“Charles is loyal to the Shadowguard,” I explain through huffs of breath. I’m careful to keep most of my focus glued on my opponent. “He wouldn’t openly disagree with the Head Minister’s declaration unless he has a good reason.”
“What do you think he knows?” Logan jabs. I block and counter. I nearly squeal with glee when I, once again, make contact. By my count, I’m up one point.
“My guess?” We circle each other like hawks about to lock talons. “One of the Guardians who came to my rescue said something.”
“They wouldn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know them. They wouldn’t go against my father’s orders.”
“Not even Andrew?” The twenty-two-year-old is an active Guardian. He’s loyal to the Shadowguard, but his youth could make him more willing to speak out if he thinks something is wrong or unjust. He doesn’t have years of blind submission under his belt yet.
“Not even Andrew,” Logan confirms. “He may question orders, but he won’t act against them.”
“Then I have no idea,” I tell him. “But Charles must know something for him to think the Head Minister isn’t telling the truth.”
He doesn’t reply.
We stop talking and refocus on the match. Logan and I work to exchange blows, dodging and weaving away when we can, and trying to reduce the number of follow-up blows whenever we are hit.
The match ends when Logan lands a hit to my bicep after a particularly acrobatic dodge.
“Ten,” he puffs, leaning forward to catch his breath. I’m exceptionally happy to finally see he’s broken a sweat during a fight.
As expected, our scores aren’t even close in the end. I only ended up making contact five times, and I’d exerted a lot of energy doing so. My blouse clings to my skin. I tug on the fabric, then move to the shelf filled with clean towels. I retrieve one and blot my face.
Logan’s forearm brushes my shoulder when he reaches past to get a towel of his own. “You lasted longer than I thought,” he tells me, wiping his own face. He begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing a V-neck undershirt.
I avert my eyes before I’m caught admiring the way the fabric sticks to his muscular torso. “Thanks?” I reply sarcastically.
He laughs. “That match took half an hour.”
“What?” I look at the clock and see he’s right. “Wow. I had no idea.”
“You were focused.” He tosses the towel into the “used” basket. That’s a good thing. And you’re getting better at anticipating different attacks.”
“I should be. We fight every day,” I try to minimize his compliment when, inside, I’m thrilled by his approval.
“Want to keep going?” he asks. “Or do you want to go back to your family?”
I contemplate the offer. I’m sure Vivian and Lex want to spend time with me on the eve of my magic awakening, but the idea of going back in front of them and maintaining the lie that’s been weighing me down feels daunting. I don’t know if I can do it. I need a break. Logan was right… I need a distraction.
So, that’s what I choose.
Logan and I continue to spar, breaking periodically to ensure neither of us gets too sweaty. We want to remain presentable for whenever we decide to rejoin my family—whenever that may be.
Logan never suggests an end to our sparring. He’s content to let me choose when we’re done.
Hours pass, and we continue to spar. Logan and I banter throughout the matches. He praises my successes and points out my flaws. But it’s not like usual training sessions. There’s a levity between us that’s normally not there. Dare I say it, we’re both having fun.
Time escapes us, and I realize I’ve never had so much fun sparring. Not even with Lex, and he’s arguably my favorite person on this planet. I expect he or Vivian will arrive at any moment to ask us to return to the parlor as the hour of my birthday approaches, but that never happens.
Logan and I are left on our own, and I’m enjoying myself too much to overthink the lack of interruption.
Suddenly, the clock strikes midnight, and every muscle fiber and nerve ending in my body becomes hyper aware. I lower my arms and inhale deeply, searching myself for any indication that magic now flows through my veins. Nothing feels different.
I bite my bottom lip, using my forearm to wipe the sweat from my forehead. I don’t know if my lack of feeling is normal. Honestly, I don’t know what to expect at all. A tingling sensation? Warmth? People say it’s different for every person, but the consensus is I should feel something.
Logan breathes heavily. His dress shirt was discarded long ago, and despite our effort not to exert ourselves too much, moisture soaks his undershirt.
Without a word, Logan reaches into his back pocket and withdraws his stylus. I had no idea he had it on him, but I shouldn’t be surprised. Guardians are trained not to go anywhere without their magic writing utensil.
But I am even more surprised when Logan crosses the mat to stand in front of me. He holds out his hand, offering me the stylus.
I inhale sharply, and my eyes snap up to meet his. “Are you sure?” Sharing a stylus between Guardians is considered an intimate act.
Not intimate in the romantic sense, but in the binding sense. A stylus has imprints of its owner, and when other Guardians use it, part of that imprint is transferred. Imprints let Guardians to know certain things about one another, like their locations and their state of health. Normally, only Guardians who plan to partner on missions throughout their careers would do such a thing.
Mentors and mentees definitely don’t share such a connection. At least, none that I know of.
“I’m sure,” Logan says without a trace of hesitation. “You and I are allies, and an imprint might not be the worst thing to share while we work together to stop demons from hurting our people.”
Of course…
That makes sense.
Before I chicken out, my fingers wrap around the metal, feeling the warmth left from Logan’s fingers.
This is it.
I exhale.
