by Megan Crewe
Before I could say as much, Callum Geary stalked out of the building opposite us. Long skinny legs holding up a stout torso balancing a boxy head topped with a sprinkling of russet hair—a haphazard figure that matched his erratic temperament.
“What’s the big deal out here?” he demanded.
He must have noticed us from the window. The Gearys had money but not as much as some. They owned only the second floor of that divided townhouse. He wouldn’t have been able to make out the dragon itself from there.
I motioned wordlessly. It was my policy not to speak to Callum unless absolutely necessary. That was easier than you might expect, considering we were classmates and near neighbors, because Callum rarely cared what anyone except him had to say about anything.
He ambled across the street toward us, crossed his arms, and purposefully-by-accident smacked his elbow into my ribs. Squinting up at the dragon, he let out a snort. “How pretty,” he said. “It must be a girl conjuring that—or a fruit, I suppose.”
Prisha’s arm tensed against my shoulders. Did Callum even know he’d just insulted her twice in one go?
“Thanks for weighing in,” I said, dry as dust, and remembered why I had policies about Callum when he trained his narrow stare on me. What talent he lacked in casting, he made up for with inventiveness of other sorts. The last time he’d given me that stare was in seventh year, shortly after which his hand had “slipped” to staple my sweater sleeve to the back of my hand.
I suspected he’d been restraining himself at least a little all this time, hoping that if he wasn’t too blatant of a bully, he’d still be Chosen despite his terrible grades. If he was Dampered after today, which he almost certainly would be, he wouldn’t have even that small motive to rein himself in.
But it was still today, the Day of Letters, so Callum had larger concerns than me. He swung around with a ram of his heel that would have broken toes if I hadn’t yanked my foot out of the way, and sauntered back into his house. The door thudded shut behind him.
“Thank the Fates we won’t have to deal with him at the college,” I said under my breath. After the procedure was complete, the Dampered took on apprenticeships tailored to their remaining fragment of magical ability.
“Indeed.” Prisha ruffled my hair and then started to pull me back toward my house. “Your bangs have gotten all floppy again, Finn. You need an occasional haircut if you’re going to look civilized, you know.”
“And trick people into believing I am civilized?” I said. “That seems unfair.”
She rolled her eyes. “Please. You’re the least boorish person I know. When was the last time you even inconvenienced anyone?”
My thoughts hurtled back to the conversation I’d overheard a half hour ago—to the inconvenience I was to my entire family. As we paused by my front door, I took minor comfort in seeing my granduncle’s Lexus had departed.
“Whatever,” I said shortly. Prisha gave me a questioning look. I might have told her about the epic failure of my conjured shield and the comments I’d overheard, but not now, not here on the street. I grasped at a change of subject. “How was the club last night?”
“The usual,” she said with a shrug. “Drinks and music and lots of pretty girls. Some of them are straight, by the way. Next time I’ll drag you along.” Her eyes glinted with mischief. We both knew my coordination on a dance floor resembled a drunken antelope.
“Then I couldn’t be your cover story for your parents.”
“Oh, I’m sure we could—”
She cut herself off as a bright beam flitted into view. It hit my door and transformed into a small ivory envelope.
The twisting in my gut returned. I detached my letter of evaluation and ran my finger over the sealed flap.
“Well, open it!” Prisha said. “I know you’re in.”
“Of course,” I said. “Because I’m a Lockwood.”
“No. Because even the Confed has to know that stubborn determination is at least as good a superpower as flashy wand-waving.”
She spoke with such assurance the clenching inside me relaxed. We were going to take on all of it—the college, whatever careers they threw at us—the two of us, together, as always.
I tore open the envelope and pulled out the crisp paper inside. My gaze dropped straight to the stark black lettering halfway down the page.
We are pleased to announce that Finnegan Lockwood has been chosen for admission to the College of the North American Confederation of Mages.
“Congrats,” Prisha said, clapping me on the back. “All in the world is as it should be.”
“Yes.” I’d expected a rush of emotion reading the words, but all I felt was dull discomfort.
It occurred to me then that Prisha had never said why she’d come looking for me. “Shouldn’t you be at home, waiting for your letter?”
“Ah, well.” The grin she offered me faltered.
“Pree?” A chill jabbed through my stomach.
“I just wanted to make sure you’d gotten yours,” she said. “And it arrived with good timing, because it appears my visit is over.”
“Prisha!” her eldest brother called, coming into view on the other side of the street. He strode across to us. “I’m glad you’re predictable. No phone again?”
Prisha made a not-entirely-believable gesture of apology. One of the advantages of being born into a family of Dulls, she’d said to me more than once. Leave my phone at home, and they can’t harass me.
“Father wants to discuss preparations with you,” Amardeep said. “You’ve had time to tell Finn by now, haven’t you?”
“Tell me what?” If she’d already gotten her letter, she’d have been waving it in my face. Unless...
“It doesn’t make a difference,” Prisha told me. “I’m not going to be Dampered. I’m taking the Exam.”
“What?” She turned to go, but I grabbed her wrist, waiting until she looked at me. “If you weren’t Chosen, you’ve got to appeal. The Confed makes mistakes. This has to be a mistake.”
