Do You Believe in Magic?

*Hezzlie*

When I first wake up in the morning to knocking on my bedroom door, I don’t remember where I’m at. It takes a few moments for it to come back to me. By then, there’s a woman standing at the foot of my bed. I don’t think I’ve seen her before. She looks like a maid. She says, “It’s too bad you didn’t choose to join us for breakfast. Alistair will be in to meet with you in twenty minutes.” With that, she turns on her heel like she is going to leave.
“Wait!” I call out, still not fully awake. “How was I supposed to know when breakfast was?”
She turns back to look at me. “Breakfast is served in the main dining hall every morning at eight o’clock. Lunch is served at noon. Dinner, you should already know from last night.” She doesn’t pause this time on her way out the door.
I fall back onto the bed. I don’t have any idea who Alistair is, but I need to get up and get ready for him to arrive. I get up and pad into the bathroom to take a quick shower. This place is strange, and I don’t like it much. No one ever tells me anything, but they get irritated when I don’t know. Abby was nice enough to show me back to my room last night, but she didn’t linger. I don’t think her family wants her spending time with me.
I’m the black sheep.
I get out of the shower and dry off, getting dressed in one of my spare outfits. I’m running out of those. I really should’ve brought more clothes. I put my dirty clothing in the hamper in the bathroom in the hopes that it’ll be cleaned and come back to me, but for all I know there’s some specific time I’m supposed to request laundry that no one has bothered to tell me.
My makeup is light. I’m afraid to run out of any of my products because I don’t know how to get more. I put my hair in a ponytail and go out to the bedroom just in time for a man to open my door–without knocking.
He stares at me for a moment, so I do the same. He’s tall, thin, and probably at least sixty, with white hair and a beard.
He looks like a fucking wizard out of a fantasy novel. Except he’s wearing black slacks and a gray button down, not a long blue robe with white stars on it.
“Come with me,” he barks and spins around.
I follow, but I’m still a little stunned. No hello. No good morning. No introductions. Just orders.
Alistair–at least I assume that’s who this guy is–walks quickly down the hallway, making so many turns my plan to keep track of how to get back to my room is quickly abandoned. We go down one flight of stairs, go down another hallway or two and then go up several flights of stairs. By the time we get to our destination, I’m not sure what kingdom we are in.
I’m thoroughly lost.
The door opens to reveal what looks like an office with several bookshelves full of huge volumes of leather bound books. A few jars with what appear to be animal parts in them also sit on a shelf–frog legs, a brain, eggs. And another row of jars contains what looks like herbs or spices. Yuck.
He sits down behind a thick wood desk covered in more books, papers, and jars. He doesn’t gesture for me to sit down across from him, so I stand there for a moment before I finally decide this is dumb and sit down.
“Do you have magic?”
It’s a blunt question, one that would alarm me if I wasn’t already prepared for such an inquiry. “No,” I tell him quickly. “Just my wolf.”
He stares at me again, that judging look on his face. “Lift up your hands.”
I do as he tells me to.
He sighs. “Palms up.”
I turn my hands over. “I am not a mind reader,” I tell him.
He narrows one eye. “Close your eyes and concentrate on producing a ball of light in your hand.”
“Which hand?” I can’t keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“Whichever one you like.”
I don’t like him, that’s for damn sure.
I have to agree with my wolf. I don’t like him either.
With a deep breath, I close my eyes, but I don’t do what he asks me to do. I pretend to. I let my forehead wrinkle and press my lips into a thin line. But I’m not trying to do what he asked me to do because if I have magic, I don’t want him to know about it. I’m almost positive I don’t. I do think it’s strange that my cell phone keeps dying when it’s fully charged. It’s possible I might be draining it somehow–maybe Mom is draining hers, too. I don’t know if that has to do with magic or if it’s just annoying or bad luck.
Still, if I have magic, I’ll keep that information to myself for as long as possible.
After a few minutes. Alistair says, “Stop.”
I open my eyes and wait. He reaches over and feels my hands then shakes his head. “Put them down. Now, look at this pen.” He places an ink pen in the center of his desk in front of him. “I want you to concentrate on moving it with your mind.”
Again, I wrinkle up my forehead and pretend to concentrate. I stare at that pen with all of my might–or at least, that’s what he should be thinking. He lets me strain myself for several minutes before he says, “Enough.”
Letting out my breath, I roll my shoulders and move my neck around, trying to work out the tension. That part is real.
“Next, I want you to try to read my mind. I want to see if you can tell me what I’m thinking.”
“That’s easy,” I reply. “You wish my father would’ve asked someone else to try to determine whether or not I have magic and want me out of your office as quickly as possible.”
He scowls at me but doesn’t reply.
“Furthermore, you wish I hadn’t been found to begin with,” I continue.
“Close your eyes,” he demands, and I do. “Reach out with your mind and try to connect with mine. This is different from the mind-link. You’re not looking for a vocal message. Just information.”
I wonder if I can mind-link with him. Since he’s a member of my father’s pack, I should be able to, if what I learned from Rowan is correct. But I don’t want to have this guy talking in my head, so I fake this, too. With my eyes closed, I pretend to concentrate again until he tells me to stop.
“Anything?” Alistair asks.
“You really wish you were listening to that pink pony song by Chappell Roan?”
He glares at me. “I think it’s time for you to go, Princess.”
I nod in agreement. I’m sure he has no idea what song I’m referring to, but he knows I’m being sarcastic.
“Go back to your room.” He points at the door but doesn’t get up.
I stand, look at the door, look at him, and then wonder how the hell I’m going to get back to my room, then step out into the hallway. I have no idea how to get back to my room.
I do remember which direction I came from, though, so I go back that way. But I’m not sure when to turn, and I end up second guessing myself.
Eventually, I find a stairwell and go down it. That leads me in what I think might be the wrong direction. But I don’t go back up. I wander around another level for a few minutes before finding a different stairwell. Is this the one we went down? I’m not sure, so I go back up.
This doesn’t look right. Frustrated, I look around for a servant or someone who can help me, but the hallways are virtually empty.
I am going to die wandering around in this castle, and everyone will just be irritated that I’m late for lunch.
I turn another corner and hear the faint sound of a violin coming from down the hallway. Whoever is playing is extremely talented. Rather than continuing to try to find my way back to my evasive room, I decide to go in that direction.
The music gets louder, and then I find myself standing outside of a partially open door. Inside, I can see my half-brother sitting next to a large window, his eyes closed as he plays the beautiful, haunting melody that has enticed me down the hallway. Next to him I see a grand piano and have to wonder if he’s used to being accompanied. If I knew how to play, I’d sit down and do so, but I don’t, so I just stand there in awe.
Until his eyes fly open and he asks, “What the fuck are you doing?”