Ordinary Magic Read online

  ORDINARY

  MAGIC

  Caitlen Rubino-Bradway

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright

  For Diana Lampe Siwek

  for being there from the start

  CHAPTER

  1

  The day of my Judging dawned bright and clear and hot. It was searing; the air pressed against my chest with each breath. It was Olivia’s turn to look after me (to make sure my dresser cast up the right clothes, that food appeared on the table, and that the hundreds of everyday things that needed doing when you were underage got done) and with all the craziness going on, no one noticed her smuggling me up to the upstairs bathroom. Then she attacked me.

  “Ow!”

  “Hold still.”

  “It hurts.”

  “It hurts because you’re not holding still. You know, we’d be done by now if I could do this normally.” The tiles scritched together as Olivia called in magic, and the bathroom took on a funny sort of double vision, a blurry knife’s edge between reality and what Olivia wanted it to be. I could see it, but I couldn’t feel it—you can’t when you’re a kid, not until you’re ready, not until after you have been Judged.

  “Are you going to explain it to Mom?” I asked.

  Olivia hesitated (because she has to be dramatic), then waved her hand to open a window and let the spell drift out. We both knew there was no way Mom would let magic touch her kid three seconds before Judging. Nasty stuff could happen if a kid wasn’t prepared, or mature enough to handle it. Olivia shrugged it off with an exaggerated sigh. She sighed gorgeously; I’d seen one of her sighs knock a man stupid at forty paces. “Fine,” she said, dragging it out. “I’m an artist. I can work with anything.”

  Olivia tilted my head up until I was staring directly into the light. “Now stop the drama. You know you missed this.”

  Which was true. I had. Olivia only just moved back home a few weeks ago after graduating, and promptly picked up her Big Sister Duties with a vengeance. I was three the last time I had a full-time big sis in the house, and it turns out it’s awesome. When she doesn’t lock me in the bathroom.

  Speaking of big sisters … “Do you think Alexa’s here yet?” I asked, shifting.

  “Of course she is, sweets. Now stop moving.”

  “But she has a meeting. Another meeting,” I said, my stomach slowly twisting into knots. My eldest big sister, Alexa, worked for the Department of Education, running some private school for rich kids or something in Rothermere. The way she treated it you might think she worked for National Security. She wasn’t allowed to talk about what she did, and there were always Important Things popping up at the last minute.

  “Oh my goodness, you listen to me—she is not going to miss the most important day of your life.” Olivia swapped out blush for eye shadow. “Mom would kill her.”

  Someone pounded on the door. “Who’s in there? Is that you, Abby?” Mom demanded.

  Olivia held a finger to her lips, like if we stayed quiet Mom might give up and go away. She should have known better.

  “I know you’re in there.”

  “No, she’s not,” Olivia called.

  “Girls.” Mom used her “this is a warning” voice.

  “Abby’s totally not in here. Did you check the kitchen? You know she likes … food,” Olivia said.

  “I’m counting to three.”

  Olivia waved her hand at the door and it swung open. “Surprise! Wow, Mom, you’re a total phoenix.”

  “Hi, Mom!” I echoed, peeking around Olivia. She was right. Olivia might be the knockout of the family, but our mom can really put it together when she wants to.

  Olivia nudged me back into place. “If I have to tell you to hold still one more time, I’m tying you down.”

  Mom took in my face, then cast a long, wry look at my big sister. “What have you done to Abby?”

  “I’m making her beautiful. More beautiful,” Olivia corrected. “We’re not done, you can’t judge it yet.”

  Mom waved on the water and cast up some soap, then took Olivia by the shoulder. “You, out. Abby, wash off your face.”

  “She’s an adult,” Olivia protested as she squeezed by Mom and out the door.

  “In name only,” Mom said, pinning her with a look. “She is still twelve, and she is going to wash all of that off.” When I stood up she said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake—she’s not even dressed!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the room. “You are going to drive me out of my mind. We don’t have time for this. We have to leave in twenty-five minutes!”

  With Olivia tagging after us, Mom dragged me down the stairs, across the shop, up the back stairs, down the hall, and around the corner to my room, muttering to herself the whole way. I jogged beside her, the soft material of my slip plastered to my back and legs with sweat. “Not even dressed yet! What do you think you’re doing? We’re late already—do you think they wait forever? Do you want to miss your own Judgment?”

  “Gil almost slept through his,” I said.

  “Gil is a very special boy,” Mom said. “And possibly narcoleptic.”

  “What about me? Aren’t I a special boy?”

  “Very cute, young lady.” But Mom was smiling as she deposited me in my room. Well, it’s sorta mine. As of three weeks ago I’m sharing it with Olivia, because Mom says she and Dad have more important things to worry about than maintaining stretching spells to give us all our own rooms. To be honest, I don’t really mind sharing. “Olivia, call everyone in here, then get the jewelry box from my dresser.”

  “I can get it,” I said.

