by Lisa Plumley
Nervously, Dayna slid into a seat in a space no bigger than the cramped copier room at the research library. To make it here, she’d traveled a warren of hallways and offices, cubicles and conference rooms. It was hard to believe that the InterAllied Bureau had magiked all this into existence behind the false fronts of Covenhaven’s downtown tourist traps. But they had. Apparently, around here, false fronts were all too real…if you knew where—and how—to look.
As she tried to get her bearings, the warlock and witch who’d found her took up positions near the door. The laughing warlock—the leader—scraped out a chair across the table from her. With easy equanimity, he steepled his hands.
Music issued from between his joined fingertips.
Startled, Dayna blinked at his hands.
“Ah. You are green, aren’t you?” He traded an insider’s glance with his cohorts, then addressed her again. “It’s a charm. The music calms people down. You look a little rattled.”
“Something to drink?” asked the witch in the corner.
Curtly, Dayna nodded. A silver carafe and two glasses whooshed into existence. They clattered into place with a tinkling sound, perfectly centered on the table.
Unfazed by the objects’ abrupt materialization, the warlock across from her poured her a glass of water. With a polite word of offering, he set it near Dayna. His fingers were deft, the way warlocks’ often were. His whole being exuded composure.
So did his companions. And why shouldn’t they? Dayna realized as she studied their lanyarded silver talismans—devices similar to the ID badges she and her coworkers wore at DRL. They hadn’t been kidnapped from their ordinary lives and transported to Covenhaven. They hadn’t wrecked their workplaces, whole city blocks, and—potentially—their friends’ lives.
This was business as usual for them. The IAB agents belonged here in the magical world. The blond witch—Emme, according to her talisman—had probably never known a moment’s failure in her life. The warlock, Luis, probably didn’t know what it was like to feel ostracized, just for being himself.
Clutching the arms of her chair, Dayna frowned. At one end of the room, conjured sunlight filtered past a pair of captive green plants; their leaves and stems gleamed with good health. Water flowed from an invisible source into a tabletop fountain, then vanished harmlessly into the stone floor. A fresh-air charm sweetened the artificial breeze, and an array of silver styluses stood at the ready in a bamboo cup. Not a detail had been spared in an effort to put visitors at ease.
With an audible sigh, her chair settled beneath her.
Alarmed, Dayna jerked. Her chair did, too, bucking in eager readiness. Rocking sideways, she tightened her grasp.
The lead warlock gestured. “Your chair is charmed to react sympathetically. It can tell when you feel comfortable—and when you’re startled. If you relax, your chair will, too.”
“Sure.” Leave it to witchkind to devise a seat that revealed everything its occupants tried not to. “No problem.”
Clenching her jaw, Dayna forced herself to be still.
It wasn’t easy. An outwardly sentient chair was even more disconcerting than advanced water-carafe conjuring. She wasn’t used to being around magic anymore. And she was a perennial outsider here in Covenhaven, too. Her ineptness with magic seemed tattooed on her skin, as easy to see as the symbols she’d noticed on T.J.’s brawny arms and neck.
The three agents watched her, doubtless sensing her need to move, to fidget, to do something. In unison, they crossed their arms. Beneath their serene gazes, Dayna felt like a wayward kid called into the principal’s office, then made to watch a magician perform tricks before learning what she was in trouble for. She didn’t care about flashy magic. All she wanted were facts about the cusping-witch training she was supposed to complete. More than anything else, she needed a way to prevent more accidents from occurring when she returned home to Phoenix.
Clearly, she wasn’t going to get it by letting these three run the show. Mimicking them, Dayna crossed her arms over her chest. She propped her Converse-covered foot on her knee and studied them all.
“Look, it’s been a pretty awful day.” Ignoring her glass of water, she examined her tablemate’s talisman. LEO GARMIN. “So I’d like to cut to the chase, Mr. Garmin. What do I have to do to fulfill this ‘cusping witch’ requirement and get back home?”
He appeared surprised. “For a witch who was late getting here, you’re all business now, Ms. Sterling.”
