“What? Why!” Ennette cried. “That’s stupid! This isn’t real, right?”

“Unfortunately for the both of us, it’s very much real,” Maziar said. He subconsciously squeezed the arm that had been shocked by the mana lash earlier. “And unless we can figure out the terms of our familiar contract, we are very much stuck together, it seems.”

“Bullshit!”

“Say what you like, think what you like, but it’s not going to change anything.”

Crossing his arms, Maziar took a deep breath and started to pace.

Two years since he’d lost his core, and he’d only managed to cultivate a mere sliver of what he once so naturally had. Having another familiar meant basically having another mouth to feed. Having another mouth to feed meant it would be even more difficult for him to accumulate anything of value—and the longer it took him to regrow his magic.

Biting his thumbnail, Maziar looked at the girl.

You can’t blame her, he told himself. She doesn’t know what’s going on. Look at her, trembling like a spring fawn. Maziar, you asshole. Why didn’t you just do it right or go to the Archon?

“I don’t see what you’re so upset about, Kreeth,” Cardin Zyers said. A second year novice, he was a short, skinny, rat-like boy who pretended to have more ability than he did.. “After all, most of us bet against you being able to summon a familiar at all!”

Maziar hoped that Zerathon would intervene, but the professor was walking around the circle, analyzing it. He had quite the skill for zoning out the ruckus around him when he was focused. It made him a very good researcher—but a very frustrating teacher.

As usual, Maziar would have to deal with Cardin himself.

The other students were snickering as they always did, particularly those like Cardin who considered themselves “prodigies” because their parents told them they were.

They were mocking Maziar, but he knew their disrespect toward him would also extend to the already terrified Ennette. He didn’t need them to make his job more difficult than it already was.

Drawing this out would do neither of them any good.

War’s reaction to his agitation trickled through the bond, offering intervention, but that would have been overkill. Maziar tried to ease his concern about Cardin, but sent a wish to speak with him later.

War might have a better idea of what to do about Ennette, thought Maziar, biting his lip. But first we need to get out of here.

“I don’t need your acknowledgement, thanks,” Maziar said, picking up his kit of ritual supplies and throwing it over his shoulder.

“You think this is acknowledgement?” Cardin scoffed with an unsettling grin. “Listen, I’m out fifty gold because of you. Kass and Olamar are the only ones who bet in your favor—the rest of us are gonna need you to pay us back. Now.”

Cardin leaned over and put his arms around Kasslir Elutai, who’d been standing off to the side. Maziar tsk-ed and stared at them. Kasslir was desperate to escape the clutches of the nasty little ingrate, but he wouldn’t stand up for himself. He wasn’t that kind of person, and Maziar hated him for it.

A shy, quiet boy with silvery white hair and startlingly bright blue eyes, Kasslir looked like his mother. His mother looked like her older sister. Her older sister was Prince Rhaltz’s mother—and in Maziar’s mind, there was no greater sin than being even tangentially related to such a monster.

But regardless of his appearance, he was nothing like Rhaltz.

People like Cardin walked all over him because of his kind nature and delicate appearance, but Maziar had to believe they had no idea who he was, or else they would’ve left him alone. While Maziar preferred to avoid the royal family, he also didn’t like Cardin manipulating him.

“Let me guess,” Maziar said, lifting his gaze to meet Cardin’s. “Kasslir wasn’t exactly willing to put that bet in anyway, was he? I’ll talk to Olamar. So why don’t we just call it even, and no one gets paid? How’s that?”

Cardin laughed. “What, little momma’s boy is too poor to pay his debts?”

“Nah, I just don’t want to deal with your shit, is all,” Maziar said

“Oh, you think ‘cause you summoned a familiar now that you’re worth something?”

“I just don’t need a familiar to compensate for the rest of me, unlike some people.”

Flushing scarlet, Cardin released Kasslir and raised his hand. He cast a quick wind-based incantation that sent sheer blades of wind flying through the air.

Narrowing his eyes, Maziar identified three blades heading his direction and waited until the last moment to dodge. They harmlessly flew past his face with a whirl and sliced into one of the pillars behind him.

Maziar raised a brow at the feeble marks in the stone, then whistled and looked back at Cardin.

“Wow! That was cool! Practice that often, have you?” he said sarcastically.

“You little—!” Cardin’s face contorted into a twisted, ugly thing as he started casting another, larger spell. Maziar quickly recognized the circles in the formation Cardin was drawing with his mana. Sphere and compression, with a rapid fire annotation.

Shit.

