“The Academy protects its own,” he says, and then seems to realize his mistake. “It… it was a different time when your parents attended. It seems the administration has learned much since those days.”
“Right. Because all magickal people are such upstanding citizens.”
“No. Because no magickal people want to draw any attention to our Academy, risking their own safety.”
“Self-preservation at its finest,” I grumble. “Goddess, this feels like trading one prison for another.”
“You’re not a prisoner, but youwillneed an escort to bring you in and out.” Devane dusts off his hands, his watchful gaze scanning the horizon beyond the portal. “Understand, Miss Milan. We are tolerated by the human authorities. When that stops being the case? When they decide—in an official capacity—that our presence is more than a nuisance, that our bribes aren’t enough, that we pose a more serious threat? What do you think will happen then? It’s already starting. It’s what Anna believes your mother was trying to warn them about.”
I rub the skin on my wrist, the pentacle tattoo glaring back at me like an unsightly birthmark. It sucks that he’s right.
“You know what’s really fucked up about all this?” I ask. “We’re the ones with all the magick. Yet somehow, they have all the power.”
“No. They have theperceptionof power.”
“What’s the difference?”
“The difference is it doesn’t have to be that way. If witches and mages realized how much power we had collectively…” He trails off into his own thoughts. Pipe dreams, more like. Compared to the human population, there are so few of us, and outside of the Academy, there are few opportunities to join forces and storm the castle.
“So what happens now?” I ask. Before us, the portal glows pink and orange and purple, like a brilliant desert sunset.
Devane clears his throat and straightens his tie, perspiration beading at his temples. “Now is the part where I tell you your life will be in grave danger—from our own kind as much as humans. The moment you begin working on the prophecies, you’ll be on the enemy’s radar. And because we don’t know exactly who that enemy is or when they’ll strike next, it will be very difficult for us to protect you.”
This isn’t news, but it still sits heavy in my gut.
“My life was already in grave danger,” I say. “Probably for a long time now. Something tells me that’s just part of the gig.”
He nods, a little sadly.
“Well, here goes nothing.” I shrug and take a step toward the stone staircase.
“Not so fast.” Devane places a warm hand on my shoulder, his eyes serious. “There’s one more thing we need to discuss. Another option.”
“What option? I’ve just faked my own death and escaped prison. I’m a fugitive. You said it yourself—it’s not safe for me out here.”
“No. But enrolling at the Academy isn’t your only recourse.”
“I’m listening.”
“We can arrange for your relocation to another state, under a new and completely human identity. You’ll be set up in an apartment and given a job, a bank account, non-magickal college classes if you’d like. Everything you need to start fresh. To… to move on.”
“To move on from what? My life in Tres Búhos?”
“As well as your life as a witch.”
“Hmm. Witchy witness protection?”
“If it helps to think of it in those terms, yes.”
“No strings?”
“Not from us. But the offer isn’t without its drawbacks. For starters, it will require a brief but extremely painful spell to remove your tattoo, and ongoing injections to mute your latent powers.”
“Mute them?”
“As a natural-born witch, you’ll never be able to fully disassociate from your magick, which means you’ll live under constant threat of accidental exposure. Now, most witches can control their active powers, but the non-active ones, like your empathy skills and healing magick? Aspects of those powers work without your conscious direction. If anyone were to see something like that in action, you’d be identified as a non-registered witch and reported to the authorities. That’s if the locals didn’t decide to take matters into their own hands.”
“So the injections basically kill the magick?”
