by Ashia Monet
“I’d never turn down free cake, count me in.”
There’s no way Blythe will be able to keep an eye out for the man while entertaining Jamie and the twins. She might be able to make it work if she lets the twins play Mario Kart while she takes Jamie upstairs. Her bedroom has a view of the backyard and enough stuff to keep Jamie occupied.
Everything will be fine.
Blythe gets the plates from the cabinet as Jamie leans over the sink to wash their hands—except water explodes out of the faucet the moment they turn it on.
Jamie shouts, stumbling back. The water returns to a meager drip.
“That could not have gone worse,” Jamie grumbles. “Like, that was the worst-case scenario.”
Blythe bites back a smile. Water has reacted oddly to Jamie ever since Blythe met them. Magic can be an elusive creature that requires practice and studying to fully tame, and Jamie’s magic is still out of their control.
“Last week you flooded the whole sink at the café,” Blythe says, handing them a towel. “So, technically, you’re getting better.”
“That’s all I aim for. Not good—just better,” Jamie teases.
As they dry themselves, Blythe checks out the window. The backyard is empty.
“Is something wrong?” Jamie asks.
“Hmm?” Blythe feigns an innocent rhythm in her voice. Could she tell Jamie the truth? Sure. But why scare them unnecessarily? “No, no way. I’m just gonna give the twins their cake and we can eat upstairs.”
Blythe tells the twins not to answer the door if someone rings, but they’re too invested in their cake to care about doorbells anymore.
So Blythe leads Jamie upstairs, opens the door to her bedroom, and watches Jamie’s jaw drop. “Whoa,” they gasp.
“Good whoa or bad whoa?” Blythe asks.
“Aesthetic whoa.”
Blythe’s chest warms with pride. She makes a lot of art, but her bedroom is one of her best projects yet. From its baby blue walls adorned with fairy lights and floating bookshelves, to her desk lined with Pop Funkos and anime figurines. It is her corner of the world, a mini-museum of Blythe Fulton—especially her camera collection stacked beside her closet.
But Blythe’s magnum opus is where Jamie travels first: her wall of photos, strung up on silver wire, surrounded by twinkling lights. Jamie’s slim fingers graze the pictures as they drink it all in.
“You’re a photographer?” they whisper the word like it is sacred.
Blythe bounces over to their side. “Yep! Amateur but…yeah.”
“Amateur?” Jamie scoffs. “Don’t knock yourself.”
Blythe stares at the photos anew, as if to see them through Jamie’s eyes. Some are selfies: sixth-grade-Blythe with permed straight hair and pink braces; her at Comic-Con as Sailor Moon; her holding a bi-flag with her parents during last year’s Pride parade.
Others are photos of old friends she’s fallen out of contact with, neighbors who used to babysit her, teachers who inspired her.
They’re more than photos. They are memories of places and people she has left behind.
Blythe’s never shown this wall to anyone who didn’t live with her. But when she catches the awe in Jamie’s expression, she has a feeling she’s picked a good person to open up to.
These photos mean the world to her. She never imagined anyone else could see value in them.
“They’re beautiful,” Jamie says.
“…thanks,” she says, because she’s too dumbfounded to think of anything more.
Jamie doesn’t even realize. They point to a Polaroid of a constellation. “What’s up with these guys?” they ask. “You have a bunch of pictures of stars, but most of them are of these lil’ round boys.”
Blythe has been drawn to the moon and the stars ever since she was young, but there that is one part of the night sky that calls to her the loudest.
“That’s Calyvorra’s Crown,” she says. “It’s my favorite constellation. And it comes with a really good story.”
Jamie smiles down at her. “I love a good story.”
“Well, Calyvorra was the last king of the Black Veins. She’s the one who gave her political, reigning power over to the Sages and ended the rule of the monarchy. People say that on the night she died, her body was carried into the sky on tendrils of moonlight, where she became that constellation. And she’s been watching over magicians ever since.