He wouldn’t be able to dodge that. Maziar flexed his fingers and let a small bit of mana gather as he continued to analyze the inscriptions. If he was able to determine where Cardin was aiming and place a barrier in its path…

Cardin smiled then, and shifted his eyes the direction of the circle to Ennette.

He wouldn’t! thought Maziar in a panic. He didn’t have enough mana left to cover that wide a range, and no longer able to read the circle at that angle, he wouldn’t be able to pinpoint where it would hit.

Moving might trigger him. Telling him off might encourage him. Taunting it is, then.

“Go ahead, Cardin,” Maziar said, shifting into a relaxed stance. The boy’s smile faltered.

“I’ll kill her,” he said.

“And? What’s that got to do with me?” asked Maziar. “Haven’t you been paying attention? I don’t want her.”

It was satisfying to see the rat-boy’s confidence waver, but he felt a little bad for Ennette. Wide-eyed, the girl looked between him and Zerathon and slowly stepped further away from Cardin.

“That. Is. Enough!” Zerathon, finally noticing Cardin targeting the defenseless Ennette, cast Dispel with one hand and a Vine Wrap spell with the other. The spell in Cardin’s hand exploded with a pop! Then he cried out as the vines wrapped around his waist and stuck him to one of the near-by pillars. “How dare you target a non-caster in these halls! Do you wish to be expelled? Do you have any idea how much paperwork that would be?”

The scrawny boy glared at the teacher for taking his chance of petty vengeance away; Maziar breathed a sigh of relief.

“He started it!” Cardin yelled, pointing at Maziar.

“Who, me?” asked Maziar, innocently. “I can’t even use combat magic!”

“Both of you, stop it before I curse you all into silence!” Zerathon said. “You may not have started it, Maziar, but you certainly are intent on using me to finish it. Don’t think I don’t know how this works. Now take your… Miss Ennette here, back to…” Zerathon paused.

* * *

Where, exactly, is Ennette supposed to go? Zerathon wondered. She can’t stay with Maziar, and the familiar tower is no place for a person. The servants quarters, perhaps?

Shaking his head, Zerathon dreaded the paperwork that he would have to do later as a result of this.

Should I… just quit? If he quit, maybe he could avoid everything.

“Um,” Ennette squeaked. Zerathon turned, surprised that she had taken the initiative to walk up to him. “Is there really no way for me to go home?”

Easing his expression, he gently patted the young girl on the head.

“Where is ‘home’ for you, my dear?” he asked.

“Connecticut,” she said hopefully. Zerathon drew a blank. “It’s next to New York?” she explained. “Everyone knows New York City, right?”

“I’m afraid I do not,” Zerathon said.

“Is it across the sea?” Maziar asked. “Or are you perhaps from a different plane, after all? It feels like you know too much to be from a different plane, and you are speaking our language, even if your accent is a little odd. What do you call your world?”

“Earth,” she told them gloomily.

“Earth…” Zerathon repeated, then shook his head. “I wish I had some words of comfort for you, child, but I’m afraid I’m not familiar with your world.”

“I see,” Ennette said, pulling her hair and trying to brush through its mess with her fingers. Zerathon was about to help her by casting a grooming spell, but then she said in a quiet voice, “This is the kingdom of Varsal, isn’t it? In the world of Gaiuel.”

Curious, Zerathon asked, “And how would you know that?”

“I…” Ennette stopped and looked between him and Maziar, who raised his brows in confusion.

“Something wrong?” Maziar asked.

“It’s just…” she started again. “Is there anyone else I can talk to about this? In private, maybe?”

“Why?” Maziar crossed his arms and tilted his head.

“It’s just that you’re… well, Maziar.”

“And that means…?”

“I’d really rather not tell you until I’ve talked to someone else about it,” Ennette told him. Contrary to her hesitant behavior, her words were quite firm. “Seriously, I really don’t want to talk to you about it; I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

Zerathon saw Maziar’s face twitch in a way that meant he was about to start something again, so he cleared his throat, interrupting him before he had the chance.

“In light of the situation,” Zerathon said, “why don’t you come with me. I’ll take you to the Archon and explain everything that happened today. Maybe she’ll be able to help.”

“Why her?!” Maziar shouted, spinning around.

Flinching, Ennette looked to Zerathon for help, but he wasn’t quite sure what to tell her.

“Maziar! That is enough! She will be involved one way or another! Perhaps sooner is better,” he said warily. “This way Miss Ennette won’t have any more to do with you than she likes. Heavens know no one should be forced to deal with you.”

“But—!”

“No ‘buts’! Everyone! Class is dismissed!”