I woke up in my same old life.

My blankets were soaked with sweat. My head felt like an overstuffed balloon. I staggered down the hall and pissed with the door open, scratching at the bandage on my chest. I leaned forward and put my forehead on the plaster above the toilet, the way I did sometimes when my legs were too tired, and the sun was too bright.

Mages develop a sense for the astral world over time, an ability to spot magical creatures and sense when things are watching them, but at that point I was completely blind. I thought I was still just a normal guy in a normal world, but if I had glanced at my mirror at that exact moment, I would have seen an extra pair of eyes looking back at me.

Instead, I grabbed my dented aluminum water bottle and filled it from the kitchen tap. Then I padded back to the bedroom and took a huge swig.

That’s when I saw the demon again, hovering five feet off the floor with her back pressed against my bedroom wall, like the world’s sexiest gargoyle. She was still wearing her gown. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, and her arms were crossed, resting on her knees. She had a little grin on her face, and she was looking at me.

Utterly deadpan, Lydia said, “Boo.”

The bottle slipped out of my hand and bounced on the floor with a loud bong. A stream of cold water splashed across my leg, driving me back a few steps. I couldn’t walk toward her, and I couldn’t turn around, so I just kept walking backwards until I hit my closet door. I bumped my head on it, but I didn’t turn around. I just flailed around blindly until I felt fabric under my fingers.

Lydia hopped down from her perch and walked to the center of the room. She stayed perfectly still as I walked a circle around her, examining her body in daylight. Her tail swished a little as I walked behind her. The circle brought me back to her face. Gently, I reached out to touch her, like a child touching his face in a mirror.

Lydia raised her head slightly, offering her neck.

That movement stopped me. She seemed way too eager for me to touch her, so I spun on my heel and ran for the bathroom, leaning on my sink as I stared at myself in the mirror.

Ephemeral blonde chicks can be forgiven at night. Erotic dreams are like snowflakes; you have to catch them quickly before they hit the ground. At night, Lydia could be dismissed as a psychological hors d’oeuvre. Daylight was another matter. Men who entertain fantasies at night endure jokes from their friends and angry stares from their wives. Men who entertain them in daylight go straight to shock therapy and psychoactive drugs.

* * *

And no, I still didn’t call the police. I figured daylight would just give me a better view of Boston’s signature superteam wrecking my home.

If something supernatural was happening to me, I needed to prove it, to find out just how serious this was and test some of the claims Lydia had made the night before. I couldn’t bring in a DMA team to scan the apartment and I didn’t have any exorcists on speed dial, but if I really was some kind of wizard, I had a whole tower full of experts who could prove it, right around the corner.

Lydia had left my bedroom, so I ran back and picked out some decent clothes.

She had moved to the living room, hovering across from my desk chair with her back to the wall, so I would be forced to look at her any time I was sitting down. She looked mildly amused as she watched me scramble around, just quietly watching, waiting for me to speak to her again. But I didn’t. I dashed out the door and caught a trolley to the mage tower.

Newbury Tower was ridiculous - too tall, too Gothic, and too elegant to fit with the blocky concrete rectangles to the west of it. I saw black marble and blue carpet - sweeping frosted windows with a courtyard open to the sky. I froze in the lobby, mesmerized by the illusion of dolphins in the fountain. Magic was so much better than holograms, this instantly confirmed my conclusion from the night before. No way Lydia was using technology for her tricks.

I came here looking for answers, but I hadn’t really formulated my questions yet. Lydia said I was a mage. That, at least, could be tested. I couldn’t prove what she was, but maybe I could prove what I was.

I couldn’t find “Testing” in the directory, but right above where Testing should have been I saw a department called Student Advocacy. I should have kept looking for a better match, but something about the wording of that, the promise of help from a friendly face who might understand what was happening to me; I went straight there.

The offices were a maze. It still took me ten minutes to find the department, which turned out to be a single room, hidden at the end of a hall. Apparently, Student Advocacy was not a big priority in Newbury Tower.

Evan Coleridge was a tall man, tall and elegant, like European aristocracy. His features were fine and haughty, his hair was thin and blond, and his eyes were pale blue. I was expecting a faculty adviser, but this looked like a grad student, just a few years older than me. Evan was wearing dark slacks and a beige sweater.

I was instantly jealous. I had always been poor, but it didn’t really bother me, until I met somebody who dressed better. I still wore the same clothes I wore in high school, generic blue jeans and shirts from the discount rack. I wasn’t exactly a slob, but I didn’t spend money on superficials. I lived in a world of cheap haircuts, quick shaves, thin sneakers, and nylon jackets. I actually dressed pretty well for a computer geek. Some of the guys in my engineering program didn’t even bathe.

Most days, I didn’t care, but sometimes I would stand outside the tower and wish for something more. I swore I would never wear a tie, but I was tempted to spend money on sweaters and sport coats. Maybe one good pair of shoes. I had never paid more than twenty bucks for a pair of shoes. I’d been wearing the same style for ten years, bought right off the shelf at the HDI distribution center - company issue for janitors and lawn guys.

