The rec room’s fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the S.P.A. base’s scuffed floor, the air thick with stale popcorn and the faint tang of Nick’s blood bag from earlier. Ethan, Nick, Cassie, Ash, Kellen, and Jessica sat in a loose circle, their expectant gazes pinning Alex to the worn couch, its springs creaking under his weight. The frostbite curse’s chill lingered, but the team’s scrutiny burned hotter than any spell. “Ethan, where’d you get that sigil?” Alex asked, his voice low, hazel eyes steady, the ward’s labyrinthine lines and its multitude of runes vivid in his mind. “I told you, a wizard gave it to my grandpa,” Ethan insisted, leaning against the pool table, his dark hair mussed, his arms crossed over his chest, defensiveness creeping into his tone. “Who?” Alex pressed. Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know. I can ask my uncles. They might know, but they don’t talk much about magic. Why?” “That discipline was new to me,” Alex said, his voice measured, the rec room’s hum a distant drone. “I was worried about rogue wizards. Some disciplines are inner-circle only. I checked with my dad. He’d never seen it either.” He pulled the cuffs of his sleeves. “You told him about me?” Ethan’s voice sharpened, his jaw tightening. “No,” Alex assured him, raising a hand. “He started pressuring me to tell him. He even went to Winters. I told Winters it was an informant. He knows I don’t name sources.” Nick snorted from an armchair, his pale eyes glinting with amusement. He’d seen Alex dodge Winters’ demands before, a dance of defiance. “Why’s your dad so upset he’d go to Winters?” he asked, his voice casual but probing. “He said the magic was from a discipline banned centuries ago. It's very dangerous,” Alex explained, his gaze flicking to Ethan, Russell’s fear of the Iverson triad a shadow in the room. Nick’s frown deepened. "The last magic to be banned by the Wizards was when the…" His voice trailed off, and his fingers gripped the chair’s arms; the color drained from his face, a rare crack in his vampire composure. He turned to Ethan, his voice low, urgent. “Your uncles are Johnathan and Marcus Iverson?” Ethan shrugged, his brow furrowing, the pool table’s green felt a stark contrast to his unease. “They’re John and Mark. I never heard full names. My grandpa’s name was Sparks before he changed it. Why? What’s going on?” “The Iverson brothers were a triad that terrorized Europe centuries ago,” Nick said, his voice hollow, memories of a desperate stowaway voyage surfacing. “Supernaturals and humans united to stop them. They’re why I fled to the States. A several-week voyage as a stowaway was safer than staying.” “What did they do?” Ethan asked, his voice tight, his fingers digging into the table’s edge. Alex leaned forward, curiosity warring with dread. Nick’s fear was rare. Nick shook his head, his braid swaying. “I don’t know. I left.” His voice was clipped, the past a wound he wouldn’t reopen. “Maybe we should talk to them,” Cassie suggested. “It could be a coincidence. John and Mark are common names.” “Do you believe that?” Ethan asked, his tone skeptical, his eyes narrowing, his uncles’ secrecy a growing weight. “Do they seem like that?” Jessica asked, her translucent form shimmering near the television. “They were nice enough to tell you how to help me.” “They did?” Alex asked, his gaze snapping to her, surprise breaking his tension. Jessica nodded, her form flickering. “How?” Cassie asked, curiosity sparking. “To interact with objects,” Jessica said, her voice proud, her effort to nudge a pen in Alex’s room still fresh.“ I’ve moved small stuff—a pen, a cup.” “They don’t seem like tyrants,” Ethan agreed, his voice softening, but doubt lingered. “But they knew the spell, and their names match.” “Ask them,” Ash said, rolling a small, dreamed-up ball between her hands, its surface glinting under the lights, her dark eyes steady despite her usual fragility. “They might talk if you’re direct.” “They don’t share their past,” Ethan said, his voice heavy, his uncles’ silence a familiar wall. “They might now,” Ash countered, her ball pausing, her voice firm, a rare assertiveness. “Maybe we should talk to them,” Alex agreed. “My place is warded against vampires,” Ethan said, glancing at Nick. “You can’t come in. I could bring them here, but moving their anchors takes time.” “Anchors can be moved?” Jessica asked, her form flickering, her eyes wide. “Not easily,” Alex