  Mom plunked me into a chair in front of the mirror. “Not for another twenty-two minutes. When you’re done with that,” she told Olivia as she cast up a warm, damp washcloth to rub over my face, “you can change your dress.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with this dress?” Olivia protested innocently, smoothing her skirt. To give her credit, she was dressed for the Guild. Her outfit wasn’t quite as tight or as low cut as she usually went for.

  Mom didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. There comes a point when you’re arguing with Mom that she stops talking, and that’s when you just give up and do what she wants because seriously, discussion over.

  So Olivia sent out a call, then went off to get the box and change her dress. The summons whispered along the walls, and moments later they came trickling in. Aunts and cousins (I have a lot of both) and Grandma (just one of those) appeared, until the room was packed. No Alexa, though. They piled on the bed, smoothed out the wrinkles in the Judging dress, and started laughing and talking until the air buzzed like a nest of pixies. The room was full—full of people, full of noise, full of the scent of perfume and the clatter of jewelry, and the shuzz of silk skirts brushing against each other as people squeezed by. And Grandma quietly combed out
my hair with wrinkled hands that were still as skilled as a Guild mage’s, as soft as… You know, there really isn’t anything in the world as soft as Gran’s hands.

  I glanced at the Judging dress through the mirror. The Hale Family Traditional Ceremonial Judging Dress usually hangs in a special wardrobe up in the attic, next to Mom’s wedding dress and all the graduation robes we acquired over the years. It’s a beautiful dress—silky and rich and deep purple and so ornate that without magic it took at least four hands and fifteen very focused minutes to put it on. I hadn’t been around for Alexa’s Judging, and I was only three when Olivia walked up the Guild steps, barely old enough to have memories—just a sense of something soft and purple, loud voices, and being passed from person to person. But the pictures were enough; I’d been waiting to wear that dress forever. So I wasn’t really sure why nerves were starting to boil in my stomach.

  Olivia returned in a rose silk dress with a very modest neckline—and absolutely no back. She was holding the jewelry box up in triumph, and wincing as protection spells crackled around her fingertips. Mom took it; I saw the magic seal fall away like petals to the ground, and there was a slight click as the lock opened.

  Mom lifted out the amethyst necklace. It was the necklace she wore on her wedding day and each of my siblings wore when they were Judged. (Even the boys had worn it; apparently Gil had claimed, half seriously, it would be bad luck if they didn’t. Jeremy said that was stupid, but when his turn came he tucked it under the high collar of his shirt just the same.) The necklace would be Alexa’s, as soon as she decided to marry. Grandma held my hair up as Mom fastened it around my neck. It was light and cool, and I shivered as it touched my skin. The stones felt strange for a minute, then felt like nothing at all.

  Most of the family was here, except for a couple of distant cousins who sent flowers and savings bonds. Even Jeremy, who’d been going on and on about how he’d been picked as teacher’s assistant this year with all that “responsibility.” (“There are meetings. I can’t just skip them!”) He’d just finished his sixth year at Thorten, where he was a double major and getting distinguished honors and generally making life difficult for everyone who was not that great in school. But he was too busy to come home. He’d complained, “You let Alexa skip things all the time!” Then he had a quiet talk with Dad, the kind where Dad talks and you’re quiet, and he ended up arriving three days early.

  Alexa appeared just as Dad and Mom called me out of the house to start the procession. She ran through the crowd, her royal red skirts streaking behind her, her hair twisted up in a formal knot that makes her look all grown up and mature and makes you forget that she’s only twenty-four—which Mom and Dad insist is very young but I do not get it because she’s, like, an adult. She caught me up in a tight hug, twenty pounds of dress and all, and my nervousness leaked away. It was enough just seeing her, hugging her, breathing in the scent that always clung to Alexa’s clothes and skin, like fresh air and fizzy soda. “Look at you! You’re so pretty! I’m so, so proud of you!” she exclaimed in between smacking kisses.

  “She hasn’t been Judged yet,” Gil said. He looked goofy and completely un-Gil-like in his colorful formals—the high-collared shirt, the frilly neck cloth, and nothing looking rumpled or slept in. His gleaming gold hair was combed (for once) and tied back into a stubby little ponytail.

  “Doesn’t matter. I know she’s going to be amazing. Better than me, I promise,” Alexa said. I laughed, and she amended it to, “Better than Gilbert, at least.”

  Gil rubbed his hands together, grinning. “Care to put money on it? We started a pool.”

  “I’ll put fifty on a Level Six, minimum,” Alexa said.

  As we headed out, Gil punched my arm. “Don’t mess anything up, Abs.”

  It is only a ten-minute walk to the Guild. We wound down the sandstone streets, past the light stucco buildings, and through the maze of market stalls with their brightly colored umbrellas stretching overhead. It hadn’t rained in forever and we kicked up red clay as we walked. It shimmered away from everyone else’s magically shielded clothes and stuck to the hem of my unprotected skirts.

  As far as processions go, it was not that fancy or long. People barely stopped what they were doing to watch. Some paused to look or to wave, but most just went about their business. There are too many kids in town for one more Judging to garner interest.

