He had not gotten a callback.
Today’s interviewee, thankfully, appeared much more promising. “Ms. Douglas. Madison Prospero—nice to meet you. This says you’re applying for our Special Projects Division.”
“I’ve been in Trusts and Estates at Alexander, Harad, and Hill for a little over two years now. It was time to let the wheel turn,” Harper said. The cadence of her voice changed as she spoke, overemphasizing the last four words.
“There really needs to be a better identifying phrase,” Madison said, and laughed. “I always feel like I’m in the parody of a spy movie instead of interviewing someone. But since you knew it, I assume you’re also able to demonstrate some ability.”
There were three basic spells used for testing. Lighting a candle, levitating a small object—usually a pen in an interview setting—or casting a blooming flower illusion. Most mundanes who were willing to work very, very hard could learn to cast one of them adequately—something to do with will and focus rather than true magical ability. But the tests weren’t there to screen out non-magical people—they were there for the same reason the awkward pass phrase was: to know it, you had to have been taught by a member of the Unseen World. It was proof you knew enough to belong, at least on the periphery.
“I can light a candle,” Harper said, sitting straighter in her chair.
Madison placed a white votive on her desk and moved a stack of papers to the floor. “Nothing personal. But I had a candidate miss the candle and send an entire file up in flames once.”
“Did they get the job?” Harper asked.
“We never finished the interview—it scared him so badly that he left. He does securities work for a fully mundane firm now. Nice guy.
“Are you ready?” Madison asked.
Harper nodded and stared at the candle. Drew breath in and out of her lungs. Placed her hands on the desk and carefully spoke the words of the spell.
The flame sparked once, twice, then caught. Harper reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, pressing against the headache that was already beginning to bloom. “I promise, I’m a much better lawyer than I am magician.”
“The test is just to confirm that you really do know what you’re getting into and that I can be confident letting you get into it. Trust me, if I need magic, I’ll call a magician. Normally, I’d ask you to come back for a second interview, but it’s a Turning—basically a mandatory and sometimes fatal magical status competition—and so nothing is normal right now. Everyone is redoing wills and switching their financials, and there have been three divorce filings just this week, and I’m pretty sure two are going to stick. We’re absolutely swamped with extra work. Your résumé is stellar, and you seem like someone I could work with, so the job is yours if you want it.”
Harper clenched her fists in her lap. “I do. Very much.”
“Great,” Madison said. “It’ll be boring at first—basically, the first thing I need is someone who can deal with all of the mundane stuff I’ve had to push to the side.”
“I understand,” Harper said. “I have to close out a couple of files, but I can be here on Monday.”
“You’re a lifesaver.” Madison stood up from her desk and held out her hand. “Welcome to the Unseen World, Wellington & Ketchum branch.”
“Thanks,” Harper said, and shook.
It was still early, not yet noon, so instead of going home, Harper made two stops. The first, at a florist’s, for a bunch of sunflowers. Then she took the train far past her usual stop, out to Woodlawn Cemetery, to Rose’s grave. She laid the flowers against the headstone. “I wanted to tell you that I miss you and that I got one step closer today. A real step. I’ll find him, Rose. I promise.”
? ? ?
Laurent pushed open the heavy door of the Art Deco building on the Upper East Side. A white-gloved attendant waited inside. “Are you a member, sir?”
“I’m not, but I’m the guest of one. Laurent Beauchamps to see Miles Merlin.” The atrium’s ceiling was three stories high, an embossed pattern of geometric shapes decorating it. The walls were dark green, and all the fixtures were rubbed brass. Everything designed to imply prosperity and power by a decorator with no imagination. Or a decorator who realized their clients had no imagination.
The attendant scanned the screen of a tablet, then gave a short nod. “Very good, sir. Mr. Merlin has already arrived. Please follow me.”
Laurent was mildly disappointed as he was led over the black-and-white marble chessboard floor of the Mages’ Club. He’d thought a private club for magicians would be more interesting than a private club for Fortune 500 types. So far, the two seemed indistinguishable.
“Mr. Beauchamps. So pleased you were able to join me.” Here, again, the impression was of a prosperous businessman, albeit one in a suit that showed more style than the surroundings. Merlin’s tie and pocket square were almost the same shade of silver as the lion’s mane of his hair.
“Thank you for the invitation. And please, call me Laurent.” Laurent offered a smile and a polite handshake. He hadn’t been surprised by the invitation. Sydney had said this was what would happen, this open door into the back halls of the Unseen World, and he owed it to Grey—and to himself—to take it. If Miles was the person who held the most power, it was important to take his measure in person.
“Then you must call me Miles. A drink?” Merlin settled back into the rich leather of his wing chair and signaled a discreetly waiting attendant.
“Bourbon, neat.”
“We do allow smoking here as well, if you’re a cigar man,” Merlin said.
“I’m not, but don’t let me stop you from indulging. This seems like an excellent establishment.” This room, too, was high-ceilinged, dark wood and brass. Thick patterned carpets placed at precise intervals on the polished wood floor and leather-bound books shelved in the walls. Laurent wondered if they were actually read, or if they had been bought by the yard because the bindings matched the décor. He murmured a quick spell that would let him read the titles from this distance: Springtime for Poets; Boll-Weevil Eradication: Best Practices; The Proceedings of the Congress of Vienna. Definitely unread.
Only a few other men sat in the club, mostly at their own tables, everyone maintaining a respectful enough distance to allow the illusion of privacy. There were no women to be seen, not even as staff. Hard to tell if it was an officially segregated establishment, or if the lack was because—even now—so few women held Houses. The Unseen World could be as small-minded in its conception of what power looked like as the mundane one it shadowed, and Houses still almost always passed from father to son.
Those sons also seemed largely absent today. This was a room where “young” meant anyone under forty-five, and where the bulk of the men were sixty or older. Laurent saw only one other person he recognized from school. All of the besuited men were white.