It takes only moments to discover who he is: Lander Kane, the Magic Hunter, a council-level member of the Ministry. He is arrogant. Beautiful. Which is ridiculous, of course. I am ahouse, with no business noticing mages and finding them attractive.
But he is.
It would be easy to underestimate Lander Kane—dazzled by his handsome features and oblivious to the intelligent, patient predator beneath. The most beautiful things are almost always the most dangerous.
I wish Beryl were here. She would know what to make of this, would know what to do. She is away, vampire hunting.
For more than a century, I have been a novelty, a myth. I have hidden behind my wards, hidden behind the impossibility of my existence. The Ministry of Magic has never taken me as a threat, and now, they send one of their top magical officials.
A council member.
This time, I have really messed up.
For the first time in decades, I feel fear.
He terrifies me.
Another realisation follows: the Enterprise Zone is no longer safe—not if Shifter Sector officials are letting such a powerful magic user through.
He straightens and strolls towards me, hands in his trouser pockets as though out for a walk in the park. He stops beside the wooden gate and looks up.
“A magical house,” he says, his voice warm and smooth.
If I had a human body, my heart would thunder in myears. If I produced adrenaline, I would be dizzy with panic. But I do not. I have no human biology to hinder me. I bury my emotions and become a blank sheet of paper, waiting for its first mark.
I watch.
“A sentient house that turns humans intoshifters,” he continues, casual, matter-of-fact. “You have been busy. You have broken our laws.”
I groan.
Heishere because of Lark.
This time, my ego and my magic have got me into trouble. My luck—if you can call it that—has officially run out. I have ruined everything.
“What do you think happens to magic users who decide to circumvent our laws? If people learn a magical object can change humans into derivatives, into shifters, what do you think will happen? Mages will vanish from our streets; their bodies will turn up soulless. Carnage—outright war. The question is,” he says, “just how sentient are you?”
Quick as a whip, he reaches out and touches my ward.
His touch makes me want to crawl away, to draw back my wards, lift my garden like a skirt and flee as though he were a poisonous spider.
I do not react. I do not blast him, though I could.
He is testing me. Controlled. Calculated.
I will not show him the measure of my magic, not yet. Not at all if I can help it. I have already made too many mistakes.
He chuckles softly. “Very clever. Show me your magic, and I will show you mine.”
He smiles, then circles the ward, fingers driftinginches from the boundary as though he can see the barrier itself—a man feeling the edge of a cage, deciding how to pick the lock.
“I heard you threw someone into a tree,” he says conversationally. “Caused some… disruptions. The Ministry has an entire file on you now.”
He stops.
I wait.
He nods. “Yes. You are the one we want: the sentient house.” He says it as though it is a title, a bounty, a prize.
