by Sadie Moss
Bianca snorts. “Yeah, I get that. All right, Sleeping Beauty, let’s bounce.”
“Who even says that anymore?” I ask. “Let’s bounce?”
I’m horrified at myself—not at what I’m saying, but that I’m trying to talk and interact with Bianca more than I probably should when I have no clue what I’m doing or how to act.
Luckily, she just bursts out into laughter. “There’s the Roxie I know. Don’t you worry, honey, we’ll get you back to your usual self in no time. Let’s just get through the day, and then we’ll get you some good wine and a good night’s sleep, and you’ll feel right as rain, okay?”
“Doctor’s orders, huh?”
“You know it.” She winks at me.
I feel marginally better as we step out of my dorm room, partly because I’m no longer dressed like I’m doing a walk of shame, and partly because I managed to have an entire—albeit short—interaction with Bianca where I didn’t put my foot in my mouth.
Just as I’m closing the door behind us, we bump into another guy.
He’s leaving his room, which is directly across the hall from mine, and I almost literally crash into him as I turn away from my door.
Then I almost choke on my tongue.
So, what, is this school just populated entirely by male models?
This guy is tall, lean but well-built, wearing clothes that look tailored, complete with a vest. Waistcoat? Whatever you call it. That sort of vest-thing that guys wear with suits. His button-up shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, and his collar is undone, giving him a slightly rakish look.
He’s got dark, perfectly styled hair, an angular face with sharp features, and magnetic gray eyes that are boring into me, like he’s imagining me pinned beneath him against a wall—like he can already hear my moans of pleasure in his ear.
Holy shit, is there any oxygen left in this hallway? And if there is, why can’t I seem to get any of it into my lungs?
I expect the guy to maybe express his annoyance that I almost plowed into him, or maybe do that polite thing where he apologizes even though it wasn’t really his fault.
In no way am I prepared for what he actually does.
“Looking delectable as ever, Roxie,” he drawls, stepping closer to me instead of backing up.
And, oh my God, he has an English accent. His voice pours over me like honey as his entire essence seems to invade my space. He has a vaguely spicy scent, like nutmeg and cardamom, and I’m suddenly struck with the insane urge to grab him by whatever that vest thing is called and pull him closer to me so I can… sniff him.
“Loving the casual Friday look,” he adds, his lips and tongue massaging each syllable as he speaks. “I find it quite convenient to wear clothes that are easy to take off, don’t you?”
Uh…
I think I might be hyperventilating a little. I seriously don’t know what’s happening to me. It’s not like I can’t control myself around guys. Hell, I haven’t even dated anyone in months because I just didn’t really have any interest.
But if this man told me to strip right now, I’m pretty fucking sure I’d do it.
“She’s wearing last year’s blouse, Theo, calm your tits,” Bianca says, and I jump. I forgot she was here. “And she’s late for class, so you can drool over her later, ’kay? Thanks. Bye.”
Theo’s tongue flicks out, sliding across his bottom lip as his gaze travels down to my chest, over my stomach, to the suddenly aching spot between my legs.
I flush bright red. I can’t see it, but I can feel it: my whole body getting hot like I’m on fire. I can practically feel his gaze caressing my skin, and I can’t stop staring at his tongue—
Bianca yanks me away, and I stumble after her.
Holy fuck.
The thing is, I am not used to guys hitting on me that obviously. Kamala gets that all the time, because Kamala is a gorgeous woman with curves to die for and confidence to boot, but I really don’t. Not that I’m complaining about missing out. Honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do if a man hit on me like that—as I just demonstrated by staring at Theo like an idiot until Bianca had to drag me away.
Real smooth there, Gabbi. Just gawk at everyone you meet, why don’t you?
The tall, elegant man watches me leave, his expression mildly curious. Do I—does Roxie—usually flirt back? Was I supposed to say something there? Did we hook up?
Oh my God, if we hooked up, and this actually is my life and I don’t remember it, I am going to be so mad at myself.
I try to shake off the flustered feeling as we make our way back across campus toward what appears to be one of the main class buildings. The campus looks nearly empty right now, probably because most people are in class. Dammit. I don’t even know what’s going on, where I am, or who I am, and I’m still late for class.
I swear I’ve had this nightmare before, except I was naked.
We enter the building, and I hurry down the hall—
“Um, Roxie?”
I turn back, my heart thundering in my chest. Have I been found out? Am I going to look down and find that I am naked after all, and this really is a horrible nightmare? Am—
Bianca points to a door I just passed. “Isn’t that your classroom?”
“Oh. Right. Sorry.”
Bianca rolls her eyes, but in an affectionate kind of way, and gives me an exaggerated kiss on the cheek, clearly meant to amuse me. “See you for lunch, okay? Try not to walk into any walls in the meantime.”
I force myself to laugh, then I give her a small wave and slip into the classroom.
Okay, more like slink in.
I haven’t been late to a class in ages. I’m a punctual person, and I always try to be on time for things. Just striding in like I don’t give a shit isn’t really my style. I know, I know, call me a goody two shoes, but the professors put a lot of work into their lectures, and I want to be respectful.
