Chapter 19 Tamsin
Tamsin
I’ve spent a lot of time fantasizing about how it might feel to win a duel in one of the biggest arenas in the country.
I’ve spent almost as much time fantasizing about how it might feel to be the first magician in history to defeat the previously undefeated Lysander Rook, the enfant terrible of the magical world. To start carving a history of my own.
Fantasy is one thing. Reality, though, is something else entirely.
Everything’s kind of a haze after Rook yields. I recognize events as they happen: the referee raising my hand to make my victory official, the arena doctor helping Rook limp off the stage, the mics shoved in my face as soon as I’m deemed sufficiently cleaned-up for public consumption.
I squint at the camera flashes clicking off in my sight line and find myself vaguely concerned that some unflattering picture of me with my eyes closed is going to make it onto the front page of some magicians’ news site tomorrow morning.
Am I dissociating? Maybe I’m dissociating. Maybe that’s why I’m thinking about how I’m going to look in the press photos, ten minutes after making magicians’ history.
After I feed the reporters a bunch of stock answers, I flee to my hotel room, where my father awaits. He’s sitting at the desk chair, his hands folded in his lap. “You’re back late,” he observes. “Busy with your new fans, I take it?” He’s not smiling, and he doesn’t congratulate me on my victory.
“I’m sorry.” I close the door behind me. “Did I not put on enough of a show for you?”
“You disobeyed me.”
I laugh. I can’t help myself. “I just made history. I beat Lysander Rook. The boy who can’t be beaten.”
“Anyone can be beaten.”
It’s a big change of tune from telling me that Rook would destroy me body and soul, but I ignore that. “I made history,” I repeat. A disbelieving giggle escapes me. “And that’s still not good enough for you.”
“You didn’t listen to me,” hisses Dad. “That netting spell may be functional, but it’s not audience friendly—”
“The audience sure seemed to love it, judging from where I was. Which was on stage. In front of them. More than I can say for where you’ve been for the past few years.”
My father goes pale. “How dare you,” he whispers. “You’re old enough to know what I’ve done for you all these years—”
“Oh please,” I burst out. “What you’ve done for me?” I laugh again. “You’ve done plenty for me. That’s true. You bound me to contracts with promoters you owed favors to and made sure you controlled any money that came in for what I did.”
“Money I used to raise you!” Dad’s voice rises. “Do you know what I’ve sacrificed to keep you under my roof? Do you know what it costs to raise a child? You could never imagine—”
“I’m not finished,” I thunder at Dad. He sinks back in the chair, faint shock etched across his weathered features. I’ve never spoken that way to my father in my entire life. It feels mean.
And God help me, right now, mean feels good.
“When you first told me you were going to teach me magic, I thought I was so lucky,” I tell my father.
“I mean, you’re my dad. You seemed larger than life to me when I was little.
And you were so, so good at making me feel special.
I’ve got to hand it to you, Dad, you had me in the palm of your hand.
Little Tam was one hundred percent convinced that you were acting out of love for me.
Pure, selfless, parental love. What a joke, right? ”
I shake my head, chuckling bitterly to myself.
“It was perfect, really. With Mom out of the picture, it’s not like I had another parent to challenge your influence.
You knew I’d jump at the opportunity for your attention.
And by the time I figured out that, as far as you were concerned, I was only worth whatever profits you could turn off my magic…
well. It was too late by then, wasn’t it?
I was already all tangled up with your promoters, your brand, your vision for what I’d do for your precious legacy. The Blackwood name.”
Slowly, I cross the room. “That all changed tonight.” My father doesn’t move from the chair, even as I draw closer and closer to him.
He says nothing. “You didn’t want me to win—didn’t even think I was capable of it—but I did.
On my own. Without a real second, or even a real arcane master, because let’s be honest here, Dad, you haven’t been a true teacher to me in years.
I took Lysander Rook’s crown by myself. I did that. Me.”
“Don’t do anything rash,” Dad says. A faint note of desperation clings to his tone.
I relish the sound of it. “Tam, honey, listen to me: It would be foolish to think you can strike out on your own after tonight. You need me now more than ever. To—to guide your career. To make sure you’re making the best possible choices. ”
I cock my head. “Do I?” I tap my lip with one finger.
“You know, I really don’t think so. After all, I just won a boatload of prize money, didn’t I?
