Page 5

There’s a serious look on his face, and I brace my shoulders. I know what’s coming.

“You’re a Woo. You know what that means?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Our family is distinguished, respected. This whole habit of sleeping in—”

“School is pointless, Dad.”

“People look up to you; I know it’s a lot of weight on your shoulders, but our world relies on magic and the mages that channel it. It’s getting harder and harder every day with the mana surges. We have a legacy in this town, everybody knows us, and you have a responsibility—”

“I know, I know, get into a good university and become a contributing member of society, use my talents, don’t waste them,” I recite in a monotone.

“I’m serious, Katherine. Your mother would be disappointed with your attitude. Devonsford is a highly respected school, has the best spelling programs in the district. You’re lucky they accepted your transfer after the Pineapple Incident. You need to show commitment, be on time—”

A cold, angry chill washes over me. “Mom died doing her duty to society. I don’t think anyone knows what she’d think of my attitude, now do they?”

“That’s not—you know that’s not fair,” Dad says quietly. “I just—” He sighs, crossing his arms.

Both of us stare silently out the window.

It’s been three years, and every time he brings Mom up, it’s never to talk about her .

I have so much to ask, so much I want to know.

I wanted to talk about her right after it happened, how I missed the smell of her perfume, the muttering from her home office as she worked on her research, the way she insisted we get dim sum every Saturday morning.

She’d wave dramatically at the ladies pushing the carts around the restaurant until they’d bring her favorites: steaming hot cha siu bao and crunchy fried shrimp wrapped around sugarcane and soft velvety long noodles stuffed with green onions and spiced beef.

I miss her so much it’s like an ache inside me all the time, and sometimes I don’t think Dad gets it. He’s supposed to, right? He loved her. I don’t understand why every time he talks about Mom it’s always about duty or that damn prophecy.

I close my eyes. I can hear those words like I’ve never stopped hearing them. The words have followed our family around all my life, and up until three years ago, I’d been proud; my whole family was so, so proud. The last lines in the English popularized translation echo in my brain:

When One Woo Magick is Beset,

Either mage or Ritual’s end be met.

Scholars have long debated over what it means, but the accepted theory is since my ancestor Jìngyi Woo was a cornerstone of the first Ritual—only a Woo from that direct bloodline could end the devastating and costly work that keeps all the untapped mana from obliterating the city.

It’s the greatest honor a mage can hold, to be one of the cornerstones of the Ritual.

But channeling all that mana… if it doesn’t kill you, it leaves you an empty, hollow shell, as if you’ve aged a hundred years in a day.

It used to be every ten years the Ritual had to be recast, then seven, then five.

It’s barely been three years since the last Ritual, but there’s already talk about how the Mages’ Council needs to do something again, and soon.

The tremors and the smaller quakes building up, and the increasing unrest of if turning into when , the mana surges, the pixie infestations—they’re all signs that something big, something terrible, is going to happen if we don’t find a way to keep the Ritual intact and disaster at bay.

Dad doesn’t talk about the prophecy; he doesn’t have to. It hangs between us like a thick weight in the air. I don’t say anything, just let the silence and the expectation fester into sour, stagnant air.

Once we get to campus, I slip out of the car without so much as a goodbye.

“Have a good day, Katherine!” Dad calls from the window.

“Mom always called me Kat,” I mutter under my breath.

Dad used to call me that, too, ruffle my hair and call me his Kat, his sweetheart, his bou bui.

I’d pretend to be annoyed with the pet names, but I loved the feeling of being special to him.

Now it’s just Katherine, like he’s trying really hard to treat me like an adult.

It’s like without Mom he doesn’t know how to be Dad anymore.

It was supposed to be her . She was the Chosen One.

She dedicated her life to researching the foundation of mana flow and the root of the problem, and when her turn came, she thought she could fix it.

We all did. All the problems we’ve been having, the increased wyvern activity, the pixie swarms, the untapped mana growing wild and rampant, threatening to destroy all of Los Angeles… she was destined to stop it.

But it stopped her.

Now I’m the only one left of this bloodline.