Okay, so maybe I’m a little bit of a goody two shoes.
I creep into the back and sit as far away from anyone else as I can. As soon as I sink it to my seat, a new wave of panic slams into me, and I grip the desk so hard my fingers hurt. I’m on my own now. I have to figure out how to make it through the day without Bianca beside me, giving me clues about what’s what and doing all the talking for me.
Hopefully this is just a class where I can take notes. Except—I didn’t grab a backpack from Roxie’s room. All I have is her tiny purse.
Fuck.
A laugh almost burbles out of my throat at the pure insanity of my life.
This is definitely a nightmare. Or maybe it’s one of those weird, lucid dreams? It sure seems to be going on for longer than a dream would, but then, some dreams seem to go on forever when it’s only been a few minutes in the real world.
Whatever it is, real or not, I need to figure it out—and soon. I have a family to get back to. I have my dance crew. I have my life. It’s not fancy, but damn it, it is a life, it’s my life, and I want it back.
Thoughts are churning in my head so fast that it takes me a few minutes to notice someone is watching me.
I glance to my right—and realize it’s Cross.
He’s staring at me like I’m an abstract painting with a weird title, and he’s trying to figure out how the hell this painting could possibly convey the meaning of Jazz Symphony of My Mother’s Dreams.
My heart starts to pound harder in my chest. I don’t have anything to write with or on, so I hide my hands under the desk to make it less obvious that they’re shaking.
I think he knows something is off. That I’m not who I say I am, or at least that something’s wrong, that something’s happened to me.
I’ll just have to avoid him, although given that we’re apparently rivals who go head-to-head and take every opportunity to fuck with each other, I’m not sure how I can accomplish that without blowing my cover.
I glance up at the front, trying to pretend I don’t feel Cross’s gaze on me.
This isn’t Pr
Oh, holy mother of God, this is a magic class.
My mouth goes dry, and all I can think of is that I somehow fell down an open manhole and ended up in Harry Potter. Although actually, it would be really great if this was Hogwarts, because at least that way I would’ve read all the books and could fudge my way through things.
But no such fucking luck.
“Now, so far you all have been working on useful spells. Practical spells,” our professor is saying. My gaze darts around, and I catch sight of a syllabus on the desk of the person diagonally across from me. The professor’s name is written in the corner of the paper.
Professor Barnhouse.
Okay. I got a name, that’s something.
Professor Barnhouse keeps talking. “This is good, because if for some reason you were to be unable to finish your schooling, you’d have useful spells under your belt that would come in handy for everyday life. You would understand the principles of spell casting, and you would—as we focused on in your second year—know broad spells that require broad hand gestures.”
She adjusts her glasses, stepping around her desk to lean against the front of it, sweeping her gaze over the classroom.
“But now that you’re in your third year, we want to try to hone in on detail work. We’re going to do spells this semester that aren’t necessarily useful for everyday life. They might seem frivolous or whimsical. But they’re going to help your spell casting technique immensely. You need to be very specific in the pattern of your gestures in order to cast the right spell.”
“Yeah, Kyle,” one of the students ahead me whispers, poking the guy sitting next to her with her pencil. He bats her hand away, and I get the sense that maybe Kyle has a hard time keeping his hand gesture specific, whatever that means.
Professor Barnhouse pushes away from the desk, smiling slightly as she addresses the class.
“So for the rest of the semester, I’ll be having you do magic that might seem random and unnecessary, but I promise, it will help you to focus and exert greater control and finesse overall. This will help you in your other classes as well.” She claps her hands together and nods. “So. Today, we’re going to practice creating these little beauties.”
She performs a hand motion I can’t quite catch, a fluttering sort of flickering motion with her fingers, and then—
I bite down hard on my lip to stifle my gasp. If this is all real and nobody in this world bats an eye at flying horse-drawn carriages, nobody’s going to bat an eye at a tiny fire dragon appearing in the air either.
But, oh my God, a tiny fire dragon just appeared in the air!
It looks like it’s made out of fireworks, only instead of just bursting and dissipating right away, the fireworks stay in place, maintaining the shape. The small dragon flaps its wings and I bite my lip even harder to hold in my squeak of mingled delight, awe, and fear.
Professor Barnhouse makes another hand movement, and the little dragon dissipates in a small cloud of sparks.
“Simple enough, right? But to get the dragon right—to make it the exact shape, size, and color you’re aiming for—you have to be very specific both in your intent and your movements. Colin, do you think you could come up and demonstrate? Colin is one of our fourth-years. I asked him to sit in today for this purpose.”
Colin, a rather boring looking guy in a sweater vest, gets up and demonstrates, his hands moving more slowly than Professor Barnhouse’s did, allowing us to track the movement. His dragon is pink.
I almost want to applaud. As freaked out as I am by everything that’s happening to me, as lost and confused and shell-shocked as I am, I’m also overcome with wonder.
