Page 52 of Our Radiant Embers

Even unplugged, the burner responded to the turn of the knob as though the most beautiful, pure electricity was coursing through it. Adam watched me run through a series of tests, and when I declared it a success, his grin could have powered a city. Or our road, at the very least.

I grinned back. “Think it’s time for a check mark on that progress sheet of yours.”

“Because I helped,” he said, and he seemed so happy that I didn’t bother denying it.

“Ready to help some more?” I asked. The one electric coil we’d done would have exhausted my reserves for a couple of days, but Adam’s glow seemed just as bright as before. Bloody powerful bastard. Even in my mind, it sounded fond.

He rubbed his hands. “Bring it on.”

* * *

We finished the stove that morning and could have tackled five more, had I ordered them in bulk. Since I’d wanted to see how the prototype turned out, no such luck.

For lunch, my dad served a huge pot of pasta, the mild weather allowing us to spread out in the backyard on lawn chairs and beer benches. One day, when things slowed down, we’d call in George to give our garden a proper makeover, but today was not that day. The guys and one woman helping Gale with the office construction were not complaining, though. “We’re used to bringing our own sandwich lunches,” one of them said. “Most people we work for don’t think about feeding us. Just doesn’t occur to them.”

“I used to be in your shoes,” my dad said. “You need anything—coffee, water, toilet break—just let me know.”

“Also,” Adam added, straddling a plastic chair, “you ever hear about misconduct on any of our construction sites, you come straight to Gale or me.” He’d refilled his plate once already, the only obvious sign that he’d been using his magic. His reserves seemed inexhaustible. I squashed a spark of envy.

“You should take him at his word,” my dad said with a glance at Adam that carried approval. “It’s not just lip service.”

Adam ducked his head, but not before I caught the glimmer of a pleased smile. I pulled my attention away, then got up to stop Nan Jean from collecting empty plates and carrying them inside all by herself. Yes, she’d waited tables for years, but no, she wasn’t twenty-five anymore.

By early afternoon, Adam and I were tinkering with the waste recycling unit, sitting outside under a makeshift tarp roof, while the office was taking shape even faster than I’d expected.

When I brought up Adam’s enthusiasm about helping out, the brightness in his eyes dimmed. “It’s nice to feel useful, you know? Like I told you already, I’m just the public face of my family. In the background, it’s still my dad and aunt who run the show, with a bit of help from my uncle.”

Until he was ready to accept his responsibility for the family line, that’s what he’d said. Ideally by means of fathering a couple of children.

God, it was messed up.

Before I could think of an appropriate response, he moved on. “By the way, just so I don’t forget—I started checking our library. Nothing in the two books I found on British magical families. Any chance he wasn’t British?”

“I have no idea. Nan Jean hasn’t been very forthcoming.” I sat back on my haunches, poking at the base of the recycling unit. It was the section where rich, enchanted soil broke down biodegradable waste by enhanced microbial activity. While we’d managed to upscale the process so it could easily handle the necessary quantities, we were still working on reducing the smell by means of air magic. Adam had been less squeamish than I’d expected.

“She was born in the forties, right?” he asked.

“1943.”

“So we’re talking wartime Britain.” Cross-legged in the grass, he frowned up at the fire chamber, its flames swaying with an invisible breeze. “Could have been an allied soldier. I mean, hey, you actually tan, so…Seems likely there’s a non-British contribution somewhere in there. Could even have been someone with latent magic potential that didn’t manifest until he passed on his genes.”

“Could be.” I sighed, shaking my head. “Too many options. I guess it was a shot in the dark to begin with, and anyway, if she doesn’t want to tell us? She’ll have her reasons.”

“Probably, yeah—you know her better than I do.”

“She’s…” I hesitated, never having described Nan Jean to someone who didn’t know her well. “She’s one of the toughest people I know. My grandfather—her husband—died young, when my mum was still a toddler, and Nan Jean raised her while working a full-time job. No small feat for a woman in the seventies.”

“Based on the one time I met her, she’s very protective of you,” Adam said. “And she doesn’t scare easily.”

I stifled a grin, remembering Nan Jean asking Adam if he was being nice to me. “No, she doesn’t. And yes, she is protective—not just of me, but all of us.”

“Do you think there’s a bad story there, and that’s why she doesn’t want you to know?”

“It’s possible. But…I don’t know.” I closed the access hatch of the biodegradable section. “Somehow, that’s not the sense I got from her.”

“I could ask Gale.” Adam continued quickly. “Not explicitly about you—just whether he’s aware of mages who combine, say, fire and earth. Unlike me, he knows just about every book in our library. He knows theory too, so he’d probably have an opinion on whether controlling four elements is an international oddity. Maybe it’s more common elsewhere.”

“Doesn’t magic vary in other parts of the world?” I asked. “Like in China, it’s more about balancing light and darkness, and in Mexico, I heard it’s largely plant-based. I think it’s just Europe where we even go by elements.”

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