The Atlas Six (The Atlas 1)

“Hey,” Nico snapped. “She’s not wrong. I’d like to have some autonomy to my sentience too, thanks.”

Tristan and Parisa seemed to agree, though they weren’t ready to say so.

“Surely we shouldn’t have to explain to an empath why none of us want our emotions toyed with,” Libby insisted.

Callum waved an indolent hand. “Just because I happen to know what your feelings are doesn’t mean I waste time trying to understand them, but fine. I’ll behave if she will,” he added with a sly glance at Parisa, who glared back.

“I don’t influence anyone,” she said, irritated. “Not magically, anyway. Because I’m not an asshole.”

Sure you’re not, thought Reina loudly, prompting Parisa to yet another scowl.

In the absence of any further discussion, the three remaining members had turned to Tristan, whom Reina realized belatedly was the last to reveal his specialty.

“I—” He stiffened, unhappily cornered. “I’m a type of illusionist.”

“Yeah, so am I,” replied Callum, a doubtful drawl. “A bit of a blanket term, isn’t it?”

“Wait a minute,” Parisa said, suddenly recalling something. “Your name is Callum Nova, isn’t it? Of the illusionist Novas?”

The others in the room sat up slightly, expressing interest that even Reina couldn’t prevent. The Nova Corporation was a global media conglomerate who secretly or not-so-secretly specialized in illusions; they were dominant in both the mortal and medeian industries, most adept within the industry of cosmetics and beauty. They were fascinating not only for their products, but for their cutthroat business practices. They had put several smaller companies out of business by repeatedly undermining medeian statutes about how much magic could be used in mortal products.

Not that that was the reason Reina was interested at that particular moment. Rather, she had realized that Parisa was probably piecing together the fact that she’d overlooked the person in the room with the most money, and that brought Reina so much satisfaction the weeping fig in the corner joyfully sprouted

fruit.

“Yes, I’m a Nova,” Callum said, not taking his eyes from Tristan, who had still not confessed to anything. “Though, as you’ve clearly pieced together, illusions aren’t particularly my life’s work.”

“Fine,” growled Tristan. “I can see through illusions.”

Immediately, Libby’s hand rose somewhere to her cheek, and Tristan sighed.

“Yes, I can see it,” he said. “It’s just a zit. Relax.”

Then Tristan’s attention traveled slowly back to Callum, who stiffened in apprehension. Delightful, Reina thought. The only thing better would be if Tristan informed them that wasn’t Parisa’s real nose.

“I won’t tell them if you won’t,” Tristan said to Callum.

For a moment, the air in the room was so tense that even the plants grew wary.

Then, abruptly, Callum laughed.

“Let’s keep it between us, then,” he agreed, reaching out to clap a hand around Tristan’s shoulder. “Better to let them wonder.”

So there was an us and them now. That was considerably less delightful.

MotherMotherMother, the ivy in the corner whispered with a shudder of consternation, joined by the hissing sound from the nearby fig plant.

Mother is angry, whimpered the philodendron. She is angry, OhnoOhnoOhno—

“—’s no point fighting about this,” Libby was saying, as Reina quietly engaged a deep inhale, hoping not to spur any nearby greenery to mutiny. “Regardless of what we think about each other, we still have to formulate some sort of security plan, so—”

But before Libby Rhodes could come to any sort of bossy conclusion, there was a low, loud, percussive gong, and the door to the painted room flew open, the house itself seeming to beckon them down the hall.

“Guess we’ll have to formulate later,” said Callum, rising to his feet and striding forward before waiting to hear what the end of Libby’s sentence would have been.

Behind him, Tristan and Parisa exchanged a glance and followed; Nico rose to his feet, beckoning Libby with a grimace. She, however, hesitated in frustration, then turned her attention to Reina instead.

“So, listen,” Libby began, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I know I must have sounded rude before, what with that thing I said about you being a naturalist, but I was only—”