Her Stolen Magic

by Zandra Pope

  Jeremey looked a relieved. “Better now?”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Wasn’t that so awesome how - BAM! - I shot the water witch.” Jeremy shadow boxed for a second. He was psyched about killing that witch.

  “You kicked ass today. Very brave,” I said.

  “You too. And man, you’ve got some speed, girl. If I could make my legs go as fast as yours, phew, I’d make the Olympic team. And just so you know, your leg wasn’t that gross.”

  “Umm, thanks.” I think he meant it as a compliment.

  Jeremy threw two more punches at his invisible opponent and then punched me in my arm. We jogged into the zoo and made our way through the Slip — the magical entrance to our school.

  “Hey, I don’t want to be weird, but can I ask you something personal?”

  My heart stopped beating, or maybe it sped up so fast I couldn’t feel it. Whichever one it was, Jeremy had just spoken words I had been dying to hear.

  Play it cool.

  “Sure.” Perfect tone. Cheerful, not desperate, but still inviting.

  Jeremy pulled up the hem of his shirt, exposing this six-pack and rubbed the sweat from his face. “Yeah, so, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve been acting differently around you.”

  A shriek of joy nearly escaped my mouth. He’s going to ask me out. We’ll get married. Have fast little babies that we chase all around our house.

  “Maybe a little,” Again, I played it totally cool. “I’ve been acting — you know — lately, too.”

  “I just figured you had your period.”

  Normally, when guys said stuff like that it pissed me off, but I saw it in a different light today. It was so sweet that Jeremy paid attention to my moods. He would make a great boyfriend.

  “So anyway,” he continued. “I was wondering if Ava was dating anyone?”

  “Ava, my sister?” My mouth went dry and my throat tightened.

  “Yeah, because, Homecoming is coming up, and I thought, maybe, I mean, if she’s not seeing anyone —.”

  His words became a dull pounding headache.

  Ava. He wanted to ask Ava to Homecoming. He wasn’t asking me on a date. What in the hell was I thinking? As if someone like him would ask someone like me on a date.

  “Sure. Ask her,” I said dully.

  “You think I have a shot?” I mean the excitement was just too much. Was this Christmas morning for him? Was Ava that much better than me?

  “You won’t know unless you ask her,” I said, forcing my voice into a chipper tone when I would much rather be feeding Jeremy’s body into a very different chipper.

  “Could you put in a good word for me?” He glanced at my face and then quickly added, “If it’s not weird for you.”

  “Why would it be weird for me?” I shouted.

  He shrugged and didn’t answer. Great. Just great. He knew I had a crush on him. This day could not suck any worse.

  4

  My family lived across the Potomac in McLean, Virginia. My dad was a lawyer and a politician. Don’t hate. I couldn’t help what he did. He was a member of Congress, the House of Representatives. It’s the lowest of the low in terms of federal power and believe me, the jerks in the Senate treat the House members like they’re a bunch of peons. So if you want to hate on him, just know, he’s not a big deal. Though he works with a lot of members who think they are an enormous deal.

  Rolling my eyes here.

  If you didn’t already know, conspiracies and urban myths abounded in Washington, D.C. It was a crazy place with crazy stories. Stories about the ghosts of Abraham Lincoln, John Wilkes Booth, Martha Washington, and hundreds of others. Every other house was haunted here, either by someone who died in a duel or from Civil War wounds or who was betrayed by a political enemy.

  Political intrigue was as old as man and America’s capital was neck deep in it, but not for the reasons you’d expect. I was because of us — magicals. We used those stories as diversions to misdirect non-magicals.

  If you’ve ever watched a YouTube video of magician’s secrets revealed, you’ll know a little something about misdirection and diversion. That’s what we use those conspiracies and urban myths for — misdirection and diversion. It’s a sleight of mind to take your attention away from the odd things going on, the magic we do that would blow our cover.

  We’re banking that you’re on the lookout for JFK’s ghost, hidden Masonic treasure, and presidential body doubles so you miss the real magic that goes on in the open. Through misdirection, we hide magic in plain sight.

