At first, the serum was given to anyone brave enough to chance the consequences. Nobody stopped to think that randomly handing people the power to incinerate entire city blocks and spew deadly plagues could be a terrible idea. Then the World War broke out. The eight years that followed were known as the Time of Horrors.

Lord Acton, a 19th century historian, once wrote that power tended to corrupt. According to him, great men were almost always bad men. Great mages of the Time of Horrors proved him right. They were abominations who slaughtered their fellow human beings like cattle because they felt like it. People died by the thousands. Revolts and riots sparked all over the planet. The world caught on fire, and when the blaze finally died down, humanity learned three lessons.

First, the use of Osiris serum had to be banned by an international decree.

Second, the magic powers turned out to be hereditary. Primes beget Primes, leading to the formation of magic families referred to as Houses.

Third, the magic community had to find a way to stabilize itself. During the Time of Horrors people without magic weren’t the only ones who died. Stronger magic users had preyed on the weaker mages, and those who committed atrocities eventually met mob justice. No matter how powerful an individual mage was, they were always vastly outnumbered. Nobody wanted the repeat of riots and mass executions. They were bad for business, and having achieved power, the Houses now wanted order and safety to reap its benefits.

The Houses came together and instituted state Assemblies, where each Prime had voting power. The state Assemblies answered to the National Assembly, the ultimate authority on all things magic. The National Assembly required someone to investigate breaches of its laws. That’s where the Office of the Warden came in. The Texas Rangers’ official motto was “One riot, One Ranger.” The National Assembly subscribed to that philosophy. There was only one Warden per state, a mage of outstanding power whose identity remained confidential. Each Warden was allowed one apprentice.

Linus Duncan was the Warden of Texas and six months ago I became his Deputy. It happened almost by accident. If you had asked me a year ago who Linus Duncan was, I would’ve said that he was a family friend. He’d been one of the two official witnesses at the formation of our House and had taken an interest in us from that point. He invited us to his backyard barbecues. He’d been to our home multiple times. He was like a rich uncle everyone liked.

Now I knew better. Linus Duncan was the last line of defense between humanity and the horrors spawned by people with too much magic and consumed by lust for money and power. In the past six months, I had seen things that made me wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night. Between that and the crucible of Victoria Tremaine, they forged me from a shy person who stammered when an older adult gave her a critical look into this new version of me.

I became the Deputy to keep the people I loved safe. No matter how many family dinners Linus attended, how much he doted on us, and how often he invited the entire House Baylor to his ranch and his mansion, if I breached the boundaries he laid out for me, he would eliminate us without hesitation. So no matter how many cute comments my cousin made, I would tell him nothing. I would follow my orders and do my job.

A section of the glass slid aside. Prime Montgomery was finally ready for me.

I strode into the ultramodern office. Augustine looked at me from behind his desk. An illusion Prime, he could look like anyone, including me. He chose to look like a demigod. His pale skin all but glowed. His face was masculine but heartbreaking in its beauty. His nearly white hair framed his features with impossible perfection. If it wasn’t for the sharp awareness in his green eyes and wire-thin glasses, people would worship him when they saw him on the street.

The demigod in a three-thousand-dollar suit spoke. “Ms. Baylor. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Augustine hoarded information. Keeping my Deputy status confidential was in my best interest, but he would never give me the case without it. I had walked into his place of business and was about to strong-arm him. That would infuriate any Prime, and I would need his cooperation throughout this investigation.

I had to soften the blow. The only way to do that was to make him think he was forcing me to do something I didn’t want to. It would give him the illusion of having the upper hand.

“I would like you to give me the Morton case.”

Augustine leaned back in his chair, his eyes amused. “And why would I do that?”

“I would consider it a personal favor.”

“No. Even if I were inclined to pass on this lucrative opportunity, I wouldn’t be doing you any favors. This case is a nightmare, which explains its commensurate price tag.”

“Please reconsider.”

Augustine studied me. “You haven’t given me a reason to do so. The answer is still no.”