Standing next to Evan Coleridge made me want to spend money. My hair was getting shaggy. Maybe I could pay a little extra and get my hair cut by a person next week. Machine cuts were fast, but standard barber AI couldn’t handle the shape of my head.

Evan didn’t say anything when I walked in. He just stood up and waited for me to explain myself.

I read the name on the door and said, “Are you Evan Coleridge?”

“I am.”

I tried to shake his hand, but Evan kept his hands behind his back. Asking for help sounded smart in the lobby, but this guy made me nervous. Everything in his manner screamed go away. I took a deep breath and introduced myself. “My name is Timothy Kovak. I need your help.”

Evan took a step back and ushered me into his office. “Could you be more specific?”

I stepped inside and sat in the chair he offered me. Rich brown leather. Remarkably comfortable. Evan’s chair straightened my spine and corrected my posture. “I need to be tested for magical talent.”

Evan closed his door and sat down. His tone was parental, compassionate and condescending. “Weren’t you tested in grade school?”

“Yes, but I have reason to believe those results were… wrong.”

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“I assure you, Mister Kovak, the Hersh-Kens blood test is very reliable. Magical ability is genetic. Once you test negative, you cannot acquire the potential later.” Evan was transparently bored, like he’d given this speech a thousand times.

Tweaked by this, I let some irritation creep into my voice. “I’m aware of that, but a reliable source told me there was an error in my test.” Where did that come from? When did Lydia become a reliable source? “Surely you have the facilities to test me again?”

Evan nodded. “We do, but I don’t have time to run tests on every student who hears a bump in the night. What makes you think you’re gifted?”

“I can’t reveal my source, but I trust it.” Did I? Seemed like a strong word to just pop out of my mouth.

Evan frowned. “I’m sure you do, but now you’re asking me to trust it. I need a little more than your word.”

I held my chin up and tried to imitate Lydia’s tone from the night before. “No, Mister Coleridge, you do not.” Then I shut up and forced him to deal with silence. One of the guys from the compound taught me this trick when I was a kid. Sometimes, when you have no argument, all you can do is stand on honor and trust the guy across the table to do the right thing.

I was expecting an angry retort, but Evan’s face cracked into a broad smile. “I apologize. Please follow me.”

Stunned by the easy victory, I did as I was told. I followed him through a maze of hallways, tunneling deep into the basement. Halfway there, we were joined by a woman. She was tall and willowy, even taller than Evan. Her hair was long and straight, raven black, like a living piece of darkness on her head. Her skin was perfect and desperately pale. Her eyes were black, with flecks of purple. I went pale and took a step back when I saw her - those were demon eyes.

Evan introduced her. “This is Evelyn, my companion.”

I smirked and raised one eyebrow. What kind of man introduces his girlfriend as “my companion?”

Evelyn looked at me the way a cat looks at a bug, deciding if I was edible, or simply beneath contempt. She scanned me and turned away. When she turned back, her eyes had that same dreamy quality Daniel had used at the museum. She leaned in close and peered at me like she was trying to look through the back of my skull. Her pupils dilated, then she whispered something to Evan and took him aside.

I couldn’t hear anything, but the content was obvious. It was fun to watch - a fierce argument, conducted by people who don’t use gestures. Evelyn had a talent for it, clearly expressing fear and contempt without moving anything below her shoulders.

When he came back, Evan was apologetic, and Evelyn was staring daggers into his back. Halfway down the hall, I caught his eye and whispered, “I don’t think your girlfriend likes me.”

“Nothing to worry about,” he said.

* * *

Our final destination was protected by a complex series of locks. Evan used a magnetic key and entered a combination. Then he put his hand on a metal plate and rattled off a string of words that sounded like Latin poetry. The door opened with a loud thump, and he ushered me inside. The room was stuffy and silent, dominated by a black metal chair.

The chair sat facing an old stand-up terminal. The subject sat in the chair while the operator stood across from him - perfect for interrogation, or execution.

Evan gestured to the chair, “Make yourself comfortable. I need a moment to prepare.”

I balked. “I think you should explain this first.”

Evan sighed. “Very well. We’re not allowed to do blood tests anymore. A necromancer stole a batch of samples and used them to cast spells on the students. Now we use the chair.”

“Why does it look like an electric chair?”

“It was. We bought it from Rikers when New York repealed the death penalty. Now it’s a magnet.”

“A magnet?”

“A massive electromagnet. Do you know anything about tantalum? KMP? Magic theory?”

I shook my head three times.

“Very well. This chair is coated with a metal called tantalum. In low-magic areas, tantalum is a transition metal, but in the presence of magic, it becomes stable - black and brittle. Tantalum absorbs magic. We use it to insulate the casting rooms. This chair sits here all day, absorbing magic from a source nearby. You’re going to sit in the chair, and I’m going to slowly increase the voltage on this magnet. The metal itself is not magnetic, but the magnetic field will release magic from the chair and force it into your body.”

“Does that hurt?”

