“Magic is a poorly-understood phenomenon,” Fullerton said. “Through our projections, we can greatly increase the likelihood of a child within a particular branch. Mathematically speaking, we have an eighty-seven percent success rate when it comes to predicting what branch of magic the child would fall into—elemental, mental, or arcane. This is a broad statistic. The actual chances depend on the specific match.”
“How does this work?” Catalina asked.
“If you choose to employ us, I will collect blood samples. I will transport them to our lab, where your DNA will be analyzed. The results of that analysis are sealed. We cannot be compelled to disclose them even by a court order. You have complete control over the information we will provide. If another House wants to consider you as a prospective match, they may request your profile, which contains basic information. You will be notified, at which point you may accept or reject the request. We won’t release anything without your approval. If consent is granted and the other House finds the results intriguing, they may request an in-depth profile. Again, it’s up to you to allow it or reject it.”
Fullerton paused and leaned forward, his blue eyes focused and clear. “We safeguard your genetic information. If we become aware of any attempt by an unscrupulous agency to collect, analyze, or sell your genetic samples or results of their analysis, we will pursue them with extreme prejudice.”
“You will sue them?” Catalina asked.
“We will kill them,” Fullerton said.
My sister glanced at me.
“It’s standard practice,” Cornelius said quietly. “Any of the larger registered agencies will do the same.”
“Your privacy is of paramount importance to us,” Fullerton said. “We take any attempt at DNA theft very seriously. By law, I’m obligated to provide you with the list of our rivals.”
He opened a file in front of him and passed me a piece of paper with a list of companies on it.
“I do hope that you will consider us. As I mentioned, we are the largest archive in North America. We’ve sequenced over sixty percent of all US Houses, including House Rogan.”
Funny how he mentioned that.
“If you are interested in a particular bloodline, we can process your request with greater expediency. If we don’t have a profile for a House, we will work with whatever agency has sequenced it, which may add a few days to the processing of the request. We will take care of your House, Ms. Baylor. We pride ourselves on our discretion.”
“What if another House wants access to records for reasons other than making a match?” I asked.
“We will forward you their request for approval.”
“What if it’s a very powerful House?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Fullerton said. “All Houses have the same rights, all of them have the same contracts, and all of them pay the same fees. If you are a wounded House with only one Prime or a flourishing House with ten Primes, in our eyes you’re equal.”
“How much is the fee?” I asked.
“A fifty-thousand-dollar establishing fee for the first year and then twenty thousand annually. After the first year, each additional DNA profile carries a twenty-thousand-dollar fee as well.”
“Fifty thousand dollars?” Catalina made a choking sound.
Fullerton didn’t say anything.
Fifty thousand dollars. I couldn’t remember if I had ever written a check that big. It was one-sixth of our annual operation budget and our rainy day reserve combined. I glanced at Cornelius.
“You’re paying a little extra for the security and the convenience of the largest archive,” Cornelius said. “But fees from other archives are comparable.”
“Bern?”
“I vote we get it over with,” he said.
“Catalina?”
“If we have to do it, this is fine.”
I rose, went into my office, and got out the firm’s checkbook.
Chapter 5
I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and inspected myself. I wore a pale green dress that clung to me and a pair of light black sandals with tiny sparkles. The sandals gave me about three extra inches of height. Rogan would still tower over me, but now I would be three inches closer. My hair and Houston’s humidity never got along too well, so I straightened it, and it fell in a smooth, shiny curtain, framing my face. My makeup was perfect: mascara, blush, powder¸ lipstick; everything was just the way I wanted it. I always hated wearing foundation, and even my face cooperated today. No breakouts.
The dress was a little plain. I needed something sparkly to offset the low neckline. I didn’t have anything on hand, so it would have to do as is.
I checked my phone. Almost seven.
Last touch-up on the hair. A tiny squeeze of the perfume bottle and . . . done.
I grabbed my purse and clicked my way down the stairs from my loft apartment to the media room. Leon and Arabella were playing WWF on TV.
“Yeah!” my sister roared. “Take it, take it, take it.”
On the screen, her female fighter was smashing the chair over Leon’s beefy fighter’s head. Grandma Frida sat in the corner of the love seat, sipping tea.
I cleared my throat.
Everyone paused the game and looked at me.
“Eleven out of ten!” Arabella declared.
Leon held up two thumbs.
“Now this is a proper ‘you can’t have my man’ dress,” Grandma Frida said.
“Who is going to take her man?” Arabella asked.
Grandma Frida squinted her eyes. “Rynda Sherwood.”
“Grandma!” I growled.
“What?” Arabella whipped around. “Why didn’t I know this?”
“She isn’t trying to take my man. Her husband is missing. Besides, Rogan doesn’t want her, he—”
My phone chimed. Rogan. Yes!
I flicked my finger across the surface.
Something came up. Give me an extra hour.
“Oh no,” Grandma Frida said. “Oh no, no, no. That was something bad. Did he cancel?”
