The Wisenforth gardens were like something out of an overly ambitious florist’s fever dream. Under the soft glow of moonlight, the flowers took on an ethereal, otherworldly quality—like a gaggle of glow-in-the-dark flamingos getting their midnight stretch on. Jessica walked beside me, her posture as straight and unbending as a yardstick, making me acutely aware of my usual slouchy saunter.

"I thought you'd take longer to decide," I said, breaking the silence that had settled over us like a thick quilt. "It's a relief you approved my application to practice magic."

Jessica slowed, then stopped, turning to face me. The moonlight caught in her sandy blonde hair, giving it a halo-like shimmer.

"Tyler," she began, and I knew whatever came next would be the sort of news delivered with a dollop of heavy cream and a side of stern eye contact. "I sent for you to be our Fetch because I believe you will play a pivotal part when the Eclipse comes."

I nodded, my optimism taking a nosedive quicker than a drunk pigeon. She placed a hand on my arm, a gesture meant to be reassuring but which carried the weight of a leaden cuddle. "We need you to wield magic if you’re going to help us. Your role here... it puts you in a unique position."

I shifted from one foot to the other. "A unique position to do what, exactly?"

"To make a choice," she said, her blue eyes piercing through the night. "Some take the hex and some don’t. You need to decide if you want to go down that path—to become more than a Fetch."

The words hung in the air, wobbling like a poorly thrown frisbee. "You mean, to become a Warlock?" I asked, the reality sinking in with the grace of a soggy brick. "Not a witch, right?"

"To gain the ability to use magic," she clarified. "To change your nature. It’s not a decision to take lightly. The hex is a significant commitment, and it's not without risks."

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a tension knot up like a confused pretzel. "I always thought Fetches were proud of their role. That we served the House without needing to cast spells ourselves."

Jessica removed her hand, crossing her arms in a way that wasn't defensive, but more like a motherly robot calculating the next best hug strategy. "Tradition holds its place, but the world is changing. If you believe that taking the hex will make you a better Fetch, a better servant to the house, then we will support you."

Her words left me more conflicted than comforted, like a man with one foot on the dock and the other on a slowly drifting boat.

I took a deep breath, the cool night air filling my lungs with a serenity I wished would permeate my brain. The garden was a diorama of calm, with plants swaying gently in the night breeze like a chorus line of ethereal hippies. Jessica and I resumed our walk along the stone path, the sounds of the distant city muted by a thick wall of enchanted shrubbery.

"Let’s say I take the hex," I said, breaking the uneasy silence. "What’s the worst that could happen?"

Jessica didn’t answer right away. Instead, she considered my question with the kind of deliberate thought that made me both anxious and hopeful. I wanted her to say something like, "The worst? A few extra nose hairs," but I knew better than to expect flippancy from her. That was my job.

I stopped to touch one of the glowing plants, its texture like velvet run through with static cling. It was one of the first magical things I'd grown comfortable with, a tactile reassurance in a world where most comforts were conjured from thin air. I let my fingers linger, as if the plant could transmit some of its mystical calm into my more mundane, fidgety soul.

"The worst," Jessica finally said, "is that the hex doesn’t take, and you’re left in limbo—no longer a Fetch, but not truly magical either. There's also the possibility of changing in ways you didn’t anticipate. Becoming someone you don’t recognize."

I let go of the plant, my hand now as static-y as my thoughts. "And the best case scenario?"

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"You gain the ability to use magic. You become an asset to the house in new and more powerful ways. You can still serve as a Fetch would, but with the added advantage of casting spells yourself."

I couldn’t deny the allure of it. Magic had always been the glittery bait at the end of the witches’ hook, and here I was, a fish contemplating a nibble. "It sounds like you think it’s a good idea."

Jessica paused, causing me to take an extra step ahead before I turned to face her. "I think it’s an option," she said, each word weighed and measured. "A choice that only you can make. Fetches have taken the hex before and thrived. Others have remained as they were and served just as well. There is no single right path, Ty."

This was Jessica—steady as a metronome and twice as rhythmic in her reasoning, leaving no beat uncounted.

We rounded a corner where the path split into three smaller trails, each disappearing into tunnels of verdant, magical foliage. Jessica halted, and I could see she was gearing up to unload more than just a few carefully crafted sentences. This was going to be a speech.

"The hex isn’t just a personal risk," she began, her authoritative presence now towering over me despite our similar height. "There are social implications as well. Fetches who take the hex walk a precarious line."

"Between what and what?" I asked, though I already had an inkling. Most witches viewed Fetches as a dependable working class—sort of like magical union labor. Changing that dynamic probably didn’t go over well.

"Between being one of us and being an outsider," she said. "Between tradition and change. The House relies on Fetches to bridge the gap between magical and mundane worlds. When you take the hex, you alter that balance. Some will see it as betrayal."

I remembered reading something about the balance in one of the many tomes Jessica had thrust upon me. Knowledge was power, she said, though I often suspected she believed books were enchanted to zap me with their contents if I held them long enough. "So I'd be seen as a turncoat. A scab."

Her eyes locked onto mine, crystal blue and unflinching. "By some, yes. Others will respect your ambition and see it as an evolution. It’s a mixed reception, and it will depend on the individuals you’re dealing with. The point is, you won’t have the same sure footing you have now."

I shifted uncomfortably, my feet already feeling the phantom wobbles of that unsteady ground. "Why didn’t you just tell me this earlier? Why the big build-up?"

"Because it's important you understand every angle," she said. "This isn’t a choice you can make blindly, hoping it all works out. You need to go in with your eyes wide open."

She waited, letting the enormity of it sink in, and I wished it would float away instead.

"And then," Jessica continued, her tone taking on the somber note of a bell tolling for the dead, "there are the historical associations with dark magic."

I took a step back, as if her words had pushed me with an invisible, yet undeniable, force. "Dark magic? Are you saying the hex is...?"

"Not inherently," she interrupted, quickly but not dismissively. "But many of those who dabbled in such power started with the hex. It's a tool, and like any tool, it can be used for good or ill. The danger is in how it changes you and what it tempts you to pursue."

I crossed my arms over my chest, a defensive knot forming in my stomach. "So if I take the hex, people will think I’m planning to go all evil overlord on them? That I’m setting up a lair and recruiting minions?"

Jessica uncrossed her own arms, letting them fall to her sides in a gesture of openness, of patience. "No one will assume that, but the fear will be there, lurking in the background. Magic is powerful, and power can corrupt. These are just the realities you’ll have to face."

I uncrossed my arms, my hands now fidgeting with each other like two anxious puppies in a pen. "It sounds like you’re trying to talk me out of it."

"I’m trying to make sure you’re prepared, Ty. Whatever you decide, I want you to succeed."

The night air was cool, but I felt a trickle of sweat form at my temple.

Jessica started walking again, but I stayed put, rooted like one of the enchanted trees that bordered the path. She turned when she noticed I wasn’t beside her, silhouetted against a backdrop of moon-kissed flora.

"Whatever you decide," she repeated, her voice carrying the distance with an unnatural, magical clarity. "You have our support."

I looked up at the sky, the moon a cold, distant coin flickering in the heavens. My thoughts churned like a washing machine set to “angst” cycle, each new twist and turn leaving me more tangled than the last. The ability to use magic—real, wand-waving, spell-slinging magic—was the stuff of childhood daydreams. Yet here, in this grown-up world of House politics and ancient traditions, it seemed more like a poison apple than a golden ticket.

I let out a slow, deep breath, the kind you release when you know you’re about to bite off more than you can chew.

"We'll see," I said, though she was too far away to hear.

I wasn’t so sure about that.