Questions and possibilities circled in Rosaldo’s mind as he held the calling card tightly in his hand, flipping it in the light of the classroom. He’d tried to take a picture of the card with his phone, yet in the image it appeared as a blank piece of paper, unlike the information he saw on the card with his own eyes. Was he going crazy? He remembered the mysterious hooded man in the subway station who’d stopped time and left behind this card.

He’d said he could help him understand the world if he contacted him at his shop. Rosaldo had never heard of The Order’s Academia for Mancers. He’d searched it up online, and could find no actual leads or references to its existence. There was only one explanation, and that was magic. He’d always thought magic was a precious secret that people like himself and few others carried in this world. Perhaps he was wrong. Maybe there was a society where all of the hidden world lived. Maybe he wasn’t crazy, or he couldn’t tell the difference. Either way, he’d find his answer on the card’s address.

“Alright, Rosaldo,” the teacher said. “What fantasy work do you have for us this time?”

Despite his dry mouth, Rosaldo swallowed, rising from his seat to stand beside the projector screen.

The image shown was his digital illustration of a darkly lit mansion of Oxford-styled architecture, a student boarding house to be more exact. Rosaldo knew this because he’d seen it in one of his dreams. He felt it to be real, a place where he could feel its stony, ivy laden bricks, the cool night breeze, and see the shadows hanging over its spires from the wide, open moon. Two doves flew in front of the house, looking to go their own ways, yet still inseparable, trapped in time.

“Alright,” the art professor said. “First, I love the shadows and details here. In fact, it feels like you’ve really captured the magical essence of this piece. Where did you find inspiration for this?”

Rosaldo smiled, as if in apology for his lie. “I referenced some images online.”

The teacher nodded. “Of course, it’s to be expected. Either way, this is beautiful Rosaldo. It feels real, while still recognizable in your own style, which is what we want to do here. But why the two doves? Was there any purpose there?”

Rosaldo shrugged. “It just came to me, I guess. The doves being there made sense.”

“Okay. Great work. Let’s give it up for Rosaldo, people!”

Several weak claps from a few students spread from the quiet room.

Rosaldo saw one girl sitting, rolling her eyes at their peers. She had pale skin, long silver hair, and slender features resembling an alt-rock singer, with patchwork arm tattoos and a piercing on one side of her nose. He returned to his seat, beside her.

“That was great work,” she said. “I’m Lorne.”

He saw her black-lined tattoo of a fox move and scurry around her bare shoulder, looking back at him. Rosaldo blinked, trying not to stare. Only he could see such things, and a vision flashed in his sight, Lorne in a past age, barefoot in a druid’s dress over a cliffside by the sea, singing in Gaelic. He wrung his hands together, concentrating back to the present. “My name’s Rosaldo. Nice to meet you. Are you Scottish?”

Lorne grinned. “Not many people get that right off the bat, yeah. How about you? You seem… different.”

“I get that a lot. My father’s Filipino, my mom’s Mexican.”

“Cool. Ya know, a couple of us are going to The Attic tonight. You should come by sometime.”

“I wish I could,” Rosaldo faltered, “but I have some things to do. Another time, for sure.”

“Alright. See you around.”

Rosaldo caught the girl glancing at his calling card. He’d thought no one else could see it. No one had ever looked or mentioned it while he’d held it the entire day. He pocketed the card, and noticed Lorne had pursed her lips, as if in frustration.

Stolen novel; please report.

Once class ended, Rosaldo rushed out of the campus, back to the bus that would take him to the nearest subway station. The address from the card was located near downtown. There were no time stops or any other spectacles of magic on his way there, just a regular uneventful journey.

The shop was crammed between a local sandwich shop and a coin dry cleaner. It bore a singular door with a dark-green sign in dull brass lettering: Curios & Liturgy.

Behind the door was a rundown staircase leading to the second floor, and another door, this time with a brass gargoyle’s face biting its ringed door-knocker. Rosaldo rang it to sound his entrance.

