3

“Damn two-way mirrors,” the man curses once he’s found his balance.

Just like Eisley, he smooths out his attire, paying special attention to the shiny crest on his blazer pocket. I nearly roll my eyes. Alcove and its obsession over appearances.

But now is hardly the time to fuss over it. Not while this man was no doubt sent to investigate the so-called rupture they sensed. I decide to just act nonchalant, considering he’ll see through my lies anyway.

“Welcome to Odds and Ends,” I greet him cheerfully. “We have a special on moonstones and talking hand mirrors today. Holler if you need anything.”

“Stay right where you are.” His voice stops me before I could hurry back to my workspace – an attractive sound with a hint of an accent…and oddly familiar. He turns to me, and at the same time, something warm and fuzzy stirs in my stomach. “I’m here on official Academy business, and you have the right to provide me with your full cooperation.”

I almost tell him ‘Yes, Sir. Anything you say, Sir.’ until I remember who he works for. Did he just say I have ‘the right’ to cooperate with him? I breath a laugh of indignancy. “Respectfully, Sir, I know my rights. Besides, I might not be of much help unless you want to buy something, of course.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He strides forward and corners me against the wall. Immediately, I’m overwhelmed by his scent – a combination of spiced honey and scotch.

He’s a full head taller than me, his shoulders broad and clearly toned. I can’t see his eyes behind his shades, but I have a clear view of his jaw, clean shaved and sharp, the scowl settled on his lips, the deep creases between his dark brows, and finally, his perfectly styled dark blonde hair.

It’s staggering how symmetrical and put together he looks. I suppose that is one of the requirements for attending Alcove Academy.

Perhaps that is why I never received my invitation, considering, well…I’m not symmetrical or put together. Not with how I wear my platinum hair in different colours and odd styles, or how I would rather walk naked before exchanging my colourful wardrobe for the plain, emerald uniforms they’re expected to wear.

However, for a fleeting moment – emphasis on fleeting – I almost believe this is the guy from my dreams. He feels familiar.

But it couldn’t be, right? The man from my dreams wasn’t as uptight or ‘put together’, but warm and messy and uncaring of formalities as he completely focused on satisfying my needs.

“Ten minutes ago, a rupture came from this address,” the man begins his interrogation, his gaze burning me even through the shades. “Was that you?”

My mind immediately goes blank as it does when I’m about to lie. I force myself to focus and answer his question lightly, “A rupture? From me? Does it look like I can cause a rupture, Sir?”

I’m positively shocked at how seductive that sounded. Did I just flirt with him?

The man is briefly caught off guard – probably at the sultry tone in my voice when I called him ‘sir’. He steals a downward glimpse of me and my attire, a low-cut dress that shows the swells of my breasts, with my necklaces extending down my cleavage.

That warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach travels lower when his gaze lingers a second too long on the beauty spot on my left breast before he averts his eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“State your full name and surname,” he says after he composed himself.

“Is there a ‘please’ in there somewhere?” The blunt look he gives me is all answer I need. “Fine. Sylvina Myrwell.”

“Magical aptitude?” He proceeds while typing my answers into his phone.

My heart spikes at the question.

Magical aptitude is the formal way of determining how strong a Magian’s essence is. With the proper training and education at the Academy, one’s essence can grow quite strong. But in my case, a girl with no magical education, it usually means we possess and wield a form of magic that’s been long banned.

Wild magic.

It’s the only form of magic that can’t be taught to control. It doesn’t need incantations or rituals to perform, but rather draws power from the very essence of nature itself. And so far, every Magian who showed signs of possessing it, had mysteriously disappeared or was stripped of their magic.

“None,” I lie, remembering the man still awaits an answer. “I was never invited to Alcove. The only training I received was to craft positions and charms.”

The man glances about the room, scoffing at the shelves of crystals, stones, and trinkets. “Clearly. And who taught you that craft?”

“My grandmother, Lillian Kemp.” Before he can ask, I add, “She passed away, unfortunately.” Another lie.

The man looks up from his phone at me, his stare piercing my soul. “So, let me get this straight. You possess no magical aptitude, you received no formal training or education, and yet, you run a shop filled to the brim with enchanted artifacts that thrives on magic.”

“It’s a pawn shop, Sir,” I say, gesturing at the place. “Magians come here to sell their artifacts. I only resell them. As I said, I can only craft potions and charms.”

“And yet, a rupture brought me here,” he says threateningly. “And you, Miss Myrwell, is the only one I found at the scene.”

My heart spikes and drops to my stomach. I can’t explain it either. In fact, I don’t even know where it came from myself, considering when I touched that henbane flower, I…

Oh.

Whatever vision I had earlier, must have exuded so much magic, it could pass as a rupture to anyone who sensed it. That’s the only explanation my head can come up with.

It’s also the last thing I will tell this man from the Academy.

Magian don’t just ‘have visions’. It takes years of learning and practising to even predict a day into the future, and only Magians with the strongest of aptitudes can do it.

I shrug, hauling up my shoulders. “I’m afraid you’re at the wrong address, then, Sir. If there was a rupture here, even an insignificant Magian as me would’ve felt it.” Leaning forward, I speak close to his lips, “And I can promise you, I didn’t.”

His jaw clenches in mild annoyance. Again, he steals a look downward at my chest that heaves lightly as I breathe. He swallows hard and, in a blink of an eye, backs up.

“You’re lucky I don’t have the time to linger,” he states as the distance between us grows. “But know this, Miss Myrwell, I will be keeping a particular close eye on your business.”

Squaring his shoulders, he steps into the mirror and vanishes from my sight without so much as a ‘good day’. The only proof that he was here, is his delicate scent lingering in the air and tickling my nostrils.

The moment he’s gone, I slouch forward and release a long, anxious breath. One by one, the protection charms stop blaring in my mind. The danger has finally passed.

However, the fuzziness in my stomach remains.

I’m broken out of my trance when Eisley’s head poke out of a mirror, eyes searching the room for danger. “Are they gone? Is it safe?”

“For now,” I reply.

“Then I won’t stay long.” She steps through the mirror and reaches for my hands. “Listen, Syl, something else is going on. Acolytes at Alcove are getting sick. It starts with a fever and three days later, they either lose themselves...or die. And I think it’s spreading.” Her voice drops with fear when she says the next words, “This blight only affects the supernatural. And Syl, you live with twenty beings under one roof.”

I think back to Zari and her building fever this morning. Full moons usually take their toll on her, but it’s never been this bad before.

“Is there a cure?” I ask, already going through the lists of healing potions I’ve memorized over the years.

Eisley shakes her head. “I don’t know. The Acolytes who caught it are still being studied. They’re…unresponsive to all the healing rituals thus far.”

That is grave news, indeed. If the infected Acolytes are still being studied, it tells me that the big brains at the Academy aren’t any the wiser either.

But between processing what she told me and worrying about Zari, I’m still curious about one thing. “What does this have to do with me, though?”

Everything Eisley said could’ve easily been communicated through a text or a phone call, which tells me her concern had more depth than just a simple ‘be careful of getting sick’.

“It has everything to do with you.” My cousin pauses with one foot through the enchanted glass, “Every Magian practicing wild magic is at risk. That’s what created the blight, and the Academy won’t stop until they’ve caught the culprit.”

The trees’ warning sounds in my head. Beware, it comes. Beware. First Zari’s symptoms and now Eisley’s warning. That is two reasons to believe that a blight is truly spreading, infecting the supernatural. And add the part where the Academy is investigating ruptures and sniffing out wild magic…

My heart sinks when I realize that not only will I be under constant surveillance, but now I’m also a suspect.