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I gasp as the world re-forms around me. I feel dizzy, and I struggle to keep standing.

Teleportation wasn’t something I’d practiced—we’d only done simple things, like create light or levitate small objects across the room.

The Shield spell was the most difficult one, but this had been next on my list and I understood the premise of it.

Plus, with all the spells I’d done so far, I was confident my intentions would guide me.

My thoughts were a muddle; I wanted to go home, I wanted to get out of there, I wanted to be somewhere I could figure out how to solve this Ritual stuff on my own.

There was a moment where I’d hoped Kat would rush after me, that she’d apologize and tell me she didn’t mean it, and she’d want to save the world with me and we’d figure out this prophecy stuff together, but it didn’t happen.

I’d held back tears as I waited, and then I started to run, thinking about the motion to cast the teleportation spell and focusing entirely on getting out of there.

I look around now that I’ve caught my breath; I still feel a bit woozy, but I can hold myself together.

I’m just a girl from another world, nothing at all suspicious here.

Here being… where?

It looks a little like city hall, actually.

Tall ceilings, elaborate windows reflecting the night sky outside, rows and rows of empty seats for an audience who isn’t here, all of it heavy wooden furniture that speaks of purpose and service.

In front of me, there’s a long table with seven empty seats.

In front of it, a group of adults are gathered around a tired-looking set of documents and takeout containers.

It looks like I’ve interrupted some kind of informal meeting, like some government types who had to stay late to get stuff done.

I probably shouldn’t be here.

Magic is weird. Why is this the answer to my question?

I spot a set of heavy wooden doors behind the last row of empty seats and try to quietly step toward them, but my sneakers squeak offensively on the waxed tile floor.

All eyes turn toward me.

“Can we help you?” An old man who seems like the epitome of every wizard trope glares at me from his seat.

His voice is deep and scratchy, and he’s wearing long robes open to what looks like a three-piece suit.

Gandalf meets Charles Dickens, I guess. He stands gingerly, leaning on a cane as he peers at me with interest.

I bob my head courteously. “Accident, so, so sorry, I botched the teleportation spell, I’ll just be on my way…”

A woman at the end of the table sighs with disappointment. “Gravery, we’ll need to push back the Ritual date, if we can’t find the right volunteer.”

“Wait, are you all the council?” I ask with interest.

“I am Gravery Kirkpatrick, head of the Mages’ Council,” says the grizzled man who addressed me earlier.

He looks at me expectantly. “Well, child? It appears from the magical signature that the unbound teleportation spell you just cast was open-ended. Meaning you were meant to come here, whether you knew it or not.”

I gulp. I did tell Kat I wanted to participate. I look at each of them; they look exhausted. I wonder if I can share what we learned in the memory, if they would be able to help.

No, they might be colluding with the Order—or maybe they don’t know. I need more time to think about it.

“Yes,” I say firmly. “I want to volunteer.”

Relief floods through the room, palpable in the air.

“If that’s the case, and if you agree, Gravery, then I say we can move forward,” an older Latina says, nodding at me with appreciation.

Gravery grabs something off the table. “If you’re under eighteen, you’ll need to have your parent or guardian fill out this form, and then come back on Friday.

We’ll need to start the Ritual at nine o’clock promptly.

” He gives me a thankful smile. “Just in time, as well. We are grateful for your service. I don’t think the city would have held out any longer. ”

“You’re welcome,” I say awkwardly. “I’ll see you Friday.”

Outside the elaborate meeting room is a long hallway. People bustle back and forth, some with their noses in stacks of papers and files, some chattering with their colleagues.

“Didn’t know today was a petition day,” mutters one woman to her neighbor.

“These cornerstones get younger and younger every year,” says the other woman, giving me a sad look.

I duck my head and try to find an exit, the messenger bag bumping against my knees as I walk quickly. I feel through it out of habit, looking for my lucky keychain or d20, and I realize this is Kat’s bag. She has mine.

Her runebook is in here.

I pull it out; it’s not exactly like a smartphone, but it responds to my touch and shows me the last thing we looked at: the schedule.

I gasp. There’s a portal opening up just outside here in a few minutes.

I follow the coordinates outside the building and find a bricked archway pattern in one of the walls. I swallow nervously. It’s always been a door before, or a clear alcove that you walk through. This is a wall.

But my teleportation spell brought me here. It took me to the council to volunteer, just like I wanted, and then to where I can go home.

I watch the time on the giant clock outside city hall, and then at 11:14, I hold my breath and walk through the wall.