Diamond Fire (Hidden Legacy, #3.5)(12)

Silence stretched.

Arabella reached out and petted my hand. She kept petting it, like I was a dog.

“Quit it.”

“There there.”

“I said quit touching me.”

“How can they ever like you for you if you never talk to them? Who outside of the family knows you? It’s a serious question. Are people supposed to telepathically scan you to make friends?”

I groaned. “If I give Xavier a chance, will you shut up?”

“Yes!”

“Then fine. If he comes up to me again, I will talk to him. Happy?”

“Ecstatic.”

“Good.”

She had a point. I couldn’t keep complaining that nobody liked me for me if I didn’t give anyone the opportunity to see who I was. Maybe if I started small. Just one boy. Just one conversation. I would keep a steel hold on my magic.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.



I liked Rogan’s house much better than his mother’s mansion. It was still filled with expensive furniture, but it felt different—simpler, rugged. More like a home and less like a palace. Being here was almost like being in the warehouse. I had called ahead to make sure Rogan would be there, but we could’ve just showed up and nobody would have been surprised.

I rang the doorbell. The door swung open, revealing a sturdy man with broad shoulders and short blond hair. Like most of Rogan’s people, he was ex-military.

“Ladies,” Troy said. “I’m authorized to tell you there is sushi in the kitchen.”

“Ooo.” My sister veered off and made a beeline for the kitchen.

“The Major is waiting for you in the office,” Troy said.

“Thanks.” I climbed the stairs, crossed the balcony, and entered the business part of the house, where Rogan conducted his affairs. I waved at people I knew on the way until I got to the surveillance room, where a thin wiry man with dark hair sat in front of nine monitors. He spun his chair around when he heard me coming. His face twitched.

“Hi Bug.”

“Hi.”

Bug was a swarmer. Swarms existed in the arcane realm. Nobody knew much about the arcane realm or the creatures within it. Summoners and other arcane mages could reach into it and draw things out, but they didn’t really understand it.

For example, it was an established fact that implanting a swarm in a human would skyrocket their surveillance capabilities, allowing them to process visual information at an insane rate. It was also an established fact that these augmented humans died within a couple of years. Bug had volunteered for the procedure during his time in the Air Force. Everything went as planned. He survived the implantation process, became a swarmer, and received a substantial bonus. There was just one snag—Bug didn’t die. When Nevada first found him, he was borderline insane. Somehow Rogan managed to fix him and now Bug presided over all of Rogan’s surveillance.

“Xavier Ramírez Secada,” he said. “Age 19, first son and heir of Iker Ramírez Madrid and Eva Secada Escudero. Rated as a bottom tier Significant Telekinetic. He likes to tell people that he is Rogan’s Sobrino .”

“So?”

“He is not Rogan’s nephew. His father, Iker Ramírez, is Rogan’s cousin, which makes Xavier Primo Segundo or first cousin once removed. Hard pass, Catalina. Hard pass.”

“Stay out of my life, Bug.” I kept walking.

“His Instagram is called Boss Moves,” he yelled.

“Stay out!”

I took another turn and came to Rogan’s office. Most of the time he used the room adjacent to Bug’s nest, but once in a while he hid in the back, in his study. I knocked on the heavy red oak door. It swung open, inviting me inside.

Like his mother, Rogan devoted the entire wall, floor to ceiling, to books, but here the wood was dark, the chairs were soft chocolate leather, and the floor was old weathered wood. Rogan sat behind a large desk, his fingers dancing over the keyboard of a laptop. A chair slid out for me. I sat. A large glass with an extra wide straw floated over and waited in empty air, motionless. I took it and sipped. Mmm, lychee boba tea. My favorite.

I didn’t know if Rogan genuinely liked us, or if he treated us well because we were important to Nevada and he loved her. I liked to think he liked us.

Rogan looked up from his laptop. “Budget update?”

“In your in-box.”

He checked the file. “A bedazzler for $19.99?”

“It’s a small gun that attaches rhinestones to fabric.”

He frowned. “Is that for her veil? Because you know I can’t have anything to do with that.”

My sister and Rogan had reached a compromise. Neither of them had wanted an expensive wedding. Our family couldn’t go half and half with Rogan either, not on the scale this wedding was happening, so it was decided that since Mrs. Rogan wouldn’t be denied, we would buy the dress, veil, shoes, and the bouquet, and Rogan would pay for everything else. Rogan would’ve been happy to pay for all of it, but Nevada insisted, and if she found out we went around her in any way, there would be hell to pay.

“No, the bedazzler isn’t for the veil. It’s for Mia Rosa García Ramírez Arroyo del Monte’s stuffed unicorn.”

“Okay then. Next?”

“Sealight is missing,” I told him.