CHAPTER ONE

Autumn

“Well, look here, it’s everyone’s favorite recluse.” An apron came flying my way and I caught it, unfolded it, and tied the strings behind my back.

“Good morning, Nathan.”

“Did you hear that, Sophie?” he asked, turning to one of the new, young waitresses, whose arms were stacked up with crisp white plates as the much older Nathan emptied the dishwasher. “It’s a good morning. How unusual.”

I stared at the girl and tried to decide if I’d met her before, or if she was just totally indistinguishable from the other skinny jeans–clad and powdered-orange Saturday staff.

“And how am I a recluse?” I asked without tearing my eyes off her.

She returned the gaze with wide eyes as sweat began to trickle down her temples. Her fingers nervously tapped against the rim of the lowest plate, and as I sidestepped her to grab a pile of menus, she scrambled back and squeaked. The plates in her hands dropped toward the tiled floor.

Haven’t met her before, then.

With a flick of my finger, the plates froze in midair and floated onto the worktop. Before she could react again, I left the cramped kitchen and made my way toward the front of the Harbour Café, flipping the Closed sign on the door so it read Open. It was the end of August, and though it was still early, I could see through the window that tourists were already beginning to crowd the busy walkway from the working harbor to the more upmarket marina; in the distance, trawler fishing boats squeezed between jetties, bringing with them the smell of fish. Neither was the glass a barrier against the sound of chinking of masts and the cry of the gulls as they swarmed for their chance to snatch a portion of the day’s catch—the score which accompanied every morning in the bustling fishing town of Brixham.

Nathan rounded the counter and crossed the café in a couple of bounding strides—not hard, because of his tall and lanky build. He cocked his head apologetically.

“Before you arrived, she was telling me she’s never seen a Sage,” he explained in an undertone.

I shrugged. Her reaction came as no surprise. In the year I had worked at the café, only Nathan—the chef—and I had been permanent, and every new member of staff had given me a wide berth and left shortly after. The only reason I hadn’t lost my job over it was because my boss knew she could get away with paying me less. I wasn’t about to put up a fuss. She had been the only person in town willing to offer me any work at all.

Nathan placed a tattooed left hand on my arm as I went to pass. “And recluse because you haven’t answered my texts for a month.”

“You were in Iceland, and I was in London.”

“You still could have replied.”

I grabbed the sleeve of his chef’s whites—which were, in fact, black—and removed his arm. Released, I laid the menus containing the day’s specials on the tables, working my way across the café with Nathan following.

“How was Iceland?” I eventually asked to fill the silence.

“Beautiful. Democratic.”

I sighed and rolled my eyes as my back was turned.

“The humans and Sage there live together as one community, not divided like here.” I straightened up to see him jerking his thumb back toward the kitchen, where Sophie was. “Or anywhere,” he added as an afterthought.

I’d heard his rhetoric on Sagean-human relations before, but he had saved up for so long to afford his holiday that I didn’t want to burst his bubble. And yet . . .

“Sage? Only Extermino live there.”

I couldn’t see his eyes, because his hair—curly, brown, and almost down to his shoulders—was covering them, but I thought I saw him avert them.

“Extermino are Sage, too, they just believe different things.”

“And yes, their scars turn gray just because they play happy families with humans,” I mocked, but I didn’t find the matter funny at all. “They’re violent extremist rebels, Nathan. They are enemies of the Athenean monarchy, and of all other dark beings too. Don’t forget that.”

He looked toward the ground and adjusted his rolled-up cuffs. “I just think things aren’t great as they are, while people like you get marginalized—”

The tinkle of a bell interrupted him and we both startled and turned toward the door, as if surprised that customers actually might be coming in. The three girls in the doorframe paused, as startled as we were, and then proceeded to the table beside the window.

“Good luck,” Nathan muttered, and retreated back to the kitchen.

I took a deep breath, pulled out my notepad, and approached the group.

“Good morning, what can I get you?” I chirped, pretending they were total strangers.

The nearest girl flicked her long black hair over her shoulders and leered at me from behind her heavy bangs. She was tall, and her shoulders very wide; she didn’t have to tilt her head far to meet my gaze.

“The usual, witch.”

I gripped the pen tightly, trying to focus through the window on the steady lap of the sea against the harbor walls.

“I’ve been away for a month, I’m afraid Ican’t remember what you and your friends have, Valerie,” I said through clenched teeth.

