Expected Results

Paste your opening instMagic had rules. Sabrina Marlowe had built a career around them.

Four minutes. The woman currently on the ceiling had been screaming for four minutes straight. Sabrina Marlowe was considerably more worried about the floor.

Thirty-two. Another number. Sabrina liked numbers when she was annoyed. They were orderly. Predictable. They did what they were supposed to do. Thirty-two was the age of the screamer. Of course she was thirty-two. They were always thirty-two.

Mundanes liked their magic instantaneous. A mysterious inheritance. A whispered incantation. Some adolescent waving a stick and discovering the universe had apparently been waiting for puberty to make them interesting.

Actual magic took its fucking time.

Forty-eight minutes. That was how long the screamer had been at Alsbeth before her magic went rampant.

Forty percent. That was how much of this year's orientation they'd managed to complete before everything went to shit.

Fifteen minutes. That was how long it would take, at most, to fix the broken arm of the unlucky victim who'd been hit at the beginning of this emergency.

Eight hours. That was how long it would take, at least, for the floor to repair itself. Cracks in the hardwood spiderwebbed outward from where the fancy stadium seating had crashed down after momentarily joining the screamer on the ceiling.

Sabrina took a deep breath and held it for four seconds before releasing it for four.

At least this malfunction had happened within the Alsbeth halls and not in the mundane world. Sabrina didn't even want to calculate how many memories they'd have to alter if a thirty-two-year-old started flinging stadium seating around in public.

This was the price Sabrina paid for making magical emergence her specialty. When someone's manifestation went tits-up, apparently her own research ceased to matter. Being competent was really bothersome at times.

After months of unfavorable results, she was finally getting better outcomes when she'd been forcibly dragged from her laboratory. At the very least, the malfunction could have been amusing. One freshman had spent two weeks changing colors with every emotional shift, effectively turning his own skin into a lie detector. The faulty sprinkler system hadn't ruined his experiment after all.

The sophomore he'd been fucking had.

A few fearless professors were spread out beneath the woman, safely beyond what they apparently believed to be the impact zone, discussing how to get her down.

Sabrina studied the floor as the cracks reached outward toward the baseboards along the wall. If this continued, the floor could give and take part of the wall with it.

That would take far more than eight hours to fix.

Warmth spread along her spine as she began channeling her power. Static sparks tickled her fingers as she waved one arm and charged the walls. The displaced furniture slowly shifted toward them and adhered to the surfaces instead of continuing its assault on the room. For good measure, Sabrina coated the floor in opposing energy. If anything else decided the ceiling was down and subsequently changed its mind, the charge should repel it just enough to slow the descent.

“She's at forty-two voltas!” called wiry, brown-haired Professor Bink, whose voice had climbed at least an octave since Sabrina arrived.

Relief brightened the professors' faces when they finally noticed Sabrina among them.

Wonderful. Now they could stop making it worse.

“Stop trying to pull her down!”

“But she is levitating.”

“No, she isn't!”

Obviously, the woman's magic was temporarily changing the relative attraction between objects. She wasn't levitating.

For the moment, the ceiling was simply down.

How none of them had worked that out in four minutes was beyond Sabrina.

She rolled her eyes. Sabrina caught the malformed pull in her own magic, redirected it toward the floor, and snapped her fingers to lock the correction into place.

The student's screaming turned into a death shriek as she began to descend.

Unfortunately, correcting the student's gravity manipulation also unstuck something suspect from the ceiling.

It landed on Sabrina's left shoulder with a wet slop.

Perfect.

Sixteen minutes.

That was how long Sabrina had to reach her first class of the year, and something of indeterminate origin was currently sliding down the left shoulder of her lab coat.

She looked at the ceiling.

She did not look at the substance.

Some questions did not improve with answers.

Sabrina turned on her heel and briskly left the auditorium, completely ignoring the questions firing after her from those left in the room.

Her pace didn't slow until she stood behind her desk, facing a classroom full of anxiety-ridden faces.

Their unease was understandable. These people had only recently been pulled from mundane life and introduced to the existence of magic, and Alsbeth had welcomed them with the magical equivalent of a trial by fire.

