The mark on my inner wrist pulsed with radiant heat, like a second, sun-kissed heartbeat.

"Shit," I breathed, glancing down at the black lines that stood bold against my pale skin, tattooed not in ink but in magic. The symbol was barely bigger than a thumbprint, yet unmistakable: a shield bearing a single tall tower beneath a burning sun, forever inscribed upon my flesh.

It'd be bright and crisp on my corpse, even after I started to rot.

And I'd start wishing I were a corpse if I didn't get moving. The throb was warm now, enough to be noticeable but not painful. If I hadn't been attuned to it, I might have even missed it. But in a few minutes, it would be closer to a cigarette lighter held against the skin. After that — well, I'd never tempted fate quite that far. I didn't want to know. I'd heard stories, and that was enough.

Fate was kind today. I had just located the book I'd been searching for, and snatched it from the shelf before making a hurried and most unladylike descent down the ladder. Maybe the tome would serve as a silent excuse for my lateness.

Because of course he would summon me when I was down in the library, about as far as I dared to stray during working hours. My heels were already clattering against the marble floor as I sped towards the main doors, ignoring the curious glances tossed my way. Less wondering why I ran — there was only one reason why I would — and more trying to discern if it signaled some shift in mood, if they too should be prepared to be called up to the top floor.

But I was already pushing past the double doors and hiking up the stairs, risking taking them two at a time despite the three-inch heels. The sound echoed in the tight stairwell, each clack against the metal steps ringing like a panicked bell, but at least the way was clear. Most people would have probably taken the elevator; the problem was, in a building this busy, there was no telling how long it might take to arrive. Better to climb up the three flights of stairs, even if it left me gasping by the time I reached the top.

Thankfully there wasn't much further to go. I grabbed the handrail and hauled myself around the last corner, all but flinging myself up the final flight of stairs. The mark on my wrist had just started to sting, like I'd brushed too close to an open flame, as I shoved the fire door open with my shoulder. I'd still make it in time if I didn't mind arriving breathless and a little sweaty.

I spared the micro-second it took to wave at the receptionist behind the desk — Odyssa, his second, a russet-haired beauty with the most distinctive amber eyes — before plunging through the heavy mahogany doors and into the foyer beyond. The sudden change to carpet muffled my steps as I entered the final stretch. There were office doors along both sides of the foyer, eight in total, some opened, some closed, but I only had eyes for the set of double doors at the far end.

The top floor was wholly his realm, home only to him and his closest lieutenants — and Aeliana, his first. I caught a glance of her white-blonde hair through an open door as I made the last mad dash to his office, yanking the doors open with a touch less decorum than I intended as the mark on my wrist edged closer to burning.

He smirked at me as he looked up, and the pain abruptly stopped.

For a man known as the Shadowmage, Brendan Connacht did not look the part.

Instead, Brendan looked as if he'd leapt off a glossy magazine cover. His skin was the color of toasted almonds, just brown enough to make people wonder if it was the perfect tan or perfect genetics. Blue eyes sparkled like a tropical sea under the midday sun, and his hair was the just-right tint of bronze, not too dark and not too light, with a touch of auburn without actually being red. It was brushed back from his forehead in a look that was supposed to be casually tousled and approachable, but I knew required weekly visits to the stylist and more mousse than seemed reasonable. Standing a full two inches over six feet and flashing a grin so white it seemed unnatural, Brendan radiated with slick, corporate power from every pore. Even without the perfectly tailored three-piece suit draped over his muscular form, he would have looked like the quintessential CEO.

"Cutting it a little close, magpie," Brendan chuckled. "Though I see you brought me a gift."

I stepped closer, holding out the leather-bound copy of A Formal Treatise on Techniques for Negating Thermologic Assaults and Other Fire-Based Attacks that I'd managed to hunt down. Hopefully it would serve as my salvation. "I was in the library. I found it misfiled among the fire spells."

One of those sculpted brows lifted as he took the book from my hand. Rumor said that Brendan hadn't always looked this way — and if he really had been born during Roman times, as he had long claimed, that rumor was probably true. But magic was a better, more precise tool than plastic surgery, and it cost Brendan nothing. He had all the magic he needed to remake his look several times over if he so wished.

Hell, Aeliana's appearance — the hair pale as cornsilk, skin warm as gold, eyes blue as chicory blossoms — was probably also Brendan's doing. Perhaps even Odyssa's amber eyes had been enhanced by a flick of his power, or created entirely by him. Or maybe she just had really lucky genes. I wasn't so uncouth as to ask, and Brendan had never bothered perking up any aspect of my appearance. Of course, I was his third, the bottom of that particular food chain.

"Very good, Severine," he responded, smoothing his hand over the cover, fingertips tracing the gilt lettering. "I did have staff looking for this one, but I don't recall asking you."

I shrugged dismissively, as if I hadn't spent most of my day kneeling in front of bookshelves or teetering atop a wobbly ladder just to hunt it down. "Just being helpful."

"Well, you're about to be more helpful." Brendan stood, gesturing for me to join him as he approached the tessellation of windows that formed the back wall of his office. Beyond the glass was an unobstructed view of the lake, the sprawling shoreline interrupted only by a solitary lighthouse to the south. Water stretched out beyond the horizon, as if one were staring out over a vast inland sea.

