Chapter III. Domenic
III
DOMENIC
SUMMER
Domenic slumped into a seat in the back row of a movie theater.
In the four days since sneaking into the Vault, he hadn’t attended school. He couldn’t bring himself to face his classmates, who were no doubt hedging bets on which of them was the Chosen savior of Alderland.
Meanwhile, the drip drip of Valmordion thawing haunted Domenic’s every moment of silence.
The chills on his arms wouldn’t disappear even when he rubbed his skin raw, as if his body was already braced for Winter, a Winter worse than any he’d lived through.
In the few hours Hanna or Iseul ever were home, their worried stares followed him—and they both had far more important things to worry about.
He could feel himself unraveling.
And so he’d taken himself to the movies.
Despite the theater’s location in Gallamere’s tourist-clogged downtown, few others had ventured out for the weeknight show. As the lights dimmed and the opening credits rolled, Domenic kicked his loafers up on an empty chair, sipped his cherry soda, and willed himself to relax.
Until a cool draft kissed his neck, and someone claimed the spot several seats to his right.
Domenic startled at the latecomer, one of his own classmates.
Ellery Caldwell.
He sat up abruptly and smoothed his rumpled shirt.
Yet Caldwell hadn’t noticed him, her gaze fixed on the screen.
And despite all his efforts to avoid his classmates, Domenic grasped desperately for something to say.
He could nearly hear Hanna’s howl of laughter, that he should find himself alone with the very girl he’d been infatuated with for five straight years.
But he was hardly the only student infatuated with Ellery Caldwell.
When she entered a room, everyone craned for a glimpse of her, hushed so they could hear her.
It wasn’t just that she was beautiful, an arresting, dizzying sort of beautiful that made everything around her seem lackluster in comparison.
And it wasn’t just that she was famous—at thirteen years old, during the fall of Nordmere, she’d slain a winterghast with only a training wand.
It was that, from a feeling that ran deeper than gossip or reputation or the insufferable politics of Order favorites, everyone knew that to be in the presence of Ellery Caldwell was to behold someone extraordinary.
From her first day at the academy, Domenic had been enamored by her. She was everything he’d proven not to be.
But before he could conceive of anything remotely clever, the credits ended, and he gave up and turned his attention to the film.
Within minutes, he was enthralled. The movie featured his favorite premise: a smalltown boy discovers he has magic.
A heroic quest. A femme fatale. A triumphant finale.
It was predictable in exactly the way he adored, grand in a way that had always thrilled him, ever since he was a child.
Because it didn’t matter if the whole country associated his name with tragedy: Domenic Barrow would always crave a happy ending.
Once the movie finished, he rose and stretched. Subtly, he glanced at Caldwell, who stood clutching an empty bag of popcorn and a well-loved purse, its leather crinkled with smile lines.
Now or never, he heard Hanna goad.
“Um, extraordinary times we’re living in,” he blurted, then immediately cursed himself. Nothing set the mood better than the nation’s impending doom.
It took Caldwell longer than he would’ve liked to place him. “Barrow? What are you doing here?”
“Where would you have expected to find me? The library?”
She peered at the empty chair beside him, as if skeptical of finding him alone.
Although the gossip about Domenic might’ve been exaggerated, it was true he didn’t always attend the movies by himself.
On several occasions, he and his date had claimed seats in this very row, where no one would notice how little attention they paid to the screen.
Not that such experience proved any help now. He resisted the urge to fiddle with the flowers in his pocket, just to have something to do with his hands.
Caldwell slung her purse over her shoulder. “Sorry … What was it you said before?”
Domenic’s ego shriveled more by the second. “The times,” he repeated weakly.
“Oh. Yeah, history’s really in the making, I guess.”
Domenic might’ve known Caldwell’s seat in their shared lecture, the names of her friends, the people she’d reportedly kissed at parties.
But he didn’t know her, not really. Yet he was still stunned at her stilted tone.
Domenic didn’t buy into that destiny bullshit, that the magicians who’d bonded with Valmordion were predetermined from diaperdom.
But in his mind, the Chosen One ought to be valiant.
Someone with the strength to wield Summer’s fire, the selflessness to suit a hero.
If he were a betting man, he would’ve staked everything on her.
But maybe she, like him, had come to the movies seeking escape.
He changed course. “I mean, a movie about a blandly likable kid who goes from humble schoolboy to the greatest magician in the world? That’s unprecedented all right.”
