Erwin nodded. "Patriarch Worre's point isn't without merit. But as you said yourself, the Demos family has their eyes on that prophecy. They might not know its exact location, but they're circling your old estate like vultures. If I head there, a run-in with them is inevitable. I'm no stranger to the Demos clan's influence in America, and honestly, I see no reason to pick a fight over some cryptic foretelling. No offense intended—I've always steered clear of prophecies and Divination myself."
Old Worre leaned forward. "Mr. Erwin, you and I both know the Cavendish and Demos families are like oil and water. As two of the top pure-blood houses, a clash is only a matter of time. Isn't your journey to America aimed squarely at settling that score?"
Erwin set down his glass, his gaze sharpening as he met Old Worre's eyes.
Cassandra tugged urgently at her father's sleeve, her face paling.
Old Worre coughed, backpedaling. "Forgive me, Mr. Erwin—I spoke out of turn."
Erwin shook his head, his easy smile unwavering. "No harm done, Patriarch Worre. But it's getting late. I have other business to attend to."
He rose smoothly, signaling the end of the meeting.
Old Worre stood hastily. "One moment, Mr. Erwin, please!"
Erwin paused. "Yes, Patriarch?"
The older wizard steeled himself. "If you could spare the time to visit the Worre family's old estate, we'd be in your debt. The Worres still carry some weight in these circles, and we'd stand ready to serve the Cavendish family however you require."
Erwin's expression remained neutral as he moved toward the door. Old Tom swung it open with a creak.
Pausing on the threshold, Erwin said evenly, "If it's on my route and suits my schedule, I'll stop by the Worre estate."
With that, he stepped out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Old Worre exhaled sharply, slumping back into his chair. Relief etched his features.
Cassandra whispered, "Father, is this really worth it? Going to such lengths?"
He fixed her with a steady gaze. "I need to uncover what that prophecy truly foretells. And if dark times are brewing in the wizarding world, no family escapes unscathed. The Worres have influence, but nothing compared to powerhouses like the Cavendishes. To weather a storm like that, we need allies—strong ones. The Cavendishes are that shield. Isn't that why we crossed to England in the first place?"
Cassandra frowned. "But tying ourselves to them like this... won't it make the Worres little more than vassals to the Cavendish name?"
Old Worre chuckled dryly. "Would it be any different once you take the reins? You've already set your sights on him as your future, haven't you?"
She fell silent, cheeks flushing.
"Enough fretting," he said, rising. "I'm off. Do as you please."
Her eyes brightened. "You mean it?"
He ruffled her hair affectionately. "You've already got that ticket sorted, haven't you? Flights are a nightmare to book these days. Go—shadow Mr. Erwin if you must."
Cassandra threw her arms around him in a quick hug. "Thank you, Father!"
He patted her back gently before pulling away.
Meanwhile, Erwin and Old Tom had returned to the top-floor office, the city skyline sprawling beyond the tall windows.
Old Tom closed the door softly. "Master, are you truly planning to visit the Worre estate?"
Erwin shrugged, settling into his chair. "Why not? I've nothing pressing on my docket."
"You'll be stepping right into Demos territory."
Erwin's lips quirked. "All the better. It'll give me a measure of their depths. Relax, Tom—I know my limits. And this time, keep the family out of America entirely. This isn't like the mess in Germany. Learn from it, and don't repeat the errors."
Old Tom's face tightened briefly, a shadow crossing his features.
Erwin waved it off. "The German Ministry's a shambles, no denying that. But you don't seriously think they can't spot foreign wizards slipping in? It's still a Ministry, bumbling or not."
Old Tom bowed his head. "My apologies, Master. It won't happen again."
Erwin leaned back. "Water under the bridge—I'd have hauled you over the coals ages ago if I held grudges. I turned a blind eye before, but from now on, no solo decisions. Clear?"
"Crystal clear, Master."
Erwin nodded absently, already turning to a stack of parchments. It was mere musing; Old Tom's fidelity was beyond question.
"Right, carry on," Erwin said. "Let me know when the flight's prepped. And have some lemon tea ready for Cassandra—she'll be along shortly."
Old Tom inclined his head and exited, only to nearly collide with Cassandra in the corridor.
He dipped in a slight bow. "Miss Cassandra."
She returned a graceful curtsy. "Mr. Tom."
Stepping aside, he added, "The master's expecting you. I'll fetch that tea."
Cassandra murmured her thanks and slipped inside, closing the door behind her. She took the seat across from Erwin, smoothing her robes.
"Patriarch," she began.
He glanced up, setting aside his quill. "Decided, then? You want to head back with me?"
A flicker of raw anger crossed her face. "Yes. I need to go home—see it one more time."
Erwin regarded her steadily. "Very well. But you're not ready yet. I hope someday you return under your own steam, on your own terms."
She nodded, resolve hardening her expression. She knew he spoke plain truth; her power fell short, leaving her to trail in his wake for now. But that day would come. And when it did, she'd square things with every soul who'd ever crossed the Worres.
Erwin gestured to the chair beside him. As she settled in, he selected a fresh quill and dashed off a quick note on crisp parchment.
From a nearby perch, his owl Bobby hopped down, talons clicking softly on the desk. Erwin sealed the missive with a flick of wax from his wand and tucked it into the bird's beak.
"Off you go."
Bobby nuzzled his hand affectionately before launching through the open window, wings cutting the afternoon sky.
Hours later, at London Heathrow Airport, Erwin and Cassandra boarded the sleek private jet. The engines hummed to life, and they lifted off into the gathering dusk. By evening, they touched down on American soil.
A sleek government car idled at the curb, its driver—a sharp-suited official—stepping forward with a deferential nod.
"Earl Cavendish, welcome to America. Straight to the hotel?"
Erwin slid into the back seat, Cassandra following. He leaned forward. "No. Take us here."
...
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