CHAPTER 38: POWER PLAY

Artimus stood on the cobblestone street of Boston's Milmothryn Market, fists clenched, staring at the monstrous colonial-style building with its red siding, twelve-over-twelve windows, and multiple chimney columns sprouting from the slanted roof. Just beneath that roof hung a large mirror which displayed the image of a cauldron, which transformed into a broom, which then changed into a set of men's dress robes. Tremors of rage went through his body as he aimed his narrowed eyes at the sign below the ever-changing items.

RAND'S REALM OF MAGICAL NECESSITIES.

His shoulders rose and fell with anger. You bastard.

It wasn't the first time he'd thought that about his father, nor the first time he wanted to shout those words at him. If there'd ever been a time he'd be justified in doing that, this would be it.

Yet he remained rooted to the spot.

Artimus shut his eyes and grinded his teeth. The old fear returned, the fear of confronting his father. Memories flashed through his mind of his father yelling at him, berating him for not getting good grades or failing to make the right impression among his friends. He barely managed to get out a "But" or a "Dad, please" before the man snapped at him to shut up.

"You don't give me excuses. You don't talk back to me. You don't say anything! The only thing you do is what I tell you to do, unless you want to end up a failure."

I'm not a failure. He'd fought everything from Death Eaters to setagothas during the war, and survived. He was an advisor to the Secretary of Magic, and he didn't need his father's help to get that job. He was going to marry the most wonderful woman in the world.

Am I?

He recalled Jenna's words from the night before, how marrying him might put her and her sister in danger.

Artimus clenched his fists so tight they shook. He glared at the sign, wishing he could blow it up with just a thought.

You may have cost me a life with Jenna.

Scowling, he stomped into the store. A throng of people moved through the numerous aisles that contained everything from cauldrons to broom cleaning kits to Rememberalls to Wizarding Wireless sets. Hundreds of candles hovered near the high, gray paneled ceiling, a ceiling devoid of any aesthetics.

Aesthetics cost money. Money that could fill my father's pockets.

"Well, well, look who's come crawling back to the family."

Artimus spun around and caught sight of a magical portrait hanging near the doorway. The subject was a stout man with a neatly trimmed gray beard and expensive burgundy robes. Artimus recognized him immediately. Gordon Rand, his great-great grandfather.

"So, boy," the man continued. "Did you finally come to your senses and leave that Muggle?"

"Shut up!" Artimus hollered, causing a few nearby customers to turn to him, shock flashing over their faces.

Gordon Rand's eyes bulged. His cheeks reddened as he took a few steps forward. For a second, Artimus feared his long-dead relative would leap right out of the portrait.

"Never speak to me in that manner!" Gordon Rand jabbed a finger toward him. "You show respect to your family at all times, even those of us who are no longer in the world of the living."

Artimus opened his mouth, then closed it and snorted. "I don't have time to argue with a portrait. I need to speak with my father." He whirled around and walked away from his great-great grandfather's image.

"Your father may not want to speak with you, after what you've done," Gordon Rand hollered after him.

He ignored him, stomping down one of the aisles until he spotted a winding staircase, the one that led to his father's office. His feet pounded the wooden steps in rapid succession. His heart hammered away, fueled by anxiety and fear and fury.

When he reached the landing, he stopped. Could he actually do this? Could he really stand up to his father?

Again he remembered Jenna's words last night, and her crying immediately afterwards.

Jaw set, he started down the hallway.

The door at the end of the corridor opened. Artimus stopped, his eyes wide with shock. A stocky young man with thick brown hair and a round face stepped into the hallway. His eyes lit up with surprise when he spotted Artimus. Several seconds passed without either one of them speaking.

Finally, Artimus broke the silence. "Hello, Horace."

Artimus' brother drew a slow breath. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Artimus? Why are you here?"

"I need to talk to Dad."

"Then you should make an appointment."

"I'm his son."

Horace Rand shrugged. "So am I. But if Arcadius and I want to see Dad during business hours, we have to make an appointment."

"To hell with appointments. I'm sure you saw what he said in The All-Seeing Eye about Jenna."

"Of course. I read that newspaper every day, cover to cover. I thought Dad had some valid points."

Artimus scowled. "You would. You take after him."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

He growled and walked up to his brother. "I didn't come here to argue with you. I have to talk to Dad. Now!"

"And I told you, make an appointment." Horace folded his arms. "Dad's a very busy man. Maybe you've forgotten that. After all, it's been five years since you walked out on us."

