by Megan Crewe
He held out a card. The boy stared at it sullenly. Then he snatched it and shoved it into his pocket. I couldn’t tell whether he was actually listening or he just wanted to get it out of his sight so we’d leave.
Sam wasn’t even telling the complete truth, was he? We would ask something in return: information. Observations, at the very least.
Restlessness gripped me as I stood there. I was supposed to be proving myself—winning over my senior operatives as much as Sam was trying to win over this kid. If my mission leader was anything like my older brother, I knew what kind of gesture he’d appreciate.
Or maybe I was just making excuses to do what felt like the right thing. I was okay with that.
I tapped my cheek and pointed to the boy’s with its scrape. “Did they do that—the men who’ve come? I can seal it up, so it’ll heal faster.” We’d learned some strategies in training to supplement the basic magimedical first aid tips we’d all gotten in elementary school.
“Hold on,” Brandt started.
Sam elbowed him. “Let the newbie get in there. She’s not going to hurt anything.” But he was watching me intently, as if this had suddenly become an even bigger test.
The boy’s eyes shot to me when the translator finished. He snapped out something in Russian. She replied before she reported back.
“He wanted to know if it’ll hurt. I told him you’re trained. It’ll make the cut feel better.”
I nodded to confirm what she’d said. The boy’s shoulders came down maybe half an inch. He wavered for a moment longer, and then he gave a sharp jerk of his chin before turning his face to the side.
I’d already drawn the lyric I wanted onto my tongue, a soothing verse from one of my abuela’s old lullabies. One I remembered Javi using to soothe the pain when I’d scraped my knee, ages ago. I drew it out slow and soft, my fingers hovering beside the boy’s cheek.
The skin sealed over the raw spots around the forming scabs, pink but whole. The bruise faded to half its previous color.
When I dropped my hand, the boy raised his, testing the wound. He gave me a startled glance, as if he hadn’t really believed I could do what I’d offered. The magic that drifted between us thrummed happily.
Sam wasn’t looking at me anymore, but I thought I caught a glint of approval in his eyes. He straightened up, his gaze on the boy. “Remember what I said.”
The boy shrugged and slumped back in the chair. The translator called the parents back in to tell them we were leaving. As I turned to go, the boy muttered two words: “Thank you.”
My heart leapt, but I didn’t let myself turn back and make a big deal out of it. That reaction seemed more likely to scare him off than to reassure him. Still, as we marched back out into the cool of the night, a hint of a smile crossed my face.
I’d followed my orders, and I’d followed what I believed in too. I might not have won over any minds tonight, but I could get there. Slow and steady.
Chapter Six
Finn
Lying to my parents hadn’t felt like all that large a betrayal until I’d seen how overjoyed they were. Their smiles and the relieved looks they kept sharing as I pulled on my jacket made me want to dig a hole and bury myself with guilt.
Despite the massively important international conference Dad was in the process of organizing, he’d come out of his study to see me off. “If you’re not sure about the taxis out there, you can always call us,” he said. “I’ll keep my phone on and nearby.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I said, my cheeks starting to ache from holding up my own smile. “It’s just a concert. There’ll be tons of transportation options around.”
“Exactly. Don’t worry about that right now.” Mom patted me on the shoulder. “You just have fun—and say hello to Prisha from us!”
The sentiments behind their enthusiasm might as well have been blaring through the front hall. He’s getting out of the house! Doing normal teenager things! He must be starting to adjust after all.
It was the first night since the Exam that I’d gone out, supposedly with friends.
There really was a concert by the Bleeding Beats, a hot new indie rock band that many of my classmates at the Academy had adored, at Radio City Music Hall tonight, but I wasn’t going there. It’d made the perfect cover for my venture out to Newark. I doubted my parents would have been half as pleased if they’d known this excursion wasn’t about moving on from my burning out but rather delving deeper into that aspect of my life.
They didn’t need to know. There were a lot of things they didn’t know about me now.
Thankfully, their happiness had meant that Dad had backed down when I’d said I’d rather make my own way to the concert hall than have him drive me. I hopped in the cab outside and told the driver to head to Penn Station.
The train I caught rumbled over the short distance to Newark, a route a lot of Dulls who traveled for business must have made on the regular, since the airport was just a little farther down the line. Half of the people who’d gotten on with me were lugging suitcases. I tucked myself away in a corner and watched the city lights slide by through the deepening evening outside the window. My foot bobbed impatiently.
I had no idea what to expect from this meeting. It could be just a handful of Dampered mages and Burnouts looking to grumble about their situation. There might be no one at all there, a failed attempt at a gathering.
No matter how many times I told myself that in order to keep my hopes in check, the words from the flyer stuck with me. Want to do more?
When the train pulled into the main Newark station, I slipped past the suitcases and found the taxi stand outside. The driver gave me an odd look when I told him the address, but he pulled away from the curb without comment.
We cruised through a neighborhood of abandoned industrial buildings, foreboding in the hazy glow of the streetlamps. They gave way to a stretch of low-rise concrete apartment buildings. The taxi driver parked at the next corner, outside a brick church with a steepled roof and tower.
