Chapter 1: Disastrous Trick

People liked to think that rain washed away everything.

But the truth?

It did the opposite—it loosened.

It chipped away and dredged up the unseen things buried underneath, making the smell of decay and ruin singe the air with a thin, biting sting.

I stood in the torrent and pulled my long, sharp, steely hand out of the guts of the last of the attackers. Piles of their dead, a testament to my violence, lay all around.

The downpour beat against my pale grey skin and plastered my long white hair against my head. And though the hammering waters seemed unending, they could not cleanse me of the blood staining my body.

I was my alter, Malvic, and I waited.

She was out there, and she was coming.

You don’t see her.

You can never hear her.

She lived on the edge of the blackness, closing in to finish the dark hunt we started.

“Let me see your eyes,” I shouted into the abyss. Bloodlust pushed at the demand, but I never commanded her.

Never.

Had I?

Hopelessness bled from the core of me. “Let me see your eyes.”

I thought if I could see them, I would know.

Then, with a low, guttural growl, she softly melted from the shadows, her black-and-purple-tinted fur ablaze.

Although wild strands of my hair covered my eyes, I could see perfectly. She was fantastically ferocious. My solar plexus tightened unbearably—wrenching, collapsing inward. I felt what all the others before me had.

My beautiful hellhound was there to kill me.

Her approach was slow and deliberate.

I had lost her.

And I felt the rain again.

The rhythmic thumps goaded me to think of my life as Billy.

The drumming against my black cloak flushed it all to the surface. I tried to grasp the wisp-like faces of my friends, but they fell into bleakness.

My heart sank into despair, embracing the weight of the moment—the finality.

At the end, your past rises.

The rain coaxed the reckoning.

In that moment, I wholly accepted my true nature.

And I remembered the time before, when my choices had led me down this dark path of destruction.

***

“Showtime!” Gene cued with his fingers—we were recording.

“I’m Billy Bramwell-Gates. Here with Myles, my super producer, and Gene, my right-hand man, on the camera. It’s time for It’s Magic! I Ain’t Gotta Explain Sh#t. And you are?”

“Max.”

“Christa. What’s your show about?”

With their vacant-eyed look, they should have announced themselves as Generic Normie Couple #1. Myles, ever the impulsive spirit, grabbed the closest people walking in our general direction. Zero potential superfans. None.

Now I was locked into an episode with them. Of all the creative souls on campus, Myles had to pick these two.

Cloaked in my face mask and hoodie embossed with my family’s hellhound crest, I imagined I appeared super mysterious and ultra-cool to the couple.

After milking the silence for the right amount of suspense, I answered her question, “Magic!”

She glowed momentarily, and I couldn’t stop myself from fixating on the girl’s eyes as they flickered with curiosity.

I glanced over at her partner.

Typical. The guy brimmed with doubt and postured, all too eager to mock my skills.

I stilled my mind, allowing myself to be the vessel of what I do best.

But first, card tricks.

Normies need the cards.

All good magicians know—build-up is everything.

Not even a minute into my act, I had impeccably called it. The guy started complaining and detracting from my performance.

“Lazy. We can see what you’re doing,” he snapped, pure disdain lashing through his tone.

I had to admit that sleight-of-hand garbage was not my forte.

It’s not magic—it’s trickery.

But we had all agreed the day’s escapades were about street fails, so I played the part.

As it turns out, failure gets more views on my channel than real feats of the imagination.

After my fourth trick, the glow in the girl’s eyes dimmed.

But I wanted it back. Awe was this magician’s favorite currency.

Enough with distractions!

I’m more than tricks.

I‘m magic.

And I am going to show her.

“Hey, Billy.” Gene barked. “I think we got the footage that we needed.”

My friends knew me well.

Myles nervously squeaked, unzipping his backpack and pulling out a bottle of water. “Yeah, Billy. We have enough for today’s shoot.”

In an instant, I saw what he was signaling.

No, it wasn’t a confidence killer. It meant safety first.

Sure.

Fire spells required nuance.

Obviously, I wasn’t about to set myself on fire.

