Practical Magic

Mira opened her booklet to the lifting spell. Corrections crowded the margin; she'd run out of space and tucked a loose sheet between the pages.

Below the classroom windows, a gardener swept wet leaves into a pile. Inside, copper rings clinked against the worktables as students examined the equipment.

Two weeks at Aethervale, and she knew which stair led to the library, which kitchen door opened before breakfast, and how long to wait before accepting that a seat was being saved for someone who wasn't coming.

She had stopped asking about the seats. That part was easier.

At home, her brothers would make her repeat each failure over supper. Here, she could shut her door. Nobody came to ask about her lessons, or anything else.

Her stomach tightened. The academy's two mice had barely eased her hunger. She ought to ask for rabbits, but at home, asking for more had meant explaining why everyone else managed with less.

Copper tapped wood. The professor had floated his ring across the table and lowered it over a peg. Around Mira, rings rose. Hers trembled half an inch above the wood and fell.

"Pig," someone whispered.

At House Drevein it usually came with a tug on her tail. Here, whoever said it waited until her back was turned. She kept her hand out, resisting the urge to pull her hair over her horns.

The professor stopped beside her. He praised her written solution, then asked her to try holding the ring still. Daylight showed beneath the copper, briefly.

"It stays up much longer in the diagram," Mira said.

A girl nearby laughed before catching herself. Mira smiled at her. The girl looked away, but the laugh had sounded real.

With her elbow resting where the professor showed her, she held the ring up long enough to take a breath. She tried to remember how her hand had felt, what she had been thinking. By the bell, she still hadn't managed it again.

In the commons, a girl laid a bag on an empty chair as Mira approached. Mira pretended she'd been heading toward the fireplace. Beyond it, students crowded around a Crownfall board.

Elias Caerwyn was playing white.

He had the highest entrance marks in their year and a habit of correcting professors. Mira had seen one check his book and concede that Elias was right.

Her tutors would have liked him. They spoke of Caerwyn scholars as if the elves had invented learning.

His pale hair was tucked behind one pointed ear. Mira had once spent most of a lecture looking at his profile before discovering she'd copied the same line twice. From this close, he was worse. She made herself look at the board.

His opponent conceded while Elias was still explaining the mistake. Mira watched the boy leave, wishing he'd defended his crown for one more turn. Then Elias noticed her.

"Drevein. Can you move these without dropping them?"

A boy beside him snorted. So Elias had seen the ring, too.

Heat crept up Mira's neck. She could leave, but then she would have to find somewhere else to sit, and he would never know how badly he'd misjudged her.

"They're usually easier when I'm allowed to touch them."

He began resetting the pieces. He hadn't asked whether she wanted to play. Apparently that was settled, along with the result.

Mira pressed her lips together. It was becoming difficult not to smile.

She hadn't lost since childhood. Her father still sent for her when a guest wanted a worthwhile opponent. Her eldest brother had stopped playing after demanding three rematches in one evening. He never mentioned those when he called her useless.

And here was Elias Caerwyn, clearing a place for her himself.

She sat, her tail curling around her ankle. Elias turned the black pieces toward her.

"I'll go slowly."

"Please don't," Mira said.