Evan smiled. “Most people say it’s pleasant, like getting a massage. Now, if you’re a mage, your body will absorb the magic. When you reach maximum capacity, your body will reject the energy and the particles will escape through your skin. It’s all quite harmless. The moment you start leaking, the chair will shut down. I will check the strength of the magnet at that point and determine your KMP Index. Mundanes can’t retain magic, so if your original results were accurate, this meter will remain at zero. And if you really are gifted, this test will determine your potential.”

“How high does it go?”

“This chair is valid to an index rating of about 1,200. The typical score is around 100. My score is 529. Arthur Walton is our most powerful graduate at 825. Captain Cobalt holds the Guinness record at 2,539. Evelyn is a perfect 400.” Evan smiled. “We use her to calibrate the equipment.” The console beeped. “The capacitors are ready. Please sit down.”

I was trying to stall the process, but I couldn’t think of a good question. Reluctantly, I stepped up to the platform and sat in the chair. It was cold and hard, covered in tiny bumps.

Evelyn came over to tighten my straps. She seemed to enjoy it, trapping my limbs in thick black nylon. She pulled the chest strap so hard, I grunted involuntarily. She wasn’t shy about pulling straps, but she was careful not to touch my skin. The process was intimate and humiliating. I smelled exotic perfume, mixed with copper and ozone from her breath.

Once I was secure, Evelyn stepped away and took her place behind the console. Evan closed a panel with his foot and fired up the chair. It made a deep throbbing noise and whined like a jet engine. I was starting to sweat.

Evan put his hand on a big black dial and tried to calm me down. “All right, Mister Kovak, we’ll start the test at five and work our way up. If you’re a mage, you’ll feel a tingling sensation in your limbs, almost immediately.”

Evan frowned and brushed something off his console. “I’m starting the charge now. Do you feel anything?”

I tried to shake my head, but the forehead strap kept it still. “Nothing. Just this strap digging into my chest.”

“That makes me think you’re mundane, but you’re not leaking yet. I’ll crank it up to fifteen.”

Evan checked his gauges and grinned at me. “Well, you’re holding steady at fifteen. Three more clicks and you can enroll in the magic program. Shall I continue?”

I said, “Sure.”

Evan turned his dial slowly, asking how I felt with each click. After five clicks, he said, “I don’t think it’s working. Step out of the chair, please.”

Evelyn untied the straps and took my place in the chair. Evan cranked up the dial and took her measurement. “Perfect four hundred, dear. Just like always. All right, Mister Kovak, let’s try again.”

This time, Evan did the straps, also careful not to touch my skin.

He returned to his console and turned the dial five clicks. “Do you feel anything now? A tingling in your face or hands?”

“I think I need to pee. Does that mean anything?”

That seemed to annoy him. “No.”

He put his hand on the dial and increased the power step by step, drawing it out over five minutes. The ticking started slow and got faster as his patience fled, until the dial appeared to be all the way up. Every second, the chair got louder - screaming and throbbing. Then it started to vibrate. The vibration became a rattle.

“All right, Mister Kovak, do you feel anything now?” The noise was drowning him out. Evan had to yell.

I shouted back, “My feet are tingling. Is that normal?”

Evan’s pale face was turning red; the first time I’d seen anything shake his composure. “No, Mister Kovak, that is not normal. My score is 529. At 500, I start to twitch. At 600, I acquire a nice corona. At this power level, there should be lightning bolts shooting out your ass!”

Evan hit the kill switch, draping us in sudden silence. He leaned on the console, rubbing his temples like he had a headache. He was staring at a monitor, or maybe just fuming. “You may be having a delayed reaction. Eve, check his pulse.”

Evelyn whipped her head around and hit him with a look of righteous indignation, like he’d just asked her to give me a blowjob. It looked like a psychic war - some kind of intense power struggle, conducted with frowns, nods, and raised eyebrows. Evelyn put up a good fight, but she apparently lost. Briskly, she grabbed my hand and put her finger on my vein.

I had never been touched by a witch before.

There was a moment of disorientation, a peculiar kind of vertigo. I had been vaguely aware of something expanding inside me, but Evelyn’s touch brought it into focus. I felt like a pitcher, filled halfway up. The magic felt cold and clear inside me, but I couldn’t taste it. It bubbled and fizzled like carbonated water.

Evelyn’s touch felt like a hole in my arm. Magic rushed out of me and flowed into her. I didn’t understand what was happening at first, but a tiny trickle of magic was coming back the other way. She was doing her best to hold it in, but Evelyn’s power was mingling with mine. I could taste it, dark and rich like fine wine.

There was a terrible intimacy to this, like we were doing something obscene. Did this happen every time these people touched each other?

I focused on the trickle of power coming from Evelyn and felt with absolute certainty that she hated my guts. But I had no idea why.

“So, is that look of disgust especially for me, or do you look that way every time you smell a poor person?”

Evelyn dropped my hand and said, “He’s taking it in. All of it.”

Evan wasn’t shocked or angry anymore. His features settled in resignation. “Congratulations, Mister Kovak. You’re one of us.”