Saffie gulped and lowered her arm.
“I’m gonna… finish my lunch in my room,” she said with a false smile. She grabbed her salad bowl and ran upstairs, strands of shredded beetroot flying out of it as she took two steps at a time. Acorn scuttled behind her and pounced onto her desk.
“What is this?” Saffie said, peeling open the envelope, but Acorn looked just as perplexed as she was.
The letter inside was handwritten in beautiful calligraphy text.
Dear Miss Sparkes
It has been brought to my attention that you faced a growlem in Kensington Gardens on the 17th of July and showed promising skill in the art of magic against this formidable foe.
If you wish to learn more about the path of magic, please accept this letter as a formal invite to the London Mage’s Guild.
Grand Mage Keith McKinnon
London Mage’s Guild
Abney Park Chapel, 69 Listria Park, Stoke Newington
The hairs on the back of Saffie’s arms and neck began to stand on end. There was a Mage’s Guild? And she was invited to join? She always chose to play as a mage when given the choice in video games, and this felt like an offer to become one in real life.
She read the letter again. Abney Park Chapel. Hadn’t her dad just been reading about that place in the paper?
Whatever the case, Saffie knew she needed to go there as soon as she could. If there was anyone who would be likely to know anything about a specific counterspell, it would be someone with the title of Grand Mage.
When Saffie’s parents both left for work the next morning, she followed shortly after them, taking the Northern Line Tube to Euston, then the Victoria Line to Finsbury Park, and finally a bus to Stamford Hill. The journey took around an hour, during which Saffie saw many new Overworld creatures and a fair few players, including a middle-aged woman in a business suit having a meeting outside a coffee shop with a gecko-like panion. As Saffie walked past her, the woman winked and blasted a nearby critter.
Saffie had told her parents she was once again going to be hanging out with Beatrix Hawthorne and her posse, which had gotten her a suspicious stare from Holly, but nothing more. It was almost as though the prospect of Saffie fitting in with the popular girls was so wonderful that her mum didn’t want to jinx it by questioning it.
Saffie thanked the bus driver as she stepped off onto the street in front of a gate sandwiched between two tall stone pillars.
“This is the place,” she said to Acorn, after confirming the location on her map. She entered and followed its main path through thick trees, noticing that on either side of her, crumbling gravestones covered in moss were protruding out of the grass. It felt a little like she was walking through an ancient burial site. She remained on guard, in case there were any hostile creatures lurking in the shadows, but the only thing she came across was what seemed to be a family of toadstools crossing the path merrily on tiny legs, unperturbed by her or Acorn’s presence.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
As she got deeper and deeper into the park, she started hearing muffled whooshes and crackles, and a tall spire began to pierce through the tops of the trees. Eventually she noticed that the path opened into a clearing just a short way ahead, and there was an old, crooked signpost that read:
Welcome to the London Mage’s Guild
She stepped into the clearing, and her mouth dropped open.
Unlike the derelict, shabby chapel in the newspaper, the building that stood in the centre of the clearing was one of the most magnificent Saffie had ever seen. Royal blue banners adorned either side of its entrance, and there was a circular stained glass window in the central tower that depicted the same symbol that had been imprinted into the wax seal of her invitation; a stag’s head inside a flaming sun.
The place was mesmerising, but Saffie was jolted out of her daze by a movement to her right. Trotting towards her was a beautiful but terrifying white tiger with orange stripes.
Acorn’s immediate reaction was to run towards it.
“Acorn! Get back here!” Saffie whispered desperately.
“No need to worry!” came a deep voice. “Sabre wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless it was a panion paralyser fly, that is. She’s not the biggest fan of those. Keep going, you lot, you’ve made great progress this morning.”
From the shade of the guild’s right wall, a man left a group of players who were juggling globules of water, and strode towards Saffie with outstretched arms and a welcoming smile on his face.
Saffie guessed he was in his sixties, with a mane of thick, ginger hair that was streaked with grey, and a massive braided beard that was fastened at the bottom with a teal jewel. He held a crooked wooden staff that curled into a knot at the top with an emerald the size of Saffie’s fist encased in its eye, and he was dressed head to toe in white robes and an orange shoulder-piece that draped down to his feet.
“Might you be Sapphire?” he asked. He had a kind, northern English accent that made Saffie feel at ease.
“Saffie,” she insisted. “And this is Acorn.”
Acorn clambered up her leg and sat on her shoulder.
“Acorn!” the man repeated, “You’re a fierce looking little fellow, aren’t you?”
Saffie felt Acorn tremble with delight.
“I’m Keith,” the man said. “Grand Mage here at the London Mage’s Guild. I trust you got my letter?”
Saffie nodded enthusiastically.
“Excellent!” Keith beamed. “Come, come! I have much to show you.”
Saffie followed Keith into the high-ceilinged main hall of the guild, and she couldn’t help the giddy grin that formed on her face.
The echoey interior was alive with magic; fireballs, water bombs, lightning bolts, and shards of ice lit up every corner, and players of all age groups chattered loudly, showing off their skills, and challenging each other to duels. Amidst them all, a diverse range of panions swooped, scurried, and swished around, some which were cute, some which were daunting, and some which were downright bizarre, like one that appeared to be a mix between a giant goldfish and a sloth.
As Keith led Saffie through the crowd, he gave snippets of advice to those who were practising spells on either side of them.
“Twirl your hand twice, Darryl,” he said. “Excellent form, Mrs Grimshaw, you’ll be vaporising vypers in no time,” and “Don’t forget to feel the magic, Lara - there’s a fine line between a formidable flame and a flat frazzle.”
To their left, a couple of teenage boys were snarling at each other, their hands poised like praying mantises, ready to cast spells.
“One blast from my vicious vanquish and you’ll be a baser again!” said one of them.
Keith swung his staff and pointed it at the boy, who froze in fear.
“Now, now, Mr Trowbridge, we don’t use threats like that at the Mage’s Guild.”
“What’s a ‘baser?’” Saffie asked as they let the duel resume.
“Someone in the ‘base’ world,” Keith explained. “Anyone who isn’t playing Overworld. It has become quite the derogatory term in the last few years. Some players tried to get the word “Underworlder’ to stick, but it didn’t catch on. As many pointed out, non-players are simply living on Earth, not in the Nine Circles of Hell.”
When they reached the head of the building, Keith entered a smaller chamber to their left and motioned for Saffie to follow him, but before she could, she felt someone tug at her back. She turned and was surprised to find that there was nobody behind her. With a frown, she glanced around, and a strange feeling settled in her stomach as she saw something that didn’t seem right at all. She blinked a few times, but there was no mistaking it - high up in the wooden rafters of the hall was a girl in a purple robe perched like a crow. The hood of the robe concealed her face, but Saffie couldn’t shake the feeling that she was staring right at her.
Suddenly, the girl raised her arm in Saffie’s direction, and an eery violet glow flared from underneath the hood.
Saffie made to dart out of the way, but her reaction was too slow. Whatever spell the girl had cast on her seemed to latch onto her insides and refuse to let them go.
Saffie tried to call out for Keith as she felt a horrible pulling sensation, but all she could manage was a feeble groan.
She had been caught, and it felt like the life was being sucked out of her.