“It’s a ring of seven stars, impossible to spot if even one of those stars is missing. But if they’re aligned and shining in perfect harmony, you can glimpse it. A perfect crown above the horizon. A halo in the sky.”
Jamie’s mouth has formed a small o of shock. “Holy shit,” they breathe.
Blythe nods. She’s told that story to the twins many, many times, and the two of them always have a similar reaction. But it never gets old. “Yeah,” Blythe says. “It’s pretty cool.”
Thinking of the twins reminds her of the man—the one who could very well still be outside the house.
She makes her way to the window as casually as she can, pushing aside the curtains. The backyard is still empty.
Jamie wanders her room, drinking in everything they see. “Actually, while we’re talking about magic, I was thinking about something earlier,” they say. “What’s your magic? I’ve never seen you use it.”
Blythe hesitates. “Yeah, uh…I…I don’t really have my magic yet.”
A normal magician would turn up their nose at such a thing, but Jamie just frowns a bit. “Don’t people normally come into their magic around puberty?”
Blythe inhales slow. “I’m a late bloomer.”
“Eh, I’m sure it’ll happen eventually. Is that why you’re so secretive?”
Blythe barks a laugh. “You think I’m secretive because I can’t use magic yet?”
Jamie’s face flushes. “I mean, ok, when you say it, it sounds stupid. I just meant like, y’know, you…don’t talk about personal stuff. Which is fine, I totally get that. But I just…” They sigh. “Okay, I’m rambling again. I guess what I’m just trying to ask is…if you’re doing okay.”
Oh. The words are surprisingly sweet. Blythe feels guilty for thinking something like that—Jamie has never been anything but kind to her. But Blythe can’t say she’s been entirely kind back.
“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I’m…really glad you care enough to make sure that I’m okay. I’ve just been…dealing with a lot lately.”
An explanation would probably be the best way to fix this. Plus, Jamie deserves it after putting up with Blythe’s nonsense for so long.
“Remember that day I was super distracted?” she asks.
When Jamie nods, Blythe describes the situation as best she can: the roof, the Trident Republic, everything. Throughout all of it, Jamie’s expression grows increasingly concerned. Their eyes worry over Blythe’s face.
“What the hell?” they whisper. “Are you okay?”
Nobody has asked Blythe that yet. She realizes, slowly, that she does not have an answer. “I don’t know,” she admits.
Jamie takes a tentative step forward but they stop. As if they want to offer Blythe sympathy, but they don’t quite know how to offer a shoulder to someone who has pushed them away so many times.
Blythe has done this to herself, she supposes.
“So now you’re…moving to some secret magic city,” they say instead.
“Basically.”
“How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know,” she admits. “The Sages said until everything is ‘safe’. But that’s not a time frame. All I know is that me and all the other Guardians are going to be living in Frost Glade for the foreseeable future.”
Blythe has had multiple conversations like this with people she considered friends. This is the part where people realize Blythe won’t be a part of their life. This is the part where people begin to lose interest in her.
Because Blythe is good at making friends—she’s confident, outgoing, and pre
tty cute—but keeping them is a game she never learned how to play.
“Oh,” Jamie says. “Well, I don’t know if you want to hear this, and I know we just met a month ago but…” their voice trails off. “...You’ve done a lot for me.”
Words escape her. But Jamie isn’t finished. “Before my moms adopted me, my family sucked. They pulled a lot of shit. Like, I’m almost positive they knew about magic and just refused to tell me.
“But Kit and Laura, they’re great. They listen, they respect my pronouns, they take me seriously…the only problem is that they’re Common. So, everything I learn about being a magician, everything I learn about myself? I can’t share that with them.”
Their crystal blue eyes don’t stray from Blythe. “You and your family are the first people I can really talk to. You guys get along so well and love each other so much it’s almost cliché. But I…I feel so lucky to be included in that love and that acceptance.