said, his voice low. “It risks breaking the ghost’s link, draining them for months.” “Not my uncles,” Ethan said, his voice firm. “They’d let me carry their anchors to the park as a kid. They’d rest after, but not long.” “How long have they been dead?” Cassie asked, her brow furrowing. Ethan shrugged, his hands spreading. “They won’t say. We can talk at my place if you’re okay outside. The patio works.” “What about your neighbors?” Alex asked, his mind on secrecy, paparazzi flashes haunting him. “Do they know about ghosts?” Ethan chuckled, a brief release. “They’re not shy. Since the war, they’ve been public. They’re friends with the neighbors.” “Can I come?” Ash asked, her ball vanishing, her voice eager, a plea for freedom. Ethan shrugged, his lips twitching. “Why not?” Alex sighed, his shoulders tensing. “I don’t know.” “I’m always stuck here,” Ash protested, her hands clenching, her dark hair falling over her eyes. “She’s been doing better,” Ethan pointed out, his voice calm, a nod to her lightning control. “She should come,” Kellen said as he sprawled near Ash. “The experiment’s goal is a normal life. This is practice.” Nick nodded, his chair creaking. “Let her come. Ethan’s good with her. Kellen, too.” “Sorry, no dogs allowed,” Ethan said, glancing at Kellen. “Property rules.” “Service dogs are exempt,” Nick countered, his grin sly. “Kellen’s Ash’s service dog.” Kellen huffed, his ears flattening, the tablet silent but his displeasure clear. “If you don’t want people knowing about you, we have to treat you like a dog,” Nick said, his voice teasing but pointed. “Or we tell the S.P.A. everything.” Kellen growled, a low rumble, his eyes narrowing. “That's not a threat, a suggestion,” Nick said, raising his hands, his grin unrepentant. “I’m not even allowed in.” “You’re not a service dog,” Ethan quipped, his lips twitching. “It’s dark. Let’s go.” --- Ethan’s duplex shone under the moon. The backyard patio was a cozy oasis—wrought-iron furniture with faded cushions, string lights casting a warm glow, the air crisp with the scent of autumn leaves and distant barbecue smoke. Ethan led the team to the patio, their footsteps crunching on gravel. Nick claimed a chase lounge. As the others settled—Cassie, Ash, and Alex on chairs around the patio table, Kellen at Ash’s feet—Ethan poked his head through the back door, its screen creaking. “John, Mark,” he called, his voice echoing into the duplex’s warm interior, the faint hum of a TV inside. John materialized instantly, his suit and fedora crisp, his translucent form solid in the moonlight. “Mark’s at the Stinnets’. He’ll be here soon,” he said, scanning the group. “He complains about my private life,” Ethan muttered, his arms crossing, the patio’s glow softening his scowl. He claimed the last chair at the table. “He’s teaching Rose to make fudge,” John said, a faint smile breaking through. “Yeah, he is,” Ethan grumbled, rolling his eyes. “What’s going on?” John asked, his gaze sharpening, the team’s presence a question mark. “That sigil’s getting me in trouble,” Ethan said, his voice tight, glancing at Alex. “You’re not in trouble,” Cassie assured him, her glare at Alex sharp. “No one’s in trouble,” Alex confirmed, his voice calm, leaning on the table’s edge. “What’s said tonight stays here.” “What’s going on?” Mark asked, drifting through the wooden fence, his denim jacket faint but vivid, his eyes narrowing. “Is someone causing trouble?” “No,” Ethan said, his voice firm, stepping closer to his uncles. “There were questions about that sigil,” Alex explained, his hands resting on the table, the metal cool. “It’s powerful. Since Ethan said his grandfather was a dabbler and a wizard gave it to him, I was worried that someone was being irresponsible with magic. My dad’s the head of the wizard council, so he had access to disciplines I don’t. I asked if he knew it.” “You were told not to copy it,” John said, his voice stern, his fedora tilting as he faced Alex. “I didn’t,” Alex snapped, his jaw tight. “I’m not stupid. I know how to sample a sigil without casting it.” “It’s an old discipline, rarely used,” Mark said, waving it off, his denim shimmering. “Why are you working with the grand master’s son?” he asked Ethan, his eyes on Alex. “They haven’t used that title for a long time,” Alex said, his voice cool, his fingers tapping the table. "Which begs the question, why would you use it?" “We died long ago,” John said, his voice neutral, but his gaze