My father says: "Of course. Whatever you think is best."
"Oh, fantastic. Just hand me off to the first stranger who shows up. That's definitely going to end well."
Professor Ashford tilts his head. "Would you prefer to stay here and die when the magic burns through your system? Because that's your other option."
"How do I know you're not going to kill me?"
"Because if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead already."
The casual way he says it should be terrifying. Instead, it's oddly reassuring. At least he's honest about being dangerous.
"Where exactly are you planning to take me?" I ask.
"Nocturne Academy."
I know the name. Everyone knows it. The academy for supernatural students. The place where the children of reapers and dragons and vampires go to learn what they are. "I'm a null. I don't belong at an academy for supernaturals."
"You were a null this morning. That appears to have changed."
"And you're what, the magical taxi service?"
"I'm the professor who gets called when something unprecedented happens and needs to be contained before it becomes a problem."
"Contained. How flattering."
"Would you prefer eliminated?"
When I look at my mother, she's looking at Mara. When I look at my father, he's checking his watch. When I look at Mara, she's glaring at me like this is all a personal attack against her.
"I don't have a bag packed," I say.
"You won't need one," Professor Ashford says.
"Right. Because nothing says 'this is temporary' like not needing belongings."
"Would you like to argue about luggage, or would you like to not die tonight? Because those are your choices."
I look around the ritual room one more time. At the shattered glass, the cracked circle, the scorch marks on the walls. At my family, who called a stranger to take me away and won't meet my eyes.
"Lead the way, Professor."
We leave through the front door. My family doesn't follow us out.
The car parked outside the estate is sleek and black and wrong in the way things built for practical purposes and then modified with magic are always wrong. The proportions are slightly off. The windows are too dark.
He opens the rear door. "Get in."
"So commanding. Do you practice that in the mirror?"
"Daily. Get in the car."
The leather is cold under my palms. He gets in on the other side, and the door closes, and the car starts moving without anyone appearing to drive it.
"Self-driving cars. How modern of you."
"It's warded, not automated."
"What's the difference?"