  The toughest part was keeping at that steady, calm, processional pace. I wanted this to be over and done with. I wanted to finally be able to do things myself, and not have to beg Mom or Dad or anyone else for help with the simplest little chore. I wanted to hitch up my skirts and flat out run—straight down the street, all the way to the Guild. The want was like an itch under my skin.

  When we finally reached the Guild, four of the oldest, wrinkliest mages were standing outside on the steps, wearing deep-blue formal colors, gold skullcaps, and bored expressions. An apprentice in much less ostentatious colors rushed down the steps to meet us. He barely glanced up from the crystal hovering in his palm. “You’re the ten thirty?”

  “That’s right,” Mom said. “The name is Hale.”

  “Right. Hale. Perfect. This is the young lady?” he asked, hurrying toward me, his robes flapping around his skinny legs.

  I nodded. My mouth had suddenly gone dry.

  “Wonderful, perfect. You come right here.” He dragged me forward, then jerked me to a stop on the first step. “Hands down at your sides, please, not at your hips. Stand up straight. Smile, please. Very good, very lovely. You’re happy, everybody’s happy.” He called out to the rest of the crowd, “Everybody smile, please.” Olivia flashed the apprentice a smile and he blinked, dazed, and derailed into “Wonderful … it’s wonderful … I, um, I”—he cleared his throat—“everybody looks … wonderful.” He dashed woozily up the stairs to the mages, straightened his clothes, zapped his crystal away, and nodded to Mr. Graidy, the ancient head of the Guild.

  Mr. Graidy spoke in a booming voice that hurt my ears. “Who comes before us to be Judged this day? Let her come forward and be named.”

  We’d rehearsed everything the day before, so I knew what to do. I started walking up the steps, speaking as loud as I could. “My name is Abigail Hale. I come today to be Judged.” Staying steady was an out-and-out fight now. Excitement prickled under my skin with little jumps and jolts, urging me to race right up those steps and get this started.

  The doors behind the cluster of mages opened on cue. The Guild is a tan blob of a building, one of the oldest in Lennox. No one is sure if it was actually built from stone and brick or if it was called up straight out of the ground, like the royal palace in Rothermere. What catches your eye—first, last, always—is the doors. They are almost as tall as the building and slicked a deep, menacing brown, with big stone rivets. They’re the kind of doors you expect to see guarding a secret fortress; they’re only missing the skeletons and cobwebs. When these doors opened it was without a murmur, revealing nothing but pitch black beyond.

  I’d seen this happen a bunch of times before, for other kids in town, and never cared, but now it felt more important. Something icy shivered down my spine.

  “Enter then these portals, Abigail Hale,” Mr. Graidy intoned. “So that you may be tested, so that you may be Judged, so that we here present may know your true worth.”

  My family burst into cheers behind me, and we all followed the mages into the Guild. The doors swung shut behind us, cutting off noise and light.

  My family was served refreshments in the reception room while they waited. Not the good stuff, but I couldn’t help wishing I were with them, choking down dusty peanut butter cookies, instead of stuck in a dark room with a bunch of creepy mages and a handful of candles. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I made out a huge stone hallway with massive carved pillars forming neat rows on either side. The hallway was much too big to be contained in that small building, but then, magic is like that. We had a similar spell at work at our house, so the
re’s enough room for all of us to live together without driving each other crazy.

  There were two pillars, much bigger than the rest, that curved together to form a strange archway. The archway had spells carved into it, and it buzzed with a funny kind of magic. This wasn’t the everyday stuff your parents know and you see on the street. It made the archway move and flicker, and it was fuzzy to look at, like my eyes couldn’t focus.

  “Abigail Hale,” Mr. Graidy announced in his “at work” voice. When I ran into him on the street, he just called me Abby, like everybody else. “Are you ready to begin this grueling test of yourself?”

  “Yes, I am ready to begin,” I said. Finally—finally—I was so ready.

  “Very well, then, Abigail Hale. Your first test stands before you. You must pass through the Barrier of Fortitude!” He gestured to the archway.

  I glanced at the others, but they were all watching me. I stepped up to the arch, took a deep breath (I couldn’t dig that shiver out from where it had wormed down into my spine), and stepped through.

  Nothing.

  Okay, that was … strange. I expected something. I’m not sure what, but I expected something. For a second I wondered if it was one of those “test of character” things you read about in books—where it’s not about what happens but how the hero reacts to it, which really means the author didn’t want to write all the interesting stuff—only then I saw the mages talking.

  They were huddled together, whispering among themselves with startled little pinpricks of sound. The apprentice was scanning his crystal furiously. They drew apart, and Mr. Graidy cleared his throat. “Would you mind, my dear—stepping through again?”

  I stepped back through. Nothing. Again.

  When I looked back, they were all staring at me in dumbfounded amazement. Mr. Graidy held up a hand. “Once more, please.”

  I did. Then again. And again. And then they had me hop back and forth on either foot, until I tripped over the long skirt of my gown and crashed into one of the mages. He squealed and bounded to his feet, swatting at his robes as if they were on fire, screaming, “She touched me! She touched me!”