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She retrieved her magic ink and wrote a response. The fountain pen knew what she wanted to write before her fingers could form the words.

I understand the art of non-magic writing is lost on you. There are many reasons why regular ink is superior, of which I shall only name one: It irks you. And so, with deepest sympathy for your lack of anything non-magic, I shall sign my name with the cheapest pen of them all.

Sincerely,

Winters

The magic scroll groaned under her pen, which made her giggle. Oh, this would certainly annoy him. Had anyone ever dared to use regular ink on magic paper before?

The next scroll appeared almost instantly.

Non-magic ink on scroll? Winters, you wound me.

Dawson

He was funny, she gave him that. In an annoying, aristocratic sort of way.

Mira had just finished getting dressed when she heard a knock on the door. Before she could say anything in response, a girl strutted in like she owned the place.

“So you’re the Caster,” she proclaimed.

Mira recalled seeing her before. She had been talking to Dawson at combat training. Her chin-length hair was raven black aside from the tips, which were an icy blue, matching her eyes. She wore a headband with pearls like it was a tiara.

“And who are you?” Mira asked the stranger, who smelled of fresh lilacs.

With her button nose and light freckles on her pale skin, she looked at Mira appraisingly. Then she scanned Mira’s room with a look of disdain on her face. “Amelia Montgomery. Obryn told me to give you the lay of the land since you’re new to Dark Magic.”

“You’re Dawson’s friend.”

Was this his way to keep tabs on her?

“And you’re his current pet project.”

Mira winced. “Not really,” was all she found to say because she couldn’t talk about the secret project.

Amelia carried an expensive leather bag, and her right hand, the one with the Shadowflame, was covered in a glove made of intricate lace. She wiggled her fingers when she noticed Mira staring.

“Family tradition,” she responded. “Unlike some other families, Montgomerys don’t show off their signifiers. We find it flashy.”

Mira enjoyed the obvious dig at Dawson.

The Wielder girl lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Mira’s rucksack, which still sat untouched by the bed.

“You haven’t even unpacked? Still hoping to get into White Magic?”

Mira didn’t know how to respond, but luckily Amelia wasn’t waiting for an answer.

“Since you grew up a Caster, you will not know the rules of Dark Magic.”

“You have rules?”

That seemed so unlike Wielders. A Caster’s oath was precious. Its core principle was to do no harm.

Amelia pursed her lips. “Well, it’s more like philosophies to live by. Number one: Make your own rules. If you can’t think for yourself, you’re not a Wielder.” She lifted a gloved finger. “Rule number two: Fight fire with fire or you’ll get burned.”

“Am I supposed to write these down?”

“Yes, you will be quizzed on them later,” Amelia deadpanned before she continued. “Three: Wielders stick together…unless, of course, a better opportunity presents itself.”