by Emery Belle
Garnet’s smile dimmed slightly when she caught sight of Hunter’s broken pencil, and a heavy, tense silence fell over the room, punctuated every so often by the whoops and cheers floating in from the open window as a group of level-two students tried out their broomsticks for the first time. I watched wistfully as a teenage witch soared into the clouds, her blonde hair streaming behind her shoulders, her face alight with happiness. Her instructor shouted something from the ground, and the witch veered to the right just in time to avoid colliding with a trio of nightswallows out for a morning stretch of their wings.
Footsteps bounded down the hallway, and I tore my eyes away from the flying witch just in time to see Glenn burst into the room, his electric-green eyes shining with excitement, his orange-and-pink plaid shirt crisply ironed, and his purple sandals—which he’d paired with knee socks decorated with silver and gold cauldrons—scrubbed clean. He looked just like the old Glenn, the grandfatherly wizard I loved so dearly, and seeing him return to his charming, bouncy self made my heart soar.
“My favorite students!” he cried, spreading his arms wide before hurrying over to us and wrapping us in a group hug. He squeezed as tight as he could and rocked us back and forth in unison, oblivious to the gasping sounds Hunter was making and Garnet’s bulging eyes as she tried to gulp in air.
I disentangled myself from his arms and pressed my palm against his rosy cheek, a lump of emotion forming in my throat. “It’s especially good to see you, my dear,” he whispered, patting my hand before releasing us and returning to the front of the classroom.
Resting his interlaced fingers against his ample belly, he gave us a tender smile. “I want to thank each of you, from the bottom of my heart, for sparing a thought for an old man with a broken spirit.” His voice wobbled slightly, and I could feel warm tears springing to my eyes. “Your cards, your well-wishes, and especially your sugary treats were much appreciated, and knowing you cared gave me the strength to begin moving on from my loss… and even finding another companion to share my life with.”
Garnet squealed softly and clapped her hands together, but I raised my eyebrows in alarm. Had I heard him correctly? Hattie was barely cold in her grave, and after all the moping around Glenn had done since her death, it was hard to imagine that he had moved on so quickly. I knew grief sometimes made people do crazy things, but what if someone was taking advantage of his heartache? Glenn was a well-respected member of the Sparrow Coven, and, judging by his beautiful house overlooking the sea, he had a few gold coins to spare. The thought of a woman using his current vulnerable state against him made me feel physically ill. My stomach burned in anger, and Glenn, correctly interpreting my expression, wagged his finger at me.
“Not to worry,” he said, his lips curving in a sly smile. “This time, I’ve taken all the proper precautions to make sure this old heart stays in one piece.” He pressed his hand against his chest for a brief moment before indicating the wand sticking out of his pocket and giving us a roguish wink. “Why wield magic at all if you can’t use your talents to create the perfect woman, a delightful companion who will stay by your side throughout the ages?”
Uh-oh.
Hunter and I exchanged panicked looks. “But isn’t that illegal?” he asked, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and glancing at me for support. I nodded fervently; indeed, the IAMB had very strict laws on the books about love spells, tonics, or potions of any kind, and the last thing Glenn needed was to be brought before the High Court—not to mention Lord Macon, who would undoubtedly have little sympathy for my guide.
Glenn scoffed, waving away Hunter’s concerns. “Not at all, son! Not at all.” He tapped the tip of his nose, suddenly looking very boyish as a flush of pleasure crept up his cheeks. “In fact, I can bring her here to meet you all, if you don’t mind taking a few moments away from your lessons.”
Hunter opened his mouth, probably to argue—I suspected if he had his druthers, he’d take extra classes just for fun—but closed it again when I shot him a withering look.
“We’d love to meet her!” Garnet said eagerly. “Anyone who’s a friend of yours is a friend of ours.”
“Ah, you flatter me.” Glenn gave her a toothy smile, then glanced toward the classroom door. “But let’s just keep this between ourselves, shall we? We aren’t supposed to have visitors during our lessons, strictly speaking… although I can promise you, she won’t make a peep.” Then he positively giggled before pressing his finger to his lips and shushing us, though no one else in the room had said a word. By now, alarm bells were blaring in my head.
