Page 1 of The Misfit Mage and His Dashing Devil

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Walter

“You need to slide back onto it. Otherwise—”

“I know.” I gulped. This wasn’t a big deal. I’d done this plenty of times before. In fact, I’d been doing this a lot longer than Ian, yet somehow, he’d gained far more experience.

“Come on, Wally.” Ian’s breath licked my ear, sweet and soft. His hand gripped my hip, pulling me closer to his waist, and I willingly slid toward him because the idea of my back pressed to his chest sent a quiver through my body. This entire thing was exciting. Well, nerve-racking, but in a wonderfully distracting sort of way. “It won’t hurt. Promise.”

“I’m not worried about that.” My ears burned. Okay, I was a little worried about the pain—something which often made me hesitate—but mostly, my calves ached from holding this straddled position. “It’s just I don’t want someone walking down the trail and catching us.”

“No one ever walks down these trails.” Ian moved his hand, sliding it from my hip and planting it firmly on my abdomen. “Besides, you shouldn’t be embarrassed. All anyone would see is a rockstar with some amazing moves.”

My stomach clenched, and I buried the rush fluttering from that simple touch that evoked so much curiosity. “You’re not helping.”

Ian shushed himself, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as if to mimic locking his lips. I ignored the urge to ensure no one was wandering down the nearby trails to soak in the beautiful luminescent lights radiating off each portal in the Dimensional Atrium. I loved it here, the way everything, even the blades of grass, bounced the lights like endless mirrors casting serene warmth.

Doorways linked here to every magical location throughout the state, allowing mages and Mythics alike quick access—as long as they had clearance. Fae magics stirred in this pocket realm, illuminated by a dimly pink and orange sun and rainbow-painted moon. They were each frozen here, high above the purplish-blue sky, with the lights of various portals bouncing off them to brighten everything in enchanted colors.

The calming comfort of this place pushed away my jitters, and I focused.

“That’s it. Now, get a firm grip and—”

“I vaguely remember showingyouhow saturation works.”My toes curled, anxious and uncertain, as I held the wooden broom we straddled, imbuing it with mana until the sigils covering the stick glowed.

I hated flying. I’d often either fail to lift off or fall flat on my face, and either way, it was embarrassing. Almost as embarrassing as Ian assisting me with practice for an exam I’d failed more times than I could count. Ian had never attended an academy yet impressed everyone during his apprenticeship and aced the practitioner exam on his first attempt. Meanwhile, I hadn’t mastered one single magic.

When Ian offered to help me practice for the exam, it seemed like a great idea. A real win-win situation. I’d known him for a while and really enjoyed his company; he liked hanging out with me. Maybe. Probably. Most likely. It wasn’t like he knew too many people in Seattle and even fewer mages or Mythics when he’d arrived. Still, I wanted to figure out if his nice nature and touchy-feely assistance were how he acted with everyone or if there was a spark there.

“You’ll want to steady that charge.”

“Huh?”

Ian stroked the broom handle, evenly distributing the saturation of mana I’d imbued. Come on! That was clearly suggestive as fuck. Or I’d done what I always did—overanalyzed every tiny detail searching for any cue that led to the answer I wanted.

My breathing hitched, but I stabilized my mana. I hadn’t quite lifted off and had already screwed up a core fundamental of imbuing mage tools—which meant taking the magical residue within myself coursing as mana and saturating the sigils with a proper charge. Too much in one or too little in another would cause the mana to erupt in unexpected ways. With a broom, it usually involved getting bucked off like riding a raging bull.

I wobbled, legs dangling, and very much wanted to quit before I made an even bigger fool out of myself. Ian kept a hand on the broom and arm wrapped around me as we lifted off the ground.

“Come on,” Ian whispered. “I want you to show me all the best views here in the Atrium.”

“You probably have more time to visit this place than me.” Between work and working after hours and avoiding practicing for an exam I’d fail again, I rarely made my way to the Atrium anymore. It was more of a headache finding the time to visit, but as a professional practitioner in the sentinel regiment, Ian made use of the portals daily for work.

I shook away the self-doubt, self-loathing, self-what-the-fuck-ever, because I wanted to make the most of this practice. We floated high above the Sigillaria trees lining the trail, their trunks glittering with lights all the way to their forked branches and majestic leaves. It was hard to know if these looked anything like the actual extinct trees, but every plant and animal dwelling in the Dimensional Atrium came from a species long lost, forgotten, or eradicated by humanity. The Fae preserved them here. They preserved everything in their many vast realms. It was nice having access to this little pocket reality they shared with mages.

Sticking to the woodland trails, I jerked and weaved around branches. My broom sputtered, zipping quickly and then halting because my saturation continued faltering.

“Sorry. Having a bit of trouble.”

“Relax.” Ian rested his chin on my shoulder, pressing his cheek to mine to guide my line of vision. “Enjoy the view and try not to overthink the magic.”

I turned willingly, assuming he wanted to glimpse the Fae patrolling this territory, something I had tried doing for years. Occasionally, I’d see one in the corner of my eye, but they were nothing more than a glare in my glasses since they refused to be observed, determined to remain the observers. But it wasn’t the Fae that piqued his interest.

A herd of Pyrenean ibex grazed at the edges of rocky terrain, their horns coated in gold and silver, which didn’t look anything like the species in recorded history.

“Not sure if the Fae modified them through recreation magic or a mix of doppelgänger cloning,” I explained, “but the Pyrenean ibex don’t actually gather in those patterns. And while their fur is likely altered due to the discoloration here, they had much shorter coats. Their horns also—obviously—don’t shimmer with metallic sheen, but it’s the odd curvatures that really make it apparent how much the Fae decided what they liked about the original species versus what they sought to alter.”

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