Page 75 of No Charm Done

“Change of plans,” Luna managed. “Very last minute.”

“Fantastic! The more, the merrier.”

As Kyle babbled on about something called a “messaging matrix,” Elias saw Luna’s hand move almost imperceptibly. Her lips formed words so quiet they were less sound than suggestion. As she worked the spell, a metallic tang filled the air, the taste of copper lingering at the back of his throat. As the elevator doors began to close, the air inside shimmered like heat off a summer pavement.

Light bent. For just a heartbeat, the space inside the elevator split, like looking through water at two different depths. Elias’s stomach lurched—not from the motion, but from the sensation of reality folding over itself.

The doors reopened immediately. There were still four people in the elevator. But two looked like Lexi, and two looked like Kyle.

The real Lexi and Kyle blinked, their expressions going slack and confused, as if the glamour spell had gently pushed their awareness aside.

“I . . .” Real Kyle touched his forehead. “Does anyone else feel weird?”

“I feel like I need coffee,” Real Lexi said slowly. “Like, really need coffee. Right now.”

“Yeah.” Kyle was already moving toward the lobby doors. “Yeah, let’s—there’s that place on Mercer⁠—”

“With the oat milk⁠—”

“God, yes.”

They wandered out into the street, still looking dazed, leaving their duplicates—Luna and Elias in borrowed faces—standing alone in the elevator.

The doors slid closed.

Elias caught their reflection in the polished steel walls. His face was Kyle’s now—forgettable features, boring glasses, that messenger bag. Luna had become Lexi, complete with the apologetic blazer and sensible heels. But in the warped metal, just for a second, he could see them. The real them. Luna’s curly hair. His own face, still trying to process what she’d just done with a whisper and a gesture.

Holy hell, he thought. She’s magnificent.

Luna adjusted her blazer. “Don’t touch your face. And try not to think about your appearance. The glamour reads intent, and if you start obsessing about looking different, it’ll flicker.”

“Noted. You look very . . . consultant-esque.”

“Not a word.”

“Should be.” The elevator climbed, and floor numbers ticked past. “You also look terrified, for what it’s worth.”

“I am terrified,” she admitted. “We’re about to face investors with no prep and a glamour spell that could fail at any second.”

The elevator was suddenly very small. Elias could smell whatever perfume the real Lexi wore—something floral and expensive. Or maybe that was Luna’s actual scent bleeding through the glamour. He found himself noticing the way she was breathing, quick and shallow, the way her fingers drummed against the satchel.

Don’t, he told himself. Focus on the job. Not on the fact that four hours ago you had her on a table and⁠—

The elevator dinged.

* * *

CastR headquarters occupied the entire top floor of what had probably once been a legitimate place of business before Silicon Valley ate half of Manhattan. Exposed brick. Edison bulbs. A neon sign that read SPELL. SHARE. SCALE. in letters as tall as Elias himself. Twenty-something kids clustered around standing desks, typing furiously on those impossibly thin computers. A barista station in one corner served something green and viscous: Elias could smell the grass clippings from across the room. Whiteboards were covered in sigils and slogans: MAKE MAGIC HUMAN. DAILY ACTIVE SPELLS +40%. GROWTH IS A SPELL WE CAST TOGETHER.

Is this a business or a cult?

“Try to look like you belong,” Luna whispered.

“I’m trying not to look like I want to burn this place down.”

At the far end, through glass walls, a conference room buzzed with activity. People crowded around a long table. More faces filled a massive screen on the wall—that Zoom thing Luna had tried to explain, which still sounded like witchcraft to him. Ironic given the circumstances.

And at the head of the table, perfectly tailored and unnaturally still, sat Upson Burke III.