Glenn produced his wand, gave it a little wiggle, and said, “Apareo!”
Hunter, Garnet, and I were perched on the edge of our seats, our eyes fixed on the front of the room, and though a crack rent the air after Glenn uttered the spell, we saw… nothing. After a moment of confusion, I caught sight of something moving in the corner of my vision and practically jumped out of my skin when a life-size, glassy-eyed mannequin appeared at the desk next to me. As I watched, half-fascinated, half-terrified, she tilted her head to one side, her long black hair sweeping the desk, and—oh, God—winked at me.
“What is that thing?” Garnet shrieked, jumping up from her chair and hurrying across the room, putting as much distance between herself and the mannequin as possible. The mannequin raised her hand clumsily and waved at Garnet, and when the sleeve of her blouse fell back, I could clearly see the seam where her hand and wrist were connected. Garnet screamed again and turned her face to the wall.
Glenn looked wounded, and more than a little bewildered at Garnet’s reaction, as he hurried forward to rest one plump hand on the mannequin’s shoulder. “She’s not a thing. Her name is Clementine.”
As he stroked the mannequin’s hair lovingly, Hunter twisted in his seat so he was facing away from Glenn, and I could see his shoulders shaking with laughter. I was torn somewhere between amusement and horror, though I started leaning more toward the latter as Glenn accidentally bumped into her with his belly, causing her foot to fall off—though she appeared oblivious to her missing limb.
“Whoopsie-daisy!” He knelt down and directed the loose foot back into place with a sweep of his wand, then patted her on the shoulder. “My apologies, Clementine. Forgive me?” The mannequin’s face remained impassive, though she did turn her blank eyes to his. “Atta girl.” Glenn heaved himself to his feet, then shrugged apologetically. “We’re still working out the kinks.”
I was opening and closing my mouth like a fish, a hundred questions playing on my lips, but I couldn’t figure out a way to ask any of them without sounding insulting. Finally, after several moments of careful consideration, I said, “So where did you meet Clementine?”
“On the mainland,” Glenn said, and began busying himself with jabbing his wand at all of Clementine’s joints, presumably to prevent any more limb-related mishaps. “There’s a little shop I like to visit that sells custom top hats, and would you believe I found poor Clementine lying in the alley out back beside a dumpster? You should have seen the state of her—her face was smudged, her clothes were torn, and her spirit was broken.”
Glenn’s voice cracked, and he gave the mannequin a tender smile that she did not return. “I couldn’t just leave her like that. Only a monster would do such a thing.” I wanted to point out that in trying not to be a monster, he seemed to have created one, but I held my tongue.
As Glenn was trying to polish a scuff off her cheek with the hem of his shirt, he caught sight of the clock on the wall and shouted, “Galloping gargoyles! The lesson’s already halfway over and we haven’t even started!”
He abandoned his task and headed for the supply cupboard where the mixology ingredients were stored—Clementine slid sideways in her seat, but he seemed not to notice—and began whipping out vials in a variety of sizes and what looked like a handful of squirrel tails.
“Not to worry,” he said for the second time that day, though I was beginning to think I had
plenty of things to worry about, “these were given with consent.” He shook the tails, and Garnet, who had just started inching back toward her seat, took one look at them and began gagging into an empty cauldron, her face turning an alarming shade of green.
Hunter stood up, reaching for her in concern, but Glenn sent him back to his seat with a wave of his hand and a knowing look, then rummaged around in the cupboard until he produced a vial containing a shimmery yellow liquid. “Here you go, dear,” he said, popping the top off the vial and sending it floating toward Garnet. The vial waved itself back and forth under her nose, and before long, Garnet’s skin returned to its normal color.
She straightened up, then walked shakily back to her desk. She watched Clementine out of the corner of one eye as she slid into her seat, pulled out her mixology textbook, and propped it up to block her view of the mannequin, who was now furling and unfurling her long fingers as though testing them out.