  There are tons of stories here and a lot more just across the river in Virginia. Some ghost stories are real, but a lot of them aren’t, or have been misappropriated, on purpose.

  Take, for example, what happened this morning with the water witches. The Potomac River is haunted, well, more like infested, by lethal water witches. But if anyone believes anything about the Potomac being haunted by supernatural beings, they believe the story of the Three Sisters. Magicals planted that myth almost two hundred years ago, and it’s still going strong today.

  Those stories protect us, but the cool thing is that they also protect non-magicals. Everyone stays out of the Potomac, more or less.

  Slips are places that exist on the edge of time and space. Not exactly another dimension, but not exactly the “real world” either. For example, my high school, Illysian Academy, exists in a Slip in DC. It’s off the Woodly metro stop and sits on the same land as the National Zoo.

  Isn’t that the absolute most ironic place for a high school? A zoo! It’s like the punch line for a joke. Where can you find exotic, magical students? At the National Zoo, of course.

  Sorry for the digression, but I just can’t get over the fact that they built a zoo over the same ground as my high school. It’s too fitting.

  Trying to explain the Slip opens up a whole can of worms that’s above my pay grade to explain, but I can say this much, time passes the same inside and outside of the Slip. So five minutes outside of the Slip at Five Guys to get burgers and fries, is the same as five minutes in Magical Transformation inside the Slip.

  Also, you can’t just stumble into the Slip. If you’ve got ideas about exploring for magical places, you’re out of luck. You will not find one. No one gets through the Slip without permission. I can’t tell you how you get permission. That would break my Oath of Fidelity. However, I can say this, you don’t have to be magical to get into the Slip.

  I know this firsthand because - I - am - not - magical.

  Illysian is the most prestigious school in the world. Only the magically elite go. Only the magically exceptional stay. I’m the exception, which, I guess, makes me exceptional, too — but in the wrong way. It’s hard for me to appreciate the soaring spires and ancient traditions since I have to spend all my time looking over my shoulder, pretending I’m someone I’m not to avoid expulsion.

  I live in a dorm, Bristow Hall. Six floors of three hundred-year-old stone on the outside and dark polished wood on the inside. It’s not my style, but it is very nice. It looks — rich. The wood has a silken feel, buttery, but without the grease.

  Entering through the four-story foyer made of pristine Italian marble, I took the grand staircase up. Crafted by magical artisans, the grand stairs gave visitors and students alike a reminder of Illysian’s rarified place in the world. The stairs themselves were crafted from rare golden walnut and imbued with magical charms to prevent tripping or falling.

  I passed a few girls hurrying toward classes. We greeted each other. Everyone seemed more focused today, more hurried. There was a weight in the air that had never been there before. I wondered if something was going on or if my imagination was just overacting because of my strange encounter with a water witch this morning.

  I didn’t have much time to change and grab a bite before Magical Transformation started. I couldn’t be late for that class. I was on notice for being late to too many classes already this year.

  The third floor opene
d into an expansive conversation area appointed with antique furniture: tufted velvet ottomans and arm chairs, rich, brown leather sofas, scattered tables of different heights for small groups to cluster around and exchange gossip. The colors, brown and navy with coral accents, were soothing and elegant at the same time. This floor had been my home away from home for going on four years.

  Opening the door to my suite, I made my way through the living room that I shared with Ava, my roommate, and two other girls, Tabby and, a new girl, Hannah. Tabby and Hannah shared one of the two bedrooms in this suite. Ava and I shared the other.

  It was a comfortable space. There was a television, a sofa, and a nook with a circular table and seating for four. Tabby and Ava had decorated the space, covering the walls with pictures of kittens, brooding movie stars, reckless rockers, and memes.

  It wasn’t a bad place. Except for today. Today I hated it with every fiber of my being because Jeremy liked Ava and not me.

  Because I would never get a boyfriend. Because I would never get my magic. Because I never should have come to school here.

  Because I didn’t belong.

  I threw open the door to the bedroom I shared with Ava. It banged into the wall, bounced off, and slammed shut. I was pissed at the world and embarrassed beyond measure.