It’s so unfair. How the Ritual just wastes lives and potential. Everyone is looking at me to solve this problem, and I don’t want a thing to do with it.

Fuck destiny.

Unfortunately, with everyone already in class, there are staff patrolling the halls, ready to hand out detentions.

I barely avoid the principal just as she turns the corner. I dash down the hallway and duck into the dark Spelling classroom, lit dimly by the projector.

Mr. Vega is still calling roll, tapping with a bored finger at his runebook.

“Rodriguez, Anthony?”

“Present,” Anthony says, not even looking up from his novel. I see he’s brought two more books today. Ambitious.

I slip into the seat closest to the door, waiting for my name. A few eyes flick my way, but most of the class is already tuned out, busy with their runebooks or chatting with one another.

Basic Spelling is known to be a boring requirement. Most kids take it freshman year and move on; I’m one of the few seniors in this class, along with other known troublemakers who failed and are repeating it for the first or second time.

Well, aside from Hannah Di e p, who’s doing an independent study helping out as a TA.

She’s sitting at the front at her own desk, quietly grading papers, her short pink hair swaying under her headphones as she bobs to her music.

Probably some K-pop, but then again, I don’t really know what she’s into these days.

Hannah catches my eye and gives me a small smile, and I look away quickly.

Hannah and I used to be best friends. I remember long afternoons playing idleball in Hannah’s backyard and giggling as we tried to use Dad’s ingredients to bake cupcakes, her confiding in me about her crushes, both of us realizing we liked girls at the same time.

We’d tried an awkward kiss once when we were twelve, and immediately made faces at each other and laughed until our stomachs hurt.

And then Mom died.

I didn’t know what to do with myself, skipping school and spending all day in bed or staring morosely out at the pier.

I ignored Hannah’s runebook calls and hid in my room when she came over.

And then the Di e ps moved across town, Hannah transferred to Devonsford, and it was easy to just… let it go.

I didn’t know how to be who I used to be anymore, didn’t know how to be fun or a good friend, and it wasn’t worth bringing her down with me. And then there was the prophecy looming over my head.

Vega made a point my first day here to tell me he also teaches Advanced Spelling, and runs a spellcraft study group during lunch hour if I ever wanted to stop by. After a couple of intentional failed tests, he stopped asking me about transferring.

So far his teachings have consisted of lectures and long slideshows on magical theory and history from books. Of course, we do not practice magic at all.

“Woo, Katherine,” Vega finally wheezes.

“Here.”

I flip open my notebook to my drawing and study the slope of his nose and contemplate how best to convey his bushy eyebrows. Yesterday we were doing basic runes. Boring.

“Today we will finish up our review of rune development from various global magical systems to one standard in spellcraft before we move on to how significant events in Los Angeles shaped the way we use spells today.” Vega grins brightly at that.

“Quite a bit of local history, which will be fun and exciting.”

No one responds. I’m already thinking about pineapples and the prank I’ve been meaning to pull off here at my new school. I’m sure I’ve figured it out this time and it’s going to be majestic .

“Manual spellcasting was made practically obsolete outside of academic research when Richard Mayfield invented the process of precasting spells in a tangible form for later use. A process known as the Mayfield Breakthrough.” Vega glances around the classroom.

“Can anyone share why this was such a technological marvel? Joseph? How about you?”

Joe, who I know from many a detention, looks up, squinting. “Uh, because it made it easy?”

“Exactly,” Vega says, nodding. “Mayfield revolutionized spellcraft by making it accessible to everyone, not just trained mages. People no longer required many years of extensive study to cast simple spells, but could purchase and use the conveniences of magic without the risk or danger of channeling raw mana themselves.”

I’ll show them just how obsolete manual spellcasting is.

Chuckling to myself, I tune out the lesson.

Brenda thought my spellcrafting was cool.

I frown, checking my runebook. I don’t have any messages from her.

I didn’t expect her to call, but a hello would have been nice.

I gave her my namekey; I thought she would use it.

Everything about her is intriguing, from the blithe way she was talking about dragons to the weird runebook she had to the super-detailed plan to save the world.