“Maybe.” Sondre had been trying to be patient, but the choice was obvious. “If I can convince the Congress, we could look at sending you to a boarding school back in the nonmagical world.”
“Could I still see Mom?”
“Yes.”
“She’d miss me.” Craig looked up at him. “And if you don’t treat her well—”
“My vow, amagicalone, that I will put her happiness above all else.”
Craig gave him a long serious stare. “You love her, huh?”
“I do.” Sondre pointed at Craig sternly. “But that’s between me and her. Stop being such a pain in the ass, and I’ll discuss the boarding-school idea with your mom.”
“Deal.” Craig smirked. “If you do, I won’t complain that you failed to ask me for her hand in marriage.”
Sondre guffawed. “Well, if you behave, I won’t tellherthat you were discussing her like she’s property.”
Craig’s eyes widened briefly before he smiled. “You’re made for her.”
I do hope so,Sondre thought. Whether or not he’d meant to, he was fairly sure he and Maggie were as close to perfectly matched as he could even dream of finding.
7Scylla
Each day before the sun rose over Crenshaw, Scylla patrolled the barrier. As she made her way through the predawn streets of Crenshaw, the residents of her tiny magical village were asleep, so the world seemed silent, as if she were the only person alive. That was exceptionally untrue, of course. The houses in Crenshaw were oftenoverfilledwith witches, and in the distance, Crenshaw Castle squatted like a perpetual reminder that things here were not quite like other places. But in this moment, Scylla had the welcome illusion of solitude.
She looked back at the path toward the edge of the magical town where she’d lived for over a century now. The moon was half-full, so there was enough light to turn her path silvered. Not a soul had passed her so far.
As she turned to the gravel-and-dirt path that twisted into the dark wood, she saw a few badgers creeping up behind a chicken.
Scylla pointedly glared at them. “Not a good idea.”
One of the badgers flipped her off, and Scylla flung a spell-loaded stone at the furry menace. The spell stone hit the badger’s side, and thelittle beast fell sound asleep. The rest of his partners in crime scattered while the thieving badger slept off his attempted crime.
Badgers, like the rest of the citizens, were given food allowances. There was no need tomurdera chicken. The hens were for sustainable egg production,notmeat. In general, Crenshaw aimed to be a peaceful community. No killing animals. The one exception had been the fish, but now the fish were polluted. The badgers, unfortunately, were those citizens who had trouble following rules in the first place. If they were law-abiding, they would be human. Crimes were addressed by a period of time sentenced to life as a badger. Even then, being a badger didn’t mean that they were left without essential resources or even caged. They were simply… in an alternate shape. The punishment was primarily in the lack of human activities.
One of the badgers stopped beside a nearby well and glared back at her.
“Go on,” Scylla told them. “Scoot.”
The others scurried away toward wherever badgers slept or clustered. At night, they were typically at the tavern, but there was a house where the badgers could all go. Witches weren’t trying to deprive the criminal element of shelter.
Until the political factions formed, Crenshaw was a peaceful community, but then a hundred citizens started agitating to return and “seize power” in the nonmagical world—even though magic was simply not compatible with that world.Everyoneknew that. They might not know why, but they knew the law: No one moved between the worlds other than those who went to retrieve either new witches or provisions. Both were quick trips, rarely over a full hour.Thatwas the law, and no matter how much the New Economists argued that the law needed changed, Scylla knew better.
Some rules of magic were immutable. Every witch had a natural magical affinity—one revealed during their time as a remedial witch—drawn from innate character traits. There were magics, basic self-healingand teleportation, that most witches could handle, but the critical magic was whatever trait manifested as their unique skill. Every witch had one, and they were grouped together in houses based around those traits.
Scylla’s affinity was illusion, so much so that she had grown into her power more and more. Some of her illusions evenfeltsolid at a brief touch. She was the witch in charge of House Scylla—which meant her “job” was managing all significant illusions. Her house’s primary responsibility was making sure that Crenshaw was thoroughly hidden from nonwitchy eyes. Obviously, she wasn’t excused from noticing other areas that needed attention.
Scylla made a mental note to mention the badger unrest to the chief witch.Maybe badgering isn’t enough.The witches who were sentenced to badgering were often repeat offenders. That was a problem for the next Congress of Magic meeting.
For now, she continued into the woods. The moonlight illuminated the dirt path that wound from the village to the shadows of the forest. Beyond that was her goal: the barrier to the nonmagical world. The path to the barrier was one Scylla suspected she could walk with eyes closed.
Something inside her seemed to relax when she eventually stood in front of the barrier that was an extension of her magic. Checking the barrier had long since ceased being a duty and become a moment where the world reduced to magic and silence. The trail she followed was a path toward that spot where her magic met itself.
As she walked closer, the magic inside her skin thrummed in tune with the magic that created the barrier that hid Crenshaw.
She saw no shadows in the dim light following her as she charted the path into the woods. No branches cracked to alert her to unwelcome companions deep in the woods. All was as it should be. The only thing of note was the soft slither of ferns as they brushed against her boots. It was a familiar feeling, a telltale sign that she was nearing the edge of Crenshaw’s territory. Here was where the magic of the barrier began,hermagic,hercreation.
Despite appearances, the wall that protected Crenshaw wasn’t solid. If it were, it would mean they were cut off from supplies. The barrier was an illusion with repelling magic woven into it. Nonmagical people would see a slick mountain face lined with briars. Scylla saw the truth: there was no mountain, no briars, nothing at all. Her magic maintained the illusion for Crenshaw. It protected the nonmagical from wandering into the city of witches. It protected the witches from discovery.