His little kingdom. Brendan didn't officially rule the city — there was a democratically elected mayor and so forth — but he might as well have. A mage of Brendan's caliber didn't need a political title to exert his influence over the entire metropolitan area. He barked orders, and everyone jumped to comply.

I automatically joined him, hands clasped demurely in front of my waist as I studied the dark, choppy waters.

"There's an interesting opportunity to partner with Ernst Parkkonen on a… research project," Brendan started, not bothering to look at me. "His representative will arrive tomorrow to begin negotiations."

I blinked, trying my best to fill in the unsaid puzzle pieces. I'd heard the Parkkonen name before. Ernst was another mage, like Brendan — I couldn't remember if he was flashy enough to have earned a title or not — and also king of his own commercial empire. Whereas Brendan sat at the head of a sprawling printing and shipping conglomerate, Ernst owned a battalion of manufacturing plants across a dozen or more industries.

That wasn't so strange; there were few CEOs that weren't magically inclined. It was too hard to stay one step ahead when the competition could alter one's perceptions, one's emotions, even one's memories. Besides, mages like Brendan and Ernst had spent centuries learning the hard way that even the poorest populace will still find a way to rise up against an overt conqueror, especially one who can be labeled an evil sorcerer. But then modern times rolled around, and the discovery was made that if that same mage set himself up as an enterprising CEO, then the people would be happy to put him up on a shiny pedestal and extol his work ethic.

"And how may I assist?"

Those stunning blue eyes turned my way. "I'd like you to entertain the representative while he's here."

The muscles around my spine tightened, and I felt one corner of my smile falter. "Entertain how, precisely?"

It was a valid question. Brendan wasn't just my boss; he was my Wielder.

Well, to say he was "my" anything was misleading, because ownership ran the exact opposite direction. In truth, I was his Catalyst — except that was wrong, too. I was one of his Catalysts. Mages treasured us for our rare ability to enhance their powers, despite having none of our own, but we were so few, so rare, that only a small percentage of mages could lay claim to even a single Catalyst. The most powerful of mages might boast two.

Brendan was the only mage I'd ever heard of who wielded three Catalysts.

He laughed, and I briefly wondered how much magic it took to enhance a mage's laugh. His was too polished, open and warm and friendly in a way I knew Brendan wasn't. "Show him around the city, Severine. Take him out to dinner. Lending him one of my personal Catalysts is the highest honor I can offer, after all. Though," he added, and I felt his knuckle slide under my chin, tipping my head to look directly up at him. "I won't object if you want to give him the full tour, Severine. I do seem to remember it's an exquisite experience."

I would not blush. I would not.

The heat that had been building in my cheeks abruptly dissipated, leaving them cool and pale as the library's marble floors.

Yes, I had slept with Brendan. There weren't a lot of options for Catalysts. I'd tried dating inert partners — those without any magical talent, which described the vast majority of humanity — but none of them had been able to grasp the relationship between a Wielder and his Catalyst. They'd viewed Brendan's possessiveness as a threat, seen him as a romantic rival to be confronted, and that was as sure a path as any to a long-term visit to the black bottom of that deep, cold lake. Other mages were entirely out of the question; no Wielder would tolerate the risk of another mage severing his connection with his Catalyst or swaying their loyalty. The only real option would be to find another Catalyst, but statistically a person was more likely to be hit by lightning than be one of us, which made the dating pool pretty microscopic.

Or, of course, to sleep with my Wielder. Which I had done. More than once. The only problem was that, while I was willing to be his third Catalyst, I wasn't willing to be his third lover — or whatever number he'd assigned to me. As their Wielder, Brendan was also sleeping with Aeliana and Odyssa; as one of the city's most eligible bachelors, he was continually rotating through a series of pretty, young, inert women who never really knew what he was. Money, power, good looks: the aphrodisiacs of the modern world, and Brendan had them all.

The actual solution had ended up being celibacy, which might have been the only reason why I didn't feel a flare of anger at the suggestion that I sleep with the Parkkonen representative. Assuming he was at least mildly attractive.

"I will make sure the representative is properly attended to," I answered, and only years of practice kept me from flinching as I stared up into those too-blue eyes.

Brendan laughed again, something soft and buttery to rub against my skin, and I realized he was still expending magic to embellish his voice. Not a lot of magic, especially not for him, but magic nonetheless. Brendan had immense power, but he didn't use it casually. More to the point, he shouldn't bother using it on a Catalyst when he could more easily command me — which meant there was something I was missing here. Was the deal that important, or was he that hungry to impress Ernst's representative?

"You'll have the rest of the day to make preparations," he announced, turning away from the view to return to his desk. "I hope you make good use of that limited time."

It was as good as a dismissal. I bobbed my head in a quick nod, and started making my way back towards the door.

"Severine?"

I heard my name just as I reached the door. With a pause, I looked back at my boss.

"Wear something pretty, will you?"

Somehow I kept the surprise off my face, blinking once before finding my voice. "Of course."

Before he could expand on that thought, I fled out into the foyer.