“I apologise; I did not realise you had asked a question.”
“Who are you?” she snarls.
“That’s a question,” Lander notes mildly.
So helpful.
“Why were you there?” She leans forward, fingernails digging into the desktop. “In the woods. Spies have been crossing our borders, trying to steal what we guard. Our ley lines are the strongest in the world, envied everywhere. At two o’clock this afternoon a sentient house crash-landed on a ley line in Branham Woods, causing a major explosion. The house was destroyed, the line damaged, and the powerfeeding the Magic Sector is faltering. Tell me what you know.”
“Wait.” I raise a hand. “Did you say a sentienthousecrash-landed? That a house caused the explosion? I thought sentient objects were small. Magical houses are supposed to be a myth, a fairy tale. Are you telling me a full-sized building, not a doll’s house, fell out of the sky? You mean an actual house?”
“A real house,” she confirms, narrowing her eyes.
I shake my head, feigning bewilderment, and keep talking. People with something to hide seldom ask so many questions.
“Gosh. And you said it was destroyed? I do not understand how a house could crash-land. Did it fly? Did it have wings or float like a car? Was anyone hurt? Was the house itself dangerous?”
“Cut the crap,” Lander says, leaning back with his arms folded. “Look, Harper, you need to start talking. Tell the truth. This so-called ‘act of innocence’ won’t work for you. The sooner you give us the information, the sooner we can process you. You don’t want to see what happens if we catch you in a lie. It will not be pleasant. I don’t hurt women as a rule, but I will if necessary.”
There are too many blanks I cannot fill.
Silence will not suffice. If I hesitate or give even the faintest hint of threat, I know what comes next. If the Magic Hunter decides I am dangerous, he will do whatever it takes to make sure I am not.
I need to do something extreme.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I murmur. “Is it because I am a paper mage?”
“What?” She whips towards Lander. “She’s a paper mage?”
I duck my head and stare at the floor.
I can feel Lander’s eyes burning into the top of my skull. I am betting they treat paper mages like live grenades, and I have just figuratively pulled the pin and dropped it in the middle of Lander’s office.Boom.
“I did not think the Ministry discriminated by discipline,” I say sadly to my sock-covered feet. “Even necromancers are admitted. I hoped the upper ranks were better…” I allow my voice to fade.
“She’s a paper mage,” Meredith hisses.
“She says she’s not very powerful.”
“That is irrelevant. A word. Outside.”
She storms off. Lander follows. In the corridor, her voice rises. “You brought a paper mage into the Ministry?”
“She’s wearing an anti-magic cuff.”
The door slams; a sound-suppressing spell swallows their argument, leaving only the faint hum of the building.
I swing my legs.
Now the Ministry faces a dilemma: keep my presence quiet, or inform the paper mages. And they will not be pleased to learn that one of their own is wearing a magic-suppressing cuff and being interrogated.
They may never have met me, yet a bond of power binds us, and they fiercely defend their own.
Without thinking too much about it, I grab a notepad from Lander’s desk and pick up a pen. The weight feels wrong in my fingers—too heavy and too small at once, like it is meant for someone else’s hand. For a moment, I just stare at the blank page, suddenly, absurdly nervous.
I have never used a modern pen before.
My gaze drifts around the room, half-hoping for a swan-feather quill and a pot of ink—something that makes sense. Instead, I am left staring at the metal pen gripped awkwardly in my hand, its smooth barrel cold against my skin.