held centuries. “You’re Johnathan and Marcus Iverson, aren’t you?” Ethan asked, his voice steady. “Where did you hear that?” Mark asked, his eyes flicking to Nick, suspicion hardening his features. Nick smiled, his fangs glinting in the streetlight, silent but smug. Mark grabbed a rake from the patio’s edge, yanking off its head, the metal clanging, and started toward Nick, his ghostly form flickering with rage. Ethan stepped between them, his hands raised. “Mark, settle down,” John commanded, his voice sharp. “We’re asking to protect Ethan,” Kellen said, his tablet glowing. “If you’d been honest, he could’ve taken precautions.” John and Mark stared at Kellen, John’s gaze flicking to Ash, as if she’d spoken, the makeshift stake slipping through Mark’s hands, his focus breaking. “Are you the Iversons?” Kellen pressed, his tablet steady, his eyes locked on them. “Of course they are,” Ash said, her voice firm, tiny dreamed-up flowers sprouting on the table, their petals glowing faintly. “They wouldn’t react like that otherwise.” “Is the dog real or a dream?” John asked, eyeing the flowers, his voice wary. “Does it matter?” Ash countered, her hands shaping a tiny deer among the flowers, her control steady. “It’s not my abilities in question. Are you Iverson Wizards?” John and Mark exchanged a glance, John’s head shaking faintly. Mark frowned. “Yes, we are,” he admitted, his voice heavy. “Ethan’s a descendant of our brother, Thomas.” “Were you really trying to take over Europe?” Ethan asked, his voice low, his hands clenching, the patio’s warmth fading. “Yes,” John confirmed, his fedora dipping. “Not politically. We wanted to control the magic.” “Those who controlled the wizards controlled the politicians," Nick pointed out. “True,” John agreed, his gaze flicking to Nick, unyielding. “But we cared for power, not politics. We were as bad as anything the vampire claims. But don't be fooled. No wizard’s honorable.” He stared at Alex, a challenge. “Power corrupts,” Alex said, his voice quiet, his own darkness a familiar weight. “The council feared our power more than our atrocities,” Mark said, his voice bitter. “We were caught. Thomas escaped; we were killed. Our triad’s end broke Thomas’s magic.” “What’s a triad?” Cassie asked, her eyes wide, the flowers’ glow reflecting in them. “Three wizards linking magic, stronger than the sum of its parts,” John said, his voice low. “One wizard wielding even more than tripled power.” “If it's ended properly, there are no side effects,” Mark added, his hands gesturing, faint sparks trailing. “Ours was sudden with our assassinations. Thomas lost all magic, even his anchor. He couldn’t forge another.” “Tom fled to London with our anchors, changed his name, lived mundanely,” John continued, his voice softening. “At first, we planned to recreate the triad with one of Tom's children and continue our takeover. However, the damage to his magic was so severe that it also affected his children and grandchildren. Over time, we lost interest in power in favor of watching over the descendants of our brother.” “My magic resistance is because of you?” Ethan asked, his voice raw. “We don’t know,” Mark admitted, his form fading slightly. “Maybe. No descendant could cast or anchor. We've never seen someone who could see through magic or wasn't affected by magic.” “That we know of,” John amended. "Magic has never been openly practiced to this extent before. It may be that no one has ever been exposed enough to show it." “Why didn’t you tell me?” Ethan asked, his voice cracking, the patio’s lights dimming in his eyes. “We never told anyone,” John said, his voice heavy. “Would your dad have let us near you, or would your grandfather have allowed us to babysit?” “They’d have destroyed our anchors,” Mark said, his eyes on Ethan. “We’re not proud of our past. It’s not who we are now, but we did it.” “Is this why the S.P.A. burned your last house?” Alex asked, his voice sharp, Winters’ secrets a gnawing doubt. “We don’t know,” John said, his suit crisp. “While we have been a little more public since the war, we haven't caused trouble. We got along with the neighbors. And no one knew who we were.” “We never told anyone,” Mark echoed. “Now what?” Cassie asked. “Nothing,” Ethan insisted, his voice fierce, stepping closer to his uncles. “They’re my family.” “I agree,” Alex said, his voice calm. "Magic is a power few others have. It's seductive and takes great effort not to succumb. If