“Here you go.”
The sign outside the place had the same address the flyer had given, but the arched windows were dark. I hesitated and then pushed myself onward, handing the driver a twenty.
Somewhere out there, my Dragon-Tamer was being forced to battle our most vicious enemies. I couldn’t be afraid of a little uncertainty, especially when it might get me closer to paving a way home for her.
I circled the building and spotted a glow from a lower window next to a side door. A couple of figures were ducking inside. With a leap of my pulse, I hurried after them.
A stout guy who looked to be around thirty was standing just inside the door. He gave me a once-over. “You’re new. Hold on.”
As I stopped, he murmured a lyric with a small motion of his hand. The skin beneath my Burnout mark prickled, and then he gave me a brisk nod. “Come on in. Good to have you joining us.”
Had he been testing to make sure the mark was real? If he was Dampered, his remaining affinity could have been for illusions or something similar. What were these people up to that made them worried someone might sneak in under false pretenses?
I headed down a drab hall and through another set of doors that led into a large room. Dozens and dozens of people were already milling around—more than a hundred, I estimated at a glance. A few had seized plastic-backed chairs from the stacks along the walls and sat in small groups, but most were on their feet. Their voices bounced off the high ceiling, melding into an undulating warble.
The left end of the room held a small stage. A woman there was tugging a podium into place, front and center. The smell of coffee and sugar wafted from a table set against the wall opposite the door, where several attendees were picking over a few platters of donuts and pastries.
I shifted to the side as more people came in. My skin was starting to feel tight. The guy at the front had welcomed me, and I did have a Burnout mark, but looking at the figures around me, it was difficult to belie
ve I belonged here. The clothes they wore, the way they held themselves… I’d met more new-magic mages in the five days of the Exam than I’d spent time with in my entire life up until then, and based on that experience I judged that most of the people in this room had come via tutorials rather than the academies.
What were they making of me, standing here in my tailored shirt and slacks with old-magic airs I wasn’t even totally conscious of? How would they welcome me if they knew I was related to one of the men who’d decided their fates?
That question sent an uneasy quiver down my back. My gaze darted through the room. Was there anyone here who’d know me from the Manhattan Academy? I didn’t recognize any of the faces around me. Plenty sported a Burnout mark, perhaps half those in the room. The rest I had to assume were Dampered. The Confed didn’t brand those who accepted the Circle’s judgment.
A girl with a dark brown pixie cut sidled over to me, her skinny arms crossed over her blouse, which looked a little fancier than what most of the others were wearing. “Hey,” she said. “Is this your first time? You look kind of lost.”
Possibly she was old magic too. She didn’t show any sign of recognizing me, though. I relaxed slightly. “There’ve been a lot of firsts in the last month,” I said, with a gesture to my mark.
“Fresh out of the Mages’ Exam? Geez.” She gave a little shudder. “I don’t know much about it, but I’ve talked to other mages who went through it, and it’s pretty impressive that you’re here at all this soon after. I’m Noemi, by the way. Resident fantasy fanatic and far too curious for my own good—at least, that’s what I’m told.”
She gave me an unassuming grin and her hand for a brisk shake.
“Finn,” I said in return, and motioned to the room. “Is this— What exactly do we do here?”
“They always wait a little while to make sure everyone’s had time to arrive, and then people have a chance to speak their piece. Sometimes we organize smaller activity groups—writing letters or planning calls… The last few meetings there’s been some prep for a more overt protest, but I’m not sure when that’s going to get off the ground.” She laughed. “I sound like I’ve been doing this for ages, but this is actually only my fifth time here. I was lucky I connected with Luis at all.”
“Luis?”
“You’ll see,” she said, her smile turning rather dreamy. I suspected she liked this Luis for more than just getting her involved in his get-togethers.
I was going to ask if she was from around here—she didn’t look more than a couple of years older than me, but I didn’t recall ever passing her in the halls of the Academy—when a guy ambling past us caught my eye. He had a blue mohawk about an inch tall jutting down the center of his stubbled scalp.
I knew him, and not from the Academy.
“Hey,” I said automatically, raising my hand to get his attention, and then fumbled when his name didn’t swim up from my head as it normally would have.
Of course it hadn’t. I could picture him standing in the courtyard outside the gleaming white Exam buildings with a mohawk five times as high, could hear him making some muttered comment about not making friends when our group had gathered in the dorm the first night, but as with every other factual detail from those five days, I’d lost his name. I had the impression I’d known where he was from, too, and that it wasn’t New York, but the specifics escaped me.
The guy considered me with puzzled wariness. “I don’t think I know you,” he said. His Burnout mark stood out as starkly as mine against his pale skin—skin that was faintly mottled here and there with pink scars. Another fragment of memory rose up: every inch of him raw and blistered, groans wrenching from his lips as we’d tried to hustle him down a vast, black hallway.
The magimedics hadn’t been able to perfectly heal the wounds he’d received.
I hadn’t known he’d even survived. Relief washed through me even as I groped for a response.
I couldn’t tell him I knew him from the Exam. The ’chantment on me prevented it. The examiners must have wiped his memories completely, judging from the way he was eyeing me. He didn’t know me at all.
