by Sarah Piper
“So the injections basically kill the magick?”
“They block it, yes. To help with that, you’d also have to avoid anything that could trigger a magickal reaction, like crystals or Tarot cards, spellbooks, incantations, anything like that. And Miss Milan?”
I lean back against the red sandstone and cross my arms, waiting for the worst part, the part I know is coming next.
“You’ll be completely cut off from anyone you’ve ever known,” he says. “Permanently. You will never be able to speak to your friends again. Even now, with your so-called death undoubtedly reported to the media, you must be careful. But going into hiding at this level would be even more dangerous.”
“So that’s it, then? Enroll at the Academy or disappear off the map?”
I’m not sure why I was still hoping for a better option. Some last-minute escape route, complete with me getting my old life back and a perfectly happy ending.
“Or return to prison and explain your mysterious resurrection, though I wouldn’t recommend it.” He tries for a smile, but it misses the mark. “People are funny about witches returning from the dead. Damnedest thing, really.”
When I don’t say anything, his smile dims, his face turning somber once again. “The choice may be unpleasant, Miss Milan, but it is a choice, and it has to be yours. As much as I’d love to tell you what to do, I can’t. Not in this matter.”
He holds my gaze a moment, and I swear I see the spark of a challenge there. Huh. Makes me wonder if he thinks there are matters in which he can tell me what to do.
I close my eyes, my only relief from his penetrating gaze. Starting over in a new place doesn’t sound so bad—maybe I could finally see the ocean, or New York City, or a snowstorm. And muting my magick? It’s not like I’ve got much to lose on that front anyway.
What he’s offering… Isn’t that what my parents always wanted for me? A normal life? I could go to college—regular college. Meet a regular guy. Get a regular job.
Leave Jessa.
My heart aches at the thought.
But even if ghosting my best friend wasn’t a prerequisite, it doesn’t feel right. Maybe my parents wanted me to have a normal life, but if Mom were here now, facing this same dilemma, she’d never just turn her back—not with all those lives at stake. If she thought for a minute her predictions could help, she’d do everything in her power to make sure everyone understood them. That they could prepare for what was coming, and fight to protect their own.
Didn’t she try to do just that?
Back then, no one believed her. But now, I have a chance to change that. To save lives and make the Academy elites understand how rare and special Mom’s gift really was. How rare and special she was.
Enrolling might go against every principle I’ve been taught to uphold, every promise I’ve ever made.
But I know without a doubt what my answer will be. I knew it the moment he said the words back at the prison: I want you to enroll at Arcana Academy. To study your craft. To fully embody your Tarot magick, as you were meant to…
I open my eyes. Dr. Devane is watching me closely, his expression hopeful.
“If you enroll,” he says, “I promise I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, to protect you, should the need arise.”
Oh, the need is arising, Doc. Maybe not the need you’re thinking of, but a need just the same…
Is it hot out here? It’s hot out here. Anyway, moving on…
“If I enroll at the Academy—and right now, that’s still an if—I would like my own room,” I say, deciding to see how far I can push this. The man did shoot me, after all, even if it was just an illusion. I think I deserve a little pampering after an ordeal like that. “And I’ll need more clothes, obviously.”
“Hmm. You don’t like Lala’s jeans?” His eyes turn playful as he scans me head to toe.
“Like them? I’ve gotten more intimate with these jeans today than I have with a man in the last year.”
Devane’s jaw drops.
Oh, hell. I just said that out loud, didn’t I?
“I mean…” I let out a nervous laugh and kick at the dirt, wondering if I can magickally convince it to open up and swallow me whole.
Alas, I’m still standing here.
And Devane is still watching me, that damn sexy eyebrow arched like an invitation.
But then he shakes his head, our flirty spark dying before it can even catch fire, and says, “Clothing won’t be an issue. There are plenty of shops on campus, and your stipend will cover anything you need. As for the accommodations, most first-years share a room or suite with other students. It helps with socialization and studying, and—”
“Suites? You have suites? Ooh, I want one of those instead.”
“Suites are designed to accommodate four to six students.”
“Perfect. I’ll have plenty of room to spread out.” I lean back against the sun-warmed sandstone again and offer a shrug. “Since you refused to let me go back to Tres Búhos, I’ll also need new rock-climbing gear. Shoes, harness, chalk bag, ropes—”
“Miss Milan, you can’t possibly expect—”
“Cams, carabiners, hexes, guidebooks to the local routes, a crash pad for bouldering—”
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit… ridiculous?”
“It’s an intense sport, Dr. Devane, and safety is a priority. The Academy has a duty to protect me. Isn’t that what you said?”
Devane opens his mouth, then closes it, sighing loudly through his nose. He’s caving, I can feel it. Supremely annoyed at me, but caving.
But just in case he needs a little more incentive to agree to my demands, I add, “That’s if I decide to enroll. It’s a lot of pressure, Doc. I’ve taken exactly three college classes, and none of them were magickal. I’m not sure I’m cut out for campus life.”
“Really? Which classes?”
“Physics, business accounting, and art history.”
