“Name?” the man asked.
“Quinn Question,” I answered.
He turned from me and opened a box at the back of the counter. Returning with a long scrawl and what I assumed was my TB in his hands. He put down the scrawl and looked me up and down with a frown. “Is that a work-study uniform?”
“I start today.” I ran my finger down the long list of drinks.
The words glowed a soft purple, so not the bartender's scrawl. Although I understood the left column, filled with things like ‘alex24’ and ‘pear cider x7,’ the right string of numbers didn’t trigger any memory. Nor could I find a currency symbol.
“So, Châteauneuf-du-Pape is, um, a third of the bill?” I asked, looking for clues.
The bartender nodded. “Cayden’s tastes, most likely. He’s been trying different wines each night, most of them imported.” He leaned forward. “I hear they only drink wine they make in his family. He’s been enjoying his firsts.”
“Right,” I said, biting my lips together.
I couldn’t comment on Cayden’s family. The rune mage was slippery and way too smart for his own good. He changed the subject, dazzling me with magic a few times, so I’d stop asking about his life. However, Everly had been more forthcoming.
A family was exactly what I’d already gathered, people related by blood or marriage. Except marriage didn’t exist anymore. Most women had multiple partners, and it was all handled by a contract system. It took me several tries to wrap my head around how normal it was for women to have children for another family to raise.
Usually, families stuck together, but not everyone was happy in a big family, and not every family was big enough to survive. Some people didn’t have families at all. And that’s where the Architect came into play, welcoming anyone and everyone regardless of their past. His family of completely unrelated people was not only unique, but a relatively new concept.
“Can you actually pay for that?” The bartender’s question.
“Well, ah.” I rubbed my lips together. “I don’t have any money.”
The bartender laughed. “Nice try, leather coat.” He picked up my TB. “I got called in last night. I saw everything.” He gripped my TB. “No money, no TB. You got a problem, my boss Horax is in this afternoon. You can take it up with him.”
I sighed. “Can I at least see my schedule for today?”
The burnt caramel of the bartender’s eyes glimmered with triumph I didn’t understand. He grinned. “Talk to Horax this afternoon. I’m sure he’ll cut you a deal.” He studied my TB. “You’re twenty minutes late for your work-study in the library. And you have imagination placement at noon. Better scurry.”
I clenched my fists before releasing them and sprinted out of the Rooster.
The massive, embellished double doors to my imagination placement shut behind me with a thud, interrupting a familiar bright pink-haired old woman. Chancellor Morgen stood at the center of a lecture hall, which looked so much like my brief attempt at college that a pang of homesickness hit me hard. Without missing a beat, she continued, though her words didn’t make it into my hungover, pain-filled brain.
I slid into the closest seat with a wince. My entire lower body still protested yesterday’s unexpected run, and my new work-study hadn’t helped. I looked around the lecture hall again, and my memories of now and then converged.
The bright, clean room of Physiology 101 blended with the dark stone and misty lighting of the present. I leaned on the table in front of me to run my hands over its surface, but this table wasn’t smooth. Bits of wood, glued together and fashioned with belts of thin metal, drew me away from the familiar. I ran one grease-covered finger along a jagged, repaired crack and took a deep breath.
I was still in my delusion. None of this was real… especially my work-study on an underground train. Miss Q was insane.
Hope warned me I’d have two work-studies. The first had popped up on my schedule yesterday, at the library, which I assumed would be shelving books or something. But no, it was on a train. A train that ran under the entire castle. There was nothing familiar about the small, repurposed metal locomotive, powered by magic and sheer will. I’d spent the last two hours looking at cogs, oiling bolts, and hauling heavy crates. Manual labor would be the rest of my life here if I didn’t figure out my magic.
“The only limit to magic is your mind.” Chancellor Morgen’s voice cut through, and I forced myself to focus on the make-believe lecture. “Today is about creativity. Don’t hold back. Don’t let emotions cloud your innovation.” Her eyes snapped to mine. “Quinn, you’re up.”
I blinked a few times before forcing my legs to stand. My uniform came with a big rainproof pale-pink cloak. I unhooked it, leaving it on the closest empty seat, before trudging down the stairs with a bit of my hair stuck to the grease on my face. I tried to wipe it away but only succeeded in poking the painful bruise on my cheek.
Someone giggled, and I kept my eyes trained on the stone steps.
“All of you are stuck in this room for the next four hours,” Chancellor Morgen called out as I reached her side. “Don’t think your placement ends after you meet with me. Four hours with no direction, no goals. See what your minds come up with. We’ll be watching.”
Right. This placement was not short and sweet. Perfect day to be hungover and sore… not. At least there was no Ezra towering over me, forcing me to do push-ups. The thought of Ezra twisted my insides while filling them with butterflies. What a mess.
Talking filled the lecture hall. I followed Chancellor Morgen to a desk off to one side. She sat me down, and instantly, all sounds vanished.
“Woah,” I said, seeing my peers' mouths still moving.
Chancellor Morgen studied me. “It’s a spell that keeps sounds from leaving my area or reaching anyone outside of it. It’s common.”