“When was yours?” I said, tapping my temple. Nothing stopped me from asking.
“This year’s,” he said, and paused as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to continue the conversation. “You?”
“The same. I had a feeling.”
He studied me more intently then, but not a hint of recognition crossed his face. A chill tickled down my back. I’d have looked at him the same way if that one examiner hadn’t interfered. I’d have lost everything.
Of course, from the bits and pieces I recalled of this guy’s bitterness toward old-magic types, it might be for the best that he had no idea who precisely I was.
“I can’t talk about it,” he said, and I understood what he meant by that “can’t” in a way only a fellow former examinee could.
“I know,” I said. “Anyway, er, I like your hair.”
He brushed a hand over his mohawk with an expression that was somewhere between pride and embarrassment. “It used to be better. Bigger. I’m growing it back. Anyway, I’d better grab a donut before they’re all gone.”
The squeal of electric feedback carried from the stage. A guy there—early twenties, broad-shouldered and fit, with bronze-brown skin and black hair that curled beneath his ears—tapped the microphone he’d set up at the podium. Noemi bobbed on her feet at the sight, her face brightening.
“Hello, everyone!” the guy said in a smooth, warm voice. “It’s great to see so many of you ready to share your stories and maybe take some action tonight.”
“Hi, Luis!” a chorus of voices hollered back from the crowd. Ah, so this was the guy Noemi had hinted was in charge.
“We’re going to get started,” he said. “I’ve got some people here eager to have their voices heard. But first I’d like to welcome everyone who’s made it out to the Freedom of Magic League for the first time tonight. We’re open to anyone—Dampered, Burnout, Dull—who’s been excluded from the full possibilities of this magical world by the leaders of the Confederation. When I first started organizing these meetings four years ago, it was just to find a space where a handful of us could talk. It’s amazing to see how much this group has grown, both in numbers and in enthusiasm.”
Applause and a few cheers rippled through his audience. Everyone had turned toward the stage, watching avidly.
“Get comfortable, enjoy the refreshments, and keep open ears and an open mind,” he added. “That’s all we ask. If you’ve got something to say too, you can approach me any time. I’ll make room for you.”
He stepped back to offer the podium to a chubby white guy. “We all know the reasons the Confed gives us for Dampering,” the new guy began, his determined tenor carrying through the room. “And we also know that they’re full of crap.”
Several people around me whooped in agreement. The guy went on, pointing out examples where Chosen mages had caused harm and where Dampered mages had managed to accomplish a lot of good but could have done more with their full connection to the magic. I might have missed the whispering melody around me, but a different sort of energy was flowing through the room, full of passionate resolve.
My pulse thumped faster. The policies this guy was disparaging had been written by people like my great-grandfather and Granduncle Raymond. I’d heard my own parents support Dampering. I had no idea what anyone in my family would have made of this speech or the fact that I’d come out here to listen to it. Yet despite the pinch of my nerves, I found myself grinning.
Jupiter, Mars, and Venus, these were just the people I needed if I was going to take on the Circle, the Exam, and everything those institutions stood for. They saw the same corruption I did, even if they hadn’t been through it or couldn’t remember it directly.
After the Dampered guy, Luis offered the mic to a young woman named Ary, whose Burnout mark was visible on her olive-brown skin just under the fringe of her pink-streaked
hair. Her talk was more of a rant, complaining about the secrecy of the Exam and how the examinees were treated afterward, but I couldn’t deny that her anger resonated inside me. Then, to my surprise, Noemi walked onto the stage.
“I’m so glad you all have welcomed me since I started coming here,” she said, her voice wavering a bit as she clutched the microphone. “I know a lot of mages think people without magic have no place getting involved in your community, and with the way we ‘Dulls’ have treated you, I can’t really blame them. But I feel like there’s so much we could learn from you—and really, that’s what I’d most like to do. I grew up on stories of witches and wizards, and I’d love to find out just how the reality compares. You don’t have to use magic to study it. If the Confederation would open up even a few spots for nonmagical academics to do research in their libraries, to run tests and experiments so we can all understand this phenomenon better, I think that would benefit everyone.”
I stared at her as she laid out the rest of her reasoning and recounted her attempts to convince the Confed officials that she was serious and devoted to her study of magic. She was Dull?
I shouldn’t have been shocked. Luis had mentioned Dulls in his opening remarks. It wasn’t as if there’d have been any way to tell by looking at her. I simply, well…
It was silly to presume anything about Dulls when I’d never spoken to anyone nonmagical outside of ordering food in the occasional Dull restaurant or telling a cabbie where to take me. I’d still been thinking they were somehow distinctly different from us, even though the only difference was the connection to the magic which many of us here had been stripped of anyway.
To hear Noemi talk, she clearly loved the concept of magic every bit as much as I’d loved the experience of it.
When she finished, a middle-aged Black woman took the podium. “All right, folks,” she said. “All talk and no action doesn’t get us anywhere. I’d like to continue our discussion about possible targets for protest action. Who’s ready to move forward? Come huddle with me by the donut table.”