Artimus' eyes widened. The comment left him astonished. Horace was there the day of the Salem graduation. He saw how their father kicked him out of the house. How in the hell could he . . .

Artimus stared at his older brother. Horace gazed at him with a determined look. He wasn't about to let him see Dad.

Artimus wondered what Jimmy or Rosa or Jared would do in this kind of situation.

They'd grab Horace by his robes and slam him against the wall, then storm into Dad's office.

He couldn't bring himself to do the first part to his brother. The second part, however . . .

Artimus slipped past his brother. He caught an expression of disbelief on Horace's face. Well, of course Horace would have trouble believing this. Never before had he disobeyed his brothers.

"Ar . . . Artimus? Get back here."

He ignored him and headed for Dad's office.

"Artimus? Artimus, I'm talking to you. You are not allowed in Dad's office. Artimus, stop! Stop, now!"

He didn't stop. Instead he grabbed the handle and pushed open the door.

He stepped into a spacious office with leather sofas and chairs arranged in a semi-circle around a horseshoe-shaped desk. A large map of the United States hung on the wall opposite him, showing the locations of every branch of Rand's Realm of Magical Necessities, the image of a coin hovering over each one, colored gold, silver or bronze, depending on their amount of profits. The other three walls had portraits of Rand relatives, some occupied, some not.

Ulysses Rand sat at his desk, writing on a piece of parchment. He looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Artimus.

"Dad. Dad." Horace hurried into the office. "Dad, I'm sorry. I tried to stop him, but he just -"

His father held up his hand, then jerked his head, signaling Horace to leave.

Horace nodded, then fixed Artimus with a parting glare before stepping outside and closing the door.

Ulysses Rand leaned back in his chair, eyes still on Artimus, an annoyed look on his face.

He always looks annoyed.

"Artimus. Any reason why you feel the need to barge into my office?"

"You know damn well why I'm here! How dare you say all those things about Jenna in The All-Seeing Eye?"

His father took a slow breath and leaned back in his seat. "I'm simply looking out for our interests. With Secretary Infante pushing all his pro-Muggle and Muggle-born reforms through the Legislature, I have to be careful that no Muggle finagles her way into our family and makes off with the fortune we've worked centuries to accumulate."

"That's a lie and you know it!" Artimus stomped closer to the desk. "Five years. It's been five years since you kicked me out of the house. And in that time, I've built my own life. I have a good job, I'm engaged to a great woman. And all without any help from you. Does that bother you so much you have to get the newspaper to print lies about Jenna? Can you not stand to see me happy? Are you so determined to ruin my life?"

His father responded with a grunt. "Listen to you. They give you a Haldus Cross for being a war hero, you have the ear of the Secretary of Magic, and you suddenly think the entire world revolves around you. This isn't solely about you, boy. This is about our family. We have an image to maintain. You may not care about it, but others do." His father gazed at the portraits of their relatives.

"You're right. I don't care about your image. I care about Jenna, and what that damn article is doing to her. To us."

"That's always been your problem, Artimus. Selfishness."

Artimus' jaw fell open. "Selfishness? You're accusing me of selfishness? The only thing you care about is putting more gold into the family vault. That's not being selfish?"

His father grimaced and shook his head. "Not when more money in our vault means more power and influence for this family. Not just now, but centuries from now. We were one of the first wizarding families to come to this part of the country from England. We were one of the most successful merchants in The Colonies before there was even a Salem Witches Institute. We helped build Wizarding America long before The Great Break and long after it. We command respect not only in this country, but across the world. And I'll not have you jeopardize it by marrying a Muggle."

"Why are you so threatened by her?"

"Muggles and Muggle-borns have their place, and their place is not in a family like ours."

Artimus snorted. "They have their place. Listen to you. You almost sound like a Death Eater. You're not just a snob, you're a damn bigot!"

His father's head trembled. Anger lines marred his fleshy face. "Don't you ever talk to me that way. I don't care what happened between us, I am still your father, and you will -"

"You were no kind of father to me!" Artimus felt years of rage burning white hot inside him. "I saw how Jimmy's father and Jared's father and Rosa's father acted. I saw how Mister Weasley acted over in Britain. They actually cared about their children. They didn't make them feel worthless or stupid or acted like they were a disappointment. You did none of that with me."

