Panic fuels my burning muscles as I sprint through the dark, familiar streets like my life depends on it. Because, as it turns out, it does. In the moments that my brain chooses flight over fight, I make a plan.
Get to my apartment.
Pack as much shit as I can carry.
Hitch a ride out of here with whoever is leaving soonest.
Because if whoever the fuck these people are found my work, they can find where I live. And I want to be as far from here as possible when that happens.
I may not have the savings to pay for a whole new life away from Lynden, but I have enough cash to last for a couple weeks of motels and vending machine dinners, at least until I find another job to hold me over.
Bursting into my apartment, I brace against the locked door as my pulse races. My chest feels like it’s being sawn open as my lungs adjust to the warmer air. As soon as I can take a breath without wincing in pain, I rush to my bedroom and start packing my laptop, a few changes of clothes, and enough toiletries to last until I can steal more from a room service cart. Just asI’m wrestling with the busted zipper of my backpack, frantic pounding at my door makes me freeze with indecision.
“Auggie, really this isn’t necessary. Give her a chance?—”
“You’re too soft with these retrievals, Cece. It’s better to just rip the band aid off so we can all get on with our lives. Now do your thing or else I’m going to melt it.”
“You’ve never met a thing you didn’t want to set on fire, have you?” she mutters. I panic, suddenly remembering the lock at work and rush to open the crooked window in my living room. I barely have one foot over the sill when someone jerks my backpack and I sprawl on the worn couch as both women loom over me.
“You know, it’s been a while since we’ve had a runner. But as funny as this is for us—well, maybe not for you,” Augustine says, gesturing to my splayed limbs as I stare daggers at her, “we’re on a deadline.” With deceptive strength, she grabs the front of my sweatshirt and pulls me up despite my struggling, but I manage to kick her in the stomach before she throws me down on the couch. Before she can strike back, Celestine lays a graceful hand on her shoulder with a pleading look. Augustine growls and throws her hands up in the air before backing away, only to glower at me once more from behind her much nicer—if equally criminal—sister.
The couch creaks as Celestine sits next to me with a soft smile, like an ounce of kindness could make up for them ambushing and attacking me tonight. “Nyx, I can appreciate how confusing all this must feel, truly, but this really would be easier for all of us if you could give us just a few moments of your time and allow me to explain.” Despite my silence and hate-filled scowl, she continues.
“Very well then. I’m not sure what Augustine was able to share before you parted ways—” Augustine snorts behind her sister and I turn my glare at her, quickly calculating my chancesof escaping via the front door, before flicking my eyes to Celestine’s once more when the odds aren’t in my favor. “But I’d like to start from the beginning. As Augustine demonstrated for you earlier, magic is indeed real. There are many different types and specializations of magic which you’ll learn about in time, but it all begins with the soul.” She pauses, and I can tell she’s hoping I’ll do something other than wishing looks could kill, but she can suffer my silence like I’m suffering their presence.
“Within the tapestry of the universe woven by Fate, our souls are intertwined with the threads of creation, bonding us to the raw, primordial magic that lies just beyond our physical senses. When one reaches the age of majority at twenty years old, this thread ignites—a moment we call “epiphaneia”, sparking the flame within and allowing us to wield this primordial magic. The nature of one’s soul—the truth of who we are and how we are bound to the universe—determines whether one is destined to wield the light, or the dark. The path towards mastering these abilities differs, but the destination is ultimately the same: the fulfillment of one’s fate, providing purpose to the power granted by the forces of the universe,” she finishes with a deep breath, eyes shining.
I glance at Augustine, still brooding behind her sister, and she shrugs as if this little fairy tale isn’t an absolute load of bullshit. Celestine takes my continued silence as permission to keep going.
