by Theresa Kay
One potion has a bit of gold in it, and the other two do not. I’m pretty sure fertilizer potions don’t have gold in them, so I put the first potion off to the side then pick up the other two, one in each hand. Now I have a fifty-fifty chance of picking correctly. Will I get another try if I activate the wrong potion? Probably not.
But how do I figure out the right one?
Tasting them probably isn’t a good idea, but smelling them could help.
I gently pull the stoppers out of the bottles and wave each one under my nose. One has a distinct earthy smell, and the other something more chemical. The earthy one then. I put the other bottle back in the basket and place the one I picked on the table in front of me.
This is a potion I’ve successfully activated before, so that’s good. But it was only once, and I had Dr. Nikiforov there walking me through it step by step.
I glance at the tester and then down to my wristband. Damn I wish I knew if I could use the method Penny taught me. She said it was a normal method, just more advanced, so it should be safe, right? I curse myself for not working any harder on learning the method I was taught in class. After I realized how much easier Penny’s method was for me, I stuck with it, and it’s never mattered before now.
I suppose I don’t have much choice though, do I? If the method I know isn’t good enough to get me through the entry test, I can’t imagine I’d do very well in the tournament itself.
I pick up the bottle and take a deep breath, focusing on the liquid sloshing around inside. Tugging gently at the magic in my chest, I let it flow out through my fingers and into the potion. At the same time, I pull a little magic from the air, sending a little of that in to mix with my internal magic. Hopefully that will look close enough to the normal activation method.
A few seconds later, the potion flashes bright green and then fades into a deep-hunter green. The color looks right, but I’m still not completely certain.
The tester pulls out a small pot filled with dirt from under the table. She pushes the pot across the table to me and jerks her chin.
I guess I’m supposed to use the potion. Taking a deep breath, I pull the stopper and tilt the bottle until a few drops land in the dirt. And wait.
Nothing happens.
My stomach twists. Maybe I didn’t use enough? I tilt the bottle again, this time getting more of a splash than a drip into the pot.
Still nothing.
My body goes cold as fear crawls into my stomach. This can’t be it. I can’t fail the first damn test put in front of me. Potions is one of my better subjects. If I can’t pass this section, do I even have a chance at the others? I have to pass all four portions to get into the tournament.
What if I don’t make it into the tournament?
I glance up at the tester, looking for direction, anything, but her expression is blank, offering me nothing at all. But . . . my bracelet hasn’t turned red, and she doesn’t seem to have failed me yet either.
My hand is shaking now as I move to pour a little more potion into the pot.
This time the result is immediate. An orange daylily shoots up from the dirt, coming into full bloom within seconds. Thank goodness. I release a slow breath of relief.
The tester checks something off on her tablet and then reaches across the table. “Your wristband please.”
I extend my arm so she can reach the band, and she runs a finger over it while she mutters what must be a spell under her breath. The band flashes green. Well, that’s good to know. Even if I fail a testing portion I won’t know until the tester checks my band, so failing won’t be an automatic thing if I take one wrong step. Maybe that means I would have other chances if I get something wrong?
“You may move to the next station,” the woman says.
I give her a shaky smile. “Thanks.”
No response, but then again, I didn’t really expect one. I move on to the next station.
This time, my tester is an older man. He’s in the same generic black suit that screams OSA, but at least he has a tiny smile for me. He checks my wristband, taps his finger on his tablet, and then says, “Light spell.”
I let out a small sigh of relief. A light spell is easy enough and doesn’t require any sort of props or supplies. Plus, I’m intimately familiar with light spells at this point.
I pull up some magic as I whisper the incantation, and a small ball of light appears in my hand.
“Now hold it,” the man says. He makes a motion with his hands that I recognize from the spellbreaking book Basil gave me. Am I supposed to hold the light against him trying to break it? Or is he just looking for seams or something like that?
The man’s brow furrows in concentration, and I can feel his magic creeping along the edges of my light spell. Interesting. His magic jabs at the spell, looking for weak spots, but my light holds steady. My magic, however, is not so steady and is itching to lash out at the strange magic wrapping around the spell in my hand. I grit my teeth and force the power back. I’m sure blowing up the tester would definitely fail me.
After about thirty seconds, the man withdraws his magic. He studies the light in my palm and waits. For what I’m not quite sure.
Five minutes later, he makes that motion with his hands again. This time, he closes his eyes as he comes after my spell. The attempted intrusions are stronger, steadier, but still my light never falters even though every bit of my mental strength is tied up in preventing my magic from retaliating against his attack.
He smiles at me. “Very good,” he says. “You may release it.”
I release the spell—and a relieved breath—into the air and extend my arm toward the tester. If the first one needed my band, this one will too.
He runs a finger over the band, and the band flashes green again.
“You may move to the next station,” he says.
I release another slow breath. Two down, two to go.
The next tester is another woman. She gives me a warm smile and gestures to the seat across from her. “Please, have a seat.”
Did they arrange the testers in order of improving attitude? I return her smile and sit down.
She checks my band, checks her tablet, and passes a sheet of paper that’s folded in half across the table to me.