“I don’t commit to much. But when I do, it’s all the way.”
“Interesting. That’s a very unwitchlike attitude. Your time among humans shows.” Garmin poured a glass of water for himself, then drank. He gave her a friendly smile. “Let’s start with some background information then, shall we? I’m not sure how aware you are of the goings-on in the witching world…?”
He hesitated, obviously offering her an opening. Dayna had nothing to contribute. She’d been estranged from the witching world for over a decade now. Her parents traveled to the Valley for visits. Otherwise, they would seldom see one another.
“All right then.” Meditatively, Garmin pressed his palms together. He tapped his fingertips against his lips, then appeared to come to a decision. “The capsule version is this: All witches come into their most powerful magic during their thirtieth year—their cusping year. It’s a bit like human puberty, only delayed in onset and much more powerful. Warlocks don’t experience it.” Ruefully, he twisted his mouth. “Unlike witches, we peak in ability when young, then decline as we age—much as we’d all prefer to ignore that fact.”
“Haven’t you guys conjured some warlock Viagra yet?”
Sobering, he unsteepled his hands. “Sadly, no.”
“I was kidding.”
“Warlock sloping is not a laughing matter.”
“Of course not.” Putting on a solemn face, Dayna thought about what he’d told her. Delayed-onset witch puberty went a long way toward explaining the things she’d been experiencing lately. Her escalating magic, her inability to control it…her frustration, moodiness, and overall horniness when the tracer had come to get her. Those effects could be due to overactive witching hormones—or whatever the witchfolk equivalent was.
If she hadn’t been so distant from her coven, maybe she would have already known about cusping. But escaping Covenhaven and its witchy ways had been a matter of survival eleven years ago. Dayna felt convinced it still was. That’s why she’d remained unlinked—a decidedly unnatural state, even for a failed witch.
Garmin cleared his throat. “Until recently, the official IAB position on cusping has been to leave those witches to the support of their families and the elders in their covens until the process is complete. But in our modern age, with unprecedented witch migration and integration occurring, many witches forsake their home communities. This leaves them alone during cusping, without the support and instruction they need.”
That much Dayna could believe. She’d migrated. She’d definitely integrated. And she’d had no support at all.
“Allowing so many unschooled witches to remain alone in the world while they underwent cusping was causing tremendous problems. Not only because of unintended…events”—here, Garmin tactfully averted his gaze—“but also because it became increasingly difficult to hide the existence of those witches. Despite our shared pasts, humans aren’t ready to admit our presence among them. They force us to live in hiding.”
Dayna shrugged. “Living in hiding isn’t that bad.”
“Some disagree.” With an easy move, Garmin loosened his necktie. His chunky platinum ring glinted in the conjured sunlight. “In any case, it became clear that the traditional ways would have to be amended to cope with this new reality.”
“That’s where we came in, here at the bureau. With the cusping-witch training program.” The flawlessly groomed witch, Emme, brightened with pride as she spoke. “Nothing like it has ever been tried before. We’re making witchstory.”
“It’s o
nly year one, of course.” Garmin studied his pristine shirt cuffs with apparent modesty, drawing Dayna’s gaze to his powerful hands. “And there are some kinks to work out in the process. A few witches fell through the cracks. It’s been a scramble to locate all the eligible cusping witches in time.”
“Is that why you sent out tracers?”
A nod. “But even with those issues accounted for, our IAB taskforce has been instrumental in creating the change we need. If all goes as planned, we’ll finally be able to educate and train our cusping witches as they should have been educated and trained all along: with systemic procedures instead of old superstition and outmoded sentimentality.”
“Right. Who needs emotion when you can have efficiency?”
The lead agent glanced up from his cuffs. He squinted at Dayna, then gave a pleasant nod. “Something like that.”
She pulled a sardonic face. “Sounds cozy.”
“It’s actually a very big deal. A major coup.” This from Emme again, who appeared bulletproof when it came to sarcasm. “We even work closely with representatives from the League of Covens. It’s a consultancy that’s totally new.”