This is the moment I’ve waited years for. Ever since I learned about Guardians and Shadowguard society, I’ve longed for the chance to draw sigils and fight demons. And this is the second to last step. Accessing my powers, then graduating the academy is all I need to do to achieve my dream.
I grasp the stylus like a pencil and press it to my left arm. “What should I draw?”
“One of the basic sigils you’ve learned in class.” Logan crosses his arms, giving me an encouraging nod. “You can do it.”
I can do it.
Pressing my lips together, I imagine the now-familiar lines of the strength sigil. It was the first one Master Donohue taught us. While most of my classmates actually use their magic to tap into the sigil’s power, I’ve had to be content with practicing how to draw it with pencil and paper.
But not anymore.
Now, I’m eighteen, and I have magic.
With a steady hand, I carefully drag the stylus against my skin.
I should’ve realized something was wrong when blue lines of magic don’t appear. Any time Logan wields his stylus, the lines are there. But I dismiss their absence as nothing more than an oddity.
I finish the pattern. Holding my breath, I wait to feel increased strength coursing through my veins.
Nothing happens.
I frown. Logan’s eyes are on me, but I don’t look up. I don’t want to be distracted.
I try again.
And again, nothing happens.
I attempt a different sigil, but the result is the same.
I hear Logan sigh, and that’s when I acknowledge the truth.
I force myself to look at my mentor. The awkward sympathy I see makes the back of my eyes burn with tears.
I swallow the thick lump in my throat. “I-I’m…” I close my eyes, unable to stomach his pity, but I force myself to choke out the two most horrific and soul-crushing words a hopeful Guardian could ever
utter. “I’m magicless.”
Chapter Four
The second floor of the library is dark and quiet. That’s not surprising considering it’s a Saturday afternoon and most students wouldn’t be caught dead in here on the weekend.
I sit in a plush leather chair located by the back window. The view overlooks the inner courtyard, but I’m too busy wallowing in self-pity to admire it.
All my hopes and dreams crashed and burned last night. I’d rejoined my foster family after failing to draw a sigil, hoping my failure was a fluke—that something was wrong with the stylus or my drawing.
I’d expected Charles and Vivian to help me. Maybe they knew a technique to help me breach the void between me and the powers I was supposed to inherit.
But despite their best effort and hours of trying, I remain magicless.
It’s official.
I’m a failure.
The sharp sound of crisp pages turning catches my attention, but I keep my gaze focused on the deceptively sunny day outside. How dare the weather be bright and cheery? It should be cloudy and somber out of respect for my debilitating defeat.
“Maybe you’re not really eighteen today,” Cortney offers with a hopeful lilt. “Maybe your birth records are wrong.”
Cortney had been wide awake when I finally returned to our dorm early this morning. She’d greeted me with a warm and enthusiastic “happy birthday”, and I’d promptly burst into tears.
Blubbering like a baby, I’d told Cortney what happened. Through choked sobs and a runny nose, I confessed my failure and mourned the loss of a future I’d been dreaming about for years.
Now, I turn and meet my roommate’s warm, reassuring brown eyes, wondering if I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Cortney’s the type of person who will do anything to help a friend. It’d been her idea to search the library for information on reasons adolescents don’t come into their powers on their eighteenth birthday.
Sometimes, it stinks to be a part of a society hidden from humans. I would give anything to just be able to Google my problem and find the answers.
“That seems unlikely,” Peter states from the floor. He’s sprawled out on the carpet, flipping through a tome of his own. I’d given Cortney permission to text the other member of our trio to join us in the library. I’d been too emotional to do anything else.
Thankfully, Peter took the news of my lack of magic in stride. He hadn’t offered me weak platitudes or false encouragement. Instead, he’d wrapped me in a brief, consoling embrace before stepping back and following Cortney’s lead. My friends are searching the massive library for an explanation to my plight while I mope in a chair.
I really don’t deserve them.
“Why?” Cortney challenges Peter. “Aspen’s mom left Shadowguard society. She could’ve manipulated Aspen’s records to keep her hidden or something.”
“The Shadowguard would’ve done a thorough and exhaustive check into Aspen’s background when she was found,” Peter replies knowingly. “If her date of birth had been altered, they would know it.”
I’m not going to lie: the idea the Shadowguard dug so deeply into my history is unnerving. And it makes me doubt they don’t know my mother’s true identity; despite the fact they claim otherwise.
I hear Cortney sigh. “Well, there has to be some explanation.”
“There is,” I mutter. “I don’t have magic.”
“You do,” Cortney insists, refusing to give up on me even though I’ve already given up on myself.
“You wouldn’t have been admitted to St. Michael’s if the Shadowguard believed you lacked magic,” Peter points out, doing his part to try and reassure me. He props himself on one elbow and to meet my eye.
I exhale and close my eyes. “There’s no other explanation.”
“You don’t know that.” Cortney gets to her feet. I open my eyes and see her determined stance. “Come on, Aspen. Don’t give up so easily. Not until we’ve exhausted all hope.”
She’s right.
I know it.
But that doesn’t make this any easier.
