Page 27

May hit, and Gemini Academy finally announced a new plan for next year. Yep, they’d officially washed their hands of this school year, declaring students and staff would be better off finishing with online classes. Not that I complained too much, considering it gave me more time to tend to Milo’s recovery while also working on controlling my fully formed telepathy.

The blue filter slowly covering my windshield as I drove reminded me of another very time-consuming adjustment.

“Stop casting,” I said to Benjamin.

He clutched his coloring books, eyes darting back and forth at the traffic that zipped around us on the busy street.

“You’re worse than Charlie,” I said. At least with Charlie, I could put him in a crate and cover it with a blanket while playing classical music since it soothed him on trips to the vet. “If I did that to you, someone would probably have a fit.”

“Do what?” Benjamin asked, eyes still on the vehicles that whipped around us in what he considered a bad game of bumper cars about to turn into a ten-car pileup.

“Nothing, never mind.” I shook off Ben’s fear. “Just chill out.”

I’d decided to watch him since the commencement Gemini Academy had planned would take the better part of the morning, and Ben’s tutoring sessions were scheduled for noon. The building where Ben socialized with other kids and climatized, or whatever Milo called it, was right down the street from where admin had emailed the announcement would take place. Funny enough, it was also down the street from Cerberus, which wasn’t all that funny the more I dwelled on it.

Milo had set up those lessons to offer Ben some type of outlet back when the future Milo foresaw involved more days at work. He’d never predicted the worst would happen. He certainly didn’t predict vanishing from the public’s eye for over a month now.

Once we pulled up to the event, traffic came to a halt. Every space on the entire block from Cerberus Guild itself all the way to the opposite end of the street where so many damn thoughts bubbled in anticipation for the announcement.

I needed a smoke, but I was already late. “Let’s go, kid.”

Whipping an illegal U-turn, I drove three fucking blocks to find a place to park.

“Hand.” Benjamin raised his tiny hand, flexing his little fingers until I caught the gesture, and reached out with mine as we approached the first crosswalk, then he refused to release his grip even after we’d arrived at our destination.

More families than I’d anticipated had shown up. It seemed every student and family had arrived.

The setup was quite possibly the worst part of this announcement. They kept everyone huddled into the worst blobby mass that filled up the street. It got so bad Cerberus sent their acolytes to redirect traffic. What a terrible decision for the location. What I didn’t grasp, something kept neatly tucked away from the surface thoughts of admin, was why they led everyone to this very important destination to deliver an announcement that could’ve been sent via email.

They didn’t even let us inside the building. A building I sort of suspected might be Gemini’s new location—but that theory bubbled from the minds of too many curious students who didn’t understand the logistics. There was no way this high-traffic spot was going to be the new academy. Right? They’d need the entire street block to come close to the square footage we originally had. And that included pushing Cerberus Guild off the block—which, last I heard, had begun buying up the nearby buildings to expand their office spaces.

Yeah, I highly doubted Gemini Academy had the resources to push out the number one guild off their street corner. Unless, of course, the academy had plans of downsizing. Maybe they were going to drop their roster size, cut a huge slew of students in the name of becoming a more niche boutique program.

I ground my teeth. Fuck, I had to get out of my own head and into someone else’s who had concrete answers. Admin might not be thinking closely of the event on their surface, but a slightly deeper delve should reveal something, and who better to pry the intel from than our headmaster.

Headmaster Dower sat at the sidelines, no prepared speech in her head. Weird. A relief since she typically droned on in long-winded metaphors on the beauty of nature and the glory every morning offered or some poetic shit like that. Still, weird that our headmaster didn’t have any intention of speaking today. About an announcement for the academy’s future. Even if she’d shucked off the task to someone else, as an administrator, it was her obligation to take credit for someone’s hard work.

I scrunched my face in suspicion.

“You shouldn’t make that face; it’ll get stuck that way,” Ben said. “Then everyone will think you’re always angry.”

“I am always angry.” I huffed.

Guild Master Campbell practically floated across the stage from the eager exhilaration she held, which turned my anger sour and made me nauseous. Sitting on the stage among the admin was Chanelle, whose thoughts buzzed with a massive checklist for today’s event. Of course she had more insight about this announcement than our admin.

Campbell took to the podium. “I’m honored to announce the merger of Gemini Academy and Cerberus Guild.”

What the fuck? Campbell didn’t believe in slow introductions and dove right into the big announcement on everyone’s mind. Tactically speaking, it worked to draw everyone’s attention, including mine.