“Keep filming, Gene. File this one under ‘kickass!’ Forget fails! Now it’s magic time!”

Movement—an exquisite form of hand ballet.

Thought—an unclouded vision of what I want to transpire.

Manifestation—making the natural order SUPER.

My hands’ fluidity was unmatched.

In one swift movement, a small purple-and-white flame ignited across my fingertips.

Curiosity reignited in the girl, and it was deliciously served with a heightened sense of wonder.

But it wasn’t only her.

I had everyone’s attention.

Then it happened.

Little did I know at the time that, in a matter of seconds, my wondrous feat would become the disastrous moment that shifted my life.

Something soft bumped me from behind and launched me forward.

In my confusion, just at the tip of my peripheral vision, I saw the flip of whitish-blonde hair turning away from me.

She kept saying, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

My magic flared, and the flames grew.

It was reacting to something.

Briefly, time appeared to pause.

Then, in a blur, she faded out of sight.

A scent of vanilla lingered.

The momentum she’d set off sent me stumbling into the couple.

The fire on my hand danced off onto the girl’s shirt. My attempts to dust it off only made it spread.

“No!” was the only word I could muster.

My mind only registered flashes in the next moments: the girl spinning in frantic circles, screaming, and Myles dousing her with water.

Even more messed up, I couldn’t turn off the flames. I tried rubbing my hands together to smother it, but the cuff of my hoodie caught fire.

I was still batting at my blaze when I noticed Myles pouring out the last drop of liquid, extinguishing the fire on the girl.

“Idiot. Are you trying to burn us to death? I ought to knock you on your ass!”

I didn’t even have to see who had spoken those words. It was pretty evident.

Despite the danger laced in his voice, putting out the final flame eating at my shirt had my full attention.

“Dude! She’s fine. Look, no burns. It was just an illusion.”

What? I felt the heat.

But as Myles pointed out, her shirt was just wet.

The girl looked—we locked eyes—she was mystified.

Then the connection snapped when the guy jerked her behind him and shouted, “I’m going to get you kicked off this campus, loser.”

“Good luck with that! You know who he is, right? Bramwell-Gates Arts Institute! Billy is his first name. Bramwell-Gates is his last.”

Dammit!

I hated it when Myles used my name to spook the students, but it was effective against the bullies. Most effective.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m very sorry,” I exclaimed as the couple stormed away.

“Bro, how did you do that? She’s fine, but you’re crispy.” Myles inspected the scorched sleeves of my hoodie.

I wanted to say something cheesy like, ‘A magician never reveals his secret.’

But I told him the baffling truth.

“I don’t know.

Hoping to find an explanation in the footage, I turned to Gene. “Let me see the video.”

But for some reason, Gene hesitated to hand over the phone. I immediately knew why when I pressed play.

Barely—hardly any—of my glorious manifestation got recorded. Yet somehow Gene managed to capture almost every inch of the girl’s scantily clad body.

“What? She ass-bumped me out of my magic.”

“Her nickname is Thicc Jana, dude.”

“Jana… Let me see that again.”

I stared at the paused video. Something within me jolted. Yes, I knew of her. But looking at her in that moment, there was something uncanny.

“I may have a class with her.” I didn’t know why I played it off with my friends.

“You would know if you had a class with this.” Myles grabbed the phone and shoved a zoomed-in cleavage shot in my face.

I immediately sloughed it off. I remembered something important.

“Class. Crap! I’m late.”

***

The cross-campus hustle to class sucked, and it did nothing to exorcise my deflated feelings. I’d conjured the fire from nothing, and all they’d remember was failure!

I quietly slid into the back row of Mr. Marvin’s Morals Sensitivity class.

My backpack felt heavy, so I slid it to the floor.

I couldn’t focus.

That burning feeling in my gut hadn’t faded. It pulsed under my ribs. And sadly enough, it paired with the smell of my ruined hoodie.

Why didn’t the girl’s shirt burn?

Why did the fire go haywire?

I had no answers, just confusion and a hollow pit of a bad day.

Thank goodness, the tall, pencil-thin professor—dressed to the nines—didn’t address my tardiness. He just flashed a wispy smile and continued his lesson.