“He didn’t cancel. He got held up.”
“You look worried,” Grandma Frida said.
“Mhm.” Nothing short of a true emergency would’ve kept Rogan. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.
“How does this work?” Catalina asked.
“If you choose to employ us, I will collect blood samples. I will transport them to our lab, where your DNA will be analyzed. The results of that analysis are sealed. We cannot be compelled to disclose them even by a court order. You have complete control over the information we will provide. If another House wants to consider you as a prospective match, they may request your profile, which contains basic information. You will be notified, at which point you may accept or reject the request. We won’t release anything without your approval. If consent is granted and the other House finds the results intriguing, they may request an in-depth profile. Again, it’s up to you to allow it or reject it.”
Fullerton paused and leaned forward, his blue eyes focused and clear. “We safeguard your genetic information. If we become aware of any attempt by an unscrupulous agency to collect, analyze, or sell your genetic samples or results of their analysis, we will pursue them with extreme prejudice.”
“You will sue them?” Catalina asked.
“We will kill them,” Fullerton said.
My sister glanced at me.
“It’s standard practice,” Cornelius said quietly. “Any of the larger registered agencies will do the same.”
“Your privacy is of paramount importance to us,” Fullerton said. “We take any attempt at DNA theft very seriously. By law, I’m obligated to provide you with the list of our rivals.”
He opened a file in front of him and passed me a piece of paper with a list of companies on it.
“I do hope that you will consider us. As I mentioned, we are the largest archive in North America. We’ve sequenced over sixty percent of all US Houses, including House Rogan.”
Funny how he mentioned that.
“If you are interested in a particular bloodline, we can process your request with greater expediency. If we don’t have a profile for a House, we will work with whatever agency has sequenced it, which may add a few days to the processing of the request. We will take care of your House, Ms. Baylor. We pride ourselves on our discretion.”
“What if another House wants access to records for reasons other than making a match?” I asked.
“We will forward you their request for approval.”
“What if it’s a very powerful House?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Fullerton said. “All Houses have the same rights, all of them have the same contracts, and all of them pay the same fees. If you are a wounded House with only one Prime or a flourishing House with ten Primes, in our eyes you’re equal.”
“How much is the fee?” I asked.
“A fifty-thousand-dollar establishing fee for the first year and then twenty thousand annually. After the first year, each additional DNA profile carries a twenty-thousand-dollar fee as well.”
“Fifty thousand dollars?” Catalina made a choking sound.
Fullerton didn’t say anything.
Fifty thousand dollars. I couldn’t remember if I had ever written a check that big. It was one-sixth of our annual operation budget and our rainy day reserve combined. I glanced at Cornelius.
“You’re paying a little extra for the security and the convenience of the largest archive,” Cornelius said. “But fees from other archives are comparable.”
“Bern?”
“I vote we get it over with,” he said.
“Catalina?”
“If we have to do it, this is fine.”
I rose, went into my office, and got out the firm’s checkbook.
Chapter 5
I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and inspected myself. I wore a pale green dress that clung to me and a pair of light black sandals with tiny sparkles. The sandals gave me about three extra inches of height. Rogan would still tower over me, but now I would be three inches closer. My hair and Houston’s humidity never got along too well, so I straightened it, and it fell in a smooth, shiny curtain, framing my face. My makeup was perfect: mascara, blush, powder¸ lipstick; everything was just the way I wanted it. I always hated wearing foundation, and even my face cooperated today. No breakouts.
The dress was a little plain. I needed something sparkly to offset the low neckline. I didn’t have anything on hand, so it would have to do as is.
I checked my phone. Almost seven.
Last touch-up on the hair. A tiny squeeze of the perfume bottle and . . . done.
I grabbed my purse and clicked my way down the stairs from my loft apartment to the media room. Leon and Arabella were playing WWF on TV.
“Yeah!” my sister roared. “Take it, take it, take it.”
On the screen, her female fighter was smashing the chair over Leon’s beefy fighter’s head. Grandma Frida sat in the corner of the love seat, sipping tea.
I cleared my throat.
Everyone paused the game and looked at me.
“Eleven out of ten!” Arabella declared.
Leon held up two thumbs.
“Now this is a proper ‘you can’t have my man’ dress,” Grandma Frida said.
“Who is going to take her man?” Arabella asked.
Grandma Frida squinted her eyes. “Rynda Sherwood.”
“Grandma!” I growled.
“What?” Arabella whipped around. “Why didn’t I know this?”
“She isn’t trying to take my man. Her husband is missing. Besides, Rogan doesn’t want her, he—”
My phone chimed. Rogan. Yes!
I flicked my finger across the surface.
Something came up. Give me an extra hour.
“Oh no,” Grandma Frida said. “Oh no, no, no. That was something bad. Did he cancel?”
“He didn’t cancel. He got held up.”
“You look worried,” Grandma Frida said.
“Mhm.” Nothing short of a true emergency would’ve kept Rogan. I didn’t have a good feeling about this.