"As if coddling you would have done any good. You were weak, and you were worthless to us. And I pushed you, so you could make something of yourself and be worthy of the Rand name. But what did you do instead? You fell in with the Diazes and the Infantes and those Muggles and their damn son. They filled your head with all kinds of nonsense, making you think you were no better than anyone else. We are better than everyone else! We are one of the most influential families in the Wizarding World. And you're pissing that all away for a Muggle!"

"I love her!"

His father gave him a dismissive wave. "Love. Where will that get you in life?"

"I feel good when I'm with Jenna. She makes me a better person. She's a part of me."

His father groaned and rubbed his forehead. "You sound like some brain-addled poet."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Artimus said. "You just get married to have some beautiful young witch on your arm to make you look good. And Horace's and Arcadius' wives are only around to make sure we have male heirs for your business."

"Unlike you, we have to think about the future of this family, along with our standing in the Wizarding World. An old, successful pureblood family like ours is expected to marry people that come from other old successful pureblood families. That's why people respect us. Not just for our money, but because of a lineage that dates back hundreds of years. And there is no place in a family such as ours for a Muggle." His father shook his head. "Honestly, at the very least you could have married a Muggle from a wealthy family, instead of one that lived in a shack in Virginia. Though from what I heard, calling her former home a shack would be a compliment."

"Jenna did the best she could to take care of Samantha. Do you have any idea how much she sacrificed for her sister? Ha! What do you know about sacrifice anyway? What do you know about taking care of people?"

His father narrowed his eyes. "I didn't take care of you? You had a roof over your head and food in your stomach and clothes on your back for seventeen years because of me, boy."

"And that was all you were ever good for. Yeah, you provided for me, but you didn't care about me."

"Oh, spare me the sentimental drivel. You sound as bad as the Infantes or the Diazes."

"They cared about me more than you ever did."

His father opened his mouth, but Artimus cut him off before he could speak. "Look, I'm not here to talk about me. I'm here to talk about Jenna. Do you have any idea what that article did to her? She's getting hate mail all the time. She doesn't need that stress, not with her finals coming up and the wedding only a few weeks away. She spent half the night crying. And Samantha got hit with a Deboning Curse at Fantimoor. She's only thirteen-years-old, Dad. Thirteen."

"It's not my fault some idiot student cursed her."

"It is! Do you really believe that would have happened if that stupid article hadn't have come out? Is that what you want? For people to get hurt? Are you that cold-hearted?"

"Oh stop overreacting. With a little Skele-Gro, that Muggle's sister will be fine."

"That's not the point! Jenna's worried Samantha might be attacked again, especially if she marries me. She . . . She . . ."

His father looked up at him, a smirk forming on his face. "She might call off the wedding? Well, one can certainly hope so."

Artimus slammed both palms on the desk. His father's eyes flared in surprise. "Leave her alone, damn you! Leave us alone! You talk to someone over at The All-Seeing Eye and take back everything you said about Jenna."

"Or what?"

Artimus froze. His mind raced for a response. He couldn't come up with one.

A wicked smile crossed his father's lips. "Are you finally understanding what I've been trying to teach you all your life? About power? I have it, boy. I have it with that newspaper. They won't print a retraction unless I say it. They won't print any letters to the editors in opposition to the article unless I say it. And if they do, then I pull my advertising from their paper, and there are other businessmen who will do the same on my say so. Their bottom line will always take priority over ethics and fairness."

Artimus' mouth opened and closed wordlessly as he struggled for some kind of response. Dammit, why couldn't he be like Jimmy and Rosa? They could always think on their feet in any situation.

Rosa? Wait a minute . . .

"There's . . . there's Secretary of Magic Infante. He won't let you get away with this."

His father emitted a short chuckle. "Secretary Infante can't do a thing to me. We have freedom of the press in this country. And your status as a 'war hero' makes you a public figure, which means by default, your Muggle fiancé is a public figure, which makes both of you fair targets."

Artimus balled his fists. Rage burned through his veins. He almost gave in to the urge to punch his father right in his fat, ugly face.

And what good will that do?

His father fixed him with an arrogant smile. "Face it, boy. You have no power. I can do whatever I wish to make sure we don't have a Muggle sully our family name, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. Not a damn thing."

Artimus just stared at his father, his entire body quaking. He wanted to scream at the son-of-a-bitch, let fly a stream of curses and insults.

But again, what good would that do?

Artimus closed his eyes and lowered his head. He'd beaten him. Once again, his father had beaten him.

He spun around and trudged to the door, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. He flung open the door, not bothering to close it. That allowed his father's laughter to follow him down the hallway.

TO BE CONTINUED