping soundly. Based on her approximate size and age, she should be out for at least another hour or two. Time enough to get everything just right. I stripped out of my civilian attire and into my work clothes, a pair of loose dark silk pants. Silk is conducive to magic flow. Next were the symbols carefully scrawled onto my skin. They helped me channel all my magic and my will into the circle that would connect us and had the added benefit of making me look like an unhinged Prime with some unspeakable dark powers.

It was all about ritual. Building the spell, drawing the circle, it all required skill and precision, practice and repetition. In a way it was almost meditative, like going through the complicated steps of a kata. At some point, you turned off your conscious mind and relied on muscle memory and recall. This particular circle took two weeks of work. I’d prepared it for a previous problem I had to deal with, but it resolved itself, so I planned to use it for Adam Pierce. Since Adam wasn’t around, his groupie was the next best thing.

Once I’d secured her and taken my place, I closed my eyes and psychically “walked” through the entirety of the elaborate circle. The steps were familiar and if even an inch of it had been misdrawn I would have known immediately.

No, it was flawless. It would do its job. With any luck, it wouldn’t have to. I was hoping Miss Baylor would just be sensible. I would prefer not to use my power on her. It would be a lot easier if she just answered my questions and didn’t force me to break her. The circle was the least painful way to extract information, but it wasn’t pleasant. Still, she’d chosen to involve herself with Adam and whether the next few hours went easy or hard was entirely up to her.

While I waited for her to come around, I gradually fed my magic into the Claw. Slow and steady. Too much too fast and I would run dry. It wasn’t a sprint, it was more of a marathon, an airborne shuffle that I could keep up for hours without tiring or slowing down. Even if she resisted, I doubted that I would require more than a fraction of my magic to subdue her.

Even with my eyes closed I knew the moment that she regained consciousness. I waited for her to speak, to figure out where she was and what was happening. Best not to rush these things. We locked eyes and then she tried to get up. Tried and failed.

“You chained me to the floor.” There was a quiver in her voice, fear or anger?

“What gives you the right,” she continued when I didn’t answer, “to grab me off the street and chain me up in your dirty basement?”

Dirty? Nothing in my home was dirty. And I grabbed her out of the park to be precise. What gave me right? I could. That was enough. None of that really mattered. She needed to understand the gravity of the situation. The faster she realized what was happening, the faster I would get my information and we could all go our separate ways.

“Do you know what this is?” I asked.

Of course, she didn’t but then, why should she? Few people outside of powerful houses were familiar with the Claw and few within one could draw it correctly. She seemed to carefully study the elaborate circle she was in the center of. Was that recognition? Surely not.

“Acubens Exemplar requires a telepath. You’re a telekinetic.”

How the hell did she know that? No matter. Enough foreplay, it was time to get down to business. I fed a little more magic into the circle to get her attention and cut to the chase.

“I want to know everything you have on Adam Pierce. His location, his plans, his family’s plans for him. Everything.” Time to sing, little bird.

She crossed her unchained arms across her chest. “No. First, I was hired to find Adam Pierce and my client has an expectation of confidentiality. Second, you attacked me and then chained me to the floor.” She shook her legs as if to emphasize the fact that I had cuffed her ankles to restraints permanently installed in the floor. Which was her own safety. Running into an active circle hurt. If enough power flowed through, it would knock you out cold, and waiting until she came to again would take too long.

She glared at me. Well, she had guts, and as much as I might have admired her courage it meant that we weren’t going to do this the nice and easy way. Pity.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I explained. “I want the information. Forcing you gives me no pleasure.”

It didn’t. I didn’t like torture. I really hadn’t been keen on it when it was done to me. And yet here we were, her chained to the floor and me trying to convince her to talk, to not force my hand.

“If you don’t like forcing me, you should let me go.”

No, I don’t think so. I went to a lot of trouble to track her down and she was my only link to Adam. She knew who I was, she was chained to my floor, and she knew what the spell did, but she was neither panicked nor crying. She didn’t beg me to let me go. I’d miscalculated.  She wasn’t an amateur. She was a professional, and most professionals were pragmatic.

“Tell me what I want to know, and you can walk out of here.” Well, more likely I would drug, blindfold her and drop her off somewhere safe but that didn’t sound as good.