they’ve finally learned that, there is no reason to do anything. If they cause trouble in the future, then we'll take action.” “We’ve left that behind,” John assured him, his eyes steady. “Can you cast now?” Ash asked, her deer scampering across the table, joined by a tiny wolf, her control flawless. “Oh, yes,” John said, a faint smile breaking through. “It helped us raise Ethan. We're old enough that we have few limitations anymore. We can appear during the day, move objects, and even allow our anchors to be moved. But we're still not solid. Magic helps make the difference.” “And we used it for protection during the war," Mark added. "The fighting got close at times.” “You protected our house?” Ethan asked, his voice soft, the duplex’s warmth a shield. "We protected the whole neighborhood," John clarified. "We were trying to figure out how to help with the war, but it was too risky. Nichole and Leon’s deaths left Bill and Ethan needing us,” Mark said, his voice heavy. “Should I check why the S.P.A. burned your house?” Alex offered, his mind on Winters’ lies. "No." John's voice was firm. "There's too great a risk to Ethan. If the S.P.A. learned of his relation to us or his mother, he'd be confined." “They’d do worse,” Alex said, his jaw tight, Ethan’s dissection a nightmare he’d prevent. “We need him. His help with Ash alone makes him worth protecting.” “You’re lucky the yard isn’t a jungle,” Ash agreed, her wolf nuzzling her hand. “He’s great in the field, too.” “Ethan, no dogs allowed!” a woman barked from the fence, her silhouette sharp, her voice shrill. “I’ll talk to the board tomorrow.” “He’s my service dog,” Ash said, her voice steady, Kellen rising, his vest glinting. “You?” The woman scoffed, her arms crossing. “You’re not blind, and you’re too young for a disability.” "She has health problems that the dog helps monitor. It's something she was born with," Nick called, his doctor’s persona surfacing. “That’s all you’re allowed to ask by law.” "I can ask anything I need to protect this community," she snapped. "No, you can't. You've already been told that she needs the dog,” Nick said, his voice cold. “I'm her doctor, and I'm confirming it. This ends now. If the board contacts Ethan about this, they'll need to go through his lawyer.” “Agnes, what did the board say about frivolous reports?” John asked, his tone deceptively mild. "Wasn't it a fine?" Ethan asked, his lips twitching, catching John’s play. “Including their lawyer’s fees,” Mark added. “With the fancy suits their lawyer wears, I'd imagine he charges quite a bit. Do you have that kind of money to throw away protecting the standards of the neighborhood from a dog that won't be here much longer?” Agnes huffed, her footsteps crunching away, the fence gate slamming. “Thought I’d need my badge,” Alex said, a faint smile breaking through, his hand brushing his pocket. “Don’t worry,” John said, his voice warm. “We know how to handle Agnes. The board says we’re better residents than most of the living.” “She won’t report you to the S.P.A., will she?” Cassie asked, glancing back at the retreating woman. John waved it off. “She’s made so many reports, the S.P.A. ignores her.” “Reports about you?” Alex asked, his voice sharp. If they looked too closely at Ethan’s uncles, their secret might get out. Mark chuckled, his denim shimmering. “Ghosts, zombies, vampires, witches, ghouls, werewolves.” “Werewolves?” Alex demanded, his hand stilling, Ethan’s mother a secret too close. "There's none left, are there?" “Not to our knowledge,” John said with a shrug. “It was a kid in a Halloween costume. And while she called about ghosts, it wasn't us. She said we were fine, good ghosts.” “There are no others within blocks,” Mark confirmed, his grin sly. “Just Agnes craving attention.” “I’ll bake her cookies tomorrow,” John said, his voice light. “She’ll forget it.” “We should go,” Nick decided. “Ash needs her meds soon.” Ash sighed, her wolf and deer dissolving, the garden fading. “Yeah, or I’ll dream up a zoo of Agnes’s monsters.” She stood, Kellen leaping up, his tablet tucked under his vest. “I’m staying,” Ethan said, his voice firm, the duplex’s glow a promise. “Ash, if you need to create something, start with my uncles—they’re harmless.” Alex met John and Mark’s gazes, their power undeniable. He knew that no wizard was harmless, but like him, these two seemed to suppress the darkness to help them stay in control. He hoped that it was really the case.