And for the first time in my life, none of it is money you can control.
I’m eighteen. A legal adult. Just like Jamie Chan was when you pushed him into that duel against Alexei.
” I smile at my father. “Which means my money is mine, and mine alone. Nothing you can do about it, Dad.”
“Tamsin, I need you to listen—”
“No, I don’t think I will,” I say cheerfully. “I think that it’s my turn to talk, actually. And the first thing I want to tell you is this.” I lean over the chair, so that I’m looking directly into my second’s eyes so he can’t misunderstand me.
“Thank you for your many years of service as my second, Master Blackwood,” I tell him. “You’re fired. Now get the hell out of my hotel room.”
For what it’s worth, I’m right about not needing my second anymore.
Barely an hour after my victory over Rook is announced, my phone blows the hell up.
My social media channels explode. Suddenly, every promoter in the world wants to invite me onto a show—for good money, naturally, whether I win or lose, plus a bonus if I win—and every remotely magic-related brand wants to sponsor me.
Not one of them gives a damn who my second is. Come hell or high water, they all just want a piece of the girl who beat Lysander Rook. I could be a convicted murderer, for all they care. It might even help my case, at this point. Blackwood couldn’t poison them against me if he tried.
I’m free.
I expected to feel overwhelmed the day I cut my father loose. Overwhelmed by joy, or fear, or even wistfulness, I wasn’t sure, but I expected to feel something.
I didn’t expect to simply feel empty.
All I can think about is how Rook looked in the second half of that duel. Like he’d given up already. Like he was just waiting for the whole thing to be over and didn’t care if he died in the process.
Yet he wouldn’t yield. Not until his second gave him her blessing.
I flinch away from that part of the memory. I don’t want to think about Samantha Chan right now. If possible, I never really want to think about Samantha Chan ever again, actually, but that doesn’t seem totally realistic.
Of course, now that she’s entered my mind, I can’t get her face out of my head. She sounded so sure of herself when she screamed for her champion to yield, but when I looked at her face, I saw something behind those steady dark eyes.
She looked hunted. The same way Rook looked hunted when he realized it wouldn’t be so easy to undo my netting spell. The way he looked when he gave up and let me pummel him without complaint for nearly ten minutes.
Maybe that’s why I feel so hollow. Defeating Lysander Rook should have been a challenge. A true coup. I should feel like a god right now. I should feel like a champion among champions.
Instead, I feel like a bully. I feel like Dad.
“You’re free of him now,” I whisper to myself. I close my eyes and say it again: “You’re free, Tamsin. Be happy.”
For my own sake, I have to try.
As it turns out, I’m destined to think about Samantha Chan again a lot sooner than I wanted to. Mostly because, try as I might to ignore the unfinished business between the two of us, fate has other plans.
I run into her on my way down to the gym.
It’s one of my late-night sessions, where—prior to my run-in with one Lysander Rook—I’d rarely ever been interrupted.
My duel with Rook may be over, but the promoters will be chomping at the bit sooner rather than later to see me enter the arena once more.
To ensure that my victory in the New York Magicians’ Arena wasn’t a fluke.
Which means I need to keep body, mind, and magical ability all well-honed.
I’m pretty sure I spot Sam before she spots me. It’s what I imagine a bullet through your gut probably feels like, seeing the girl who haunted my mind for weeks. The closest thing I’ve ever had to a real friend, before she turned out to be a lying piece of shit.
I recover faster than I expect, though. Because, of course—as I scope out my usual assault bike—my next duel is already on my mind.
And as I watch Sam slip under the squat rack, I realize exactly what I need from her.
I’m polite enough—and mindful enough of gym safety—to wait for her to finish her warm-up set before I approach her. As she re-racks the barbell with a huff, I gather the courage to call her name.
“Hey! Chan!”
She almost knocks the barbell off the rack. “Jesus Christ.”
I saunter over to her. “I thought you might like to know that I just fired my second.”
Sam spins around, eyes wild. “What?”
“You probably know him better as my dad,” I tell her conversationally. “Master Mateus Blackwood. You know, your brother’s murderer.” I lean in nice and close. “The reason you lied to me for three straight weeks as you plotted to destroy my life.”
Sam doesn’t bother trying to rebut me this time. Instead she just sighs, leaning up against the squat rack. “What do you want, Tamsin?”