“No. It would be unethical and unprofessional.”

Just my luck, a contractor who stayed bought.

She scooted forward and shot me a defiant look. “Okay, tough guy. Let’s see what you got.”

The hard-ass routine. So be it. I fed a little more magic into the circle. Let’s pick up the pace and see if you can keep up. I gave her mind a gentle squeeze, not too much, more like a warning.

She pushed back.

Well, somebody has a little power. Won’t help, won’t be enough.

“Adam Pierce,” I said.

It was like making a fist with your magic. Each time I’d say the name, I would grasp her a little harder. Contract and release. The point was not to crush her mind, that would make her useless, it was safer to wear her down, exhaust her mentally and physically. She would break. They all did eventually.

My magic met the hard wall of her will. She stared back at me. “Eat dirt and die.”

I guess we were going to do it the hard way after all.

#

Eventually was taking too long. I was getting tired. The basement was hot as hell and though she had stripped down to her bra and sweating profusely, Ms. Baylor showed no other signs of surrender. How was she doing this? She had to be exhausted. I’d broken Significants in less time.

“You’re rich, right?” She sounded worn out. At least it wasn’t just me.

“Yes.” I tried to keep my voice as normal as I could. Don’t let her know you’re near exhausted.

“Couldn’t you spring for air-conditioning in the room?”

“I didn’t expect to sit here for hours. But if you’re too hot, feel free to take the bra off.”  Would she? Bribe or distract me? No, she showed me the finger instead. Alas.

“What are you?” Had I kidnapped an extremely well trained Significant? Or was she an untrained but powerful…no. There were too many benefits to being a Prime. She would’ve used her magic and given herself away. If she were a Prime, she wouldn’t be mortgaging her business to Augustine.

“I’m the woman you chained in your basement. I’m your captive.” She eyed me. “Your victim. Yes, that’s the right word. All that education. How come nobody ever explained to you that you can’t just kidnap people because you feel like it?”

She’d misunderstood the question, but it was a valid one. I could and I had, because no one had taught her not to let herself be kidnapped.

“You had a full second to shoot me.” She’d hesitated though and now I had her. There.

“I don’t just shoot strangers unless my life is clearly in danger. For all I know, you could have been a cop assigned to Pierce’s case. If I fire, I have to be prepared for the possibility of killing my target. Besides, discharging a firearm into a crowd is irresponsible.”

Finally. Adam Pierce came up, but we weren’t talking about him yet.

“A .22 will bounce off wet laundry on the line. Why even carry it?” Someday she might shoot somebody with it and seriously annoy them.

She leaned back and I heard her back pop. Not surprised. It felt like we’d been at this for hours and it was nice to take a little break.

“Because I don’t shoot unless I mean to kill. A large caliber will tear a hole through the target and exit, possibly striking innocent bystanders. A .22 will enter the body and bounce around inside it, turning your insides into hamburger. Small caliber gunshots to the chest and skull are nearly always fatal. Had I known you were going to pull a pretty ribbon out of your sleeve like some two-bit magician, tie me up with it, and indulge your mental torture fetish in your basement, I would have shot you many times.”

Is that how she remembered it? Maybe I had damaged her mind.

“Two-bit magician?” 

“Men like you enjoy being flattered.”

No more talk. It was time to finish this. Ok, princess, break’s over and you’re really not going to like this next bit. I clamped down on her like a vise, summoning my reserves.

“I’ve broken Significant mages in this trap.” She would be no different. “I will break you.”

“You will try.”

She was still fighting. Damn it. She should have cracked by now.

I flexed and poured all of my remaining will and magic into the circle. No more squeezing, now it was battering, like hitting the heavy bag. I was putting everything into each blow, imagining it breaking and all her resistance spilling out like sand. I was running on empty. I couldn’t keep this up for very long, but neither could she.

“Give up.” I ground out through my teeth.

Her voice shook with strain. “You first.”

Damn her.

Gone was any subtlety, any art. It was all rage and will.

Heavy blow, Adam Pierce.

Exhale.

Heavy blow, Adam Pierce.

My arms grew so heavy, I could barely keep them up. My head was beginning to droop. But she was hurt too. I could feel her defences crumbling. The walls were coming down.