I’ve always been a sucker for magic tricks and sleight-of-hand. It’s just so cool to see something that should be impossible happen right before your eyes. But this—this is so much more amazing.
Because it’s real.
“Thank you, Colin.” Barnhouse gives him an approving nod. “Would you do it one more time? And, everyone, I want you to watch his left hand closely during the second part of the gesture. Notice the little flutter before the fingers bend. It’s that level of precision we’re after here.”
Colin banishes the first dragon, then repeats the gesture to summon another one, and everyone leans forward in their seats to watch closely. I do too, squinting as I try to pick up the nuances of his movement. I’ve always been good at picking up choreography, and this is similar to that in some ways.
“Wonderful, thank you.” Barnhouse beams at Colin and the small green dragon floating in the air in front of him. Then she dismisses him and turns to the rest of us. “All right. Now it’s your turn. Each of you will perform the spell, and we’ll see how well you paid attention to the details. I’ll have you come up one at a time so I can correct any mistakes in your form.”
My stomach seems to drop out of my body.
Oh.
Shit.
Why didn’t I see that coming? Of course she wants us to practice and demonstrate our work. That’s what people do in classes.
Except—I can’t.
If I don’t do this successfully, I’ll be found out in a heartbeat. And dream or not, all my instincts are still screaming at me that I absolutely cannot let that happen. I try to imagine what would happen to someone who showed up on earth with real, undeniable magic powers. They’d be locked up in some government lab so fast it would make their head spin. And while not having magic seems way less noteworthy than that, in this world, it still makes me “other.”
And people aren’t always very welcoming of “other.”
Fuck. I shouldn’t have come to class at all. I should’ve told Bianca I still wasn’t feeling well and locked myself in Roxie’s dorm for the rest of the day. Or, you know, forever.
But I am here, and I don’t know how to get out of this.
A girl in the second row rises from her desk and steps up to the front, performing the same hand gesture Colin just did. Barnhouse gives her a few adjustments, then sends her back to her seat as the next student comes forward. And then the next.
My heart is pounding so hard against my ribs that I think my whole upper body must be vibrating.
Frozen in my seat, I watch carefully as each student takes their turn practicing the movements. Everyone seems to be getting it for the most part, although Professor Barnhouse is quickly proven right about the importance of the little details. Some people’s dragons come out pale and colorless, or explode after a couple of seconds, or aren’t clear enough in shape.
Finally, when every other student has gone up, Barnhouse sweeps her gaze over the room. Her attention settles on me, and my heart stops beating altogether.
“Roxie,” she says, seeming surprised to realize I haven’t already taken my turn. I’m sure if I was the real Roxie, I would’ve been the first one up. “It looks like you’re the last one.”
Oh, fuck.
My legs are shaking and my throat is dry as a desert. Should I just run now? Bolt from the classroom and get a head start before they chase me down?
But I can’t get my legs to do it.
They carry me stiffly up toward the front of the classroom, my panicked brain still clinging desperately to the idea that I have to pass as Roxie. I have to do what she would do.
When I finally reach the spot in front of Professor Barnhouse, I raise my hands, my stomach clenching into one giant knot. I just watched twenty other people perform the gesture, so I’ve picked up the details of the movement. That’s not the problem.
The problem is, I’ve got no fucking magic.
I hold my breath as I perform the gesture, already preparing my excuses, getting ready to run, to fight—
There’s a burst of sparks, a popping noise—and a small golden dragon appears in the air in front of my face.
Holy.
Shit.
Chapter 5
Not gonna lie, I almost pee my pants.
It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at once. Holy shit! I just did magic! Somehow, insanely, I did it.
Should I feel different? I don’t feel different at all. I just feel like myself. Well, I also feel like throwing up, but still.
“Your movements were a little sloppy,” Professor Barnhouse says, stepping forward. She takes my hands and adjusts my fingers a bit, demonstrating for me how I should move them next time. “You have to flex them like this instead—” She shows me, then nods approvingly. “But the magic was clean. Excellent work.”
I smile in a way that I hope is calm and pleased and not full of panic, and then force myself to walk slowly back to my desk instead of scurrying like a mouse. My heart is hammering. How—how did I do that?
Does this mean that I can do magic? But if so, I would’ve known that ages ago, right? There would have been some sign. In all the books I’ve ever read, there’s always a sign somehow that the protagonist can do things that aren’t normal. They have mysterious childhoods and dead parents and stuff. None of them grew up in a well-adjusted family in a nice neighborhood in Baltimore.
Maybe I’m like one of those crazy musical prodigies who just sits down at a piano and knows how to play.
But magic isn’t like playing piano. It’s not something someone could just learn with enough practice. Magic lives in you, right? Or that seems to be how it is in movies and stuff.
Jesus. I didn’t think my day could get any weirder, but somehow, it just has.
I sit in the back of the class, shaking like a leaf, as Professor Barnhouse asks for some volunteers and other classmates come up to do some other work.
Once class is over, I hover near my desk, pretending to stare at some informational posters on the walls about hand movements for magic and how they correlate to sign language, while Barnhouse and the other students file out.
-->