“Would you look at that, she’s still trying to learn what to do with her hands,” Glenn said fondly, giving the mannequin a misty-eyed look. “Don’t worry, Clemmy, you’ll get there. We’ve been practicing,” he added to us in a proud voice, then clapped his own hands and waved Hunter, Garnet, and me to the front of the classroom.
“Now then,” he said, idly stroking the squirrel tails, “today, we’re going to be learning how to brew a fun potion that can temporarily alter some elements of your physical appearance—hair and eye color, nose shape, the length of your legs.” He raised a vial containing rainbow-colored powder and held it to the light.
“The active ingredient in this handy little potion is ground chameleon scales, but just a pinch,” he warned, wagging his finger. “You don’t want to be like Matilda Cornwall, an unfortunate witch who detested her feet so much that she added four cups of scales to her potion instead of a quarter teaspoon in the hopes that it would permanently alter their shape.” He bowed his head. “Let’s just say that our poor, misguided Matilda never did the foxtrot again, and had to have her shoes specially made by a cobbler who, until then, only catered to the giants and yeti.”
“How long does it work for?” Garnet asked as Glenn herded us to the workbench groaning under the weight of three pewter cauldrons. She wound a strand of hair around her fingers. “I’ve always wanted to be a blonde.”
“Anywhere from three to five hours,” Glenn said, scooping some of the ground chameleon scales into each cauldron. “I can’t give a precise time, because it depends on each brewer’s individual composition and the water content of their body.” A wave of his hand sent the rest of the ingredients sailing toward the workbench.
“In addition to your ground chameleon, you’ll add three and a quarter hairs from the tail of a willing squirrel, half a cup of raw honey, a dollop of freshly whipped butter”—he smacked his lips—“and a pint of lemongrass juice.” He grinned at us. “And it makes a delightful summer drink, too. I always enjoy mine after a nice long walk on the beach, though I prefer an extra tail hair or two for a special kick.”
“How will the potion know what we want to change about ourselves?” I asked, pouring the lemongrass juice into my cauldron and giving it a swirl. The ground chameleon scales bubbled and sputtered as the potion turned a deep shade of fuchsia.
“That’s what the squirrel hair is for,” Glenn said, prodding Garnet’s cauldron with a look of concern; the entire thing had begun shaking violently. “Too much butter, my dear,” he said, dipping his hand into the potion and scooping up a fingerful of half-melted butter. He licked his finger clean and let out a small moan of delight before turning his attention back to me. “The hair attaches itself to the contours of your mind and draws out your desires.”
Now there’s a lesson I never learned in biology class.
The potions bubbled happily for five minutes before Glenn instructed us to drink the entire contents of our cauldron in one breath. “That’s it, down the hatch,” he said as Hunter choked and spluttered and I tried not to lose the contents of my stomach—despite the honey and butter, the potion tasted like spoiled squirrel meat.
Glenn conjured a full-length mirror into existence in front of the blackboard so we could admire our handiwork. “Oooh,” Garnet breathed as she examined her reflection—her thick auburn hair had been replaced by waist-length platinum locks. “Calvin’s going to just die when he sees this—he’s always wanted me to go blonde.”
Hunter frowned at her. “Why would he want you to change yourself? You’re naturally beautiful.” Garnet, who had been admiring herself in front of the mirror, stopped mid-twirl, the smile dying from her lips. Hunter shrugged and sidestepped her to check out his own appearance; his formerly lean arms were now bulging with muscles.
Garnet gave him an appraising look and joined him at the mirror. As she reached out a tentative finger and touched his arm, I could hear Hunter’s sharp intake of breath. “I think you look good just the way you are, too,” she said.
Glenn’s eyes misted up again, and he mopped at them with the sleeve of his shirt. “Beauty truly does lie in the eye of the beholder.” He turned to the mannequin, who had rotated her head 180 degrees to view the back of the room, and gave her a sloppy look.
“Oooh, Wren!” Garnet said, noticing me for the first time since drinking the potion. “Your eyes are stunning.” She pulled me over to the mirror, where I didn’t recognize the pool-blue irises staring back at me. “You could bring any man in town to his knees with eyes like that.”