  “Hey!” said Ava in groggy complaint as she rubbed her eyes.

  I shoved my hands into my pockets and my fingers brushed the water witch’s head.

  I pulled it out of my pocket and threw it onto Ava’s bed. “Here’s a gift.”

  Yes, I was feeling vindictive. The situation with Jeremy wasn’t Ava’s fault, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to do much worse to her than throw a head onto her bed.

  Ava shrieked, kicking off her covers and the witch’s head. The head launched into the air, hit the opposite wall with a squelch, and dropped to the floor, its beady eyes now glassy and clouded with death.

  “What are you? A cat that brings back her kills?”

  “I thought you’d appreciate what Jeremy did this morning. I brought you a visual.”

  “I don’t need a visual of a water witch’s head.”

  “A token from a suitor.”

  “You have a massive chip on your shoulder to bring me a beheaded witch. Next thing I know you’ll be putting it on a pike.”

  I snapped my fingers. “Great idea, Ava.”

  “Get rid of it,” she ordered.

  “You get rid of it. Magic it away.” I waved my hands in front of my body like I was doing something mystical. There was always a chance it would jump start my magic.

  “Ugh. Magic doesn’t work that way and you know it.”

  “Know it like textbook knowledge, not from experience.”

  “You’re getting harder and harder to live with the older you get, Greta. You have magic. It will come. If your attitude keeps getting worse, you will die a bitter old cat lady with no friends — or magic.”

  Her scolding stung. She knew it, too.

  “I’d rather have magic than friends,” I countered.

  “Clearly.”

  “I’m hitting the shower,” I grumbled, leaving the water witch’s head staring through vacant eyes on the floor of our bedroom.

  5

  When I came out, the witch head was gone and so was Ava. I felt a twinge of guilt for throwing the head at her. I wouldn’t want her to do that to me. Then again, she had magic, and I didn’t. Balance was already absent from our relationship. Why couldn’t I do what I wanted to even things out a little?

  Feeling my stomach rumble, I headed for the cafeteria. As I left my room, I ran into Hannah, our new suite mate, who was leaving her bedroom, too.

  “Going to breakfast? Can we go together?” asked Hannah brightly, rubbing her fingers on a charm that hung from a chain around her neck.

  Hannah was perennially happy. I don’t go in for people like that, but Hannah was okay. She seemed genuine and mature. It was the fakers I couldn’t stand.

  “How was your morning run?” she asked.

  One cool thing about Hannah was that she remembered stuff people told her, which was impressive for a new girl. With all the new names and places she had to remember, she also knew I was on the cross-country team. She wasn’t a runner. It embarrassed me to admit I couldn’t remember which sport she played.

  Total aside, but magical people play regular sports. We have to keep in shape just like everyone else. Well, there are other ways, but it’s best if we do it naturally. The magical alternatives have nasty side effects.

  Hannah and I walked out of Bristow Hall toward the cafeteria. We bumped into her roommate, Tabby. Tabby was wealthy and beautiful. She was good at magic, but she was even better with style.

  “Greta, wanna go riding with me this afternoon?” Tabby’s voice held such a hopeful note that saying no to her again made me feel super guilty. She had been asking me to ride with her since she met me during the first week of school and I had made excuses every time.

  “I can’t. Not today. But thanks for asking.”

  “Why not? I mean, I don’t want to pry. I’m sure you have a good reason. Just so you know, riding is a ton of fun.” Tabby was referring to riding one of the two winged horses she kept on school grounds.

  “I’m afraid of heights,” I lied.

  Tabby guessed it was a lie. I could tell by the way she screwed up her face after I said it. “You’ll be safe. Between my magic, the horse’s magic, and your own, there’s no way you’d get hurt.”

  And there was the real reason. Just like everyone else in the world, she had no idea that I didn’t have my magic yet. I could fake my way through most things, but unless Ava was riding with me, I couldn’t fake my way through a fall off a winged horse.

  “I’ll think about it,” I said kicking the conversation down the road.