Or, in this case, a trial by gravity.

At least no one else had ended up on the ceiling in her space.

Sabrina shrugged out of her mostly pristine lab coat and tossed it haphazardly toward its hanger on the wall.

It could remain in time-out to think about the disgrace it had put her through.

Or until she had a break between classes and could properly launder it.

The heavy solid-oak door groaned.

Simultaneously, the windows flexed inward and the curtains lifted away from the glass. Sabrina instinctively widened her stance as the floor dipped subtly beneath her feet.

Alsbeth was taking a breath.

Following suit, Sabrina inhaled deeply before addressing the men and women looking at her expectantly.

As she studied her new charges, she recognized a few faces from advertisements around the community. A lawyer who chased ambulances. A candidate in the sheriff's race. The owner of a chain of homey hotels.

She almost snorted.

Some of these people had undoubtedly spent decades becoming important.

Magic would not care.

“At thirty-two, you have been granted the extraordinary privilege of discovering that everything you thought you understood about life was, in some cases, miserably lacking and, in others, completely incorrect.”

No one moved.

“I am not here to make that discovery pleasant for you. Only you can do that, assuming you apply yourselves. I am here to ensure your ignorance doesn't accidentally kill—or, worse still, maim—you.”

Silence descended over the room. The quiet chatter died so completely Sabrina could hear the old building settling around them.

One man stood out among the anxious faces for the irritating reason that he didn't look particularly anxious.

He sat toward the back, broad shoulders straining the limits of a chair clearly designed without men of his proportions in mind. Tousled dirty-blond hair curled slightly around his ears, a shade darker than the short beard framing a square jaw. His nose had the faintest crook to it, as though someone had broken it once and he'd decided having it fixed properly was more trouble than it was worth.

Then his blue eyes found Sabrina's.

Of course they were blue.

She moved on.

Or attempted to.

The sleeves of his shirt were pushed to his elbows, exposing muscular forearms marked with ink and a pair of large, rough hands resting loosely on his desk. Old nicks crossed his knuckles, and faint stains lingered around his nails that no amount of scrubbing had completely conquered.

A working man's hands.

Sabrina dragged her attention back to his face.

That had not improved matters.

“Before anyone embarrasses themselves, let us correct several misconceptions. There will be no wand waving in my classroom. There will be no shouting invented Latin at the furniture, and anyone attempting to enchant a broom will personally explain the resulting paperwork to Facilities.”

A few mouths twitched.

“Even after your rude introduction to this existence and to Alsbeth, we're getting straight to it. Open your books to page three hundred ninety-four.”

Pages rustled throughout the room.

Except in the back.

The brawny man leaned toward a woman who looked ridiculously small beside the towering behemoth.

“What book?” he whispered.

Her shoulder-length brown hair fell across part of her glasses as she turned toward him, only to fall away again when she had to tip her head back to see his face.

She stared at him for a moment.

Then she faced Sabrina again with a sigh.

“We are going to die here.”

Sabrina heard her.

She agreed with the assessment.

“Mr. No Book. What is your name?”

The man's attention snapped forward.

“Kyle Dawson.”

Recognition came immediately.

Dawson.

Sabrina had been sent a file with that name earlier.

Her newest research problem had apparently arrived without the required textbook.

Interesting.

It did not, however, excuse his unpreparedness.

Consequences were required.

“Mr. Dawson. Remain after class.”

If that concerned him, his face didn't show it.

Of course it didn't.

After the classroom cleared, Kyle Dawson approached Sabrina's desk with an easy sway to his step.

Nothing, it seemed, fazed this man.

Sabrina opened the file drawer attached to her desk and searched until she found the folder she'd received earlier. DAWSON, KYLE stared back at her from the tab.

There it was.

She opened it to the first page.

Yes. This was him.

The manifestation anomaly.

Her eyes dropped to his date of birth.

Then returned to it.

Sabrina did the arithmetic.

Once.

Again.

The result remained stubbornly incorrect.

Thirty.

She checked the intake date.