She’d ranked higher than me in all our classes. She’d done everything anyone could have asked.
“An appeal will take weeks. And if I lose, then the Exam will be over and I won’t have any choice in the matter,” Prisha said. Then, more softly, she added, “I’ve already declared, Finn.”
“Let’s go, Prisha,” Amardeep said. “There’s a lot to cover.”
Preparations, he’d said. How could she prepare? No one who hadn’t gone through the Mages’ Exam knew what the trials entailed, other than that the Confed made them brutally hard to ensure those vying for a second chance at the college deserved their spots.
The handful who made Champion each year got an excellent deal, set up with a prominent mage as a mentor to help them catch up with their Chosen peers. However, where they succeeded, dozens didn’t. The penalty for rejecting the Circle’s judgment unwisely was harsh. Those who failed had their magical ability not Dampered but utterly burned out of them. A few examinees didn’t just fail but died during each year’s Exam.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Prisha said in her more usual brisk way. “I’m sure the Exam isn’t half as hard as the stories make out. I’ll see you soon.”
Her hug was so swift I didn’t have time to return it before she hurried after her brother.
But, Pree, I thought, dread gripping me. It didn’t make sense.
My hand closed around my letter, creasing the paper. I shoved it into my pocket and pushed open my front door.
The sight of the foyer with its antique furniture and molded ceiling sent acid into the back of my mouth. In that moment, I hated the house and all the old-magic history it represented. No matter what Prisha said, she knew as well as I did that the Circle’s decision for me hadn’t been about “determination.”
“Finn?” Dad came around the curve in the staircase and halted when he saw me. “It arrived?”
“Yes,” I said. “Chosen, of course. But Prisha wasn’t. She’s... she
’s going to take the Exam.”
Dad’s expression flickered. I thought I saw relief there alongside concern—and a certain resignation. “I’m sorry,” he said, walking the rest of the way down. “But if that’s what she wishes to do, it’s her choice.”
“She shouldn’t have had to make it,” I said. “She should have been Chosen! She had the talent. What in Hades’s name is the point of Dampering if we’re going to lose mages like her to it?”
“The Circle has always needed to make difficult decisions about who and how many they can keep proper order with,” Dad said. “And now... just one generous ruling resulting in a mage gone off the rails could undo the harmony we’ve managed to achieve since the Unveiling.”
“No one could think Prisha is going to become some sort of criminal.”
“New-magic candidates have no established family record of behavior or loyalty. The Circle has higher requirements for skill to overcome that basic concern. If there’s anything worrisome in the family history, they take that into account as well. Which isn’t to say I agree with all of their reasoning—”
Normally Dad’s calm, measured way of speaking comforted me. Now I only felt ill. “That isn’t reasoning. That’s... that’s just prejudice.”
“I understand why you’re upset, but this could be a good chance for her, Finn. If she makes Champion, she’ll have the opportunity to improve her abilities through individual guidance, with all the avenues that will open up for her.”
She should have had that opportunity without risking all her magic. If anyone should have had to fight for it...
It should have been me.
“I want to give her my spot,” I said abruptly.
Dad’s eyebrows rose. “You know it doesn’t work that way. What the Circle decided for Prisha is completely independent from who was Chosen.”
I did know that, but how could I support it? I’d realized I hadn’t fully earned my acceptance into the college, but at least my gain hadn’t hurt anyone.
My heart started thudding. I’d been ready to challenge my career placement. Maybe what I ought to challenge was the foundation on which it was based. I couldn’t give Prisha my spot, but I could at least show the Circle I knew what they were doing wasn’t right.
“Have you accepted yet?” Dad asked, and I shook my head. “Well, don’t leave them waiting. Then we should call your mother at the office. She wanted to hear as soon as the letter came.”
He motioned for me to follow him down the hall, but my feet had melded to the floor.
Was I mage enough to meet the Exam’s ordeals? I’d wanted to prove I was worthy of more than being shunted into a convenient spot that needed filling. I should have to prove myself.
Prisha shouldn’t have to face the Circle’s judgment alone.
“Finn?” Dad said.
I fumbled in my pocket for the slip of paper. As I raised the letter to my lips, my pulse beat hot and heavy in my head. My mouth opened.
“Finnegan Lockwood declares for the Mages’ Exam.”
Chapter Two
Rocío
People were staring at me, but I was used to that. You’d think it was our neighbors’ civic duty to keep an eye on “that witchy girl” and her witchy family. At home, they stared at me and my parents when we were going to and from school and work, when we leaned out the open windows of our apartment to catch a summer breeze. At least the people passing Brooklyn United Collegiate this Saturday afternoon had a good reason to gape.
“De colores, de colores,” I murmured in the singsong tone Abuelita had cooed the lyrics to me with years ago. The hues of my dragon’s scales deepened against the sky. I tipped my head, and the conjured image whirled to the left, closer to the sun.
The wrought iron fence along the school lawn pressed hard against my back, but otherwise my body was barely earthbound. The hairs on my arms were standing up, and a tingling glow filled my lungs, washing out the hot still air that hung over the street. Magic hummed through me and around me. The entire world was an instrument it was played on, and right now an awful lot of it was playing a song for me.
