by Sarah Piper
These women feel like sisters, like allies, but there’s an expectation among them, too—one I hope I can meet.
In perfect unison, they bow to me, then turn their backs and return to the lake, vanishing beneath the water once again. Sensing the ritual is at its end, I’m about to turn back up the dirt path, but something else stirs in the water, beckoning me closer.
I approach the shoreline, and suddenly it explodes from the depths, a blinding silver-white light bleaching the surrounding landscape to a pale gray.
I know before the light fades that it’s my owl, the magickal spirit that saved me on the rocks the day Luke was murdered. He glides toward me, and I hold up my arm, inviting him to perch.
He lands with grace, his talons strong and fierce, his weight almost more than I can bear. Bright golden eyes gaze into mine, and up close like this, I can see all the shades of his beautiful plumage—whites and creams, spots of dark brown and even gray. He’s a fierce predator, but I know I have nothing to fear from this magnificent creature. We’re connected in ways I can’t even begin to understand.
We gaze into each other’s eyes a long moment before the bird finally turns his head, breaking our connection. Then, with a breathless span of wings, he takes flight, launching from my arm and darting into the sky.
I jog around the edge of the lake, hoping to track his flight, but I’ve already lost him.
“Wait!” I cry out, but at the sound of my call, the landscape vanishes around me.
I’m back in Trello’s office, seated at the mahogany table. Professor Phaines watches me close, the other two standing behind him. All of their mouths are parted in surprise.
I glance down at the Tarot deck in front of me and notice four cards spread beneath it, facing upright—the Princesses of the Tarot, one from each suit.
I reach out to touch the cards, and the backs of my hands glow with bright silver symbols—a sword, a wand, a cup, and a pentacle. They burn brightly for a moment, and then fade away, their power sinking deep into my skin.
When I look up at Trello, her eyes are wide, glittering with something that looks an awful lot like reverence.
“All four,” she whispers. Then, composing herself, “Tell us what you saw, Miss Milan.”
I tell them about the vision, about each of the women who approached me and the gifts they shared.
“What does it mean?” I ask. “I’m not very strong on the court cards.”
“In some traditions,” Devane says, the Princesses are known as Pages. They are closely aligned with young people, particularly students. They're quite powerful in their own right, representing the intense transition between adolescence and adulthood, between the apprentice and master of magick.” He smiles at me, broad and genuine. “To have their blessing is quite a gift indeed.”
Professor Phaines puts a gentle hand over mine. “You’re not the first student to be blessed by a Princess, or to be blessed with multiple elemental affinities. But it’s been many, many years since we’ve seen a student with all four affinities, and none that have ever been blessed by all of the Princesses in the Tarot court.”
“I still don’t understand what it means,” I say.
“It means that the Princesses are watching over you,” Trello says, “and that your studies—your dedication to magick, your understanding of each of the elements and suits, your work on the prophecies—are going to be very intense, and of a far greater importance than any of us could’ve predicted.”
She and Professor Phaines exchange a look I can’t quite read, and Dr. Devane just keeps staring at me, as if he’s trying to figure something out.
The tension in the air is so thick I’m practically choking on it, and a nervous laugh bubbles up inside me. “You don’t have to give me the hard sell, guys. I’m here, right? I’m not backing out of our deal.”
None of them joins in on the laughing.
“This is not just about your own education, Starla,” Professor Phaines says. “Your work here, your arrival… It was destined, and that cannot be taken lightly.”
A shiver rolls over my skin at the rightness of his words.
“Is there anything else?” he asks. “Any other details about the vision you’d like to share?”
I nod, but as soon as I open my mouth to tell them about the owl, something stops me. I hear the rush of air and the flap of great wings, but somehow I know it’s only in my mind. It feels like a warning.
I look up and catch Devane’s eye, see the same warning in his gaze.
Don’t tell them, his voice practically echoes in my mind.
I swallow hard. I’m not sure whether I should be more concerned that I can sense his intentions without him speaking the words… or that he's asking me to keep this part of my vision a secret.
I thought I was supposed to be able to count on everyone in this room. So why doesn’t he?
“What is it?” Trello prods, snapping me back to the moment.
“Just… the seasons,” I say quickly. “While I was standing at the lake, the scenery around me moved through all the seasons.”
“That’s a lovely thing to see, Starla,” Trello says. “Each of the Princesses is connected to her own season. They were simply introducing themselves.”
The three exchange more veiled glances. Then Professor Phaines touches my shoulder and says, “I think we’ve kept the poor girl long enough. Starla, my research assistant will meet you out front. He’ll give you a tour of the campus and show you to your suite.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “No homework or anything?”
“There will be plenty of time for that,” he says with a laugh. “And once your computer system is set up later, you’ll need to sign in to the student portal and review your registration documents, school policies, holiday calendar, things like that. You’ll also find your class schedule. But for now, you’ve got a couple of days to find your footing—I suggest you make the most of them, before the semester gets hectic.”
“Thank you,” I say. “I will.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Dr. Devane says, and I rise to follow him to the door, wishing the others a good day.