“Our biggest goal as we enter this new journey will be to ensure the best education for all the students at the academy and incoming students for many years to come,” Campbell said. “It’s a top priority to make sure this new venture doesn’t cause students to slip through the cracks, which is why we’re bringing on a new role to facilitate this merger.”

Chanelle’s cheeks burned; she turned away for a second, took a deep breath, and willed herself to appear poised with a loop of positive affirmations as she stepped forward.

Campbell gestured to Chanelle. “Please say hello to the newly appointed Dean of Admissions, Chanelle Whitehurst.”

“I’m delighted to stand before you and share insight on my new position and how it’ll help make this merger a success.” Chanelle squared her shoulders and stood tall at the podium. “I’m here to keep communication strong between both sides, to make sure guild professionals adapt more to their added role of introducing young witches to the industry in small, manageable lessons. It’ll be my role to make certain teachers learn how to utilize the shifting resources in the most productive ways to benefit our students. It’ll be my job to make certain all our students are assigned to an enchanter for the best possible internship.”

This new position gave her the dream job of working one-on-one when necessary while delegating the day-to-day, keeping all the creative control she craved, and allowing her the energy to watch over every student’s training, every student’s journey. She didn’t want to fail her homeroom coven, she didn’t want to fail anyone’s homeroom coven.

A torch of motivation burned brightly in place of her heart, reverence and healing and a belief that she wouldn’t let what happened to Jamie Novak ever happen under her watch again. The snide teen from her class who bullied and berated at every turn, the young man possessed by a demon, transformed into a devil, and freed only to walk his life hollowed out and lost. And when he finally found his footing, found a way forward…that demon killed him.

I swallowed my pain for the role my Doppler played and clung to Chanelle’s radiant emotions. She didn’t linger on guilt for what happened to Jamie, not even close. It was awe-inspired motivation. She carried Jamie in her heart, promising to wake up every day and do a little better each time.

“But you’re all probably wondering what this merger means exactly, how we came up with something so outside the box, so grand.” Chanelle’s smile filled her face as she positioned herself to slip away from the podium after her introduction. “I’d like to present the brain behind this brilliant concept that’s going to move the industry of casting to the next level, carrying future generations higher.”

Enchanter Evergreen descended from the rooftop of the draped building behind, joining Chanelle and Campbell on stage. He’d shown up in a trademark suit, wearing a light gray with a lime green tie to match Chanelle’s dress. He strutted toward the podium, a swagger in his hips and a smile on his face as he waved. The crowd went wild. Their great Enchanter Evergreen had returned home after his latest mission—the story every media outlet spun. As they looked on in amazement, I tensed.

Milo had returned to work.

I expected him to return eventually, but today? For this merger? A merger I still didn’t fully understand. I couldn’t believe Milo. He pretended to be asleep when I left this morning. Poorly, might I add. But I figured he was just plotting to exercise beyond the limitations of his medical advice again or that he’d make himself a stack of cool whip-covered chocolate pancakes he didn’t want me to know he was having—because, again, not what he should be doing when on the mend.

“This merger is the next step in fully immersive casting educations where guilds will offer their funding, their resources, their industry insight to help teachers provide well rounded educational opportunities.” Milo’s response went over well with the audience.

Admittedly, I concurred with the concept—what I understood at least. There were already whispers of the state shifting its eighty-percent proficiency goal in the next few years, feeling it was too optimistic. That basically meant they threw too much money toward education and wanted to reallocate those funds elsewhere. But with a guild backing an academy, they wouldn’t have to limit their scholarship students. Families wouldn’t have to rely on the state for a voucher, and kids from any background could gain a license.

I still didn’t like the idea of academies and guilds collaborating in this exclusionary deal with internships, which Chanelle’s surface thoughts revealed. Her mind showed a lot as she cycled through every question she’d likely face in today’s panel. A panel where they’d address how every student at Gemini would have an internship with a Cerberus enchanter. How their acolyte permits would be fully funded for three years—much better than the one-year expiration academies offered graduates. How students wouldn’t be obligated to apply to Cerberus and Gemini would help ensure every graduate was offered letters of recommendation to any guild they applied to after their internship.

“This merger is something I’ve thought about for years,” Milo explained. “It’s something I envisioned bringing about the best possibilities for so many future generations. But I’ll be honest, it’s happening sooner than expected.”

There was a pause, a moment of silence for the horrors faced at the academy, the dangers The Inevitable Future hadn’t put a stop to, but when that moment passed and Enchanter Evergreen smiled, so many released these bated breaths and smiled with him.