Almost there. I was so close I could smell blood. It had never taken this long before. My nose bled.

“Give up.”

“You first,” she croaked.

Tell me what you’re hiding.

Tell me.

Tell me…

Her mental shields snapped. Yes! Yes, there it is.

“When I was fifteen years old, I found the letter from our physician with my father’s diagnosis on it. He caught me and made me promise not to tell anyone. I kept his secret for a year. I’m the reason why my father died when he did. If I had told Mom, we could have started treatment a year earlier. I’m responsible. I didn’t tell. I didn’t tell anyone to this day, because I’m a coward.”

The magic burst and suddenly the circle was bathed in bright light. Then it died, spent and broken.

Fuck.

She’d outplayed me. Instead of Adam Pierce, she fed me a secret, a thing so personal she’d hid it from everyone for years. She sacrificed it to the circle and now it was gone.

Nevada Baylor slumped on the floor.

Did I break her? She looked dead. Shit. I really fucked this up.

I got to my feet. My whole body hurt like it’s been through a grinder. I shuffled over to her through the inert lines of the circle. She didn’t move.

Damn it. “Don’t die, you little fool.”

“Fuck you too,” she muttered.

Alive.

The relief swept through me. There was a difference between a combat kill and murder and I didn’t care to add murder to my resume.

Sweat drenched her. The room was hot as hell. She had to be dehydrated. I got my old canteen, lifted her head, and tried to tip the contents of into her mouth. Even exhausted as she was, she resisted. Gods, she never quit, never gave up. She clamped her teeth together tightly. There was no give in her, even now.

“It’s water, you stubborn pain in the ass,” I snarled. Why did she have to make everything so difficult?

I forced her mouth open and poured a little water in, not too much or she’d choke. She managed to swallow a little and then drifted out again. No need to sedate her after all. She was exhausted but she would live.

Good show, Major. We’ll just put that in the win column across from our losses which include kidnapping a random woman from public parks in full daylight and in front of several witnesses, taking her home, shackling her in your dungeon and then forcing her deepest, darkest shameful secret from her. One that had absolutely zero to do with Pierce and helped you not at all. Well, the night was young, perhaps after you’ve escorted the young lady home, you can find a nice orphanage and level it dramatically. Maybe you can read the wreckage like tea leaves and look for some clues to Adam’s whereabouts.

I looked down at the woman in my arms, “What are we going to do with you, Ms. Baylor? Perhaps we should chalk it up to the worst first date ever and get you home. Sound good to you?”

She made no protest.

I carried her out and called for a medic.

Half an hour later, after the diagnosis of exhaustion with prescription of fluids and rest, I drove her back to her house. She lay slumped in her seat. We’d managed to redress her. It’s surprisingly hard to dress an unconscious person. Admittedly, the result wasn’t great but it was better than dropping her off topless and passed out. I carried her to the door, lowered her to the ground, rang the bell, and went to my car.

Nevada Baylor, at least a Significant who wasn’t registered, who lived in the warehouse, and who was my best lead to Adam Pierce. I would give her tonight. But tomorrow we had things to discuss.

Rogan POV 3 during Wildfire

The flight from Houston to Austin’s executive airport was short, less than half an hour in the air. It would take more time to get from the airport to the Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́’s compound in Costa Bella. Most days I’d rather just drive, but I needed to be back in time for Nevada’s big date with Garen Shaffer. I don’t know why she had to meet him. I could tell her how it would go, what his pitch would be.

“Oh, Nevada, you’re so pretty, and I’m so handsome, and rich, did I mention I was rich, sure you’re not yet, but I have enough for both of us. Let’s breed and make powerful, pretty progeny. Come with me Nevada, marry me and live a safe, comfortable and perfectly boring life.”

What he wouldn’t promise, what he couldn’t lie about, especially to her, was love. No, what Garen was really offering was business arrangement. More merger than marriage. One that, as much as I hated to admit it, made sense. Nevada was a Truthseeker Prime, stronger than Garen or anyone in his family. What he offered was the protection and the financial security that came with being a part of an established, respected house. What he was offering was worth millions, what he asked for in return was priceless. The most powerful Truthseeker of her generation, the legendary long-lost child of House Tremaine. Or more specifically, her DNA. The potential children that their union would produce.