“What was your major?”
“I… I didn’t get that far. I was supposed to go to school at Arizona State, but after my parents passed away, I had to reprioritize the finances. So I ended up taking a few classes at Santa Clarita Community, but I couldn’t make the payments. I had to stop after the first semester.”
He watches a moment longer, but it’s not pity I see in his eyes, thankfully. It’s understanding. Sometimes there’s a subtle difference, but right now, I’m glad Dr. Devane seems to know it.
“It’s going to take some string-pulling,” he says, exasperated, but I’ll arrange it with the headmistress. You’ll have your suite and your clothes and your rock-climbing equipment.” Then, with a brief smile I was beginning to fear I’d never see again, “Is there anything else you require, your highness?”
“Actually, yes.” I take a deep breath, trying to find the words. After all my comparatively ridiculous demands, I don’t know why this one makes me shy and uncomfortable, but I just can’t bear the thought of him saying no.
Tea was always my parents’ thing. With our shared connection to magick basically severed, our love of tea was the one thing that bonded us more than anything else.
Tucking my hair behind my ear, I say, “I’d appreciate a few supplies for making tea. A glass kettle, mesh strainers, a few herbs and spices, and just a couple of basic loose teas. Black, green… I can work with anything, really.”
“Of course,” he says without hesitation. “It’s important to us that you feel at home on campus.”
My sigh of relief quickly turns into a laugh. “See, you act all tough and rule-followy, but deep down, you’re a big softy, Doc.”
I stretch up on my toes, press a kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you,” I whisper, placing my hand against his chest.
He wraps a hand around my wrist, his thumb stroking my skin. Warmth emanates through his shirt and tie, his heart hammering against my palm, his gray eyes so sultry and inviting it’s all I can do not to stretch up and kiss him again. On the mouth.
..
“Miss Milan, about this…” He clears his throat, awkwardly taking a step back and breaking our connection. “Once we arrive on campus, well need to be more… appropriate.”
“Appropriate?”
“You’ll call me Dr. Devane, or professor if you’d like, but not Doc. And I’ll call you Miss Milan, or whichever name you prefer. We can’t…” He gestures between us, the space now feeling like a gulf. “We can’t touch. We can’t be overly friendly in any way.”
“Okay, well, ouch.” I lower my eyes, my cheeks burning with shame. He should’ve kicked me in the ribs. It would’ve hurt less. “But if that’s the way you want it—”
“It’s not the way I want it, Miss Milan.” He slips a finger beneath my chin, tilting my face up toward his. “There’s something… quite compelling…” But then he blinks and shakes his head, as if I’ve cast some ridiculous spell on him, and steps back once again. “It’s the way it has to be. You’ll be the subject of enough fascination and idle gossip, and I’ll be one of your professors. I can’t give the impression of preferential treatment. I must maintain clear boundaries, and I expect you to do the same.”
I wave away his words as if it’s all just fine and dandy, as if I totally understand. And I do, logically. But I can’t say it doesn’t suck.
For a minute there, Dr. Devane was almost starting to feel like a friend. Like a super-hot, older man friend who might want a little something more…
Shoring up my strength, I force a smile. “Well, no point standing around here talking all day. Let’s get this prophecy party started.”
“You’re certain?”
“Absolutely certain. I want to help.”
He can’t hide the relief in his eyes.
Nodding, he gestures toward the stone steps. “Go ahead, then. I’m right behind you.”
“Is there a password or anything?”
“Only your desire to enter the Academy grounds in peace. If you’ve got malicious intent, you’ll be stopped at the barrier. Captured, to be precise.”
“Good thing I have a jail-breaking, fear-spelling, mental magicks professor on my side.” I offer him one last grin, mostly to show him there are no hard feelings about the boundaries thing, but also to show my gratitude. Not just for saving my life—for all of it.
Whether Dr. Devane realizes it or not, bringing me to Lala’s was a gift. The shower, the delicious meal, the chance to breathe and laugh a little and soak up the sunshine after spending so many days in that dank, grimy hellhole…
Whatever’s waiting for me at the Academy, however my life will change after I step through its magickal gates, I know I’ll remember my last day on this side of the world as a good one, thanks to him.
“Miss Milan?”
“Stevie. You can call me Stevie.”
Without waiting for a reply, I turn away from him and ascend the stairs. The magick intensifies as I get closer to the archway. It’s similar to the magick surrounding Lala’s house, but instead of gentle fireflies dancing across my skin, this magick is pure white light, enveloping me until I’m literally glowing.
I can feel it assessing me, like a sentient being. And then, just as I’m getting used to it, it releases its grip. The portal widens ahead, revealing a glowing pathway into the campus.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath. And then, carrying nothing but the clothes on my back, a belly full of tacos, and the fond memories of a life that no longer exists, I step through.
Thirteen
STEVIE
Now that I’m presumed dead, the population of Tres Búhos is down to 1,287 souls. We’ve got a library, one grocery store, and a credit union. There’s an ice cream parlor that does buck-a-scoop nights, and down on Hidalgo Road, a drive-in movie theater that shows back-to-back 80s flicks on Fridays.