“Not that I’m worried because the brilliant minds in charge at all levels are prepared.” He gestured to Chanelle, to Campbell, to Dower. “I’m honored to watch these women use their expertise and dedication to lead Gemini and Cerberus forward.”

The audience listened intently, quieting their minds so they could absorb the words shared by their Enchanter Evergreen. Even up at that podium, surrounded by the thousands in attendance, everyone really believed Milo was reaching out and talking to them personally. He had this obnoxious ability when it came to public speaking.

“I actually approached Mrs. Whitehurst with this silly little idea years ago,” Milo said, which was a lie. He’d brought it up less than a year ago based on his surface thoughts. “She was able to take my musings and transform them into a real plan. Since then, she’s been helping make this a reality. Helping connect all the educational dots I just don’t understand.”

“Honestly, I didn’t do much.” Chanelle smiled. “I’m just honored to have helped The Inevitable Future bring his vision to life.”

The audience roared at that, partially because a lot of students and their families loved Chanelle—her efforts every year didn’t go unnoticed—and partially because everyone loved Enchanter Evergreen and hearing his stage name lit a fire of excitement in many hearts.

“I’m just thrilled she’ll be taking on such an important leadership role, guiding this ship forward.” Milo waved his hands, casting delicate telekinesis that unveiled the building behind him to the audience.

The new Gemini Academy building was still under construction, but damn if that sign didn’t sparkle.

“We’ll be holding tours across the intended facilities this upcoming fall semester,” Guild Master Campbell explained. “Then we’ll have a Q&A that’ll offer everyone here an opportunity to address any concerns.”

Campbell hadn’t intended on mentioning Milo’s role, and her aggravation for his inflated ego bubbled at the surface of her thoughts. But he was the perfect person in these circumstances to gain an audience’s trust. Many families were nervous about returning to Gemini next school year, and having Enchanter Evergreen’s seal of approval went a long way. What really struck me was how Campbell also wanted to offer Milo an easy return to the public eye, a chance to gain his footing on his terms, because despite how much he annoyed her, Campbell held genuine concern for his wellbeing before and after his assault.

They chose to host this event with staff, students, family, and guild members of every level because this should be a transparent experience. They could’ve held a press conference and let everyone in this room know through an email or a robo call or on the off chance they watched the news that day. But they wanted to be honest with everyone.

I was proud of Milo, of what he’d created with Chanelle and Campbell. But I couldn’t help wondering where my place in all this was. The academy was changing so drastically. This year was going to be swept aside, finished online, and forgotten. I never had the chance to really say farewell to my homeroom coven, to send them off to their third and final year.

It seemed things were ending.

More importantly, it seemed time was running short. I turned to Ben. “Let’s go.”

“But I wanted to take the tour.”

“You have your tutoring class thing in like twenty minutes.”

“Ugh, I hate it though. There’s people everywhere. They just ruin it.”

“I concur. People tend to be the worst part of going places.” Despite Benjamin’s mild tantrum about leaving, I managed to drop him off without too much protesting.

I had errands, plans for today, little surprises for Milo by checking off some of his to-do list—but he’d dropped the biggest surprise returning to work.

I sat on a bench, smoking cigarettes and quelling the minds of millions. Easier than expected since my mind bustled with a thousand questions on where I fit in all of this, where I belonged, how I’d help, what I’d do next year, and if this new model—as great as the idea seemed—was something I wanted to invest in. It’d be another ten years before this approach found a good flow, its footing. That’d mean years of doubt, of questioning what the fuck I was doing and goddamn professional learnings created by people who’d never worked at guild or in a classroom but ready to charge thousands for lessons meant to motivate and prepare us for all the unknowns.

Fuck. I think I’m at one of those annoying career crossroads.

I sucked in a deep inhale, letting the nicotine offer a rush of relief.

Staring at the buildings across the street, I lingered on the flashing sign of a salon. I needed a change of my own, needed to control something as everything around me evolved. Somehow, I ended up inside the salon, setting up a walk-in appointment and buzzing with anticipation as I waited to be called. When I was finally brought to the back, I sat in the chair, which offered a reprieve, a distraction, a secret excitement. The beautician draped a black cape over me, brushed my hair back, and smiled.

“So, what are we thinking?”

“Cut it all off.”

So much was changing around me. So much would have to change soon. I needed to change, to grow, to keep up, to be prepared for what would come next.

As much as I knew what I needed to do, I still wasn’t sure if it was what I wanted to do. For now, all I wanted to do was bask in my reflection as it quickly evolved into a new look. A new Dorian.