Thirty.

Manifestation date.

Still thirty.

Numbers were supposed to behave better than this.

Sabrina closed the file and locked it back inside the drawer before looking up into those irritatingly blue eyes.

“Mr. Dawson, I will be working with you throughout this semester. I've been asked to investigate your unusual manifestation.”

His expression remained infuriatingly calm.

“That, however, will have to wait until another time. For coming unprepared, you have so graciously volunteered to help set up for our time together. Faculty have found it difficult to move the equipment into our.... meeting room.”

Laboratory had nearly slipped out.

Sabrina did not need this enormous freshman panicking about being experimented on during his first day of class. Her day had been exciting enough.

“I'd be happy to help.”

His blue eyes twinkled with amusement as he followed her out the door.

Sabrina turned her head to explain how the equipment needed to be handled.

Kyle Dawson was staring at her ass.

Her cheeks heated.

She faced forward again.

Wonderful.

“Mr. Dawson,” she clipped as she led him toward a storage room that had appeared only the year before. “This equipment is delicate. It is temperamental. When you lift it, you must not let it tilt to either side. It has to be moved and set up in exactly the correct order, or it will take months to recalibrate.”

“Understood. I can handle it. I'll be careful.”

Sabrina glanced back at him as she approached the relatively fresh door.

His eyes were on her face this time.

Maybe he wasn't entirely useless after all.

The door opened into a pristine room, and the lights flickered on of their own accord as they stepped inside.

Sabrina stopped.

She had intended to put him to work first.

She really had.

But thirty was still rattling around in her head.

She turned toward him.

“Mr. Dawson.”

“Professor.”

“You're thirty.”

“Last time I checked.”

Sabrina stared at him.

He stared back.

“Your date of birth is correct on your intake paperwork?”

“As far as I know.”

“When did you manifest?”

“Six weeks ago.”

The humor drained out of her.

“Stand still.”

Kyle's eyebrows rose, but he obeyed.

Sabrina approached him and placed her hand lightly against the top of his head before tapping two fingers against the side of his neck. Warmth gathered beneath her fingertips as she opened herself to the magical current running through him.

There.

Except....

No.

Her brow furrowed.

She lifted one of his arms, then the other, following the pathways of magic through his body. Kyle remained silent, although the corner of his mouth threatened an amused smile.

Sabrina ignored it.

She moved around him, hovering one hand along his side and back while following the shape of the energy beneath his skin.

There should have been instability.

Incomplete integration.

Some sign that his magic had arrived before his body was prepared to sustain it.

There was nothing.

No tearing. No erratic channels. No immature pathways struggling to establish themselves.

His magic had settled into him as naturally as if it belonged there.

Because it did.

That was the problem.

“This can't be right,” she murmured.

Kyle glanced down at himself. “Should I be worried?”

“Quiet.”

His mouth closed.

The smile remained.

Sabrina continued around him until she stood in front of him again. She pressed her palm briefly against his chest, searching for something she'd somehow missed.

Solid.

Warm.

Annoyingly muscular.

And magically impossible.

She removed her hand.

The paperwork hadn't been an administrative error. Kyle wasn't lying about his age. Unless someone had somehow constructed an extremely convincing thirty-year-old man purely to irritate Sabrina Marlowe, he was very much real.

After an entire career devoted to researching magical manifestation, she was certain of one thing.

Kyle Dawson should not exist.

She took a slow breath.

The floor shifted beneath her feet.

Sabrina barely registered it.

Kyle did.

For the first time since she'd blown into the classroom, his attention left her.

His smile disappeared.

He was staring at the wall.

Sabrina frowned as he approached the old stone and placed his palm flat against it.

“Does it always do that?”

His voice had dropped nearly to a whisper.

Sabrina almost didn't hear him.

“Do what?”

“Feel like that.”

Now she looked up.

“Like what?”

Kyle kept his palm against the wall.

His entire demeanor had changed.

No amusement.

No easy confidence.

He looked as though he were listening to something Sabrina couldn't hear.

“Like something on the other side is pushing back.”allment here to see it in the Lantern reader.