“But,” Stevie says, brightening as she stands up straight again, “I have no interest in rotting in jail or being executed. The Academy gave me an out, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But you’re also boxing me in, and that’s just a shitty thing to do. I need you to know that.”
I hold my breath, waiting for Anna’s response.
“I suppose I deserve that,” Anna says, back to straightening her papers. Her voice, gentle and almost chagrined moments ago, is cool once again. “Though it is my hope that we might eventually get to know one another, Starla. Perhaps come to an understanding, or even a… a friendship.”
“Friendship?”
Anna’s smile is as false as they come. “In time, of course.”
Stevie sighs, then shakes her head. “I am here willingly, under no coercion. Dr. Devane gave me a choice, and I chose to enroll at the Academy. And I assure you, I will hold up my end of the bargain. In exchange for my freedom, my education, and my living expenses, I will do everything in my power to decipher my mother’s work. I will attend classes, commit myself to my magickal studies, and work harder than I’ve ever worked on anything in my life, including running my own business. We have a deal, and I will uphold my end of it for as long as I’m able—that’s a promise. And I will also show you the utmost respect as headmistress of the Academy, despite the Academy’s history with my family. But wearen’tfriends, Miss Trello. We won’tbecomefriends. That’s not why you invited me here and it’s not why I accepted the invitation. So I think it’d be best if we agree to a policy of honesty rather than pleasantries and not waste each other’s time.”
The words settle over Anna’s shoulders like a heavy winter coat. She looks almost… wounded.
I glance at Phaines, but he’s not meeting my eyes. Stevie may not realize it yet, but he too is complicit in the crimes against her parents.
Did Anna really think they could have any kind of personal relationship, after everything that happened?
“Hindsight is…” Anna shifts uncomfortably in her chair, licks her lips. Strands of gray hair have sprung loose from her sleek bun, now framing her face in a frizzy white halo. More than aging her, it simply undermines her, cracking her ever-present shell of authority and composure.
For the first time in the years that I’ve known her, Anna looks weak.
And in that moment, I know without a doubt, it’s all an act. Anna Trelloneverlooks weak. Not unless she means to.
“Understand, Starla,” she says, her eyes shiny with fake compassion. “Academia is fraught with politics—magickal academia even more so. The situation with your parents was… Well, it was a very confusing time for all of us. If I could do anything to change things, to bring them back to you—”
“But, spoiler alert, you can’t.” Stevie unleashes a deep sigh, dashing away the last of her tears. Then, with a shrug and a smile that makes me wonder if the last several minutes even happened, she turns to Phaines and says, “So, what’s this about a magick test?”
Fifteen
STEVIE
Professor Phaines ushers me to a small mahogany conference table on the other side of the office and invites me to sit, take a few deep breaths, and relax.
Gladly.
It may not show on the outside—Goddess, I hope it doesn’t—but my knees are still quaking from my confrontation with Trello. Definitely not how I planned to make a first impression, but once the words started, I just couldn’t stop.
Better it’s out in the open, though. Better we all know where we stand.
“Okay?” Phaines asks, smiling as he takes the seat kitty-corner to me. He’s got kind eyes, I decide, and when I reach out for his energy, I find a gentle warmth to match.
I never knew my grandparents, but Jessa used to tell me stories about her grandfather in Jalisco, showing her how to grow tomatoes and peppers in the garden, sneaking butterscotch candies to her when her grandmother wasn’t watching. The professor—with his thinning white hair, bulbous nose, and sparkling green eyes—reminds me of someone like that.
Of course, I’m pretty sure Jessa’s Abeulo Marco isn’t rocking a long green robe piped in silver and a ring that looks like it mightpossiblyhave been forged in the fires of Mount Doom, but the post-modern wizard aesthetic seems to work for the Academy’s esteemed librarian.
Returning his smile, I take some deep breaths, inhaling the faint scents of ink and candle wax. Relaxing isn’t all that easy with Anna and Dr. Devane peering over at me every five seconds like I’m some kind of lab experiment, a chimp learning how to play Monopoly—look! So human, so expressive!—but I don’t sense any danger.
Granted, I don’t trust them any farther than I can cast my witchfire—Trello least of all—but Idotrust that they truly want me here, and they want to keep me safe. As for whether it’s for my personal well-being or their own selfish reasons? Doesn’t matter. I’m out of that hellhole prison, safe from the guard’s filthy hands, safe from angry women throwing piss-soaked rags at my face, safe the psycho mage who murdered my old friend.
For now, I’m counting it as a win.
“The ritual is relatively simple,” Professor Phaines says, his voice taking on a mystical quality that feels more sincere than showy. He retrieves a deck of Tarot cards from his robe and sets it on the table before me. “We start, as in so many magickal rituals, with the cards.”
With brick-red backs etched in gold and a simple Celtic knot design in the center, the cards are larger than the decks I’ve seen in The Rock Shop, the metaphysical store in Tres Búhos that caters to the new agers. And unlike those decks, this one emanates a faint vibration, a buzz that tickles my palm as I pass my hand reverently over the stack.
“How much do you know about magick and Tarot?” he asks, then laughs, undoubtedly realizing the immensity of his question. “A rather large can of worms, perhaps, but we have to start somewhere. Do you understand the basics?”
“Honestly? I don’t know what I understand.” I smile, then say, “I know our magick is connected to the Tarot, and that unlike regular humans, witches and mages are born with open channels to receive that magick. And I know my Mom could divine things from the cards, obviously. Aside from that, I’m not really sure how it all works. My witchfire was just something that started happening when I was a kid—like, I’d think about fire, and, pop.” I hold up my palm and conjure up a small silver flame, relieved that it’s working again.