“When I came into class, you could’ve ignored me. You didn’t have to make friends with me, or give me a job, or introduce me to your family. So, I guess, I’m just saying all that to say…I wish you didn’t have to leave, but I understand why you do. And I’ll miss you.”
Blythe takes them in, this pleasant stranger she has adopted into her life. Jamie is so sweet. So, so, sweet. Sweeter than Blythe deserves, even.
Maybe, if Blythe had more time, and maybe, if Blythe were better at keeping people around, the two of them could really have something.
But Blythe has no time. And she doesn’t know how to open up to people either.
So all she says is, “I’ll miss you, too.”
Jamie nods, their gaze falling on anything that isn’t Blythe’s face. Blythe could say more. She should say more. Not just to be grateful, but also to tell Jamie that there is another reason why she gave herself the job of introducing them to magic.
That reason is called “the Erasers”. The Erasers are not violent people and they do not make threats. They do not harass or even speak.
They watch.
Magicians would only see them through the corners of their eyes. The Erasers are silent sentries, invisible to Commons. But they are there, and they see you even when you do not see them. They are waiting for you to break their rules.
If you speak about magic to a Common, if you show them an enchanted item, if you give them even the slightest idea of magic, the Erasers will come. And they will take you.
Erasers don’t drag you into a truck and drive away. One minute you’re there, the next, you are gone. No one remembers you, anything you’ve made, or anything you’ve done.
You’ve been erased.
They are the reason no Common would ever believe magic exists. They are the boogeymen of magician culture. And if Blythe hadn’t seen them herself, she would never believe they were real.
The Erasers are also the reason her family has moved so often. Blythe has memories of playing in parks, or playgrounds, and glimpsing the Erasers from afar. Her parents would snatch her up from the slides or the swings, racing back home to pack their bags, and driving as far as they could.
They traveled from home to home, just to keep the Erasers off their trail. It was only once they reached Washington that the Erasers disappeared.
No more men in suits watching from afar. No more nights spent hurriedly packing suitcases.
Blythe never found out why the Erasers followed her family. But it is a disheartening story that Jamie does not need to hear.
Blythe peeks behind the curtain again out of habit. At the end of their driveway, near the opening to the street, stands a figure in a brimmed hat.
The man has returned.
Blythe’s heart thunders in her ears. He looks like he’s holding something to his ear.
“What’s up?” Jamie asks.
Blythe’s mouth feels dry. After everything Jamie just confessed to her, she owes them this.
“There’s a man outside,” she says. “It’s my second time seeing him tonight. He was in the backyard earlier.”
Jamie is at her side in an instant. They push aside the curtains and lean into the glass.
“I don’t know who he is,” Blythe stammers. “Or if I should even do anything.”
Jamie studies him. It’s like a plan is forming in their mind. “Let’s go scare ‘im,” they say.
Blythe’s jaw drops. “What?! Jamie—” But it’s too late. Jamie is already running out of her room, footsteps clunking down the stairs.
“Jamie!” Blythe yells, darting after them. “This is the whitest idea you’ve ever had!”
She slides into the kitchen as Jamie throws open the back door, their form disappearing into the darkness of the backyard.
Blythe can barely see them hop onto the fence in one fluid motion, leaning forward to see past the edge of the Fultons’ property.
The lawn gives under Blythe’s sneakers as she joins them, bracing her feet against the lowest wooden panel to hoisting herself up on the fence.
The man still lingers in the distance. His face is obscured, but his gaze feels like slime on Blythe’s skin. He is watching her.
Something bronze glints on his wrist. The air shifts and hums with an energy Blythe recognizes—it’s the energy of magic.
The air morphs into a frenzied wind that is anything but natural. It blows against the man, his form dissipating into tiny pieces, carried away, out of sight by the air itself, until there is no man at all, only a fading summer breeze. And then there is nothing at all.
“Ha!” Jamie yells. “We got him!”
“We literally just looked at him,” Blythe grumbles.
Jamie is already plopping back down onto the ground. “He’s still gone.”
