Imperfect Illusions (Devastating Magic #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Chicago

IT WAS NOT ELLIOT’S finest moment. Looking up from where he’d slipped face first into wet snow, he met the laughing faces of five gleeful children. Five devious children, more like.

“Uncle Elliot said a bad word!” Alice shouted to a chorus of faux gasps.

“Snow angel!” Thomas, the youngest, cried as he flopped beside Elliot and wildly flapped his arms and legs, revealing muddy grass beneath the scant inch of snow next to the sidewalk.

“Take them for a walk, Elliot. It’s magical to have snow this late in the year, Elliot,” he mumbled to himself as he wallowed in the damp. “It’ll be fun. I won’t skin you when they come back covered in dirt and sopping wet, Elliot.”

“Mama didn’t say the last one,” Eleanor informed him right before Joseph shoved her and sent her tumbling into a bush.

Chaos. This was chaos. How on earth did his sister ever get a thing done? They hadn’t been outside ten minutes, and it was all gone to shambles. Precisely as it always had whenever May and her tiny entourage visited.

“She’s right,” Joseph said. The oldest, at ten, one would hope he’d be the voice of reason. One would be acutely wrong. He grinned at Elliot, a toothy little evil expression. “You’re going to get in so much trouble.”

Scooping up a handful of snow, Elliot launched it at him.

Joseph cackled, dove to the side, and the battle was on.

Swiftly rolling out of the way, Elliot got to his feet with two snowballs.

“You’re extremely lucky I care enough about you to take the blame.

Now you better run before the big, bad, snow ogre gets you! ”

Shrieks of joy rang out and the children scampered around as Elliot chased them down the sidewalk, all the way to the gate in front of Palmer’s Mansion.

Towering gray stone turrets vaguely reminiscent of an old castle rose far overhead, and in Elliot’s opinion it seemed part fortress, part ostentatious monstrosity.

The tuckered-out children stared up in wonder. They were used to the high life, but even by their standards, this was extravagant. Something out of fairytale daydreams.

Once when they were young, May had asked Elliot to recreate the mansion in a dream so she could explore inside.

He’d always had a wild imagination, so he’d made it absolutely absurd.

He could almost hear May’s girlish giggling as she raced along ornate golden hallways and climbed twisting fairy-floss stairs.

Alice sighed wistfully. “I want to live in a castle someday.”

Joseph wrinkled his freckled nose. “Not me. I can’t imagine it’s very warm in the winter.”

“Castles never are,” Elliot agreed, thinking of those he’d visited on his travels. “Too many rooms and too much cold stone.” Too many politely rude, ignorant people, he didn’t add.

Alice shrugged. “That’s what coats and gloves are for. And warm blankets. I could live anywhere with warm blankets.”

Chuckling, Elliot shepherded his subdued hoard back along North Lake Shore Drive.

Lucky most people were inside and warm, not out and staring at the spectacle of Elliot with this parade of messy children.

Not that he’d care who was watching, but his sister might.

She was always more concerned about what these people thought of her than Elliot.

Put him in an artist’s colony or a writer’s retreat, and that’s when Elliot’s insecurity kicked in.

The upper-crust bores he’d grown up with hardly rated.

Wealth gave him leeway to appear eccentric, and he banked on it more often than his father and brothers approved of.

But what else use was it? He couldn’t buy more talent or a personality that kept anyone around as long as he’d like.

Back at the mansion he’d inherited from his late uncle, everyone tromped inside, the promise of warm food and drinks luring them. Elliot was momentarily spared his sister’s inevitable wrath at the state of her offspring by his flustered housekeeper, Mrs. Roberts.

“There’s a military man waiting for you in the parlor,” she said, voice too-quick, her normally happy round face pinched with concern.

“Wouldn’t say what he was here for, just that he urgently needed to speak to you and that he’d wait until you got back even though I said I’d no idea when you would be—”

“It’s all right. I’m sure it’s…” He was sure it was what? He had no idea, but he didn’t want her to worry. “I promised the children treats, do you think you can keep my promise for me?”

She dimpled, her soft spot for the little ones winning over her concern. “Of course, Mr. Stone. Been preparing all morning, I have.”

After Elliot thanked her, she rushed off for the kitchen, and he detoured to the parlor.

There was indeed an old, weathered man in full military regalia waiting in the pale mint green room among the worn furniture. Elliot never had gotten around to leaving his mark on the place. He’d never intended to stay so long. At least he loved that deep blue settee near the fireplace.