Hunter nodded in agreement, but I frowned at my reflection and rubbed my eyes, as if that would remove the effects of the potion. I looked… wrong. I never considered myself to be a great beauty, but I was myself, and now that I knew I’d inherited my dark brown eyes from the mother I would never meet, it felt like a betrayal to toss them away in favor of something flashier.
I was still feeling down in the dumps when the lesson ended and Hunter and Garnet filed out of the room, he not so subtly flexing his arms in Garnet’s direction, and she swinging her hair around like she was in a shampoo commercial back in the human world.
Sidestepping the mannequin, who now appeared to be asleep—her eyes looked even glassier than usual as she slumped over the desk—I tentatively approached Glenn, who was siphoning up some spilled chameleon powder with his wand, and cleared my throat.
“Can I ask you something?”
Glenn must have heard the tremor in my voice, for he whipped his head up, his forehead wrinkling in concern. “Always.” He leaned against the workbench and folded his arms over his chest, studying me intently, his green eyes sweeping over my face. He didn’t ask if something was wrong; he didn’t need to. He knew me better than that.
I stared at the ground, tracing an absentminded pattern along the tile floor with my toe, indecision clouding my mind. I hadn’t told anyone the truth about my family—about myself—and once I opened Pandora’s box, there was no closing it again. But if anyone knew about my past, it would surely be Glenn, the guide who had watched over me from afar my entire life, waiting for my magic to emerge so he could introduce me to the island, the place where I belonged.
Or, at least, where I used to belong. Now, I wasn’t so sure. Ever since Garnet’s mother had broken the news that I had an illegal mix of human and magical blood, I felt like I had a giant “I” tattooed across my forehead. For imposter.
I didn’t know how long I stood in front of Glenn, tracing the floor, not saying a word, but he waited patiently, never pushing or prodding or making me feel like I was wasting his time. Only his soft, comforting breathing gave away his presence beside me, the deep, slow inhale and exhale a tonic for my nerves.
“What do you know about my parents?” I finally said.
Glenn frowned and stroked the gray stubble on his chin. “Not much, I’m afraid. The first time I saw you, you were just a little thing all bundled up in blankets at the hospital.” He smiled at the memory. “I wanted to hold your finger—it was the tiniest, most perfect finger I’d ever seen�
��but the staff wouldn’t allow me into the nursery because I wasn’t family.” His mouth sagged sadly. “By that time, you were already in the custody of social services.”
“Did you…” I paused to compose myself, and when I looked up, I saw that Glenn’s eyes were shining with unshed tears. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Did you ever consider adopting me?”
Glenn rested a hand on my shoulder. “Ah, my darling girl, what I wouldn’t have given to be able to do just that. But you were too new—your magic hadn’t shown itself yet and, as you know, wouldn’t for quite some time. I couldn’t bring you to the island and introduce you to our world without knowing whether your magic would ever come to fruition. It’s strictly forbidden, for reasons I’m sure you can understand. The IAMB takes the preservation of our kind very seriously.”
“But my mother’s name… or what happened to her… you know nothing?”
His eyes locked on mine. “It’s not unusual for someone to want to know where they came from, Wren. But in your case, perhaps some things are better left lost to the sands of time.”
He eased himself off the edge of the workbench, then pressed my hand between both of his. “Now come on, Wren Winters. The day is young, and beautiful, and it would do your soul good to take advantage of it.”
He patted my hand once more before pulling out his wand and continuing to siphon up the ground chameleon scales, whistling under his breath as he worked, and I knew then that the conversation was over.
Chapter 3
“Wren! Wait up. Please.”
I groaned out loud and continued hurrying down the sidewalk, not bothering to turn around. I’d taken Glenn’s advice about enjoying the beautiful day and spent hours wandering along the island’s coastline, exploring hidden caves and listening to the siren singing softly in the distance. The result of my lovely afternoon was that I lost track of time, and now I was late for my shift at the hospital, where I’d recently started a thankless job in the housekeeping department, cleaning up after all manner of wounded, ill, and irritable magical creatures.
