Ilona Andrews - Wildfire

“Nevada, this is Mr. Fullerton of Scroll, Inc.,” Bern said. “He says he’s here to get our DNA on behalf of the Office of Records.”

Anxiety shot through me. Sooner or later, Arabella would have to submit to DNA testing, and I had no idea what would happen next. Monsters hid in our bloodline, and once they were found, it would be too late to do anything about it.

Mr. Fullerton rose and offered me his hand. I shook it. He had a firm, dry handshake.

Behind me, Cornelius walked into the hallway and paused before the doorway to the conference room.

“Good evening, Mr. Harrison,” Fullerton said. “How is your daughter?”

“Good evening,” Cornelius told him. “Matilda’s well.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Cornelius glanced at me. “I had to go through genetic testing twice, first as a child, and the second time as a father. Would you like me to sit in on this with you?”

“Yes. Please.”

Cornelius nodded and took a seat at the table.

Fullerton and I sat as well.

“Catalina should be here as well.” I picked up my phone and texted my sister.

We waited. A couple of minutes later, Catalina walked through the door and took a spot next to Bern without saying a word.

“As you are aware, Ms. Baylor, you must submit a genetic sample for everyone who is qualifying with you,” Fullerton said. “The genetic sampling done by the Office of House Records is very basic. They ascertain only that you and everyone who is testing with you under prospective House Baylor are related and their familial status matches the one you indicate. In other words, they will test to determine that you and Catalina are sisters and that Bernard is your cousin.”

“Do they ever make mistakes?” Catalina asked.

“The OHR is extremely thorough,” Fullerton said. “But human error is always possible. That’s why all OHR results are also independently verified by a third party, usually one of the genetic archives, which is where I enter the picture. I represent Scroll, Inc., the largest genetic archive in North America. Today I’m here to obtain the genetic samples for the Office of Records; however, I also would like to take this opportunity to present our services to you. The testing we provide is considerably more extensive. We create a comprehensive genetic profile, a snapshot of your family. We test for all known predispositions to genetic diseases. At your request, we can trace the roots of your bloodline. We can also suggest potential partners who would be most likely to produce offspring with the magic talents you specify.”

Rogan’s specter rose in my mind. We’re not compatible, Nevada . . . I wondered how much he really cared about it. Maybe more than he admitted. Brian Sherwood could barely handle that his son wasn’t a Prime.

“But it’s not a guarantee,” I said. “This genetic matching doesn’t always produce the . . . the child one wants?”

“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.

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.