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To say JJ and everyone else is surprised at my reaction is an understatement. I step back, the most shocked of all. But the hour is late and without another word they all race back through the passageway to make the last trip across campus with the Coven chaperone.
JJ and I lag behind because he can escort me back to my dorm—and we’re long overdue for a conversation. But when the silence stretches between us and in every direction, my relief at seeing him and... I don’t know what to call it. Affection? Warmth? Joy? Well, whatever it is dies in the dark. I stop in the hidden passageway.
“So,” I say, folding my arms in front of my chest and semi-scowling.
“I thought you were happy to see me. By the way, that’s a first.” He almost, but not quite, smiles.
The little spark inside of me reignites.
“If you must know, I was worried,” I whisper.
He chuckles in the dark. Then we’re both quiet.
Me: waiting for his reply.
Him: probably thinking, plotting... doing whatever it is moody boys do.
Me: I wish he’d share his thoughts with me.
Him: nothing.
When we’re back in the room with the secret bookshelf, I say, “How did you find us?”
“Remember how I mentioned the part about how it feels like I’m slowly fading and trapped between this life and what comes next? Turns out that my magical abilities are as strong as ever. I found that out while on West’s errand.” A little bulb of light blooms from the tip of his wand, illuminating the cobwebs and his handsome features, ones that never fail to make me think that he was sculpted from another time in history. Because he was.
“Where did you go?”
He shakes his head as though it was foolish. “To answer your first question—”
I bounce a little on my heels as if I’ve won a prize. “I like this. You’re going to answer one of my questions?”
He smirks. “Magic leaves imprints to those looking. I happen to be very keen on your particular signature, Maija Wessels.”
We’re close, in the cluttered room. His coldness meets my relative warmth (though I am kind of chilly), and I lean in, wanting to wrap my arms around him again, but the bells toll for curfew.
We rush out of the library and back onto campus. Fog rolled in while we were in the library, revealing only the immediate space surrounding us. The twin lamplights flicker when we pass Hawthorne Hall, and I stop abruptly.
A flash of recognition crosses JJ’s face and then quickly disappears. “Did you forget your homework?”
“No, but I learned the identity of your father.”
Where I expect him to change the subject and urge me on, he confirms, “Trehan John Thorne.”
“That’s what JJ stands for?” I shiver. “You’re John Junior?”
He nods. “Minus the T for Trehan. My father was a swarthy fellow. No need for there to be two Trehans. I could never live up to him, anyway.”
I recognize the sadness in his voice. My parents are not at all swarthy, but I’ve lived in the shadow of their success, their happiness, and their larger-than-life personalities my entire life.
We continue walking and he goes on. “He was a good man, died too young. I was, well, I would have been twenty-four when he left this realm, but seeing as I’ve been eighteen for a century-plus, it’s a tough call.” JJ takes a deep breath and says, “His body was never found, but I visited his grave while I was gone. West thought perhaps he was still alive and sent me searching. Like I said, magic leaves traces and all that.” I hear a mite of disappointment in his voice.
“Dewey mentioned a legend—that your dad might have taken Imogen’s wand.”
“That’s what West thought. Maybe he hid it somewhere or destroyed it. Who knows? I tried tracing it, but time washes away even powerful imprints. Mostly, the errand was a reminder of how much I’ve lost.” This little glimpse past JJ’s tough exterior makes me squeeze his hand tight, trying to warm it through.
“Why find the wand though?”
We’re in front of Penny House now and in the diffuse light of the foggy night, JJ’s lips quirk. “So many questions. It’s brilliant that you banded together with the others, inspiring us all. It gives hope.”
“How long were you standing there?” I ask.
“Long enough to remember why I’ll always come back.”
His gray eyes meet mine and my breath catches at the intensity of his gaze—what I once thought was burning hatred is something else. The fire kindles inside of me as I recall our kiss.
“So you call yourselves the Mavericks,” he says. “I like that.”
“Everything about the Sweetheart Dance was awful. Everyone is afraid,” I whisper. “I had to do something.”
JJ brushes his thumb on my chin. Every part of me tingles. I shiver and it’s not because he’s perpetually cold—must be a part-ghost thing. “Everything was awful except this,” he says and leans in and kisses me again.
I think I see stars.
I think I shoot over the moon.
I think I’m orbiting in space, somewhere far from my worries, campus, the tension, and everything else as his lips press against mine.
I feel infinite.
From within Penny House, I hear Miss Mayweather checking everyone in for curfew. JJ and I say a lingering goodnight.
Despite the warmth of his kiss, a chill follows me into the dorm and through the next days. I can’t seem to shake it. I feel cold inside, watched, worried. I can hardly focus and find myself making simple arithmetic errors, reading the same line repeatedly in my textbooks, and setting everything nearby aflame—even with the wand upgrade.
I’ve fallen so far behind in my studies I bring my homework to the dining hall. I push my tray of food away and struggle to make sense of feedback loops for the escalation and of death spirals in monoculture reactions—we still have conservation work despite Derrington’s absence.
