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“They’ve got an internal lining that’s been woven out of blessed silver thread. In theory, it should conceal the wild magic.”
“In theory?” Belle said. “They haven’t been tested?”
“Not against wild magic,” Ashworth said. “I mean, how could they be?”
I warily slipped one on. The changes the wild magic had been making to my DNA had made me sensitive to silver when it sliced into me, but so far hadn’t altered my ability to handle either my silver knife or even silver charms. The thread was scratchy against my skin, but there was no burning sensation or violent need to rip the thing off.
I tugged it off anyway. Better to be safe than sorry. “Concealing is only one part of the problem.”
“They may well pick up its echo through your native magic,” Eli said, “but it’s doubtful they’ll understand its cause.”
“All witches know what wild magic is—”
“Only in theory, via what is taught at university,” Ashworth said. “Most witches wouldn’t come in contact with it during their lifetimes simply because they haven’t the power or the training to deal with emerging wellsprings. The few who do certainly wouldn’t be working in a testing station.”
“Besides,” Eli added, “the Fenna were all but erased from witch literature and consciousness eons ago. I’d hazard a bet there are none currently living here in Canberra who even would consider it feasible.”
I hoped he was right, because if he wasn’t, then we’d be making a midnight dash home and to hell with both court cases.
A car arrived to pick me up and I was quickly whisked across to the testing labs at the witch university. Ashworth and Eli had initially offered to take me, but after Deni’s death and the attempt to snatch Belle, had agreed that it was probably safer if they all remained at Hattie’s and watched each other’s backs. They’d beefed up the magical security measures around the house, and Samuel provided additional security via magically null guards. Which meant, I discovered, that while they had no magic of their own, they were also immune to its use against them.
It was a weekday, so the uni was packed with people moving to and from classrooms. My driver escorted me across to the right building, then navigated our way through the various corridors until I reached the right set of rooms. Obviously, he was under orders to make sure I got there.
I’d never undergone the full testing process and accreditation, thanks to the fact we’d skipped town well before we turned eighteen, but the process was as tedious as I’d heard. Basically, you were seated in a chair in the middle of a dark room, where a crown-like inhibitor was placed on your head and various sensors attached to your body—thankfully, no one asked me to remove my gloves, but that was probably due to the room being damnably cold. According to one of the testers, the lower the temperature the better where the sensors were concerned.
Once the inhibitor was activated and curtailing all conscious magical response, spells were cast, their intensity initially low but increasing by gentle degrees. The sensors detected the instinctive response until the moment a witch’s natural magic was overwhelmed.
Mine didn’t fail as quickly as I’d hoped, but from the murmurs of surprise I could hear coming from behind the protection screen, I was also nowhere near the end of the test range. My testers had expected far more from a Marlowe, apparently.
I was mightily relieved they were disappointed.
One of the examiners came out and began retrieving the sensors.
“When will you know the results?” I asked.
“In about five minutes. We’ll give you a copy, if you like.”
Her breath was visible as she spoke. It really was cold in here. “Any initial impressions?”
She hesitated. “They were not what we expected.”
I couldn’t help smiling. “It’s a well-known fact I am not my father’s daughter.”
“No.” She hesitated again. “However, it would appear you are your mother’s.”
That had my eyebrows shooting upwards. “How?”
“While you do not have anywhere near the capacity for magic that she has, you do have the same anomalous strain running through it.”
My heart began beating a whole lot faster. It was the wild magic. It had to be.
“Do you know what it is?”
The tester shook her head. “It could be a quirk in your mother’s bloodline—your sister had it too.”
“How do you know that?”
“We always check family records before a test subject comes in. It enables us to better understand and categorize the results.”