Her mouth tilted into something awfully close to a smile. “Yeah, what a bold new perspective. And the magic—completely accurate. You can really tell how painstakingly they researched.”
“I’m floored, actually. Who knew our Order education was so flawed?”
Now she laughed, exposing the gap between her front teeth. It was wider than he’d ever realized, up close. “My favorite part was when the main character used his friend’s wand. Can you imagine touching a Living Wand bonded to someone else?”
“How about when he found out both his father and sister were magicians?”
“Right? What family has two magicians in it, let alone three?”
“A surprisingly functional one, considering.” Domenic shuddered to imagine either of his parents or older brothers wielding magic. “Actually, my favorite part was how he didn’t realize he had magic until he was sixteen. I mean, come on. I know the average age is seven, but even before I knew—”
“I knew.”
Domenic had never heard anyone echo that before, and he could tell from the curious tilt of her head that she hadn’t either.
He warned himself to be careful. Hope was such a painful thing to prune.
“Well, at least this was only a waste of a few dollars,” she declared.
“Waste? Now hold on a second. I never said the movie wasn’t a masterpiece.”
“You’re … you’re serious?”
He deployed one of his rare but effective smiles. “’Course I am. Why bother with the boring details of logic and magical theory when stories like this are so much more—”
“Melodramatic?” She smirked. “Cliché?”
He clutched at his heart. “You’re killing me, you know.”
“Well, what were you going to say?”
“No, no. It’s fine, Caldwell. I’ll just spend the rest of tonight licking my wounds.”
Tossing up his hands, he spun and stalked down the row.
And though she had no choice but to follow—he was closest to the exit—his stomach fluttered as she quickened her pace to catch up to him.
Side by side, they exited the theater into the assault of lights and cacophony and crush of bodies that was Mercester Square.
“I have to ask,” he said. “If you didn’t come to this movie for its brave and groundbreaking cinematography, why trek all the way out here? There are theaters closer to campus.”
“I like Mercester Square.”
Domenic swore she was joking. She must be. No Gallamere resident would dare admit such a thing. But whereas he squinted into the glare of the electronic billboards, she seemed to marvel at them, their flashes gleaming across the blue backdrop of her eyes.
“You really mean that, don’t you?”
“Huh. Terrible taste in movies but a classic Gallamere snob. I’m not sure you get to be both.”
“Oh, it isn’t snobbery. I hate all of Gallamere. I just hate Mercester Square the most.” Hastily, he added, “Not that I’m trying to be an asshole. But you did just pan my new favorite movie. I’ve earned a right to fight back.”
Caldwell raised a brow coyly. “You won’t win.”
“Against you? I wouldn’t dream of it. But it doesn’t mean I’ll surrender.” He stood needlessly on his tiptoes, making a show of scoping the crowds. “So let me guess … Is it the trash? The pigeons? No, wait—it’s the traffic, isn’t it?”
“No,” she said, with an amused sort of exasperation.
“It’s … Look at those storefronts.” In a nearby department store window, mannequins waved and curtsied at passersby.
Domenic swore one even winked at him. “Or the street performers. How many of our classmates could enchant a whole band?” A musician swished her training wand to and fro like an orchestra conductor, while a hovering violin, flute, and accordion obediently played.
Caldwell tossed a few coins into her violin case.
Domenic joined her. “Or the subtler enchantments. Signs of every magician who’s come to make their mark on the City of Magic. ”
Domenic still wasn’t sure he saw its charm, but he could almost hear it, in the wistful cadence of her voice. “Subtle? I’m gonna need evidence. Because so far as I can tell, nothing about Mercester Square is subtle.”
The words were a risk. Certainly, Ellery Caldwell had better things to do on a school night than play tour guide. But if she’d come here for distraction, then she knew his reputation, knew he could give her exactly that. He’d probably give her anything, if she asked.
“I actually spotted one earlier,” Caldwell said. “Come on.”
She led him to a bus stop across the square. They stepped over the trodden litter to the corner, and it felt tantalizingly private despite being anything but.
Caldwell pointed to a faded piece of graffiti.
Welcome to Gallamere.
A moment later, the words rippled and changed, like a coin plunking into a fountain.
The city is enchanted to meet you.
“I know it’s corny,” Caldwell said. “But considering how much you loved that movie, I figured—”