A middle-aged man opened the door. It was the same man Rosaldo had met at the subway, the mysterious hooded magician who had stopped time. His hair was white, his beard and features like a Victorian painting come to life of some distant nobleman. He wore a tweed suit, and he smelled of lavender and leather, a potent but oddly pleasant combination.

“Hello, Rosaldo,” the man said. “My name is Henry. Please, come in.”

Rosaldo stepped into the room, looking around in amazement. The space was compact but made efficient use of its furnishings. Wooden shelves covered the walls, filled with trinkets, wax candles, glass bottles, carvings, amulets, effigies, and artifacts of bone, wood, metal, and jade. Some of them Rosaldo recognized from his visions, objects that some of the supernatural beings possessed, or even empowered. He was in a diverse and powerful collection of magical items spanning across history and the world.

Henry sat down behind a sturdy looking dark-stained wood desk. Over its counter was a jade lamp, the only source of light in the room. Rosaldo looked out the window showing the outside world. It still looked ordinary, but something about the glass of the window filtered out the sun, as if they were in the dark despite it being daylight.

Henry gestured to the leather chair in front of his desk.

“You must have questions,” the man said. “Do you?”

“Who are you?” Rosaldo asked. When he met the man's stare, he didn't look away, or glower as others did. Instead, Henry simply looked back, his dark eyes hiding no secret, just warm with understanding.

“I’m Henry Corinth, Headmaster of the Canadian Academia for Mancers in the Order. I represent an ancient organization dedicated to upholding magic and guiding the next generation of Mancers in this world. Mancers, like you, Rosaldo, whose gifts allow them to tap into the power of the human imagination.” Henry paused, studying Rosaldo’s twitching effort to maintain a blank expression. “You seem calm despite hearing this. Any thoughts?”

“I… knew magic was real, but didn’t know there was a society built around it. I just thought it was just… there.”

Henry fixed a closed smile. “Magic has been around for quite some time. But that isn’t why we’re here. I’m here to offer you admission to the Academy. You may refuse, and step out of the door where you entered. But…” The man sighed, taking a paper out from a drawer, presenting it to Rosaldo with a pen. “If you choose to accept, you must first sign this agreement here.”

Rosaldo read through the fine print on the single sheet of paper. “It says I will be studying for a period of one year in a temporal field. What does that mean?”

“It means when you enter the Academy, and return to the real world, it will be like you never left at all. Time isn’t a thing in the Academy, though you will feel like you normally do in this world.”

Rosaldo nodded, thinking over the fine print. One line repeated in his mind: The Mancer, once accepted, cannot return to the mundane unless their term has finished and been formally recognized, or is stricken from the Order’s grounds.

“I wouldn’t be able to return to the real world unless my term is finished. Is that right?”

“That is correct,” Henry said. “You must be prepared to make that agreement to accept. Though if you decide to refuse this agreement and leave, you will never set foot in this place again.”

Rosaldo paused, looking down. For one year, he wouldn’t see the world he knew, the people he knew. His sister, his mother and father. He would leave them behind, but if he returned like nothing ever happened, what harm could be done? For once in his life, he felt at ease in the world, as if what was once a heavy burden of his reality was now a welcoming relief. He signed the paper, returned it, and looked back at Henry Corinth. “I accept.”

The headmaster grinned. With a casual sweep of his hand, the paper disappeared into his desk’s drawer. “Excellent. Please, follow me.”

He stood and waved to another door in the room, one Rosaldo hadn’t seen before, right there on the opposite wall, an inescapable fact.

The headmaster opened the door, revealing a park, a garden that was darkly lit, a full moon glowing over the manicured hedges and cobbled stone paths. In the distance was a house that looked just like Rosaldo’s illustration. A warm breeze tickled his nose, the scent of flowers and mint and a crisp freshness in the air. The other side of this world called to him, yawning like a chasm between him and blackness. He was facing a lush, unknown place that he now knew existed, with blooms of color, and vibrant secrets that called to him like a siren’s hum, an ethereal spark, whereas others simply were content to keep the canvas of their minds and spirit in blank darkness back in the outside world.

Rosaldo stepped into the doorway, and it closed shut after him.