“What does it mean?” I whisper when we’re out in the hallway. “Did I pass the test? What’s my house?”
“It means you possess all four elemental affinities in equally powerful measure. You are what we call spirit-blessed, Stevie. Very powerful, very rare, and—if some of the old stories are to be believed—very dangerous.”
His words stir something inside me, a dormant creature yearning to yawn and stretch and step out into the light.
“What about my house? Is there a special dorm for spirit-blessed students?”
“No, as you are currently the only one.” He smiles, shaking his head as if he still can’t quite believe it. “You’ll spend one year studying with each house. That way you’ll be able to connect with all four of the elements, and the other students who work with those elements can help you on your path.”
“But what about—”
“I’m sorry, Stevie. I need to get back inside—we have a meeting that doesn’t concern you. In the meantime, follow Professor Phaines’ advice and take a few days to get to know the campus, do a little exploring. I’ll see you in class very soon.”
“You think so, huh?” I tease. “I don’t know, Dr. Devane. You’re kind of a cranky old bastard. Maybe I won’t sign up for your class after all.”
“It’s a requirement.” He winks, and then, without another word, disappears back into Trello’s office, shutting the door behind him.
And I scoot my ass right back over there and press my ear to the gap.
“What is your initial assessment?” I hear Professor Phaines ask, his grandfatherly tone taking on a sharper edge, even as its muted through the door.
“The woman is unsettling, to say the least.” This, from Dr. Devane.
Unsettling? Really. Says the man whose idea of a first date—yes, I’m calling it a date, sue me—is a fake murde
r-suicide followed by tacos?
“She reminds me so much of her mother,” Trello says, and I can’t tell from her tone whether she thinks this is a good thing or not.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” Professor Phaines says.
There’s a prolonged silence, then Trello speaks again.
“Keep a close watch on her at all costs,” she orders. “I want to be kept informed in all matters, including her coursework and social activities. Now, we need to discuss the fire alarm upgrades scheduled for next month…”
Certain I’m no longer the hot topic of the day, I leave them to their meeting, heading back outside to meet this research assistant. The sun is just starting to dip toward the horizon, bathing everything in a rose-gold glow that reminds me of the sunsets behind our trailer on Pinon Canyon Lane.
How many nights did Jessa and I sit out there with a bottle of wine and a mellow jazz playlist, talking about life and death and everything in between?
Goddess, it’s only been a week, and I already miss her like I haven’t seen her in years. Thinking about her now, about all the things I love about home, my heart breaks a little more.
Everything I love about Tres Búhos is now a memory.
The way the sun sets fire to the rock towers, making them look like candles burning in some great birthday cake.
The stately saguaros keeping watch over the Santa Clarita.
Two-for-one margaritas at Sancho’s Bar & Grill.
The way Jessa’s face lights up as she pours her heart into everything she bakes at Kettle Black.
Our quiet moments before the day’s opening, our only company the soft tick of the ovens.
The sweet, comforting scents of her cinnamon and chocolate confections mingling with the fragrance of my favorite teas—a heady mix that can only be described as home.
As gone.
The force of it hits me all at once, and I sway on my feet, then sit down on the admin building steps to keep from face-planting. I rest my head in my hands, trying to breathe, trying to relax, trying to rearrange my mind to accommodate this new place. This new life.
“Stevie, you okay?”
A familiar voice floats to my ears, a warm hand touching my shoulder.
And when I look up, the eyes looking back at me are full of concern, glittering behind black-framed glasses in a beautiful kaleidoscope of pale greens and golds I never thought I’d see again.
“Kirin?”
Seventeen
STEVIE
I almost don’t recognize him outside the context of Kettle Black. He’s traded his usual form-fitting T-shirt and jeans for a pair of equally form-fitting gray slacks and a mint green dress shirt that brings out his eyes. Instead of a paperback, he’s carrying a cardboard to-go tray in one hand, balancing two cups with black lids.
The warm, creamy scents of cinnamon, espresso, and honey drift to my nose.
He remembered…
But then I see the silver academy pin on his collar, and I remember, too.
He’s an Academy student—probably a graduate. He’s… Oh, hell. He was waiting for me out here. He’s the research assistant tasked with giving me the tour. With helping me decipher Mom’s work.
And he knew—for months—who I was. That I’d end up right here.
Stevie, you clueless, heartsick idiot.
It takes a full minute for the anger to bust through the shock, and when it does, I’m rocketing to my feet, fire in my veins, ready to explode.
“You’re one of them? You’ve been spying on me?”
“It’s not like that,” he says. “I swear. Stevie, let me explain.”
“Talk fast, Kirin. You’ve got one minute. And the only reason you’re even getting that much is that I don’t know another soul on this campus other than two professors and the headmistress, and that’s not saying much.”
“Okay, okay. Can we just…” He nods toward an alcove on the side of the building.
Reluctantly, I follow him into the shadows, out of sight from the other passersby.
“Thirty seconds.” I fold my arms across my chest and lean back against the rough stone wall.