  Tabby cast a hopeful glance in Hannah’s direction. “What about you, Hannah?”

  Hannah surprised me by shaking her head. “No thanks. I’m afraid of heights, too.”

  Tabby smiled, flipped her long dreadlocks over her shoulder and pointed a manicured finger in my face. “I’m not going to let it go. I’ll convince you one day, Greta.”

  She wasn’t threatening me, but it felt like a threat. I knew she wouldn’t let it go.

  I shrugged like I didn’t care. “Sure. That’s cool. Keep asking.”

  Fine. Whatever. I’d play along. Just like everything else I did. I played along at school, pretending to be someone I wasn’t — yet.

  The cafeteria wasn’t busy. Hardly anyone ate breakfast. I grabbed a banana, some peanut butter, and a carton of 2% milk. I ate the same thing every morning after a run. Tabby peeled away from us after she grabbed a cup of black coffee to go.

  Hannah and I stuck together. She grabbed an apple and a cup of coffee. She added a lot of cream and a sprinkle of sugar.

  I caught the faintest flash of glowing green when she added it to her coffee. Where had the flash come from? I surveyed the room and saw nothing nefarious.

  Hannah caught me looking at her coffee. I must have been looking at it weird. “What’s wrong? Did I add arsenic by accident?” she joked.

  I didn’t answer. I picked up the sugar container and stared at it, turning it in my hand. Had I imagined the green flash? Was I being extra cautious because of the unusual water witch activity? “Does this look weird to you?”

  She plucked the sugar out of my hand. “It looks like sugar. Why are you looking at it weird?”

  “Greta looks weird because she is weird,” said a haughty male voice behind me.

  I caught my breath. It was Valerian. I’d recognize his voice anywhere.

  “Oh hey, Valerian,” Hannah’s voice changed making it loud and clear that she had a massive, undefensible crush on the biggest bad boy in our school. I had to excuse it, but I made a note to discuss it with her later. She needed to set her sights on a better caliber of guy. Yes, he was the hottest of the hotties, but he was bad, bad news.

 
And no, this isn’t one of those things where I discover that he’s not that bad and hook up with him. He’s horrible. Truly horrible. Hot but horrible. I wasn’t into bad boys. Why invite the heartbreak or the sexually transmitted disease?

  I turned just in time to see the massive jerk smack her on her bottom. I mean, who does that anymore? No one! Not even members of Congress.

  I tucked my limp hair behind my ear and looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact with him. “Hannah, we should go.”

  I never stayed if Valerian was around. I didn’t like him, but more than that, I didn’t trust him. Yes, he was drop dead gorgeous, but there was a lot more to liking a guy than looks; like making sure he’s not an evil asshat, for example. His dad was a Senator from New York State, Barron Von Koffle. Like cough, cough, I have the plague. Sorry, I don’t mean to be immature, but I hated Valerian and I hated his dad and his dad hated my dad and Valerian hated me — so it all worked out in a twisted sort of way.

  Valerian put his hand on my arm. I looked up. His poison green eyes bore into mine. He was turning the charm on thick, but I wasn’t like all the other girls in this place. I knew not to fall for him because once anyone did, there was no antidote.

  “Running off so soon? Stick around, Greta. Introduce me to your lovely new friend.” He eyed the food I was holding. “You in the mood for a large banana?” Dear lord, what a stupid thing to say. Yet, when he smiled at me, my knees turned to jelly. It didn’t take much. Thanks for nothing, stupid hormones.

  Think of Jeremy. Think of Jeremy. Then I remembered that he was in love with Ava and my face burned. My cheeks bloomed bright red at the thought of Jeremy touching my leg this morning. My body had betrayed me. Now Valerian would think I liked him. This day couldn’t get any worse. Get it together, Greta!

  Valerian draped his arm around Hannah’s shoulder. “Wanna rendezvous in my room, ladies? One-time offer for you, Greta.”

  My stomach soured and my mouth went dry. “You are so gross,” and hot, I added silently. I had more dignity and self-control than he thought. “I’m too good for you. And so is she.”