“You’ll need to place a locking ward on this paper so that it cannot be unfolded,” the tester says. She tilts her head toward a cup filled with pens and pencils. “You may use any writing utensil you feel comfortable with.”
And here’s the true test for me. Can I make a ward on the first try without making any mistakes? I can’t imagine they’re going to let me erase anything and start over, so I might as well use pen since they make thicker, smoother lines.
I select a black one with a medium-point tip and twirl the pen between my fingers a few times as I stare down at the paper.
Locking wards have plenty of variations since they’re the most common type of ward, so what’s the simplest one I can think of?
The one from my first day of Wards class appears in my head. I suppose I can’t get much simpler than that.
I take a deep breath and steady my hand against the paper. A circle is the base of every ward, so I start with that. Of course, circles aren’t difficult, but next up comes the lines, and if the angles aren’t just right, my ward won’t work. I let a tiny, tiny bit of magic flow into my hand as I picture the angles I need to draw in my mind. I’ve never tried to let my magic guide me when drawing a ward, only traced one afterward to see if I did it correctly, but I’m hoping this will work. I let the magic guide my hand as much as possible, and the lines form quickly under my pen. They look good enough. I trace over them. The magic says they’re right.
Now comes the hard part: infusing it with power.
I release a little magic into the center of the ward, letting it fill the figure from the inside outward. The ward holds. It feels right, but I don’t know for sure. I glance up at the tester. “I think I’m done.”
She raises an ey
ebrow, but doesn’t say anything as she pulls the now warded piece of paper toward her. First, she studies the ward, and then she picks at the edge of the paper trying to unfold it. Her efforts are unsuccessful.
The ward is good. I did it!
The tension in my chest releases, and I let out another slow breath. This entry test is a lot more nerve wracking than I expected.
My band flashes green again as the tester runs a finger over it before she marks me off. “Please continue to the last testing station.”
I can’t help the smile on my face. I’ve gotten past the difficult ones. All that’s left is the sigil test, and sigils are almost as natural as breathing to me. I’m still smiling when I sit down at the next station.
The last tester is a scrawny, grumpy looking man, his expression the worst of the bunch. His lips are pursed and his nose wrinkled as if in disgust. He looks like a weasel. He goes through the same motions as the others and then shoves a piece of paper across the table. “Awareness,” is all he says.
I grab a pen from the cup and sketch out the sigil in strong, bold lines. No hesitation. No second guessing myself. A smile rests on my lips as I draw the final line of the sigil, and its true name echoes through my mind.
Awaken.
The corner of the paper flutters as if caught in a gust of wind then settles again. Weird. I push the paper toward the tester.
His eyes are narrowed, and there’s something in his face that I don’t like. He studies the sigil, his eyes tracing over the lines, then purses his lips and nods. “Very well, then.”
I reach across so he can register my band. He runs his fingers over it, muttering under his breath. The band does nothing. No flash of green. Nothing at all.
The tester’s gaze darts up to me and then back to the band. He performs the spell a second time with the same result.
“Have you tampered with your band?” he finally asks.
“No,” I say. “It worked just fine at the other testing station, and it’s not like I had a ton of time walking between there and here.”
He scowls and goes through the spell for a third time.
This time the band does light up.
In bright, bright red.
“You cheated,” the tester says.
Twenty minutes later, I’m sitting in Burke’s office with Burke, the tester guy whose name I still don’t know, and a female OSA agent I don’t recognize. Not surprisingly, no one is smiling, including me. I’m more pissed than anything. I may be crap at some things, but definitely not sigils. There’s no way I could have—or would have—cheated on that stupid test.
Most of the attention in the room is focused on Burke where he sits blank faced with his elbows resting on his desk and his fingers steepled together. I guess that means he’s the one who gets to make the call which should make me feel relieved. It doesn’t. His position is already precarious, and things could get so much worse for him. Is he going to be willing to take the risk of going against OSA on this?
“I didn’t cheat,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. I wait for Burke to meet my gaze. “I have to be in the tournament to get my rank up, to stay here. I wouldn’t jeopardize that, and you know it.”
The tester speaks up. “Her band flashed red. There’s no mistaking what that means.”
The female OSA agent shares a look with Burke and holds up a hand. “Now, Agent Hill, we’ve had instances of faulty bands before. Perhaps the spell wasn’t anchored correctly?”
My eyes widen. Nice to know someone from OSA is on my side.
“Not possible,” replies Hill. “My station was the last, and she made it through the others without issue.”
Burke doesn’t say a word, not to defend me, not to interject, not even to question. I glare at him. Whatever his issue with OSA and with me, he knows I wouldn’t do this. Why isn’t he saying anything? He almost looks like he’s waiting for something . . .
Raised voices sound from the outer office as Seth tries to prevent someone from entering. He’s not successful. Seconds later, Agent Callahan comes barging in, his face stormy.
