Jean-Philippe twirled his wand between his fingers, the motion absent-minded yet precise. His piercing blue eyes flicked back and forth between the wreckage and the report clutched in his other hand. Though frustration simmered beneath his composed expression, the trace of a smirk never quite left his lips.
He knelt beside the sinkhole, brushing soot from a twisted piece of metal, likely part of the estate's former wards. His fiery raven hair glimmered in the soft light filtering through the trees, the afternoon sun casting a dappled pattern over the devastation.
"Typical!"
Jean-Philippe muttered.
"Right when I'm this close to infiltrating one of the biggest magical trafficking rings, some black-cloaked lunatics come in and blow it all to hell."
He sniggered softly to himself.
He straightened up and blew a strand of hair from his face, sighing. His agents had been stationed nearby for weeks, waiting for his signal to move in. Everything had gone smoothly until last night, when a mysterious force arrived and annihilated both the Hale chapter Klan and the estate itself in a matter of minutes.
Jean-Philippe's wand traced an invisible sigil in the air, and shimmering fragments of residual magic glowed faintly against the dirt and debris. His smirk widened—despite the chaos, a trail remained. One of the magical signatures among the attackers was disturbingly familiar, like an echo of something from his own family's magic.
"Fascinating."
The possibility sent a flicker of curiosity and concern through him. If it wasn't one of his own family members—though that thought amused him—it could mean a rogue relative or, worse, an illegitimate heir with access to the Bourbon magics. Either way, it would have to be investigated.
"Let's see how deep this rabbit hole goes."
He rolled his shoulders, feeling the familiar pulse of magic in his wand, and whispered a detection spell. Tendrils of light spiraled outward, revealing ghostly afterimages of combat—flashes of third-tier spells and above cast into the night. He grinned, satisfied with what he'd gathered. The council would hate this report.
Then again, keeping it from them might be more fun.
He made a quick mental note of the magical signatures, particularly the one that mirrored his own bloodline. Whoever it belonged to would need to be tracked down before any rumors spread. Jean-Philippe had no desire to see his family's name dragged into public scandal. Again.
He tapped his wand to his temple, capturing the image of the scene and locking it away in a recording crystal. Then, with a quick, deliberate motion, he set the report on fire, the enchanted parchment crumbling into ash. The official version of events would remain ambiguous.
He smirked again, thinking how much easier life might be if he quit working for the Council of Archmages. There was, after all, something appealing about the idea of retiring from the endless politics of the magical world. Find a partner. Run off somewhere remote. Maybe even teach some poor fool about fine wines.
But Jean-Philippe knew himself too well—peace never held his attention for long. Trouble, it seemed, was always far more interesting.
With a flick of his wand, he summoned a portal and stepped through, the forest collapsing into swirling mist behind him. It was time to confront the only person who could possibly make sense of this mess.
In a dingy city condo far from the ruins of the estate, Louis Bourbon was sprawled across his couch, nursing the dull ache of a mild hangover. His black hair stuck out at odd angles, and his robe was draped carelessly over him like a half-forgotten afterthought. He had just managed to drag himself to the kitchen and start the finicky knockoff Franklin coffee machine, when a soft pop echoed through the air.
Jean-Philippe stood in the living room, arms crossed, exuding the kind of calm authority that made Louis wince instinctively.
"Phil? What the—how the hell did you get in here?"
Louis demanded, clutching his bathrobe tighter. His wand—where was it?
Jean-Philippe lazily twirled the missing wand between his fingers, a teasing grin on his face.
"Really, little brother? You keep wards on that thing in the garage, but nothing on your front door?"
Louis cursed under his breath.
"What do you want, Phil?"
Jean-Philippe's grin vanished, replaced by a look of cold calculation.
"I need answers, Louis. And you're going to give them to me."
Louis raised his hands in mock surrender, trying to sound casual.
"If this is about the Hale estate, I swear it wasn't me. If I'd done it, there'd be a giant sign with my name on it."
Jean-Philippe rolled his eyes.
"Yes, because subtlety has never been your strong suit. But the problem is, one of the attackers had a magical signature very similar to ours. Either it was you—or someone you've been very reckless with."
Jean-Philippe's icy blue gaze didn't waver as he watched his younger brother, his expression unreadable beneath a mask of patience and quiet menace. The tension between the two was thick enough to cut, though Louis tried to diffuse it with his usual mix of sarcasm and bravado. He wasn't buying it.
Jean-Philippe's voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous undercurrent beneath it.
"Even if I were to entertain the idea, Louis, an heir with a dark magic signature tied to our bloodline doesn't just pop out of thin air. Someone knows something."
He twirled the wand lazily between his fingers, making Louis feel even more naked without his own magic.
Louis slumped back into the recliner, crossing his arms with a scowl. It had been years since he left the family's toxic circle, and the last thing he wanted was to be dragged back into the Bourbon family's ancient politics and scheming. Especially not by Jean-Philippe.