“It’s groundbreaking,” Luis added. “An important pact.”
“It sounds like a power grab to me.” Dayna leaned back in her chair. For the first time, it held her placidly in place, sensing her ease with witchy mutiny…however minor. She swerved her gaze to Garmin. “How do the covens feel about having your taskforce usurp their positions with the cusping witches?”
The lead agent gave her a quelling look—one she recognized from years of school-age rebellion. “Cusping witches like you need help, Ms. Sterling. The InterAllied Bureau recognizes that. That’s why we’ve replaced the old model of inconsistent personal support with IAB-managed public classes. In those classes, witches like you can learn to perfect your burgeoning magic.”
He paused, undoubtedly waiting for Dayna to ooh and ah the way Emme had. Characteristically hardheaded, Dayna did neither. In pointed silence, she frowned at the sandblasted and rain-soaked cargo pants she hadn’t had time to change out of, unhappy with this whole scheme—and her required participation in it.
Garmin’s smooth voice pursued her all the same. “Some of our most admirable leaders are fully formed witches who’ve made it well past cusping,” he said. “Their mastery of magic has increased their connection to the community. It’s enriched their lives enormously. Yours can, too, with a little effort.”
At last Dayna glanced up. Although Garmin possessed the usual warlock charisma, his encouraging smile left her unmoved.
“You can skip the hard sell. I’m not interested in learning anything more about magic than I have to. All I want is to control it. Or better yet, to get rid of it. Is that possible?”
In unison, Emme and Luis stepped back. Eyes wide, they shook their heads. Even Garmin appeared disturbed by her remark.
“No? Hey, a girl’s got to ask.” Undaunted by their stunned expressions, Dayna leaned forward. She rested her elbows on her knees. The agents’ gazes dipped to her human-made clothing with evident disdain. “And you can keep your witchfolk ‘community’ for yourself, too. It’s not for me. It never was.”
“Nonsense,” Emme said. “The community is for everyone!”
“Spare me.” Dayna rounded on her. The witch’s rah-rah attitude and smug smile reminded her of all the reasons she’d left Covenhaven in the first place. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have had to drag me back here by force, now would you?”
The conversation lapsed, leaving only the trickle of the fountain’s waters in its wake. Garmin lowered his gaze to Dayna’s golden armlet. He studied it, then exhaled deeply.
“We understand you’ve been unlinked for some time now, Ms. Sterling, but there’s always hope that—”
“I won’t take a class. Give me a tutor instead.”
At least private lessons would spare her the embarrassment of public failure. And if someone like T.J. could train her…
“I’m afraid that’s impossible. No one is allowed to receive solitary instruction.” Garmin shook his head, his mouth a firm line. “We wouldn’t want to give the impression of favoritism. This new taskforce is strictly nonsectarian in nature. We pride ourselves in working equally with all witch factions.”
“Except the ones who don’t want to be worked with.”
Garmin’s genial efficiency never wavered. “With our help, you’ll be registered for classes today. After you finish your lessons, you’ll be tested, then licensed. Really, all we’re asking you to do is take one continuing education class—”
“Adult ed?” Dayna laughed. “Night school for witches?”
“—followed by an accreditation exam and a lavish graduation ceremony to recognize your transition. Your family and friends will be invited, of course. This year the graduation rites will be conducted at Janus, the finest spa-resort in Covenhaven.”
“I’m not much for mud wraps and seaweed smoothies.”
“That isn’t the point.” Garmin glanced at the other warlock, Luis, with bland forbearance. “Her file was accurate in at least one aspect. She does have a smart mouth.”
“So I’ve been told.” Dayna arrowed her gaze to Garmin’s face. “What if I don’t go to remedial witch school? What then?”
“This training is important, for your own safety and the safety of those around you.” Emme’s tone was somber. “If your magic remains uncontrolled, it poses a danger to everyone.”
Like the people who were hurt today. Guiltily, Dayna shifted. So did her chair. It scrunched in on itself until she had to jab an elbow in her seatback to force it upright again.