“Discussing interspecies affection may make some of you feel downright bizarre, but if you can get past the awkwardness, you’re already halfway to becoming a tolerance ninja.”

“If it’s taboo, it helps us to understand the world—and you.”

Why did it have to be the girl sitting directly beside me who said that little tidbit?

“Good job, Nancy. Someone’s paying attention!”

I cringed at their exchange and retreated into my thoughts.

Is Jana in this class?

A sharp jab of curiosity poked me to scan the room.

No Jana.

But, unluckily for me, my natural-born enemy, The Nameless One, and his bro squad, JR and RJ, shared this class with me.

Before I could steep in my hate, the high-pitched sound of crazed inspiration broke my concentration.

Mr. Marvin pulled a large suede bag out of the podium.

“Special surprise if anyone can guess which animal—ahem—according to folklore, possesses a sacred organ resembling the look and feel of a human woman.”

Chuckles and fast, chaotic guesses were shouted.

“Excellent guesses,” pronounced Mr. Marvin over the room full of laughter. “I may regret this, but go ahead, Dane.”

I looked out from my perch and rolled my eyes.

The Nameless One stood up and slid on his designer sunglasses. I loathed that guy so much I refused to say his name.

“Easy one, Mr. Marvin. Your all-star championship team’s lead quarterback got you. I’m no genius, but…”

With the smallest huff under my breath, I slipped out, “You got that right.”

Like a panther scenting its prey, The Nameless One snarled at me.

I’d barely heard my voice. How could he?

“I’m going to go with a sea cow—Billy’s last date.”

I sank almost under the table to shield myself from the laughter.

“Mr. Shaw, take a seat. Billy, sit up! You’re disrupting the class.”

Me! Me? I’m the one disrupting the class?!

“Good job, Dane. You won the class a special toy.” Maybe I was the only one who noticed, but an impish smile cut across Mr. Marvin’s expression. I swear he only taught this class to be a chaos agent.

“Aww. A plushie sea cow!” Nancy squeed, bubbling with giddy, delirious delight.

Her glee repulsed my already fried nerves, but it seemingly invigorated Mr. Marvin.

“Sailors worshipped these beauties in lonely times. Chapter Forty: Mermaids. Please take enough sea cows for the row and pass the bag back.”

My inner trouble detectors were on alert. I didn’t like Mr. Marvin’s aura. I knew something embarrassing was on the horizon, but I powered forward.

I reached into the bag.

The plushies were unnaturally soft and velvety to the touch.

Rummaging for Nancy’s plushie, I accidentally discovered it had a secret feature. A feature… no plushie should have.

Why’s my finger stuck? Special toy! Damn you, Mr. Marvin.

The more I wiggled, the more the suction tightened.

“Okay, Billy. Give me my cute plushie sea cow.”

I froze.

Nancy tugged the bag.

The next thing I heard was:

“Look, Billy’s all up in the sea cow’s junk!”

“What are you doing to my poor, sweet plushie?”

I flailed my hand, briefly wondering if I should summon the fire to burn it off me.

But Nancy was relentless. She clawed at me until she yanked it away.

The bell rang. Sweet mercy.

The day was shaping up to be an absolute curse, and I felt like I was being swallowed.

I grabbed my backpack and tried my damnedest to flee.

But my attempted quick getaway was blocked by a gang of annoying students who refused to let me out of the row. They all looked at me and laughed as they passed.

And if that wasn’t enough, the second I got out of there, I collided with the brick wall known as The Nameless One. I was six feet tall, but I still had to look up into his eyes as he towered over me.

“I’ve warned you about your mumbling tics before, Bramwell-Gates.”

RJ and JR loomed.

Not this bullcrap again.

As the space around me constricted, a wave of annoyance and dread tightened inside me.

I had to move, but I couldn’t.

Was it my nerves?

No.

Something shifted in my backpack—a sudden, dragging weight anchoring me in place.

I’d noticed a slight difference earlier, but this… this pull was unusual.

Despite the threat in front of me, I quickly unstrapped.

I had to know what was in there.