Louis's playful expression faltered.
"Wait... You think I've got some secret kid running around blowing up estates? Come on, Phil. Even I'm not that irresponsible."
Jean-Philippe arched an eyebrow.
"You? Not irresponsible? That's a first."
Jean-Philippe's lips curled slightly at that, the faintest suggestion of amusement before fading back into cold calculation. He took another sip of tea, as if they were merely discussing the weather, not murder, ancient bloodlines, and conspiracy.
"Louis..."
Jean-Philippe leaned forward slightly, setting the teacup and saucer on the cluttered table with a soft clink.
"I don't need your jokes. I need information. Someone in this family—someone with our blood—is running around slaughtering Klan leaders. And I will find out who."
Louis scowled.
"Listen, Phil—if I had sired a child capable of wielding dark magic like that, I'd be capitalizing on interviews, not refuting it. Even if this enigmatic sorcerer's magic resembles ours, it couldn't possibly be me."
"I've been preoccupied with motorcycle races and tending to hangovers to engage in any nefarious activities. And I certainly haven't covertly fathered any clandestine progeny. Therefore, I haven't been disseminating our family's magic indiscriminately, and you have more pressing issues. Believe me, Phil—this is a setup."
Jean-Philippe gave him a hard look, weighing his brother's words. Despite all of Louis's flaws, lying wasn't one of them. If Louis said he wasn't involved, then he wasn't.
"Fine."
Jean-Philippe raised a perfectly arched brow.
"Then perhaps someone else in the family has... been busy."
His piercing gaze flickered with something—disdain? Amusement? Louis couldn't tell.
"Annabell?"
Louis offered, half-joking.
"Maybe she's got a dark little side project we don't know about."
Jean-Philippe rolled his eyes in exasperation.
"Annabell? That banshee of a niece couldn't keep a secret if her life depended on it. As for our nephew Alain... Well, we both know he has my same preferences, and they don't tend to end in unexpected offspring."
"Then what the hell do you want from me?"
Louis asked, throwing his hands up in frustration.
"I've been out of the family business for years! Hell, the only reason you even find me these days is because you show up uninvited."
Jean-Philippe gave a slow, deliberate sigh, as though speaking with Louis was as exhausting as it was necessary.
"I want you to help me find whoever's responsible before this escalates further. Whether or not you've officially disowned the family, you know better than anyone that our name draws enemies. If someone is wielding magic similar to ours—and wiping out Klan chapters—then they might be aiming at more than just the Klan."
Louis leaned back, rubbing his eyes with a groan.
"You're worried someone's about to stir the pot and dump the whole damn cauldron on us, aren't you?"
Jean-Philippe nodded.
"Precisely. And if the Council gets wind of it, they'll come after all of us—including you."
Louis cursed under his breath, realizing there was no easy way out of this. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in the Council's crosshairs, especially if they thought he was somehow involved.
"All right, fine."
Jean-Philippe said at last, tossing the wand back to Louis.
"I'll help. But just to be clear, I'm not diving headfirst into family drama or magical politics again. I'll poke around, see what I can find, and if it leads to some rogue mage with our signature, then we hand it over to the spooks."
Jean-Philippe smiled—a thin, satisfied curve of his lips that never reached his eyes.
"That's all I ask, little brother."
"But if this turns out to be connected to you, I will personally drag you to Blackthorn Prison myself."
Louis caught the wand, grinning.
"Oh, come on, Phil. You know you'd miss me too much."
Jean-Philippe gave a faint, exasperated smile.
"Not nearly as much as you think."
Louis grumbled as he stood, shuffling toward the kitchen to finally grab the coffee he'd been waiting for.
"Next time you need something, maybe just send a letter like a normal person."
"Normal has never suited our family."
Jean-Philippe replied with a dry chuckle, standing gracefully and brushing off the front of his immaculate coat.
"Yeah, yeah."
Louis muttered, pouring himself a steaming cup and eyeing his brother suspiciously.
"You sure you're not just using this as an excuse to ruin my day?"
Jean-Philippe gave him an enigmatic smile.
"What are brothers for, Louis?"
The air between them remained tense, an unspoken understanding lingering in the silence: Whatever this rogue mage was after, it would bring trouble for both of them—and their family. And neither could afford to walk away from it now.
Louis sighed. This was going to be a long day.
But as he prepared to leave, the nagging thought lingered in the back of his mind. If Louis wasn't responsible... who was? And what were they planning next?
Jean-Philippe straightened his coat and adjusted his cuffs. This mystery wasn't over yet. And if someone had dared to mess with his family, they were about to learn exactly how dangerous a Bourbon could be.
With a sharp twist of his wand, he vanished, leaving Louis alone once more, sipping bad coffee and wondering just how deep his brother's troubles would drag him in this time.