Gunn and I stay looking at each other, my chance for our future staring me down. Slowly, something changes in his eyes—there’s not warmth, but a new respect.
“Won’t be easy up there,” he says slowly. “We’ll be culling the best sorcerers, and that means long days of dangerous magic, of pushing yourself to the brink. It’ll be hard conditions, a tough run. I can’t guarantee you’ll come home the same way you left.”
His words crack something open inside me. But this is the reason I’ve forced myself to survive—the reason I banished my magic in the first place. So I can protect Ben and Ruby, spend my life filling in the hole that I carved out of their lives.
“Jed’s spot’s still open, if you think you can handle it”—Gunn nods at my bottle of shine—“and if you’re sure you can brew this again.”
I’m so far from “sure” it’s terrifying. Mama barely taught me anything before she died. In fact, caging my magic touch inside that shine bottle is the only true spell I’ve ever managed to cast, after the only magic manipulation I ever conjured ended in death. I brewed that shine in a surge of grief, a desperate attempt to cut off my talent like a poisoned limb, in the hopes of limping forward, moving on. I’ve got no idea how to brew this shine twice.
But I glance at my cousin, and at Ruby, who’s managed to sneak outside and hide behind one of Ben’s legs on our stoop. I think about their world before I went and gutted it in my arrogant, stupid attempt to save it. I look up to our sagging roof, the roof that’s not going to be over our heads much longer if one of us doesn’t do something soon. Long ago there was a sorcerer who wanted to leave her cursed magic behind her, but the only way out was through—
So I straighten my spine, look Gunn in the eye, and will every ounce of resolve I’ve got left to case my voice in steel. “Sure as hell I can brew it again, sir.”
BIG MAN ON CAMPUS
ALEX
If you were inclined to use the term “magic” lightly, it’s a word you might offer to describe a night like tonight. Twilight paints the grass of Georgetown’s lawn in broad strokes of deep emerald and shadow, and streetlamps act like glowing alchemists, turning the campus’s cobblestone walkway into gold. The sky is a slice of indigo, rich and sweet with Indian summer. And the crowd I’ve anchored onto? Just as beautiful—boys in tailored jackets, young women donning far too much makeup, beads, and gems.
This isn’t my world. I’m borrowing it, holding on to my old chum Warren’s stern as he sails through the warm waters of Georgetown University. But on nights like tonight, where the wind itself practically whistles a note of invincibility across campus, it’s far too easy for me to pretend, to get lost in what could have been. So I clutch the cheap plastic badge in my pocket as a reminder: It wasn’t just his fault. He couldn’t have done it without you. You ruined this for yourself.
The group ahead of Warren and me charges out of the wrought-iron gates of campus and crosses over to O Street. And then the crowd’s whispers start to grow louder, begin buzzing around us like fireflies:
“A faux shining room at Sigma Phi, can you believe it?”
“It’s going to be tops. Performing sorcerers, with shine, just like the Red Den—”
“Poser, you’ve never been to the Red Den—”
Giggles, squeals, laughter—
For a second, it’s too bright, too free, too wonderfully, painfully familiar, and I have to stop walking and collect myself. I start fumbling inside my jacket for a cigarette. It takes Warren a couple of steps to notice, and he doubles back as the crowd continues to trailblaze ahead.
“You’re positive you want to come along tonight?” Warren asks, as he fishes a Lucky out of his own pocket and lights it.
“Don’t worry, the badge is in my pocket, and that’s where it’ll stay.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Warren shakes his head, takes a drag, and watches the crowd continue down O Street toward Sigma Phi’s “criminal magic” party. “You’re almost a real agent now, Alex,” Warren says. “I thought . . .” He trails off.
“What? Tell me.”
“You told me that you joined the Prohibition Unit because you needed to move on. That you wanted to help the Feds catch guys like your father.”
I don’t answer.
“But it’s like you’re not even trying,” Warren pushes. “I mean, don’t you think this isn’t right? You hiding your badge, hitting up parties, chasing tail and magic like you’re just another freshman?”
A flame of embarrassment lights me up inside, but I quickly pinch it out. “I’m not pretending I’m just another freshman.” I throw Warren a hollow smile. “I’m hanging out with my old friend.”
“I saw you in the Harbin dorm a couple days ago, Alex.”
“So? I picked up some English-lit Betty at Chadwick’s the other night. She invited me back to her dorm.”