Burn for Me (Hidden Legacy #1)(69)

I buckled up, and the Range Rover rolled onto the street. It would take us about forty-five minutes to get to the Galleria. “Do you know Harper Larvo?”

“Never met her,” Rogan said.

“Then what makes you think she would even show?”

“I know her type.”

“What type is that?”

“The failed vector.”

I glanced at him.

“Her grandfather was a Significant,” he said. “He had three children. All of them are Notable. And all of their children are either Notable or Average.”

“How do you know?”

“I checked the House database while Bug was talking. I didn’t mention it at the time, because Bug was doing an excellent job, and it was his moment to shine. You have to let your people take pride in a job well accomplished and recognize them for it. You will get better results.”

Everything Rogan did was driven by efficiency, even his treatment of his employees. Happy employees worked hard and were more loyal, so he took the time to recognize them for their achievements. I wonder where I stood on that recognition ladder. He probably considered me his employee. Well, I wasn’t his employee, and the only thing I wanted from him was Adam Pierce, preferably hog-tied.

“In approximately seventy percent of the cases, magic passes from parent to child without a significant change in power,” Mad Rogan said. “A few descendants, about three to five percent, show a sudden uptick. The rest lose magic with each generation. You can see traces of this pattern within the same family. Even if both parents are Primes, there is usually a variation in power among their children. You asked me once why I was expected to have no more than three children. This is the other reason. If the first child is a Prime, there is a good statistical chance that the second child might not be. Still, most Houses prefer that the head of the House have at least two additional children. You know what they’re called?”

“No.”

He glanced at me, his face grim. “Backup plan. The Houses war with each other. We don’t always have the best life expectancy. Do you know why Adam was conceived?”

“No.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

“Because Peter, his brother, was a late bloomer. The full extent of his magic didn’t manifest until he was eleven. They thought he was a dud, and that left only Tatyana, his sister, as the Prime of the House. If someone managed to kill her, House Pierce would be without a Prime. So they hurried on with making another baby just in case.”

“This sounds so cynical. And joyless.”

“It often is,” Mad Rogan said. “If the fading magic effect persists over two generations, that particular bloodline becomes a failed vector. Each generation is weaker than the previous one. The Houses fear one thing and one thing only: losing power. If I’m a failed vector, whoever marries me does so knowing her children will be less magically powerful than she is.”

The pieces came together. “Nobody will touch Harper with a ten-foot pole.”

“Exactly. Her grandfather had strong magic, and that afforded her entrance into society. She probably appeared as a fresh, wide-eyed debutante, sure that she would meet the love of her life and marry into a powerful House. Over the years she realized that men date her, fuck her, but always leave her. She’s twenty-nine. By now the bloom has worn off the rose. She knows the facts, she knows a match with any of the Houses is impossible, but she still wants it desperately. She watched her grandfather be a part of the power circle, she watched her parents wield a fraction of that influence, and she’ll do anything to claw her way back to the top. I’m an unmarried male Prime. I’m powerful, handsome, and filthy rich.”

“Also humble and self-deprecating.” I couldn’t help myself.

“That too,” he said without blinking an eye. “She’ll show. She can’t pass on the chance I might get smitten.”

“That’s really sad. I’m really glad I’m not a Prime, because the lot of you are a bunch of sick bastards.”

Mad Rogan gave me an odd look. “Power has a price. We don’t always want it, but we always end up paying. You held power over life and death yesterday. How does it feel?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I’m not going to have a heart-to-heart with you.

“The first time I killed someone, and I mean an up close, personal kill where I watched the life fade out of his eyes, I waited. I’d read all the books and watched all the movies, and I knew what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to feel sick, throw up, and then deal with it. So I stood there, waiting, and I felt nothing. So I thought, maybe it will happen next time.”

“Did it?”

“No,” he said.

“How many people did you kill?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I stopped counting. It was a hard war.”

His words kept rolling around my head. He shared something private and personal with me. He probably wouldn’t understand, but I felt the urge to tell him about it anyway. I had to tell someone.

“It feels like I lost a part of myself,” I said. “There is a big hole inside me, like something has been violently ripped out. I was brushing my teeth today, and I thought of those two men and the woman. They will never brush their teeth. They’ll never go to breakfast. They’ll never say hello to their mother. They won’t get to do any of those simple things. I caused that. I squeezed the trigger. I realize that they were trying to do the same to me, but I feel guilty and I mourn for them and for me. Something is gone from me forever. I want to be whole again, but I know I will never get it back.”