Page 16 of In the Dark

CHAPTER 6

Orestes Voltaire sat behind the sprawling hickory desk and drummed his hands along the beveled edge. Eagle-sharp eyes took in the order of his office. A place for everything and everything in its place. He had people to make sure of it, the lower echelons of the food chain who had nothing better to do than see that his personal space remained neat and tidy. He preferred to maintain the status quo. Hated getting his hands dirty more than anything else.

Those things were for other people. He was a Voltaire, with magic in his veins, magic allowing him to manipulate carbon and silica atoms and bend the world to his will.

As the head of the Earth Elemental division of the Great Lakes Claddium, Orestes used whatever control he had to make sure his life—at home and at work—was systematized, with the strictness of a headmaster.

He’d worked his way up the ladder. He’d strapped on a suit and tie and put in the time, the man-hours, punched the clock, and looked up, up to the top. His determination, in addition to the raw power he wielded, helped him rise. Since his youth, he’d always known he wanted to be in a position where other people looked up to him. Both literally and figuratively. Whatever the cost may be. He would fight for might.

And he’d succeeded, in part. So why was he so dissatisfied with everything?

Restless, he surveyed the paperwork in front of him. It was always the blasted papers. Never-ending stacks of them, growing and multiplying like vermin in a rabbit warren.

No one had told him the price of his position was to be beholden to other people and their endless need for paper. No one told him there would be board meetings and constant intra-office memos, not to mention the conferences with the other Claddium heads in the United States. Not to mention the overseas branches. Not to mention the people on the streets, and their families, and so forth.

There was always someone else to ask and permissions to receive before proceeding. They were a unit, the others reminded him, with no one branch holding sway over the others. The only way the witch community survived was by working together to maintain regulation and secrecy. It was their mantra.

His hair was gold shot through with silver, once a shade almost identical to his son’s. All the fairness Orestes lacked had been passed down to the next generation and skipped him entirely. He kept his hair short to suit his square face, thin mouth, and slightly too large brow.

If he’d been as handsome as Leonidas, then progressing through the ranks might have been an easier road. Life was good for those with physical appeal. It was a hard lesson learned through personal experience. If one didn’t have the face for politics, then one damn sure better have a bulldog at one’s back or money in one’s pocket. Now, he had both.

Orestes had once wanted those looks and coveted them the way some wanted fancy cars or pretty girls. Instead of pining for something he would never have, he’d turned his sights to power. Something anyone could obtain with the right motivation and means.

That simply meant, to Orestes, he hadn’t yet reached the pinnacle of what he was capable of achieving. The only way to go was up and he intended to do so. Fast. Only when he was perched so high no one was above him would he be satisfied. Luckily, with the eclipse on the vernal equinox approaching, he would soon have the means to accomplish every goal, every desire written on his heart. He couldn’t help the smug grin on his face. Power, he mused, was worth more than anything else in this world.

There was only one hitch: the Cavaldis.

Their file was locked in a box hidden inside the confines of his desk. Orestes collected any information he could on the Cavaldis and their offspring and stored it all away for future use. With another smug grin, he thought of the only male child of the Cavaldi line, Zenon. The null, currently locked in the Vault under his orders. It was a prison no elemental could manipulate. Impenetrable. Once a witch or wizard entered the Vault, they didn’t walk out again on their own.

It was heady, the sensation Orestes received knowing he was the one to lock Zenon Cavaldi away.

He’d grown up with stories of the family, their prowess in the magical community and their wealth in the public at large. Thorvald Cavaldi was head of the house and patriarch extraordinaire. They’d spoken on several occasions. Business matters, always.

Thorvald’s level of prestige was like a siren’s song to Orestes. His need for what they had consumed him and provided the spark for his motivation.

Over the years, his ambition had generated quiet and jealous fury. Fury that Thorvald and his line had something he didn’t, and when Orestes did manage to accumulate the status, the wealth, he’d never garnered the same level of respect. That was untenable, especially considering the darker aspects of the magic in which the Cavaldi children dabbled. Orestes felt his anger turn to cold logic in the face of their blatant disrespect, and his need for control had him facing tough decisions.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

Once upon a time, he’d orchestrated the banishment of Thorvald’s middle daughter, with her abomination of magic. Sent one of his bulldogs to watch her afterward. It was step one to weakening the clan as a whole. Now he had more eyes watching them, everywhere, waiting to see what they would do and how they regrouped. He had one Cavaldi in custody. The rest managed to elude him.

Still, the rising tide of leaking magic seeping through the veil into their world was a concern. The Cavaldis appeared to be at the heart of it. The banished daughter came home and made nice with her family, which had been wholly unexpected. His bulldog was put to sleep. Next, the oldest daughter had the gall to attack both Orestes and Zelda Vuur, head of the Fire elementals, with polluted magic.

The worst of it—the real slap in the face—was that his son actually chose the abomination, Astix, and the rest of her clan over Orestes. His own father tossed to the wolves. It irked him like a constant ache. Leo was his pride. Hell, the boy was hired under Orestes with ample opportunities for advancement. Apparently, familial loyalty meant nothing when faced with the prospect of what lay between a woman’s legs.

He and Leo looked alike, from the angles of their faces to the mops of golden hair atop their heads. How the boy could abandon him, he would never fathom.

A quiet knock interrupted his thoughts, a knock hesitant and weak, like the person behind the fist. His assistant peered through the crack in the door and delicately cleared her throat. Orestes caught the flash of brown eyes, mousy ash-colored hair, black-rimmed glasses.

“Sir? I have the papers from the earth elemental out in Niagara. The one who nearly brought down half a block of buildings when his ATM card failed? I tried to pass it off on Kenswick but he told me to come straight to you. More rogue magic.”

Kelsi was just another object to Orestes. Something necessary but expendable, useful in the same way a piece of furniture was useful. He relied on her like he did his bed at night, with little thought and casual acceptance. Easily replaceable. She was a domino, with another and another and another behind her in a line ready to fall before him if the need arose.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Drop them off and be on your way.”

He gestured for her to bring him the files, and she slowly approached. In truth, he cared little for the majority of the elementals under his jurisdiction, including his peers. Too many people and their issues. They could all take a flying leap, Orestes thought with easy apathy.

The girl approached him with mincing steps. She was an intern, one of many waiting to work under the fearsome elder Voltaire. One step out of line and she would be replaced. Simple. Effective.

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