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Valene dropped into a chair. “Althea Virelli. Bexley, Fiora, Garnet.”

“Founding-line Virelli.” Bexley didn’t look up from the notebook. “Third generation from the original ward construction. Your magic woke up last night.” She made a tab. It was orange. “When did it happen? Where, and did it come out all at once or in waves?”

“The boardwalk festival.” Althea took the open chair. “About seven-forty-five. And — all at once. Very sudden.”

“That tracks with most first surges.” Bexley wrote it down, deeply satisfied. “Color?”

“Of the fire I was accidentally producing?”

“Yes.”

“Orange. Gold. I wasn’t studying it in real time because I was in the middle of having it.”

“Fair.” Bexley made a note. Under what heading, Althea couldn’t tell. “Did it push out from you or pull in toward you?”

“Push out. Definitely push out. From the hands.”

“Mmm.” Bexley underlined it twice.

“You’re treating this like a medical intake.”

“It is one.” Bexley’s pen kept moving. “Magical instead of medical, but same idea. Figure out what’s going on, then figure out what to do about it.”

Fiora brightened. “I have a color-coded plan for your integration. Bexley made it. It’s beautiful and very organized. It has seventeen steps and at least three contingency branches.”

“I’m not — I’m not an integration project.”

“Of course not.” Fiora’s tone said otherwise, in the warmest possible way. “You’re a person. The integration plan is for the magic.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table, bright-eyed and interested. “So. The boardwalk. Tell me everything. I heard there was a banner and some candles — did the fire spread or stay localized?”

“It traveled,” Althea said, before she’d decided to. “The banner caught from the candles. One motion, outward.”

“Traveling fire in a first surge — that’s strong.” Fiora looked impressed, not alarmed, which wasn’t the reaction Althea expected. “Mine just kind of — shimmered at reflective surfaces when I first woke up. Very anticlimactic compared to yours.”

“What does your magic do?”

“Mirror disruption.” Fiora sighed, elegant and dramatic. “I show people true reflections at inconvenient moments. Very useful at parties if you want people to be honest about their feelings. Very embarrassing if someone is trying to flirt in a bathroom mirror.” She gestured at Bexley. “Hers is precision magic. Garnet’s is earth-based grounding. Very useful. Very stabilizing. Extremely boring compared to fire.”

“My magic isn’t boring,” Garnet said without heat. “It’s just quiet.”

“Yours is the best one,” Fiora said, looking at Althea.

“Mine is latent.” Valene reached for her coffee. “Still working on it. Jury’s still out on what it does, but it tends to make things turn up when I need them, which is convenient.”

“Were you all waiting for this?” She looked around the table. All four. “For me?”

Nobody rushed to fill the silence. The fireplace crackled. The espresso machine made its tense noise. The chalkboard, apparently recovering from its moment, began writing again.

Nobody denied it to her satisfaction.

“The ward patterns have been pointing to a founding-line awakening for two seasons,” Bexley said, which was accurate and not quite a denial.

“I noticed some indicators,” Garnet said, which wasn’t a denial either.

“I may have had a conversation with Gerri.”

“Valene.”

“In my defense, it was a very vague conversation.”