The Magia Phone's screen glowed like a sapphire. Traces of my energy ran through its circuits while it processed the strength and quality of the aether I had funneled through my will. My body tensed with anticipation. My power was tied to my emotional state, so, what if I got an upsetting result? Would that create a downward spiral?

A figure popped up on its screen. She was a girl dressed in a robe with a smile so bright that you'd be forgiven for mistaking her head for an emoji. A turquoise aura pervaded her as life energy pervaded all humans. Next to her, a blue box emerged and revealed my results.

"𝕌𝕟𝕣𝕖𝕘𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕌𝕤𝕖𝕣

𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝: 𝔸𝕡𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕔𝕖

𝕄𝕖𝕒𝕟 𝕠𝕦𝕥𝕡𝕦𝕥: 𝟞𝟘 𝕎 𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 (𝔽)

𝔼𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕪 𝕦𝕤𝕖𝕕: 𝟛𝟘𝟘 𝕁 𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕚𝕧𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕥 (𝔻)

𝕊𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘: ℕ/𝔸

ℝ𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖: ℕ/𝔸"

Those letters corresponded to a curve-based grading system. Each year, the performances of apprentices were measured, compiled into datasets, and divided into quintiles (F is the bottom 20%, D the 20-40%, and so on). Needless to say, I was below average.

"Just curious," I asked. "Which of these is most important?"

"All of them. Everyone has a talent. Why else do you think witches always form covens of three?"

"To show that they are pop-culture savvy and read Macbeth?" I asked.

Darcy wiped her mouth with a napkin. "It goes back to the Greek Moiria. One of the sisters spins the thread of life, the other measures it, the other cuts it."

"And with magic, one gathers the energy, the other shapes it, and the other directs it, right? How does it relate to disciplines?"

"You can choose, but tendencies exist. Those who do best at raw power do elemental magic, sympathetic magic tends to be long-ranged, and transfiguration is for those with good shaping. Divination is relatively free-form."

"And we just practiced power, right?" I asked. "Any more exercises?"

She showed me a pen. "Got one for range. Aristotle said aether was the air gods breathed. Like a gas or a plasma, aether diffuses if you let it free. To direct it, you need to keep it compressed even when it's far from its source. You don't have to crack my town-wide range, but try to carry this pen forty feet away from you. The Thaumaturgic Society will Initiate you next Monday. Meet me here again at 5 PM and I'll show you the way."

I took the pen. "That's a little sudden."

"Yes, you do. You can't go through this world alone."

"I can try."

"No, you can't. I learned a lot at the Academy but forgot most besides sympathetic magic. Specialization is what gave us societies and brought humanity to the top of the food chain."

"But I can quit anytime, right?"

"Of course. There's nothing wrong with being a hedge witch, but it might not be super great for your status."

"Okay, and what's the tuition?"

"Two hundred dollars if you take three years of astral courses. Fifty for your own Magia Phone, five for your rod. Please bring the sum to your Initiation in cash."

Two hundred bucks for the whole curriculum? That was cheaper than a college semester. Unsurprising, given how theirlong-distance lessons cut costs that would otherwise be spent on classrooms. If it was this affordable, if I could take the lessons from the comfort of my home, and if I wasn't drafted into the Hunters against my will, this seemed like an offer I shouldn't refuse.

And if I could do it all from home, I could still stay at my haunted college, and find out more about the haunted basement. There surely was a hidden cost somewhere, but since I had the withdrawal option, it was worth a try. Mom used to go there, too, after all, and maybe someone there knew if she was really in the Otherworld or whatever that changeling said. I was gonna bite.

She pushed her food out of the way. "I don't have endless time, so see you on Monday."

"See you on Monday."

With those words, Darcy stood up, tapped some crumbs off her skirt, and broke the glamour that disguised us. I followed her outside.

The Waystone Tavern was a wooden hut located on the outskirts of Summer Hill and covered by an old oak tree. It was at the intersection of civilization and wilderness; where the town ended and the forest began. Its beer garden faced the tiny river nearby while the main entrance faced the town. The Sun set under Summer Hill while a warm summer breeze hung in the air. Within hours, we'd yield to the cold of the night.

Darcy and I walked along the rural path into the town until we greeted each other goodbye at the first bus station. My bus was empty. I hurried to the vacant seats in the back, but I couldn't fight the feeling of being followed.

The demons I fought today popped up in the window's reflection. I jumped. I felt the helltree's tendrils around my chest as if the fight were still going on. The other people on the bus turned around to see what happened.

Nothing happened. It was long over. My mind was just playing tricks on me. Those were the shadows of despair I had long overcome. The battle had ended, even if the war still continued in my head.

Once everyone looked away, I took my seat. I hadn't even noticed how the bus had started driving already. My eyes felt heavy. I considered taking a nap, but I had business.

There was no way Isa kept that video for herself. The only question was how much time she had to share it before her phone died.

She shared it on Twitter and Instagram. The video was of poor quality, thanks to the ectoplasm, and the Otherworld made it hard to see any landmarks that could reveal where it was filmed. But I was visible. And so was the hellhound.

My heart thundered. But, there were no responses. No reactions. Was it because she forgot hashtags or was my fight this uninteresting?

Then, I saw the trending hashtags and I understood the reason. Social media was taken by storm by a completely different type of video. A motorcycle-driving punk fighting werewolves with a chainsaw while doing backflips on the rooftops of NYC. Obviously a fake, but it looked about as convincing as Isa's.

Cool strategy. If someone made a video of a wizard casting a fireball, the Thaumaturgic Council probably had ten similar photoshopped videos to bury theirs and make debunkers feel smart.

It's similar to those fraudulent studies the tobacco industry used to publish to "prove" that smoking didn't cause cancer. It didn't destroy the evidence, but it confused the public, dividing them into skeptics and believers. Our President was an outright supernatural-denier to the point that paranormal-curious researchers hardly got funding. Granted, this was a temporary coverup method at best, but the Veil breach series isn't that old.

And even if people could prove that Isa's video was real, it wasn't unique enough in this day and age to go viral. I was safe.

She had shared the video on the Paranormal Pals server, too. Since she passed out and forgot what happened, she couldn't tell where she got it from or if she made it herself. This earned her a warning by the mods for violating our standards of evidence. Poor Isa.

I checked the other unread channels. The one about unsolved murder cases had new messages.

A ghost in London? Probably a hoax.

A young girl missing in the Myles Standish State Forest? Hope she gets found.

A dead woman's body in Summer Hill, killed by diseases she couldn't have gotten naturally? That was disquieting.