Valerie Danvers was what could only be described as a bully. My school’s bully.

Her sustenance was my misery, not a damned coffee.

She muttered something to her friends about Sage, and then begrudgingly gave me her order, demanding that half the dish be omitted. Her friends were only slightly less unpleasant.

I went and got their drinks and was thanked with the usual grunt. A minute later I was in the bathroom, back to the door, forcing myself to take deep breaths. It was a Saturday-morning ritual, and had been ever since Valerie Danvers had discovered the café was the perfect place to torment me.

With my eyes closed, I could almost see the short outline of a woman—my grandmother—growing older but still in her prime, with her head bowed toward a small child, half her height, and talking. Always talking.

Sagean children are like ivy; you grow fast and live very long. Human children are like butterflies. They are ugly in their chrysalis, until the day they finally emerge and become adults. The ugly chrysalis is jealous of the ivy, you see?

I squeezed my eyelids tighter together. Breathe . . .

Hammering on the other side of the door wrenched me back. The small room was still dark, and I grabbed a cord, flooding the room with sterile white light.

“Autumn, I know it’s you, get out of there now!”

“Nathan,” I groaned. He knew Valerie was a pain, why was he bothering me?

“Something’s happening outside!”

My skin began to heat and tingle as blood and magic raced to my hands. Walls ceased to be barriers . . . because from far away, I could hear a heartbeat, fast approaching and speeding up . . . and it wasn’t human.

I unlocked the door and peeked out. A pale Nathan stood on the other side while the rest of the café was empty; stepping out, I could see Valerie and her friends straining over the railings surrounding the harbor, watching a commotion across the water.

I ran outside and the warmth on my skin was whipped away with the cold sea breeze; but my heart went cold, too. A jetty opposite us was blanketed in a miniature patch of fog, like a fire had been lit and the smoke had engulfed the wall. Yet it lit up with flashes of light, and it screamed; it screamed for mercy . . . or the people trapped inside did.

My body froze. The rational part of my brain knew I should help, but my feet wouldn’t move.

Suddenly, Nathan bolted away from my side and sprinted along the wall toward the screams. His action shut the fear off and I flung myself into the air and flew across the harbor, crumpling to the ground near the fog.

I had no idea what the fog was—I was too afraid to send any magic toward it in case it hit anybody trapped inside . . . so instead I tentatively reached out with a finger, ball of fire ready just behind in the other hand.

It seemed like fine drizzle from a couple of inches away, yet as the tip of my finger touched it, no moisture collected . . .

Like a sheet being torn apart, I felt the borders between dimensions rip open. You had to have magic to cross them—strong magic—and weak dark beings and humans couldn’t open them.

The dread in my heart only increased as I realized what kind of enemy I was facing: not one I could fight.

The pull of the borders tried to yank me forward and I stumbled, trying to hold myself back until the white cloud abruptly disappeared into a closing black hole; it sealed before I could possibly see who had created it.

The scene that was revealed was horrifying. There were maybe ten humans, most crouched or lying on the ground, some bleeding, all blinking and looking around bewildered at the sunlight. In the middle there was a man lying flat on his back, a pool of blood gathering around his head but not a scratch anywhere else on him.

A woman was leaning over him and shaking his shoulders. Another had her fingers pressed to his wrists. She reached out and placed a hand on the arm of the other woman, shaking her head.

“Autumn, do something!” Nathan demanded, having caught up with me.

The humans looked up for the first time and noticed me.

“No, Nathan, he’s gone, I can’t—”

Nathan shoved me forward, glaring. “You’re a Sage, of course you can. Sage can do anything.”

I looked down at the man on the ground, shaking my head as tears brimmed. Why is he doing this? Nathan knows I can’t bring back the dead!

“It’s your duty,” Nathan continued.

The woman managed to stop sobbing long enough to speak. “They had gray scars . . . two of them. Hit him with black light.”

Gray scars—Extermino! And black light . . . That was a death curse!

“I’m sorry, I really can’t—”

I backed away. There was nothing I could do even if I hadn’t been paralyzed by fear of the Extermino . . . in Brixham. Attacking humans. It didn’t make sense, and something told me that their target had been a Sage . . . and I was the only Sage for miles.

The woman screamed and kept shaking the man. I couldn’t watch any longer, and leaving a gaping Nathan, I took to the air again and fled the horror.