“Stevie, I just…” He sighs, frustrated, his brow creasing above the black frames. “Okay. I don’t know all the details, because the headmistress has been extremely tight-lipped about the whole thing. But yes, I’ve been spying on you. Keeping a protective watch, more accurately.”
“Fifteen seconds.”
“From the few details she shared, I know she had it on good authority that you’d be arrested and jailed some time this summer or fall for crimes of public witchcraft, and the outcome would be devastating. She didn’t know the exact date, or what would precede it—only that you’d be arrested at Kettle Black, and it would happen in the morning between ten and eleven. So I was sent to just… just be there, I guess. Every day. We had no idea if I’d be able to see it coming, or to help, or to stop it, or just… Well, in the end, I guess all I could really do was phone it in after the fact.”
I close my eyes, trying to process all this. The fact that he phoned it in is probably the only reason I’m standing here rather than rotting in that prison.
Right now, even being supremely pissed off feels like a privilege.
“You just bought yourself another two minutes,” I say, some of my anger receding. “Who’s this so-called ‘good authority’ that told Trello I’d get pinched?”
He shifts uncomfortably, his glasses sliding down his nose. I see now that his eyes are rimmed in red, as though he hasn’t been sleeping much.
It reminds me of all the times I read his energy at Kettle Black, made him the perfect cup of tea to brighten his day, put a little pep in his step.
“From your mother, Stevie.” Kirin’s voice is gentle now, which tells me he knows a lot more about the situation with my mom and the Academy then he’s letting on. “Apparently one of her predictions was about this. Again, not specific enough that we could totally prevent it, but we managed to piece together enough details to know you’d be in trouble, and that you’d need our help.”
“How do I know this entire thing isn’t a setup? That the Academy didn’t orchestrate the thing with Luke so I’d end up in jail, with the Academy being my only shot at freedom? Devane and Trello both said it—you guys need me. No one else has been able to figure out the prophecies.”
“That’s not how we operate. It just isn’t.”
“So I happened to get framed for magickal murder exactly when the Academy most needs something from me? That’s a hell of a coincidence.”
“No, it isn’t.” He points to the sky and steps closer, his summer-storm scent lingering. “That’s the universe nudging you onto a path you’ve been ignoring for far too long.”
I take a step back. “You don’t know anything about me, Kirin, so do me a favor and stop acting like a font of fucking wisdom on all things Stevie Milan.”
Hurt flashes through his eyes, and instantly, I regret my harsh tone.
Maybe patronizing Kettle Black was part of his job, but still… Hadn’t we become friends? Friends on the verge of something more?
That date… it could’ve led somewhere. Even with my reluctance toward romantic entanglements in general and mages specifically, one day, I might’ve made an exception for Kirin Webber.
But we never got the chance. And now, we never will. Everything just got way too complicated for that.
“No, I don’t know you, Stevie,” he says sadly. “Not well. But I do know some things.” He steps closer, closing the gap between us once again. “I know that you make the most perfect, amazing cup of tea on the planet. I know you love rock climbing and biking, so much that not even a crazy storm can deter you when you’re on a mission. I know you’re sweet and kind and funny, and sometimes you get nervous when we talk, which always makes me feel a little better about the fact that I’m nervous just standing next to you. And I know that for the last few months, the hours I spent with you in Kettle Black every morning were
the absolute best part of my day.”
My heart thaws, melts, falls right out of my chest.
Did I say complicated? I meant impossible. Why does he have to be so sweet? Why does he have to be a mage?
Why did any of this have to happen at all?
Softening my tone, I say, “My parents never wanted to talk about this place, Kirin. They just wanted to forget about their time here. They didn’t want me to enroll or study my magick at all.”
“How do you know that if they never talked about it?”
“I used to ask them about it, you know? Like any kid who wants to know the story of how her parents met, where they fell in love, how I came to be. They’d never lied about me being a witch, so when I learned they’d attended a magickal academy, I told them I couldn’t wait to come here. I mean, I just figured that was the way things worked for witches and mages. But then they’d get all quiet or change the subject. Eventually, when I got old enough to notice how weird this was, they admitted they left here under duress soon after I was born. But whenever I tried to ask about their classes, or the teachers, or any of the things they’d studied, they flat-out refused to tell me. ‘It’s a curse,’ my mother said. That summed up her entire view on magick.”
“I don’t know what to say, Stevie.”
“Well, I’m here now, right?” I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “No use dwelling on that. It’s just… It’s a lot right now, okay? When I woke up last Saturday and strapped on my gear, I had no idea it would be the last time I’d climb the Grande. Or make tea at Kettle Black. Or hug—Oh my Goddess, Jessa!” I blurt out suddenly, the shock of Kirin’s presence finally clearing from my mind. “You were there that day. What happened after the police took me? Is she okay?”
“Jessa’s okay,” he says. “I stayed with her that day, assured her I would find a way to help you. I couldn’t give her all the details, but she knows about me—my work here. She also knows that you’re safe—we didn’t want her to hear about your so-called death and freak out.”