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I bet Brenda would be really impressed if I could get this pineapple thing to work perfectly.

Devonsford has the same sad excuse for pineapple pizza that San Pablo did, and three tiny chunks of pineapple does not a satisfying slice make.

I turn to the last page where I’d been working on the spell and get to work.

The original spell that got me kicked out of San Pablo was pretty ambitious, because replicating food technically violates the principles of magic.

You can’t create something out of nothing.

I could stretch the matter present, though.

But the more I duplicated, the less it would taste like pineapple.

Completely defeating the purpose of casting said spell in the first place.

Back at San Pablo, I’d been working on the spell for weeks when I’d figured out how to account for the taste.

I’d anchored the spell to the sugar supply back at the shop, and then added a full charge from the shop’s mana cache.

But I’d overestimated how much pizza was being served that day, and how much sugar we had in the pantry—Dad had just gotten a shipment in—and the school kitchens had flooded with an excess of duplicated pineapple chunks.

Not a bad way to get kicked out of a school, but I didn’t get my pizza.

I’m determined to get this spell right, and it’s not like Vega will care if I’m on my runebook in class.

Half the class is tapping away as they talk to friends.

Andrea Gonzalez is actually using hers to cast a spell to change her nail polish color.

I start reprogramming my pineapple spell, fixing the line about the sugar. I make sure it’s tied to only one barrel and that the duplication ends once the mana has been spent for the spell.

I grin at the spell proudly, putting the final flourish on the matrix, and set my runebook down. All it will take is one phrase to set it loose. Lunch, of course, will be the best time.

Suddenly, Vega’s tone changes, becoming dramatic and solemn. “Now, while the Mayfield technology is used every day by people all over the world, many people don’t realize it originated right here in Los Angeles, at the same time as one of the darkest moments in our history.”

I glance back to the front of the classroom and my stomach sinks as I read the words now projected on the wall. It didn’t register earlier just what the lecture was about.

I knew I should have skipped school today.

LOS ANGELES SPELLCRAFT HISTORY

Mayfield Breakthrough

Origin of Mana Surges

Great Earthquake of 1909

First Stabilization Ritual

Heads turn, and the whispers start, and I can feel everyone in the room try not to be obvious as they look at me.

I exhale and pretend having my family history projected up on the board like another fact to memorize doesn’t affect me at all.

I lean back in my chair, kicking my feet up on the desk, and raise my eyebrows at Vega, as if daring him to call me out.

Vega doesn’t say anything, just continues through his slides, settling into his droll, dry lecture voice. “The origin of the mana surges that plague the greater Los Angeles region today are the source of one power-hungry mage’s hubris: Clarabelle Marin.”

Clarabelle’s haughty portrait stares out at the class, her eyes looking past the viewer as if daring them to question her authority. She’s painted with a vicious curve to her smile, and even the curls piled atop her head seem to convey a harsh sort of beauty.

I don’t even know why we have to study this in school. Everyone knows the story. Clarabelle Marin is the name whispered to kids when they’re being naughty or selfish—“Eat all your vegetables; you don’t want to be like Clarabelle!”

Now that my pineapple spell is done, there’s nothing to distract me from Vega’s lecture, and I can’t tune it out. Not in the same way I can ignore him when he’s talking about the runic alphabet or spell diagrams. Not this, when it’s directly about my family.

“Without Jìngyi Woo and the first Stabilization Ritual, Clarabelle would have unleashed a force a hundred times as devastating as both the 1909 Los Angeles and the 1906 San Francisco earthquakes combined.” Vega looks around the class, satisfied at the attention.

“Now the Ritual is recast regularly to prevent that very cataclysmic power of excess mana and energy being released along the San Andreas Fault line.”

I glance at the clock on the wall. Six minutes left. He can end this lecture here. There’s really nothing more that needs to be said.

“Mr. Vega, what about the prophecy?” Andrea perks up from her nail polish routine and gives me a hopeful grin and a once-over.

I try not to visibly cringe, thankful that I turned her down last week when she asked me out. I guess I was right—she only wanted to date me because I was the Chosen One.

Hannah shoots Andrea a dirty look and then glances at me, giving me a I can’t believe her look. The gesture is so familiar that I roll my eyes, and Hannah chuckles. I hate to admit that it’s actually comforting, but the guilt and shame of just ignoring her for so long overtakes me, and I look away.

Hannah’s face falls, her shoulders drooping a little. She gathers up the paperwork on her desk and stands up. “I’ll take these down to the main office and head to my next period, if that’s okay, Mr. Vega.”

Vega nods, waves her off, and looks at me.

Any hope I had that he’d ignore the question flies away. All eyes are on him. He has everyone’s attention now, even mine.

“The field of futuresight is challenging,” he says delicately. “I’ve planned a brief module on this next week for those of you who are interested in learning the craft in the future.”

Joe snickers from his seat in the back. He’s always got a quippy comment prepared. “Yeah, like if you want to sort through infinite visions for the rest of your life just to figure out the weather.”

“Thank you, Joseph,” Vega says wearily. “Magetechs do spend many hours deciphering possible futures and scenarios from predictions made by those who have studied the art, and most funding does come from the agriculture industry. If you want to stop by my classroom at lunch, you can always pick up brochures about various fields of magic study and career paths.”

“Come on, Mr. Vega,” Andrea cajoles. “You know what we’re asking.”

I scroll through my runebook to see if I have any bad-hair-day hexes I can whip up today.

“Individual predictions are often too specific to a single person or place, and they can vary from a particular vision of what is to come or a phrase that must be interpreted by experts. Sometimes a prediction can become known as prophecy—if by chance the wording, or the subject, is specific enough.” Vega now glances at me.

“Perhaps, Katherine, you could enlighten us on the exact wording of one you know?”

I pause, considering, and then I give him and everyone in class a saccharine smile as I stand up. Vega seems pleasantly surprised I’m participating, not even detecting the sarcasm in the little bow of the head I give him.

“Pineapple belongs on pizza,” I say, with firm certainty. It’s not like I’m in the cafeteria to see the fruits of my labor, but I’d rather people talk about my amazing prank than anything else.

I wait for the spell to take, and then—

Principal Martin’s voice crackles in the air, magically amplified. “An oncoming mana surge has been detected, please immediately terminate all active and ambient spells—” Her voice warbles and screeches as the bell rings, the sound distorted.

Everyone in class is still staring at me. Outside, voices spill into the hallway as people head to their next class.

The surge takes hold, grabbing any loose magic at play, and the casual conversations outside the hall turn to panic—

“What—what even is that?”

“Run!”

Okay, maybe not the best timing.