That wouldn’t be how he’d couch it, of course. He’d use terms like partnership, family and potential. Maybe he’d even mean it, but Shaffer and I both knew what he wanted, most of all, what his family’s wealth and reputation couldn’t buy was a guarantee of Prime offspring. Their talent was a rare one, and unless House Shaffer wanted to start marrying distant cousins, Garen had to find an equally powerful family or face the very real possibility of the house’s power waning with each new generation.

Of course, I didn’t tell her any of this. Why would I? She knew how I felt about it, but the decision had to be hers. What I wanted, maybe what she wanted, didn’t matter. In the end, the woman I love, who I thought loved me, would do what was best for her family and the future House Baylor. And I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

No, best to focus on what I came here for. On the ride over from the airport to the Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́ mansion, I thought of how to best approach the weather clan. Well-respected, with a reputation for neutrality and fair dealing, House Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́ rarely, if ever, involved themselves in Prime politics. They’d come to Travis County decades ago during the worst drought in living memory. Lake Travis fell below five hundred feet, lower than ever in recorded history. Crops withered, fires raged, Spicewood burned. Finally, the Austin City Council sent out a cry for help to anyone, be it scientist or sorcerer, who could break the drought. Week by week the lake grew smaller, and the reward grew larger and still unclaimed. Temperatures and tempers flared. Finally, when it seemed that it would never rain again, the Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́. Crowned by the Wind, in their native Yorùbá tongue, appeared and with them came the storm clouds. Before the squall, some laughed, some jeered, but as the tempest raged, adults danced like small children in the rain. The Weather mages were hailed as saviors and rewarded with ten acres on the lake they had rescued. As the area had prospered, so had the Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́. Down a private drive and behind a massive gate stood the nearly fourteen thousand square foot pure white limestone mansion the Clan called ”Ilé Mọ̀lẹ́bí”.

As I came up the steps, the heavy ornate door swung open. Táyọ̀ Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́ stepped out and pulled me into a bear hug. Which was a far cry from the first time I met the youngest son of House Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́. When I’d walked into the first class of my sixth grade, he’d emptied a trashcan over my head.

Táyọ̀ grinned. “Connor. Mom said you’d be coming by to talk to dad. The great war hero and notorious recluse graces our humble abode. It must be serious if you’ve broken your self-imposed exile.”

“Still king of the middle school putdowns, Táyọ̀?”

“Hardly, it’s Dr. Afefe to you, Private Rogan.”

“It’s Major, and since when do they give out Ph.D.s for standup comedy?”

“Climate Sciences, actually, and we were all proud of your service, Connor. Ah, I have missed you too. How are things in Houston?”

“Not great,” I told him, ”I was hoping to talk your dad into letting me borrow Ọmọ́tọ́lá for a while.”

“’Tọ́lá?” He looked surprised, “What do you want with my beautiful cousin? Because if you put her in danger, I will break every bone in your body. And I am not joking this time. It will be middle school all over again. You’ll have to go back to the Ondo jungle to hide from me.”

Before I could reply, a deep voice boomed through the house. ”Arákùnrin, if you are quite finished with your foolishness, bring our guest to the study.”

Táyọ̀ manufactured a look of mock horror and pretended to cringe. “Yes, father.” He turned to me and stage-whispered, “Time to go.”

I followed my friend through the foyer and into a hallway on our left to a set of double glass doors. Táyọ̀ stopped before the doors, knocked twice, and waited.

A moment later the same sonorous voice commanded, “Enter.”

Táyọ̀ opened the door turned to me, mouthed “Good luck,” and ushered me inside. Once I’d entered, he closed the door behind me and stood outside.

Adépérò Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́ stood against the far wall of the room, in front of a massive marble fireplace. Above it sat a coat of arms: a black shield between two white chargers with a red eagle on top. The floor, the walls and built in book shelves, even the ceiling seemed to be of the same mahogany. Overstuffed leather chairs and a matching couch sat atop an exquisite Persian rug. An honest to God old fashioned English study. Maybe after we discussed my situation, we could have brandy and cigars while debating the current state of the British empire.

“House Rogan honors us with this visit,” he intoned formally, “How may we help you, Connor?”