“Each epiphaneia is unique to the individual experiencing it. Sometimes it can be a calm warmth flowing through your limbs, like watching the sun rise on a new day. Other times it can be explosive, destructive, and on rare occasions, fatal if one is not properly prepared. Most people fall somewhere in the middle. Unlike the majority of your peers who have been anticipating their epiphaneia their entire lives, you haven’t had a chance to learn or prepare for it, which puts you—and anyone aroundyou—at risk. That, coupled with your unknown parentage—” she pauses when I flinch, pity crossing her features, “—means the High Council is invested in establishing you at one of our society’s schools. The recovery of any unaccounted-for individuals is one of the many responsibilities of the Council?—”
“‘Recovery’? Sounds a lot nicer than ‘abduction’. Props to your marketing team,” I taunt. She purses her lips and ignores my barb. “No, no. Keep going. This is great. When’s the movie coming out?” I ask bitterly, voice laden with derision.
Celestine sighs with apparent disappointment, but honestly, “What the fuck did you think would happen here?” I motion between us, “you stalk me at my work, ambush me at the store, and let’s not forget this whole ‘breaking and entering’ situation right here. Now you’re talking about abduction like it's no big deal, and you’re surprised that I’m not buying into this cosmic woo-woo shit?”
Augustine rubs her hand over her face before pacing back and forth in my tiny living room, looking bored to tears with my reticence. “Whether you believe it or not doesn’t change the fact that the Council knows about you now, and they’re not going to just let you go. Because on top of everything else,” she says with a sneer, “you’re apparently a special little snowflake.” I refuse to take the bait, and Celestine silently admonishes her sister with a look before turning back to me.
“What she means, Nyx, is that your human upbringing isn’t the only unusual aspect of this situation. When the Registrar recorded your age of majority, it also identified your equal potential to wield either dark or light magic. Your soul, it seems, is balanced,” she says, willing me to understand something unspoken. Augustine, however, has no such compunction for subtlety.
“What she’s not saying is that you can choose what kind of magic you want to wield. The simple fact that you have thischoice means you have the power to influence your fate. And that power is something a whole lot of people would kill for.” Her warning makes my spine stiffen.
“Auggie—” Celestine starts but her sister cuts her off.
“No, Cece. She needs to know this shit. She won’t stand a chance when they realize she’s clueless.”
“Fuck you too,” I mutter as they talk about me like I’m not right in front of them.
“Bite me,” she snaps back. “You need to understand something—power is the only thing that matters in our world. It’s what determines whether you’re sitting pretty at the top of the hierarchy, or the slumming it at bottom. No one’s going to give a shit that the Registrar says you’re special. Once it gets out where you came from, they’ll knock you down over and over again until you either prove that you’re powerful enough to carve out a place for yourself, or you stop getting back up. Until your epiphaneia, you’ll be powerless to stop others from deciding where that place is for you.” This time, Celestine winces when I look to her for confirmation.
“She’s not wholly incorrect, unfortunately. Whether you go to Dreadhurst—the college for dark wielders, or Edenwood—the academy for light wielders, you’ll be at the mercy of your peers whose powers have already awakened.”
“So, let me see if I’ve got this right: I’m a witch, who can wield magic because ‘Fate’,” I emphasize with air quotes, “crocheted my soul into some cosmic blanket, but unlike everyone else it didn’t do me the common courtesy of deciding my life’s purpose, so now I have to choose where to learn magic because if I don’t, the magical government will crawl up my ass and do what Fate didn’t. And no matter what I choose, people will try to fuck me over until I can blow shit up.”
“See, I knew you were smarter than you looked,” Augustine snarks. I flip her off.
“Auggie,” Celestine chides, and Augustine sighs.
“Listen cupcake, I don’t know what else to say to get it through your head. You’re not human. If you don’t choose to come with us willingly, someone a lot uglier and a lot less charming will be here tomorrow to drag you in front of the Council, where a bunch of powerful, crusty old men—and like, one equally crusty woman—will tell you where to go and what to do, and then you’ll have no choice because they’ll own you. Now, is that believable enough for you?”
