Page 3 of Forbidden Magic
I try hard not to stare to avoid insulting her and also to hide my lack of familiarity with supernaturals.
The impressive lobby of the Academy’s administrative offices sends my pulse flying, my skin tingling in trepidation. The best sorcery school in all the realms is mine for the taking, and a big grin threatens to show on my face.
“Jules Winslow.” I play with the hem of my pleated skirt, not used to the uniform, my bare legs making me feel both exposed and sexy. I used to loathe uniforms. The ones at my old school were hideous, and the skirts fell right past the knee. This one is different, coming in a few plaid patterns and colors. I chose our family’s official design, red and black with a tiny white stag embroidered in the corner of the big squares. The black blazer is fashionable and comfortable.
The sprite passes her long, thin fingers over a leather-bound grimoire and hikes her big purple glasses up her pointy nose. “There’s no Jules in my records.”
“Julia. Julia Winslow.”
The book opens by itself to a page near the end, and the tiny wings at the sprite’s back twitch. “Here you are.” Her eyes narrow. “Since you’re mortal, I have to mark you.”
I frown. “Mark me?”
“In case we need to find you. You know… If something happens. Put your hand on the desk, please.”
I begrudgingly obey. A throng of scratches on her desk display initials and names. I run my fingers over the grooves. Some of them look old, grime and dust gathered in the cracks, the names seamlessly etched in the wood for centuries to come.
The sprite presses a stamp to my skin, and a burst of magic raises every hair on my arm to attention. A blue dye in the form of the school’s crest—a raven with a feather in its talons—shimmers in and out of view. I rub the back of my hand.
“Sign these.” She hands me a stack of papers and a huge golden feather. It’s at least a foot long and larger than my hand. Only the tip is pointy and narrow, and each silky strand glitters with a warm yellow light.
I search the counter for a pot of ink but find none. “There’s no ink.”
The sprite purses her lips. “Mortals with no education. Next thing you know, they’ll let humans enroll,” she mutters under her breath.
I shift my weight to my heels and cross my arms. “Excuse me?”
Her irises have morphed into cruel slits, and her teeth are bared in the imitation of a smile. “This is a blood feather, dear. You have to plant the tip inside your finger.”
I follow her instructions eagerly despite her jab, curious to see what will happen. The golden tip sinks inside my index finger, and the whole feather sighs. It seems to drink from me, blood rising up the center part to the strands until the whole thing is red. A tiny streak of black in the middle part catches my eye, but the nasty secretary taps the stack of papers again.
I concentrate on reading the—is it a contract?
Dad taught me that you should never sign your name away without reading the fine print. It’s not a contract but a waiver. The Academy will not be deemed responsible for loss of property, loss of limbs, assault, accidental or otherwise violent death. The list goes on and on, painting a colorful picture of all the imaginative ways I could meet my end.
That’s reassuring as fuck.
Dad used magic at home, and I dabbled in a few minor enchantments and spells myself, but this is different. It’s not just another new school. It’s a brand new world with its own rules and many different types of magic and artifacts like a feather that drinks your blood and forces you to face your probable death. I read every word and scribble my name at the bottom of the last page.
The secretary seems to have forgotten all about me, so I drop the heavy waiver on her desk. She raises a file folder without sparing me a glance. “This is your schedule and the student handbook. We’re still working out the kinks of mortal housing. You’ll be assigned a room shortly. Just leave your stuff here for the time being and come back in an hour. Things should be sorted out by then.”
I clear my throat, unwilling to quietly go away. “I’m looking for my sister, Allie Winslow?”
She passes her bony hand over her ledger again. “AllisonWinslow lives in Queen’s Mab dorm. Take a left at the trident and go all the way toward the unending forest.”
“Do you have a map?”
She grunts but hands me a sheet of paper. “Here.”
I slip out, my sneakers squeaking against the freshly polished floors.
A year ago, this would have been impossible. Forbidden. For more than fifty years, no mortal has set foot in this place, but the insanity is over. We have as much right as immortals to be taught the high-end spells and secret rituals. We have less time to put that knowledge to fruition, but that’s good. Immortals are constantly wasting time since they have so much to spare.
I’m going to do great here, graduate, and find an awesome job like my father’s, one that allows me to travel the world. I’ll leave politics to my blue-blood sister. I want to go into paranormal investigations and kick some dark Magus’ ass. Maybe even work for the Magisterium, the agency that governs all supernatural creatures on Earth.
Fire witches are a great asset in the fight against our world’s most powerful monsters.
It’ll be an honor to even apply for such a position, and it will all be possible because I’ll receive the best education right here. I hop outside, energized, and find the trident.