Adépérò looked almost exactly the same as he had the first time I’d met him when my father brought me here on family business, nearly twenty years ago: tall, lean, bald and clean shaven with dark skin stretched tight over high prominent cheekbones. The same thoughtful, penetrating gaze and unlike his son, stoic. I knew he was fifty-eight, but he could have passed for a fit man in his mid-forties. When he shook my hand, the grip was firm and the muscles on his arm rolled under the simple white, loose-fitting shirt. According to Táyọ̀, his father was a lifelong practitioner of both Dambe and Lutte, traditional West African boxing and wrestling. I wondered for a moment if I could take him. Yeah, sure I could. Maybe, but beating up an old man in his home probably wasn’t the best way to get a favor from him. Best to charm him.

“Mr. Adé-Afẹ́fẹ́, you look well.”

“Thank you, Connor, as do you. Now, again, what can we do for House Rogan?”

Straight to business then.

“I came to ask a favor. Alexander Strum is planning to unleash a storm upon Houston and I’d like your family’s help to prevent it. Specifically, Omotola Ogidan. Of course, I would pay for her services and guarantee her safe return.”

Adépérò frowned. “Why would Strum do this? What could he hope to gain?”

“It’s a private matter between our houses.”

“Yes, we know the history of your houses well, Connor. We know how your fathers fought. The destruction, the loss of life on both sides. And here the two of you are, years later and you’ve learned nothing. What do they accomplish, these private little wars of yours? Why do you think my house would help you?”

“Because if you don’t, he’s going to conjure up a tornado so large that the death toll in Houston and the surrounding areas will be catastrophic. He thinks I have something I don’t, and he’s threatening to level the city and blame me for it.”

“Apologies, Connor, but that makes no sense, I cannot believe that any house, even House Sturm, would destroy a city out of revenge. The council would hunt him down like a dog. He would be a fugitive, all hands turned against him. Besides, what you’re describing takes a tremendous amount of time and power. We don’t create, Connor, we coax, we direct or divert. The atmosphere isn’t an isolated environment. When one summons rain in one spot, somewhere there will be a drought in another. When his father attacked yours, he used an existing storm cell. He gave it a nudge and then guided the resulting tornado. There are no conditions conducive to tornado creation at the moment, which means that Sturm would have to manufacture it out of thin air, literally, risking consequences no one can predict. We, who adjust the weather, do not do this. It is unthinkable. Do you have any proof of this?”

“None,” I admitted. “He has threatened to do it and my gut tells me he will.”

“Your gut?”

I was losing this battle. “Could it be done? Could you do it?”

Anger flashed in his eyes. “I could. But I would never. We came here, strangers in this strange land, with nothing but our power and our pride. We were welcomed, and we have thrived,” he waved a hand to indicate the fine home, “because we help people. We do not misuse or abuse our gift. We do business with the other houses, as we did with your father, but we do not, ever, engage in house politics or intrigue. For this we are left alone. This fight between you and Sturm is, as you’ve said, a private matter. If we do this for you, intercede directly on your behalf, we would no longer be viewed as neutral, we would be seen, and rightly so, as your ally, and your enemies would be ours. This I will not do.”

“I see. Thank you for your time.”

“Young man, you did not allow me to finish. Because I knew your father, and because my son speaks highly of you, we will give serious consideration to what you have said. We will make inquiries and if it is necessary, we will send someone to investigate your claims. If we find what you say to be true, we will send someone to help. Not because we feel obligated to intercede on your behalf, but because what you’re describing is an abomination. If one of our kind chooses to play god, we will do everything we can to keep the city and its people from harm. Now, will you be joining us for dinner, Connor?”

I guess that was it then. It wasn’t as much as I’d hoped for, but it was better than nothing.

“Thank you but no, I’m afraid I have a very important engagement tonight back in Houston and I can’t be late.”

“Did you drive or fly?”

“I flew.”

“Take a car,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“Because a hailstorm is gathering between Austin and Houston, and it will take you too long to go around it.”

I glanced outside the window, at the day suffused with sunshine.

Adépérò smiled. “I neglected to mention earlier, the reason my wife wasn’t here today is that she is at an open-air Student Art Festival in Zilker Park today. Our oldest granddaughter is presenting. It would be a shame to have it ruined.”