Good enough.

I raised my arm, bending it at the elbow so he could see my forearm, and concentrated. Magic twisted through my bone and muscle. It was like trying to squeeze a rubber ring with my fingers. A circle braided from a stylized vine shone through my skin with an amber glow, enclosing the five-point star inside.

Augustine blinked. For a shocked moment, he just stared. Then a slow smile curved his lips. “This explains so much.”

“Should we skip the formalities?”

“No, by all means, continue. I would like the full treatment.”

I sighed. “Prime Augustine Montgomery, by the authority vested in me by the National Assembly, I, Catalina Baylor, Deputy Warden of the State of Texas, hereby claim ownership of all matters pertaining to House Morton. You are commanded to provide all information and render all necessary aid to me in my pursuance of this matter. You will present me to the involved parties as a representative of MII and you will maintain the highest level of secrecy regarding my true affiliation. The National Assembly appreciates your compliance.”

I let the badge fade.

Augustine looked like a hungry kid in a candy store. “Is Duncan the Warden?”

There was no point in lying. “Yes.”

“Does Connor know?”

The rivalry between Augustine and my brother-in-law stretched all the way back to their college days. Was he asking if Connor knew that Linus was the Warden or that I was his Deputy? The less information I gave him, the better.

“Please be more specific.”

Augustine snapped his fingers. “He doesn’t know about you, but he knows about Duncan. Did Duncan try to recruit him?”

“You would have to ask him.”

“He did, and Connor must’ve turned him down, and now you took his place. This is wonderful. I love it.”

“If you’re done gloating . . .”

“I can gloat and cooperate at the same time.” Augustine pushed a key on his desk phone and said, “See me. Catalina, what do you know about the Morton case?”

“Nothing.”

“Lander Morton’s only son, Felix, was murdered three days ago. He was involved in a reclamation project with representatives of four other Houses.”

“What are they reclaiming?”

“The Pit.”

Jersey Village? The little city, a part of Houston metro, had been flooded years ago during a harebrained attempt to build a subway system. Now the alien swamp in the video sort of made sense. But the last time I had gone to the Pit, over three years ago, it looked just like a typical flood zone with stagnant water and half-burst buildings where drug addicts, the homeless, and the magic-warped hid among the moldy garbage. It hadn’t looked like the arcane realm had thrown up in it.

“The five Houses had signed a contract specifying that they would submit to an investigation in case one of them died under suspicious circumstances. Each of the principles carries a vital personal insurance policy that won’t be paid out until such an investigation is concluded. The four surviving partners are currently suspects. They and Lander Morton are coming here today to meet with my chief investigator.”

Five Primes expecting a top-of-the-line professional investigator, Montgomery’s best. “Today when?”

He smiled.

The wall opened and Lina walked through the door.

“Ms. Baylor is about to meet with five Primes,” Augustine said. “I need you to fix . . .” He waved his hand at me. “That.”

Lina pursed her lips.

I wore athletic sandals, jean shorts, and a sleeveless T-shirt with spaghetti straps, stained with sweat. My bun had fallen, my hair was a tangled mess, and I was pretty sure there were twigs in it, since two hours ago I had climbed a giant pecan tree because I thought I spotted Rosebud in it and my hair got caught in the branches. I had also climbed onto a roof of a building to peer into a chimney, and the dust and soot had combined with sweat to give my face a swirly sheen of grime. Minor scrapes covered my arms and legs. Purple blood splattered my clothes. And the star of the show—a three-claw-shaped scrape on my left thigh, which I must have gotten sprinting to the device. It wasn’t deep, but it had bled, adding dried blood to my award-winning fashion ensemble.

“How much time do I have?” Lina asked.

“The meeting is in forty-three minutes,” Augustine said. “I still need to brief her.”

“Could you glamour her?” Lina asked.

“No. She’s meeting with her grieving client and a room full of Primes, who know they are suspects. They would recognize illusion. She needs to inspire trust and be a beacon of integrity.”