To have waited for something for so long only to have it slip through your fingers is heartbreaking. Becoming a Guardian meant everything to me. It gave me purpose, and it was how I planned to learn the truth about my mom. Without those connections, I can’t hope to learn anything more than what people are willing to tell me. Which isn’t much, given my previous experience.
My world feels like it's crumbling down on me, and I don’t have the will to push through the destruction and find the light at the end of the collapsed, pathetic tunnel.
Cortney and Peter watch me. Neither one shows signs of backing down.
I take a breath. For their sake, I will pretend.
I’ll pretend their efforts aren’t pointless. Never mind the fact I’ve never heard of a Guardian’s magic being delayed. In all cases, whenever an adolescent doesn’t develop power on their eighteenth birthday, they never will.
Logic says my friends won’t discover anything to help me, but I won’t begrudge them their optimism. I won’t resent them for caring about me.
“All right,” I dip my head. “I won’t give up. But would you mind if we talk about something else? I’m not really in the mood to look for answers right now.”
“Okay,” Cortney agrees.
“You got it,” Peter seconds.
I offer a weak smile. “Thanks, guys.”
“So, what do you want to do today?” Cortney pivots the conversation easily. “We can have dinner in the city or hang around here. Whatever you want!”
Honestly, I’d rather hide away in my room and sulk in private. But I won’t. I’ve only known Cortney and Peter for a few weeks, but already their friendship means so much to me. Things have been intense since the demon attack in the junkyard, and some of our fellow students have started treating me like a social pariah.
Some say I’m cursed with bad luck while the worse gossip accuses me of working with demons to bring down Shadowguard society. The latter is ridiculous, but the former? Not so much.
I mean… my powers didn’t manifest. That seems pretty unlucky to me.
But through it all, Cortney and Peter have had my back. I won’t spit in the face of their kindness by rejecting their offer.
As it turns out, I don’t have to.
“Unfortunately, Aspen’s busy,” a voice I know all too well interrupts, making me jolt in the chair.
I whip my head around and stare at Logan with wide eyes. He’s standing at the top of the elaborately carved staircase, arms crossed, looking at me with an unreadable expression.
“What are you doing here?” I sound a little breathless and hate myself for it.
Logan barely said two words to me after witnessing my lack of magic. He’d stayed with me while Charles and Vivian tried to help me call the power forward, but he’d lingered in the background, wearing the same unreadable expression he wears now. He didn’t even say anything during the ride back to the academy this morning.
No words of encouragement from a mentor to a mentee, no false hope or promises like the ones Cortney and Peter are offering. He hadn’t said anything.
Now, Logan is here, and I can’t even begin to guess what his game is. But I’m not in the mood to play.
But he doesn’t care. “I have a mission, and you’re coming with me.”
“What?” Not only had our last mission ended horribly, but he still wants me to tag along even though he knows I’m a magic reject? “Why?”
His gaze hardens. “Because I’m your mentor and I say so.”
If I weren’t so shocked by the invitation, I’d roll my eyes. Seriously. “Because I say so” is the most demotivating explanation anyone can ever give.
“Uh, looks like your busy.” Peter shoves himself to his feet. Cortney scrambles to stand beside him.
“Yeah… no worries, Aspen. We can celebrate your birthday another time.” Cortney’s curls bob as she shakes her head, shooting me an encouraging,
though hesitant, smile. “See you later.”
Before I have the chance to object, Peter and Cortney slip past Logan and hurry down the stairs like demons are nipping at their heels. Their footsteps disappear the moment they escape into the hallway.
I’m left alone, dumbfounded by the sudden turn of events. Pulling myself together, I meet Logan’s stare.
“What is this really about?” I cross my arms, bracing myself for whatever he’s about to throw at me.
“Exactly what I said. We’re going on a mission.”
“But…” I shift uncomfortably. “I—I don’t have any magic.”
God, it’s so painful to admit out loud.
“You don’t need magic for this mission.”
He’s lying.
Guardians need magic for every mission.
“So you’re telling me you won’t be using any sigils for this non-magic mission?”
A flash of amusement flickers across his face. “All right. You got me. I’ll be using sigils, and I’ll be drawing them on you, too.”
I shake my head, loathing the idea of having the tantalizing sigils embossed on my skin. “Why bother? Sigils? Going on missions? Staying at St. Michael’s? All they do is taunt me with things I can never have… dreams I’ll never be able to fulfill.” My self-pity digs deeper and deeper in my chest, settling painfully below my heart. My voice softens with unbearable sadness. “Why train me when I’ll never become a Guardian?”
“Who says you’ll never become a Guardian?”
Is he serious right now?
I look away, hoping Logan can’t see the moisture gathering behind my eyes. I thought I’d used up all my tears this morning. Guess I was wrong.
“Aspen?”
I close my eyes, inhaling through my nostrils, trying to hold the tears back. “I have no magic,” I state the obvious.
“Aspen,” I jump when his fingers touch my arm. I hadn’t realized he’d moved so close.
Logan’s arms are uncrossed. He pulls his hand away, and it hangs loosely at his side. His posture is open and calm—a complete contrast to his demeanor when he first appeared.
Demon Marked: Shadowguard Academy Book 2 Page 4