Elliot approached the man and offered his hand to shake. “Hello, sir. I hear you’ve been waiting for me. Not too long, I hope?”

The man’s grip was firm, his dark gaze devoid of warmth. “You’re Mr. Elliot Stone?”

Faint derision in his tone put Elliot on the defensive. He struggled to keep his arms relaxed at his sides instead of crossing them, intensely aware of his wet and dirty clothing. “I am. I didn’t catch your name I’m afraid.”

“Major Alfred Allen. I’ll get right to it, Mr. Stone.

” Allen’s posture was ramrod straight, his expression serious.

Elliot instantly disliked him. “We’re in a state of war, and I’ve been sent to recruit you.

As an officer, naturally, your family being who they are.

Not to mention that degree. Have to maintain appearances, you know.

You’ll start as a cadet while you train, but by the time you go over, you could make Captain. ”

He…wait. He couldn’t be serious?

“Captain? I’m sorry. Perhaps there’s another Elliot Stone? Some hardened man who spent his youth playing soldiers, unlike myself. I can’t imagine the military requires a poet of extremely limited success to lead anyone.”

The flash of teeth Major Allen gave him wasn’t kind. “No, I wouldn’t think so. But you’re more than that facade, aren’t you?”

Prickles of unease tingled along Elliot’s spine. “Pardon?”

“You’re a man of many talents. One might even say skilled.”

He couldn’t know. Hardly anyone knew about magic. Fewer still would use that word to describe it, an instinctual distancing from persecution. “I wouldn’t call myself that, no.”

Allen’s eyes narrowed. “How does magical sound, then?”

Christ.

“Absurd.” It came out infused with the sort of contempt that typically made men want to curl up and disappear from his presence, even as Elliot’s thoughts raced and his stomach hardened into a knot of fear.

“We know all about you, Mr. Stone. All about your kind. What you can inflict with a touch, to start. You’ve probably got some tricks left up your sleeve, I’ll give you that, but we know much more than you think.”

How did he know? Their family worked hard to keep the magic that flowed through their bloodline a secret.

Much as other families did. Protecting themselves, protecting everyone skilled.

History had shown time and again that when their secret slipped, lives were lost. If Allen was telling the truth, the government knew and the secret was out.

Elliot’s breathing faltered. What would they do with the knowledge? What did they want?

Body reacting to the threat before his mind decided a course of action, Elliot started to move closer.

Allen didn’t let him get more than a step in.

“Ah! Keep those hands where I can see them, Mr. Stone. It’s all documented.

And there’s nothing to gain by attempting to manipulate me.

Got a lot to lose, though, haven’t you?” He peered around the parlor, dispassionate gaze lingering on Elliot’s favorite uncle’s belongings.

Martin had spent his life traveling to every corner of the globe, collecting knickknacks from magical communities that he’d proudly displayed in this room.

More than once he’d taken Elliot on whirlwind adventures during school breaks and was largely responsible for Elliot’s own appreciation of travel, good poetry, and healthy disregard for social convention.

It had been five years since Martin’s death, and the loss still stung. Allen’s judgmental perusal of Martin’s legacy only heightened the tension coiling in Elliot’s body, his shoulders stiffening, his fists clenching at his sides.

“You come from a wealthy family,” Allen continued when Elliot didn’t respond. “Very close to your sisters and their children. Would be a shame if information to jeopardize those relationships came to light.”

Weighing his options, Elliot remained motionless and kept his face blank.

Don’t give him anything to use against you.

When he was a child, it was a lesson repeatedly reinforced at school.

“You can’t blackmail me with magic. My family knows all about it.

Who would believe you if you tried to make it public? ”

More people than would be good for Elliot’s continued health and wellbeing, he feared, but maybe there was an advantage to making it sound ludicrous.

“No,” Allen said, drawing the word out. “No, we can’t blackmail you with magic.

Not without fully exposing its existence.

Think of the uproar that would cause. Another witch hunting panic like Salem.

Imagine all the poor individuals who haven’t used magic a day in their lives who’ll get caught up in the crossfire. ”

“I don’t have to imagine,” Elliot snapped. “I can simply read history books. The witch hunts are common enough knowledge.”

“Exactly. How many of them were innocent, do you think?”

Fighting a losing battle with anger, Elliot muttered, “All of them.”