But Blythe doesn’t understand why he was here in the first place. Or what he wanted. But he could return, just like the Trident Republic could return to her mind, along with that melody. Her stomach curls at the thought.
Two forms are huddled in the doorway, outlined by the yellow kitchen lights.
“Who the hell was that?” Lena shouts.
Blythe’s jaw drops. “What the fuck?! Watch your language!”
She has to coax the twins back inside with lies, crafting a story about Jamie thinking they saw someone outside.
When her parents return, Blythe will tell them the truth. But besides locking their doors and making sure the house is secure, there is not much the Fultons can do.
Now, Blythe is almost glad she’s leaving. The Trident Republic can put her life in danger without harming her family too. And maybe that’s all that matters.
Jamie and Blythe settle in the kitchen while the twins wreck havoc in the living room, the disturbance making them shout louder and run faster.
Jamie pulls up a YouTube video about elusive teen heartthrob Joshua Hoffman, a celebrity who rarely appears in any pictures or real-life events.
Blythe loves conspiracies theories. Especially ones about this kid. “He’s like a celebrity cryptid,” she says.
Jamie snorts. “I never thought I’d hear the words ‘celebrity cryptid’ in my lifetime but fate had other plans, I guess.”
Blythe can’t help but chuckle. Something about the sensation of laughter in her chest makes her relax into her seat.
Something is waiting for her out there, past the safe bubble of her family, the Full Cup, her home. She doesn’t know what, but she can feel it. She can’t escape the reality of it, just as she can’t escape the Trident Republic or Frost Glade.
The Blythe Fulton who returns to this house will not be the Blythe Fulton who left it.
But for now, her parents are having a romantic evening, her sisters are screaming in the living room, and she is watching conspiracy theories beside someone she could almost consider a friend.
For now, Blythe is okay.
Three
The Full Cup is understandably empty. No one goes out for coffee when rain is pouring from the sky.
It is a dull, stormy Friday, and the winds g
row stronger with each passing hour. Blythe’s parents are taking inventory in the back, like they do every Friday.
Lily and Lena are finally on summer vacation, which means it’s their job to clean the tables and chairs. Instead, they’re shoulder-to-shoulder at a table, smiling and poking at Lena’s tablet.
The TV is an easy hum in the stillness. “No new developments from Electric City or the Trident Republic. The Sages have remained silent…”
Jamie is getting more bored with every minute. They insist they can juggle, and when Blythe only cocks a suspicious eyebrow, they prove it by keeping five apples in the air for about three seconds before they all bounce to the floor. The twins applaud anyway.
“You know you have to pay for those now, right?” Blythe asks.
Jamie sighs. “Yeah, I didn’t think this through.”
“It’s okay,” Blythe laughs. “We can just conveniently forget to take stock.”
The wind howls as they clean up the apples. Blythe pays it no mind until something groans, a sickening, echoing sound, just outside the window.
She looks up just as a force crashes to the ground, hard enough to shake through Blythe’s sneakers.
Lily jumps with a scream, spooking Lena, whose head whips to the window behind her. Jamal and Amber’s footsteps approach from the back room.
Blythe rushes over to the window, peering out of the glass. The pouring rain blankets the street in grey. The wind is so fierce, it pushes the trees almost parallel to the ground, ripping their branches off.
It’s no wonder that the Full Cup’s neon sign has fallen into the road and blinked into death.
“Holy shit!” Blythe yells. That sign was on a sturdy metal pole; it would take a storm from hell to bring it down.
Lena peeks under Blythe’s arm. “Dad,” she gasps. “The sign fell down!”
Jamal curses under his breath as he joins them, leaning into the glass. “How the hell are we gonna get that fixed…?”
“Insurance?” Blythe asks.
The lights flicker, blanketing the café in black before resurrecting again. The TVs stutter with static, their screens blinking in and out.
“The Trident Republic in Electric City—Electric City—Trident Republic—Electric City—”