For me and Javier. That’ll show them, he’d have said. They can’t ignore that.
Three years ago on this day—the Saturday before the last week of summer vacation, the Day of Letters—my older brother and I had stood on the patchy concrete steps outside our walk-up, and he’d conjured his own dragon. He hadn’t been able to cast it this high or draw it this vast, but it had been beautiful enough to take my breath away.
When I’d started conjuring today, I’d meant to make one like his. But the more magic I’d drawn through me, the faster it had rushed in, and I hadn’t wanted to shut any of it out. So my dragon soared amid the clouds, more than big enough for both of us.
If some part of Javi still existed in the world, somehow, he couldn’t ignore this. He’d give me a sign, wouldn’t he?
I reached out through the hum of the magic for the slightest hint of his presence. All I felt was the vacant space beside me like an ache around my heart.
This is the last magic I’ll get to cast freely, he’d said to me back then. When my letter comes, it’ll be the Confed deciding how I use it.
He’d never talked that way to anyone else. I was the only one he’d known understood him completely. But even so, I’d had to say, with a thirteen-year-old’s dogged optimism, Maybe you’ll be Chosen.
Javier had laughed. No, the mages don’t want some passable-talent street-magic naco coming to their college, not unless I win that spot. But they have to take you. Even the Confed has to accept a gutter-girl who can ’chant circles around their old-magic flunkies. I’ll make sure of it. His smile had turned a little crooked then, with the kind of hope he didn’t dare let out as anything other a joke. And hey, maybe after that I can get myself named first magical advisor to the NBA.
He’d wanted to hold on to the magic just as much as I did.
I made sure they’d take me, I thought to him now. I’d followed the Confed’s rules, learned from their books, picked up every skill they could have wanted from any novice. At the college and after I left, I’d still be answering to them, but I’d still have the magic and the full license to work with it too. That was all that really mattered.
I stretched my awareness up toward the sky. No whisper of Javi answered. The ache grew, eating at the glow inside me. Pricks of a different kind of pain pinched at my joints from the effort of the extended casting.
No matter what I tried, I couldn’t find him. Which meant it was time to admit I never would.
I was on my own.
Adjusting my focus and my tone, I drew the dragon down, pulling my words tighter around it to shrink it. The resonance of the energy itched at the roots of my teeth. I cast it toward the flat brick face of the high school.
“De colores, de colores.”
The scales sank partway into the bricks, leaving a shimmering impression. I let the magic rush out of me to fix the ’chantment there. Not with so much power to make it permanent but enough that it would last the week. My dragon sprawled across the front of the school from end to end, its belly resting against the lintel over the main doors.
A smile crossed my lips despite the pang in my chest. Javi had always said the Dull schools wanted us to be even smaller than the Confed did. I’d felt the truth of those words in the stuffy halls beyond those windows, watching backs turn when I passed, hearing hushed gossip behind me. The tutorial room and Mr. Jones, the Dampered mage who’d taught us novices, I would miss a little. All the required literature and math and sciences with the Dull student body, and the teachers who’d eyed me after every test as if I might have conjured my A’s? Not a chance.
I wouldn’t be back here, but I’d left a mark so people could see the beauty of magic when they passed by. It didn’t seem fair that they’d never hearken it like I did, but maybe I could make something that evoked a little of the breathtaking feeling I loved inside them. Maybe someday they’d stare at a c
asting with excitement instead of apprehension, like the magic deserved.
I pushed away from the fence toward home. Mrs. Hernandez was sweeping the front step two doors down when I reached my apartment.
“Bruja-ratera!” she muttered, letting go of the broom with one hand to make the sign of the cross.
I didn’t look at her. She’d called the police on Mom once for supposedly giving her the evil eye. “Witch-crook,” her insult meant, translated literally. As the only magical family in the neighborhood, we got all the suspicion and hostility that came along with that.
When we were kids, Javier and I used to debate whether it would be better or worse if the Unveiling had never happened and the mages had kept their secrets to themselves. Of course, it was hard not to settle on worse when, without the Confed’s mandatory testing, Mom and Dad might never have been identified as more than a little “sensitive,” which meant they would never have ended up in the one magical tutorial class for all of Brooklyn and Queens, which meant they might never have met and we wouldn’t have been around to consider the alternatives.
Once I got through the college, once I had a permit to use my talent toward employment, we’d be able to move. There weren’t many new-magic families in general, but there had to be an area of the city that was a little friendlier.
As I climbed the sweltering stairwell, I pulled an elastic band from my jeans pocket and swept my dark hair into a ponytail it was only just long enough for. Our building had no air conditioning. The back of my shirt was damp by the time I reached the third floor.
A small white envelope was fixed to the outside of the apartment door. My breath caught. My letter was already here.
I peeled it off. There was nothing to be anxious about. For the last three years, I’d been heading to the Manhattan Academy of Aspiring Mages—where I was at least allowed into the library for free—every day after class to study. And even before then, Mr. Jones had said I was the strongest talent he’d ever seen in his tutorial class. Much stronger than the last student marked as Chosen by the Confed.