It’s a small town, sure. The kind they write country songs about. But I never realized just how small it was until this very moment, standing at a fountain in the center of the Arcana Academy campus.
My entire hometown and everyone in it could fit on this one square. There are more people milling around the fountain than I’ve ever seen gathered in one place before, including the time at Sancho’s Bar & Grill when Dave Staub won two grand on a lotto scratch-off and offered to pick up everyone’s tab for the whole weekend.
Massive, gothic-style buildings dominate the landscape, like something out of a black-and-white horror movie. You’d think the architecture would look out of place in the desert, but everything is built right into the surroundings, as if the campus was carved from the sandstone itself.
The fountain is a work of art—a giant marble sculpture representing all four suits of the Tarot. The chalice is in the center, with a wand and sword crossed behind it. A pentacle hovers above, slowly rotating as water overflows from the chalice.
I must look like a total tourist with my mouth hanging open, but I don’t care. I can’t even wrap my head around how amazing this place is.
“The campus was modeled after the original Arcana Academy in Great Britain,” Dr. Devane says, appearing right behind me. If anyone noticed our sudden arrival at the fountain, no one seems to think it’s odd.
Devane places his hand on the small of my back—in an appropriate, professorial sort of way, of course—and leads me around the fountain.
“The architects had to make modifications for the desert environment,” he continues. “So what we’re left with is an old-world-meets-old-west motif. An odd mix, perhaps, but it works.”
“It’s breathtaking.”
“You were right at Lala’s,” he says. “The Academy is taller in person.”
I laugh, slowly turning in place to take everything in. It’s impossibly large and sprawling, buildings and rock formations and saguaros and sculptures intermingling like one big natural landscape. There are so many nooks and crannies to explore.
“Is the Great Britain campus still there?” I ask, jogging to catch up as Devane leads us away from the fountain. “I thought this was the only Arcana Academy.”
“Oh, no. There are six campuses throughout the world, though ours is the largest, and one of only three still actively teaching students, along with Paris and Copenhagen. Buenos Aires and Tokyo are used as magickal research facilities only, and the original campus in London now serves as headquarters for APOA—the Association for the Preservation of the Occult Arts.”
“What’s that?”
“They work as both archivists and public relations managers, essentially. It’s APOA’s job to ensure that our traditions, history, culture, and important artifacts are preserved for future generations, as well as to interface with the non-magickal public to try to help people better understand us.”
“Sounds like they could use some more help in that department.”
“They’re chronically understaffed. Many of our graduates do go on to work for APOA, but it’s not as hands-on as some of the other magickal careers out there, and infinitely less exciting. Here, this way.”
I follow him down a wide stone pathway lined with blooming zinnia and hedgehog cactus flowers in bright pinks, oranges, and reds. Students and teachers pass us by, many of them nodding or smiling at Dr. Devane, most offering me the same greeting. We’re all moving too fast for me to home in on any individual energy signatures, but the overall vibe I’m getting is one of excitement and happiness, the eager anticipation that comes with the start of a new school year.
A gentle breeze caresses my skin, the normally blazing afternoon sun muted to a pleasant glow. At this time of day, the heat should be oppressive, but it feels balmy and relaxing, much lighter than it did in the desert at Lala’s.
“How am I not melting right now?” I ask.
“We have our air- and water-blessed students to thank for the temperature control,” Dr. Devane explains. “Though we do try to keep our interference with the natural environment to a minimum. It’s important that we have access to the elements in their purest form, since the natural world is such
a core component of our magick.”
“Are we even in Arizona anymore?” Looking around at the vast campus, I can’t figure out where this place would fit on a map. There are saguaros, which only grow in the southwestern part of the state and into Mexico. But other than that, I have no reference points.
“We are, though not the Arizona most people know. The Academy, just like our counterparts overseas, exists in a sort of middle space between the earthly realm and the astral. That’s why we use the portals—we literally can’t walk or drive off the campus.”
“I guess Uber’s out of the question then.”
“Actually, there is an astral version that can travel through the portals, but you don’t need to worry about that just yet. Escorts at all times moving to and from campus—remember that, Miss Milan.”
“Stevie.”
Dr. Devane smiles. “Stevie. Right. And I meant what I said earlier.” He lowers his voice, leaning in just a little closer. “You’re in danger out there. It’s best if you stay put for the time being—keep your off-campus wanderings to an absolute minimum.”
“No problem. Especially now that I see how much crazy stuff there is to explore here. I’ll keep myself busy for at least a month.”
He laughs, a sound like the ocean, a sound that makes me wish we didn’t have to have those pesky professional boundaries.
“You’ll receive a full tour of the campus shortly,” he says. “First, we need to head to the administration building to get you officially checked in. Our semester begins on October first, so you’ll have a couple of days to settle in, shop for your supplies, maybe make a few friends. Sound good?”
I nod, because—much to my own surprise—it does sound good.
“Here we are,” he says, stopping in front of a huge building that dominates the landscape—the looming spires I saw through the portal.
