Page 22 of Bitten Shifter

Even back then, I knew the stakes. If anyone discovered the human government had unknowingly sterilised a mage—no matter how minor the power—it could have ignited a war. So I kept it quiet.

Even now, nobody knows—not Paul, not Dove, no one.

Technomancy is rare, which is how I slipped under the radar. My abilities aren’t flashy or world-altering, but they were temperamental when I was young. Phones would short-circuit, lights would flicker, and electronics around me would fail if I didn’t consciously control my magic. It took years, but I mastered it, incorporating my abilities into my work and passing them off as technical skill.

I’ve always told myself I’m not a ‘real’ mage. My powers feel more like a peculiar knack—an unusual talent, like being good at maths or singing. I’m human. I feel human. But moments like this remind me I’m… different.

I’m nothing like the mages from this morning.

The hotel lobby nightmare replays in my head: Merrick shielding me, the suitcase thudding into him, and then his ripping a sofa cushion to bat away spells. I’ve never witnessed anything like it.

Shaking off the memory, I turn up the TV volume and hum along to a ’90s dance tune while I settle in.

I put my things away, load the washing machine, make the bed, and compile a list of essentials—nothing fancy, just toiletries, vitamins, and an entirely new wardrobe.

I skim the rule book before venturing outside; most of it is common sense, nothing alarming.

With a sigh, I grab my glasses. I’ve never liked wearing them, but they are indispensable for navigating the world these days with my ageing vision.

Matthew spots me as I leave the building. Perched in the lobby like a watchful hawk, he offers a polite nod. I wave back and stick to the path that follows the road we drove in on.

The day is crisp and bright, with a slight chill in the air.

Walking stirs something familiar in me. When I was younger, I used to run—part of the conditioning and martial arts training that kept me in top shape. Those days feel like a lifetime ago, but the steady rhythm of my steps now clears my head. For the first time in a while, I sense a glimmer of purpose sneaking back in, one footstep at a time.

One step at a time, Lark.

I recall a quote I once read, though I can’t remember it exactly—something about how, when things are hard and you feel lost, it’s because your old self is gone, and the discomfort is part of becoming something new.

A transformation.

Like a butterfly.

I huff a quiet laugh. I hardly feel like a butterfly; I’m more like a hairy caterpillar hiding in a bush. Still, the sentiment fits.

My pace slows, and my eyes widen as I turn a corner and see the strangest property.

“Wow,” I breathe, the word spilling out unbidden.

The house before me is like something plucked from a dream—or perhaps a fairytale nightmare. A magnificent Edwardian-style doll’s house, but life-sized and impossibly pristine.

Placing my hands on my hips, I tilt my head to study it. The building seems out of place, as if dropped here by mistake. Every aspect of its architecture is flawless, so exact it’s almost unsettling.

Then I feel it.

Magic.

At first it’s subtle, a faint tug in my chest, but it grows stronger, wrapping itself around me in a gentle yet insistent grip.It does not hurt, but it feels… aware, as if the house is examining me, sizing me up.

My breath hitches, and I whisper, “What are you?”

Of course, the house does not answer, but the strange sensation lingers—a peculiar blend of wariness and curiosity.

“It’s a wizard’s house,” I mutter, shaking my head. I’ve only ever heard about them—whispers that they exist. I’ve never seen one in person.

It’s too perfect—unsettlingly so. The paint gleams like it was applied this morning, flawless and unmarked. The walls shimmer like they have never known a storm or the passage of time.

The windows are spotless, reflecting the sunlight with an ethereal brilliance. The lawn is a uniform deep green, trimmed with surgical precision. Flowerbeds burst with vibrant pink, yellow, and blue blooms—so dazzlingly bright they seem unnatural.

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