Right,I thought,that’s that. That settles it.
Smith was rubbing his chin. “Let’s try . . .”
“No,” I said, turning the wand and holding the handle out to him. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Maybe you just need to get your confidence back—”
“No.”No, no, no.I set the wand on his desk and ran my fingers through my hair. “It didn’t work, Smith. I don’t feel anything.”
“Nothing?”
“Not a spark.”
Smith was frowning. Thinking. “What did your magic used to feel like?”
“Like a forest fire,” I said quickly. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“Let’s try again, Simon.”
“Smith, no—”
He was already pointing his wand at me.“Let it all out!”
I didn’t even feel the bubble popping the second time. I think Smith could feel the spell fail on his end, too. He looked down at his pool-cue wand, then let his arm drop to his side. “Simon . . . I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right, Smith.” It would be all right. Itwould.I tried to smile at him, so he didn’t feel bad. “Maybe this is useful. Now you know how it feels to cast the spell on a Normal.”
Smith’s face had completely fallen. He was in shock, I think. “I really believed you were a magician, Simon . . .”
“You weren’t the only one.”
“You gave yourselfwings. . .”
“I should go.” I started for the door.
“Wait—” He reached out to me. “We should talk.”
I sighed. “No offence, Smith. But you don’t have to comfort me. I’ve been living like this for more than a year. If anything, I should thank you. This confirms what I already suspected: I was never a magician. I don’t need to be healed.”
I was never a magician. Never magic.
I was just some kid the Mage picked out, with no family who could object. I think I must have been part of an experiment—like one of those swords the Mage tried to enchant. He used me.He lied to me.
I was never the Greatest Mage. I didn’t belong at Watford. It was all a fluke. Worse than a fluke—a plot.
“Simon!”
I’d already left Smith’s office at that point. I was walking out of the building, running down the steps to the street. Smith was standing up in the doorway, under the HOME FOR WAIFS sign. There was just enough light to make his eyes shine blue.
“Are you coming tomorrow,” he asked, “to the meeting at Watford?”
Oh God, no . . . No.
“I’ll try,” I said.
“It would be great to see you, Simon. To have you there.”
I nodded. Then I ran away from him. I ran all the way home.
