Page 77 of No Charm Done

He grabbed a marker, idly wondering why chalk wasn’t good enough for future people anymore, and drew a triangle on the whiteboard. At each point: FEAR. DESIRE. ACCESS.

“The world is simultaneously terrified of magic and addicted to it. They want it desperately but believe it’s out of reach. Our job is not to convince them magic is real. Our job is to convince them they deserve it.”

An investor near the front nodded. “Go on.”

“As you all know, for centuries, magic has been . . .” he paused, trying to remember that word Vex had used back at the inn, “. . . gatekept. Through bloodlines, secret societies, apprenticeships that take decades. They say it’s necessary. Well, I say it’s feudalism. But feudalism ended for a reason: eventually, enough people realized they didn’t need a king’s permission to build their own castles.”

He tapped the whiteboard. “CastR is the next printing press. The next horseless carriage. The next telephone. It’s more than tech, it’s liberation.”

He drew a line connecting all three points of his triangle, forming a complete shape.

“July Fourth is more than a launch date. It’s Independence Day for human potential. Miss this round, and you’re not just behind. You’re irrelevant. You’re the investor who passed on the telephone because you thought telegrams were good enough.”

A woman near the front said impatiently, “Yes. We know all that.”

“What do you think I gave you the first million for?” added a man on the Zoom screen. “My health?”

Chuckles rippled around the table.

Nuts. He’d read this all wrong. These weren’t marks who needed convincing—they were already believers. The con wasn’t getting them in; it was getting them in deeper.

“Gentlemen, ladies. You’re absolutely right. You were smart enough to see this coming. But here’s the thing about being early—there’s early, and then there’s early enough to matter.”

He had their attention again. Barely.

“Right now, you own pieces of CastR. Good pieces. But when this thing explodes on July Fourth—and it will explode—those pieces are going to get diluted by every Tom, Dick, and Harry who suddenly realizes he missed the boat. The smart money?” He gestured around the room. “Already here. The question is whether the smart money wants to own five percent of a revolution, or twenty.”

“We’re comfortable with our current positions,” someone said from the Zoom screen.

“Are you?” Elias kept his tone light, conversational. “Because I’m hearing from other investors—not naming names—that they’re looking to double down. And once Ashton takes this public after the demo, well . . .” He shrugged eloquently. “You can’t un-ring that bell.”

A man in one of those expensive-casual outfits stood up. “What’s the timeline on this?”

“Window closes Monday,” Elias lied smoothly. “After that, the price goes up. Way up.”

“Eh. Let’s see the demo first,” another investor said. “We’re not increasing our stakes based on a last-minute pitch, no matter how good it is.”

“Besides,” added the woman who’d spoken first, “these things take time. Due diligence. Partner approval. What’s your big hurry, anyway? July Fourth is just a few days away. We’ll talk after that.”

The energy was draining from the room. Elias could feel it—that careful, cautious retreat behind process and committees and all the machinery people used when they wanted to say no without saying it.

And then Burke cleared his throat.

“Excellent framing, Mr. Gordon.” The old man’s smile was as thin as any razor. “But I propose we let Ashton review these narratives before we finalize any additional commitments.”

“Of course,” someone agreed. “Prudent.”

“We’ll discuss at next month’s partner meeting,” added another.

Elias recognized that tone: it was the sound of money evaporating. He opened his mouth to make one last push—some final piece of salesmanship that might tip the scales . . . but then he glanced at Luna. She was turned slightly away from the group, one hand lifted to her mouth as if stifling a cough. Her fingers moved in a pattern he understood: purposeful, precise.

Without really meaning to, Elias took careful note of every motion she made, filing the spell away in the back of his con man brain. One never knows, it may come in handy.

The leather satchel at her side pulsed once—a low, resonant hum like a subway train passing below. The glass walls of the conference room shimmered. For half a second, the light bent wrong, casting shadows that pointed in unnerving directions.

There she goes. He’d given it his best shot, and it hadn’t been enough. But that was fine. That’s exactly what the tokens were for.

A man on Zoom unmuted. “Actually . . . you know what? If the round’s closing Monday, my fund can wire additional capital immediately.”