“I warned you, Burke,” he says. “If you can’t control your students, then—”
“Oh do shut up,” says Basil who stomps in behind Callahan, hair wild and eyes sparking with anger. I’ve never seen an expression like that on my tutor’s face. Ever. He’s normally so happy and composed, and right now he’s just . . . not. “What is the meaning of all this? Why wasn’t I notified of this meeting? As Head of Admissions, I—”
“Consider this your notification,” says Callahan in a snide voice. “One of your first-year students was caught cheating during the entry test.” His gaze goes to Burke. “We’re here to discuss her expulsion.”
Expulsion? I swallow. Loudly. My anger drains away to be replaced by a bleak kind of fear. If I get kicked out, what will happen to my parents? To me?
“Selene didn’t cheat,” says Basil. “It’s simply impossible. Your talisman must be defective.” He sends a scathing look at Hill. “Or the reveal spell was performed incorrectly.”
“Now, Mr. Kostis . . .” starts Callahan.
“This can all be settled very easily. A truth spell. I have the necessary components in my office. Shouldn’t take much more than ten minutes to whip one up,” says Basil. He walks over to stand behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “Selene is a bright young woman who has earned her place here. You there . . .” He points at Hill. “The test you administered before the malfunction, she passed it correct?”
“Yes,” says Hill almost hesitantly. “Her sigil work was quick, efficient, and she drew a perfect representation of the required sigil.” He pauses. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that her band flashed red.”
Basil huffs. “Aren’t your talismans set to flash during the test if cheating is involved?”
“Well . . . yes,” says Hill.
“And did that happen?”
“No. But there was an . . . oddity,” replies Hill.
The female OSA agent raises a brow.
“Right after she finished, a breeze lifted up the edge of the paper, but there was no breeze in the room,” continues Hill. “I believe it could have been the product of whatever spell she used to cheat.”
Basil scoffs. “So, it is your opinion that a spelled breeze of some sort assisted Selene in drawing a sigil? How exactly do you propose that worked?”
Hill crosses his arms over his chest. “I, uh, I’m not sure.”
“Of course.” Basil rolls his eyes. “Rather than bother with a truth spell, we should have Selene retake the test right here, right now. With all of us in the room she couldn’t possibly cheat.” He glances at Callahan. “Would that satisfy you, Agent Callahan?”
Callahan narrows eyes but gives a stiff nod.
Burke withdraws a piece of paper from his desk drawer and then pushes the paper across to me. I grab a pen and start the first line of the Awareness sigil.
Basil grabs my wrist. “Quiet. Draw the Quiet sigil.”
“But the test required that she draw Awareness,” says Hill.
“No,” says Basil. “The test requires that she demonstrate proficiency in drawing a sigil. It doesn’t matter which one. Besides, if she did cheat, she won’t be able to do it again if she’s drawing a different sigil.” He nods toward the paper and squeezes my shoulder with one hand. “Go ahead, dear. Draw Quiet.”
I sketch out the sigil, again with long, bold lines. Once I finish the last line, I set the pen down and then rest my hands in my lap.
The female OSA agent moves closer to examine the paper. “She draws without hesitation and with good rhythm.” She looks to Callahan. “I don’t believe she cheated. I think it’s best that we declare the band malfunctioned and allow her to pass.”
“You’re certain?” asks Callahan.
She nods.
“Very well, then,” says Callahan. He turns his attention to me and narrows his eyes. “I’m watching you, Ms. Andras. I think you’
re hiding something. Do not think that today’s events mean that I will be lenient with you on other matters.” He glances pointedly at Basil and then Burke. “No matter who’s protecting you.” Callahan signals Hill. “Go back to the testing center to observe the other tests. Hopefully, there won’t be any more issues today.”
Hill leaves the room, followed by Callahan. The female agent stays behind, leaning against the wall and eyeing me with curiosity until the door closes behind the other agents. “Vivian Ramirez,” she says, holding her hand out as she walks toward me. “I’m one of OSA’s sigils specialists. Tina Anderson has mentioned your name to me, and Desmond requested that I be here for this, and now I can see why.” She tilts her head to the side. “Have you always had such an affinity for sigils? How old were you when you started studying them?”
“I drew my first sigil about three weeks ago,” I say, immediately wanting to take the words back. Burke told me to stay under the radar with OSA, so I’m not so sure telling this woman the truth is the way to go.
Vivian’s eyes widen slightly as her gaze darts to Burke.
He inhales, jaw tense, as if he’s debating. After a few more seconds of silence, in a voice stripped of all inflection he says, “She’s the Andras heir. Helen’s child.”
He’s giving up the pretense that I’m a distant relation? Why? What the hell is going on here?
Burke meets my gaze, an apology written in his eyes.
“Impossible,” says Vivian. “Helen Andras had no children.”
Burke walks around his desk, sits in his chair, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is a disaster.”
Vivian glances back and forth between us. “What the hell is going on, Desmond?”
“If you had any love for Helen at all, what I’m about to tell you cannot make it out of this office,” he responds.
I study the woman more closely. Does this mean she was friends with Helen?
“Don’t tell me,” Vivian says as she sends a pained look in my direction. “I can’t guarantee I can keep your secrets, so don’t tell me anything I can’t bring back to my superiors. I’ll need to be able to answer their questions if I’m to handle the fallout of this.” She massages her temples. “If she’s the Andras heir, where has she been?”
