“This is it,” he declared. “This is what we’ll enchant. This is what we’ll start with.”
“What, right now? There are still people around.”
“Oh, no one’s looking. And think about it. Tomorrow, maybe someone will notice it. Some tourist who just got to Gallamere. We can mark all your favorite places. Mine too, even if I haven’t got many of them. A guide to the City of Magic, made by two very different magicians.”
Domenic waited, wilting. He squeezed the flowers in his pocket.
Finally, he said, “Never mind. I shouldn’t have—”
“No. Let’s do it.”
Caldwell joined him, pressing close—to obscure what they were doing, Domenic reminded himself. They rested the tips of their training wands against the glass. Together, their enchantments flooded the city. Domenic contributed few: a light blinking fervently over the Gallamere Gardens, a butterfly fluttering up and down the Gold Line, a beer bottle tipping over the far corner of the Citadel. Caldwell decorated the map all over: a neon storefront on Chestnut Avenue, arrows pointing out favorite restaurants, a shimmer in the windows of the Gallamere Grand Hotel. At the end, she lit the entire Citadel until it sparkled like a diamond.
It was impressive magic, intricate and dazzlingly—even brazenly—bright. Caldwell admired it breathlessly, the gap in her teeth bared. Domenic was far more captivated staring at her.
He was no longer infatuated with Ellery Caldwell—he was hopelessly smitten.
Mustering his nerve to ask her out to another cinematographic masterpiece—or more daringly, if it was too late to make tonight a double feature—Domenic exited the bus stop and squinted at the movie posters displayed outside the theater. His focus glazed over a comedy, a horror, then snagged ontoForetold,the highly anticipated biopic of Valmordion’s previous wielder, Alice Rhodes. The poster depicted the leading actress clasping Valmordion before an ominous backdrop of smoke. It was due for release this very Winter.
A coincidence of timing, Domenic was sure.
But Alderland didn’t believe in coincidence.
Drip.
Drip.
A question weeded inside him. It escaped before he could pluck it.
“Are you trying for it?”
“What?” Caldwell asked from across the bus stop, still tracing the enchantments with her finger.
“Valmordion.”
Immediately, her shoulders stiffened. “No.”
“Really? You’re not?”
“I’m really not.” Then, after a pause: “Are you?”
He bit out a mirthless laugh. “I’m not in search of a grand destiny.”
Again, she appraised him. The something dark in her eyes didn’t look like pity. At least, that was what he told himself. But his story was every bit as famous as hers—if for opposite reasons. Just because he didn’t want to see the truth didn’t mean it wasn’t there, that it wouldn’t always be there. That she was extraordinary.
And he was nothing.
Reflexively, Domenic looked away.
Drip.
Drip.
“It’s late. I should get going,” he heard himself say. He spun around, frustrated. Not only had he spoiled an opportunity he’d likely never have again, but his mind now strayed back to the exact thoughts he’d fled here to avoid.
Yet as he strode down the sidewalk, a sudden wind tore across the square, so fierce that Domenic grasped onto a trash bin to keep his balance. A shiver coursed through him, violent and bone-deep.
Overhead, the traffic lights flickered.