“This can’t happen here,” Dewey says, setting his tray down and closing my book.
“I can’t fail,” I counter.
“Didn’t we designate our table as a work-free zone?”
“I have to pass this in today.”
“But you’re not even eating,” Dewey says.
“If you keep quiet and let me focus, you can have my pie,” I bargain.
“Your banana cream pie?” he says, eyeing it.
I pass it to him and go back to my assignment. I’ve only written two measly responses when a butternote lands on my shoulder—seminal seminar is back on.
That night, as a Coven Constabulary chaperones me across campus, I expect the uniquely eccentric, but recovered, professor Arrowsmith to be waiting for me in the classroom.
Instead, West paces, gazing up at the glass ceiling and beyond to the half-moon.
“Where’s JJ?” I ask after greeting him.
“Tonight, you’re taking a test.”
“But I didn’t prepare,” I protest. “Did I miss the assignment or—?” I fret because I’ve struggled to keep up with homework and studying these last few days.
“There is nothing you could have done to prepare. I’ve exhausted my other options and now it’s time for you to move on in your studies.” He waves his hand vaguely.
“How is Professor Arrowsmith?” I ask, delaying the inevitable.
Chancellor West takes a seat on one of the cushions in the middle of the room and gestures for me to do the same. “As quirky as ever, but she’ll make a recovery in time.”
“And Derrington?”
“Professor Derrington,” he corrects. “As for her, we have yet to see. But take heart, she’s as tough as they come. I have a feeling she’ll pull through.”
“Any idea who poisoned her?”
“We’re investigating.”
“JJ told me magic leaves traces.”
He nods. “And skilled magicals can just as easily hide the residue.” He tosses his hands in the air and then lets them fall into his lap. “Now, time for your exam. I would like you to block your memories.”
This I have no problem with, having become adept at keeping JJ out of my head for so many months.
The energy between West and I shifts. It becomes present, active. I easily block the head of Riptivik from my bank of memories, feeling rather satisfied at my newly developed skill.
“Maija.” West’s voice comes to me from what feels like in my own mind. “Now, please block your thoughts.”
A memory-wall proves to be no problem, but thoughts are another matter, entirely. Like earlier, my focus is spotty. It’s like my brain has too many computer tabs open.
He must see my frustration. Piles of awaiting homework pop into my mind. Then our talk about how magic leaves traces makes me wonder if I should learn how to hide it because meeting in a secret room in the library likely breaks a rule or ten.
“Maija,” West’s voice comes again, bringing me back into focus. “I don’t want to pry into your thoughts, but it’s imperative you block them.”
I try again, using the same wall-method I did with blocking memories, but current thoughts aren’t stored in boxes in the attic of my mind. They’re more like a river or sea, flowing right through the center with waves crashing this way and that.
West’s voice filters into my awareness. “You are the master. Your thoughts are the beast. Who is in charge? Who captains the ship in your ocean of thought?”
“I do,” I say vaguely.
“If I’m in your mind, I’m on your boat. Where will you take me?”
“To shore,” I say swiftly, carrying his energy away from my own until I feel a sensation like I’ve just landed on solid ground.
Awareness of West in my mind vanishes, and he says, “Well done.”
“Now, we’re going to practice until you learn how to keep stowaways off your ship.” He winks.
A short time later, the bells toll twelve, indicating it’s midnight.
“You must be tired,” West says.
I shake my head. On top of my chill and inability to focus, I haven’t been sleeping well so like a good little owl, I fluff my feathers and indicate we continue. Yet, inside, I shiver.
West shifts, as though he too feels a draft. He scans the room before we continue.
After I successfully block him a dozen times, at last, he claps his hands together as though we’re done. He’s easily one of the most powerful magicals in our world, and I feel like clapping because I successfully kept him out of my thoughts. However, I doubt he’s using his full strength and ability.
“You did an outstanding job.”
“That’s good to hear. I wasn’t expecting a test.”
“Trial by fire, as they say. You, Maija, are very fiery. From now on we’re going to focus on wish witchery.”
I stop myself from saying finally. At last, I get to learn more about my obscure talent.
“Before we go, can you tell me what a brixta is?” I ask, hoping he’ll elaborate on what Bree and Yassi mentioned.
West’s mouth curves into a subtle smile. “You, Maija, are a brixta. But to be clear, magic isn’t about luck. It’s learning to believe. Trust is a choice. You must choose to trust your magical talents. You must seek the stars within and connect them to the stars above.”
I gaze up at the glass ceiling in the classroom, seeking understanding.
Then he says, “You have my permission.”
“For what?” I’m not sure if he means I have permission to seek the stars within, whatever that means, or something else.
He gets to his feet, leading me toward the door. “The Secret Garden was always one of my favorite books when I was a boy.”
I stop abruptly. Gregor’s Axe. He means he knows about our group.
“I’m sorry that you can’t use a wish to fix things. However, it seems you’re on the right track.”
No, I can’t use magic to force people to get along and stop fighting, but I can be an ally, a brixta.
