7

I inhale slowly and turn my gaze towards him. “I know it only affects the supernatural, that it starts with a fever before growing worse, and then there is the rash that only a Magian can see.”

“Rash?” His brows pull inwards as he frowns. “What rash?”

I’m not sure who is more surprised, him by the information I presented, or me by his reaction to this said information. “You know, a rash. Black, pulsing veins that spiderwebs outward. Didn’t the healers at the Academy pick up on that?”

His silence is all answer I need. This is news to him, and will no doubt be to the rest of the Academy. It’s almost laughable. They’ve got – supposedly – the best healers at Alcove and now he’s telling me they haven’t noticed a rash on the infected Acolytes yet? Either Zari’s case is unique, or they just can’t see it.

As soon as that thought crosses my mind, my expression drops. What if…what if I am the only one who can see because I possess wild magic? Gran could see it too, and we’re alike. That would explain it.

Fearing he would draw to the same conclusion; I quickly change the facts. “Or maybe it only appears on werewolves. My friend unfortunately caught it. She’s a werewolf.”

I ignore the little scoff he gives when I mentioned I’m friends with a werewolf. The Academy believes that Magians are superior to other supernatural races. Magians who share those views won’t be caught dead socializing with those who they consider lower than them.

“This doesn’t explain why you summoned me here,” he says, crossing his arms and leers at me through his shades.

“I summoned you here because, as it turns out, I can be of help to you. To the Academy.”

His next reaction renders me surprised. Tilting his head back, he utters a laugh. Not the humorous kind, but rather one that indicates that he finds what I said unbelievably pathetic. It’s clear what he thinks. How can I, a Magian who only makes potions and charms, be of any use to the Academy?

“You want to help with the blight?” He shakes his head, smiling mockingly. “What are you going to do, charm the sickness away? Or charm the Acolytes back to health? On second thought, don’t answer that.”

To say I’m offended is an understatement. How dare he assume I’m that hopeless with magic? Granted, I haven’t given him a reason to think otherwise, but you don’t judge a book by its cover. Or a Magian by how she looks and what she does for work.

“Listen here, mister,” I cross the line by pointing my finger and tapping his chest, “my best friend is dying and from what I’ve heard, the all-powerful healers at Alcove aren’t making any progress in finding a cure. I might not be an Acolyte or a licenced healer, but what I am is an overlooked genius with an unwavering determination. And I will not stand by and watch this blight kill my best friend. Not if I can help it.”

I’m both breathless and shaking at the end of my rant. Only when the high of defending myself slowly decreases, does the severity of what I did sink in. I’ve just lashed out and pointed a finger at an Academy Official.

Panic instantly seizes my heart and I step back, putting as much distance between us as possible. Daring a glance at his face, I expect him to bristle with anger, but to my surprise, it is the complete opposite.

He looks…surprised.

My body is rigid as he stares at me, brows arched in astonishment. When he finally speaks, his tone lacks the snideness he judged with me earlier, “Alright. Hypothetically speaking, let’s say I agree to your offer, the Academy won’t hire you as a healer, even less an apprentice. I don’t suppose you thought about that now, did you?”

“As a matter of fact, I did,” I say, tilting my chin confidently, “What if, hypothetically speaking, I was to enrol as an Acolyte? I’d be a student during the day and research a cure in my free time.”

He stares at me for a moment, and I imagine him blinking profusely behind those shades.

“You want to enrol as an Acolyte?” He breathes another dry laugh and shakes his head. “How am I to break this to you? Alcove don’t ‘do’ enrolments. You either get invited or sponsored by an esteemed member of the Academy. And for that, you require a letter of recommendation which needs to be approved by either the Dean or the Dean of Admissions. That process alone can take up to a month. Besides,” he adds with a shrug, “I doubt an ‘insignificant’ Magian who only knows how to make potions would last a day at Alcove Academy.”

My jaw ticks at the subtle insult. I narrow my eyes at him and channel my magic.

“Ligare funem.”

Shock flashes in his eyes when, out of nowhere, strands of glowing ropes slither from the ground and up his legs, winding around his arms and torso and pulling taut.

“What the –” His sentence is cut short when I twist my wrist, commanding the ropes to squeeze him even tighter. He gasps, fighting for air. Another flick of my hand, and the ropes curl around his legs and finally, he drops to his knees before me.

It’s quite a sight, him at my mercy. It’s almost…exhilarating.

“I don’t know,” I hum and circle him slowly, dragging my finger from his left shoulder and along his back to the right, “I’d say I can handle a day at Alcove, maybe even a month which is the time I have to find a cure.”

“You said…you only…craft…potions…” His words are strained as the ropes squeeze him tighter.

“And charms.” I stop in front of him, bending my knees so we’re eye-level with each other. “See? I know a few spells. I may be untrained and uneducated, but I’m anything but weak. Give me a week, and I’ll be just as experienced as the rest of the Acolytes.”

He continues staring at me, struggling to consider my offer while having the life squeezed out of him by magical ropes. Only when his skin starts changing colour, do I drop the spell. He drops forward, splaying his hands on the floor to catch himself from faceplanting, and gasps for air.

“So, here’s what will happen,” I say and leave him panting to find my bag. “You’re going to write me a letter of recommendation and see to it that it gets approved by the end of the day. In return, I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Pushing off the floor, he rises to his full height and slowly turns to face me. For a moment it crosses my mind that he can easily counter with a spell of his own, either binding me and leaving me helpless as I did to him, or worse…

He slowly approaches me, stopping at the divider that leads to my workspace. Crossing his arms, he leans against the counter and traps me in the small confines. “And what might that offer be?”

Both relieved that he’s not blasting me with spells and surprised that he’s curious about my offer, I try not to stare at how tightly his blazer span over his forearms, or how, in this position, I have the perfect view of his jaw and…is that a tattoo peeking out from underneath his dress shirt?

Blinking, I divert my attention to his eyes – correction, shades – and rather focus on my reflection in them. “In return, I will help you uncover those who practice wild magic.”

He shakes his head, mildly amused. “This just keeps getting better and better. Now you want me to believe you know how to catch Anomalies?”

I grind my teeth at the term they’ve given those who wield wild magic, as though we’re the outcasts of the supernatural world. Only the small-minded like those at the Academy would share that opinion.

“Didn’t I just show you not to underestimate me?” I refer to how I had him bound only seconds ago.

“Look, do we have a deal or not? Because the way I see it, we both have bigger things to worry about.

Surely, it will look bad on the Academy’s end if they can’t find a cure for a blight that originated under its roof. And whether you believe it or not, I can help. And I have every reason to succeed.”

For Zari’s sake, and for every resident of The Oddity who’s exposed to this blight’s effects.

He doesn’t say anything at first, clearly mulling over my offer and weighing the outcomes. Good, at least we have that in common. I study each expression that journeys across his face. Finally, his brows furrow, and I know he’s reached the part where he’s thinking one thing: what does he have to lose?

If he agrees to my offer, the Academy might stand a chance at discovering a cure. They’ll receive the credit for it, and this guy will receive the credit for contributing to it.

And if he doesn’t, well, the blight will spread, he might even catch it, and he’ll never know whether I could make a difference.

At last, he sighs in finality and straightens up. “Deal. You have until the end of the month. We’ll discuss the rest of the terms on the way.”

For the first time since I encountered him, I give him a genuine smile. “In that case, I believe introductions are in order.” I hold my hand towards him. “Sylvina Myrwell. Syl for short. It’s nice to formally meet you.”

“Kazimir Devorak,” he says while studying my hand. At last, he takes it and adds, “Kaz for short.”