Garmin’s shrewd expression met hers. He nodded—a gesture so slight, Dayna thought she might have imagined it. She found herself nodding in return. Her commitment to cusping-witch classes suddenly felt like a foregone conclusion. Why argue?
“We’ve already assigned you to a witch class according to your place and date of birth.” Garmin directed a pointed look at Emme, who magiked a clipboard. She ticked off an item with one of the silver styluses. When Garmin returned his attention to Dayna, his smile was a benediction. “For an intelligent witch like you, classes will be easy. We’ve designed the classes to be very much like high school—”
“High school?”
“—except with an all-magic curriculum. You’ll probably see several familiar faces there.” His smile broadened. “Our research shows that most witchfolk have fond memories of—”
“No way. You have got to be kidding me.”
Garmin gave her a perplexed look. “Is there a problem?”
“For me? Yes. You’re damn right there’s a problem.”
Luis came forward. In whispered tones, he conferred with Garmin. The two warlocks glanced up at her. Luis returned to his post by the door. Garmin gave her a contemplative frown.
“Whatever…issues…you’ve experienced in the past, there’s no need to react emotionally now. I’m sure that you—”
The rest of his assurances were lost to her. Dayna felt too distraught to listen. She stared at the lead agent in disbelief, shaking her head. She wanted to learn to control her magic, but the IAB could not have devised a more disagreeable training method for her if they’d tried.
High school redux? She’d suffered enough in high school the first time around. The last thing she wanted now was an impromptu class reunion with all the mean witches who’d ruined her teenage years. It was enough to make her queasy.
Dayna became aware that Garmin had quit speaking. All eyes were on her—and on her undoubtedly dread-filled expression.
In the silence, Emme piped up. “I can’t wait until I’m old enough for my cusping-witch classes.” She flicked a hank of blond hair over her shoulder. “It’s going to be incredible!”
No. No no no no. Feeling trapped, Dayna put up her palms in a universal stop sign. She cast Garmin a pleading look. “Are you sure I can’t opt for a tutor? I’ll pay extra.”
“The cusping-witch class is an IAB program. Since it’s a nonnegotiable obligation, it’s offered without fees to qualifying witches. We do take care of our own. We witchfolk have endured humankind’s biases and maltreatment for ages. Our strength of community is paramount. You must remember that much?”
She didn’t. “How about a volunteer tutor? If I can find—”
“I applaud your initiative.” Actually, Garmin seemed to find it entertaining—the same way Albert Einstein might have found a toddler’s attempts at logic entertaining. “But it wouldn’t be fair to give you an advantage over the other students. Especially since you’ll all be vying for the position of juweel—teacher’s favorite. It’s a mark of distinction, much like human valedictorian or summa cum laude status.”
“It sounds like a nightmare.”
Luis stiffened. “It is a very high status position.”
Right. And Dayna had about as much chance of scoring it as she did morphing herself into a toad and hopping out of there.
She decided to sidestep the issue. “Exactly how long does this witch school last? And when does it begin?”
Maybe she could find a tutor on her own. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d ignored the rules. Dayna had no problem with that. If she could get a head start on the curriculum…
Emme glanced up from her clipboard. “It started yesterday.”
Terrific. She was already behind.
“It’s a three-week commitment,” Garmin explained. “Mostly during the evenings and weekends. We’ve made it easy for even the most time-pressed witch to fit classes into her schedule.”
The three of them beamed, obviously pleased with the IAB’s efficiency. Dayna hated to throw a monkey wrench into their bureaucratic bliss, but she had to. The research librarian in her demanded she take care of the dangling details.
“That’s super, but I don’t live in Covenhaven anymore.” She could arrange a temporary leave from DRL. She had the tenure. But in Covenhaven, the only people she’d remained in touch with were her parents. There was no way she could impose on them for almost a month. Although she did hope, Dayna realized in a burst of unstoppable wistfulness, that they’d be happy to have her in town again…the prodigal daughter returned. “Where am I supposed to stay while all this is going on?”
