Class Five Metamorphosis
Professor Bellview blinks at me…and then he blinks at Rowan. “A student? My dear, there are no shifters at Mablemyer.”
“He’s not a shifter—he’s a mage. One of his experiments backfired.”
“Hello, Professor,” my companion says, making the bird-like man jump. “I’m Rowan Neilfellow.”
The name startles me, and I jerk my head toward him. “Neilfellow? Like the mayor’s family?”
Rowan doesn’t answer me because Professor Bellview takes a step closer and peers at him. “Rowan?”
“I was attempting a class five metamorphosis,” Rowan explains. “Unfortunately, I had a faulty anchor.”
The professor looks dumbfounded. He frowns, swallowing as he contemplates Rowan. “A class five metamorphosis is only possible in theory.”
“Apparently not,” Rowan says dryly.
“You actually turned yourself into a bird?”
Sounding weary now, Rowan answers, “Yes.”
With a slight frown, the professor glances down the hall. “Perhaps you should come into my office.”
He steps out of the doorway and leads us inside.
Professor Bellview’s office has a posh, old academia vibe, with leather chairs, a massive mahogany desk, and bookcases filled with leather-bound books, much like I expected to find in the Moss Hollow library.
The walls are a deep burgundy, and random pieces of decor are sprinkled throughout the space—a glass terrarium housing a giant snail, a geode used as a paperweight, a set of brass rabbit bookends, and a massive glass jar filled with multicolored marbles.
“Have a seat.” Our host rounds his desk and sits in the gigantic office chair.
Professor Bellview is older, as expected, but even with his white hair, I wouldn’t guess him to be more than seventy-five. He must have inherited exceptional genetics.
I choose a chair across from the professor.
“It’s been a long time, Rowan,” he says when I’m settled.
“It has,” Rowan agrees, lifting off my shoulder and settling on the back of the chair beside me.
“What brings you here? I hope you’re not expecting me to fix this mess of yours. You know I can’t.”
That thought never occurred to me. Rowan doesn’t need my magic—he just needs someone to return him to his former self.
But wait.
“Why can’t you?” I ask the man.
Professor Bellview contemplates me like I’m a bit slow.
“Kit didn’t grow up around mages,” Rowan explains.
“Ah,” the professor says. “Pixie—of course.” He settles into his chair. “All right then, let’s have a quick Fae Magic 101 lesson.”
I nod to be polite, but I suspect this man is going to drive me mad.
“In a way, wieldable magic behaves like magnets—opposite magic attracts. Like magic repels. For example, high fae cannot use their magic on other high fae. Leprechauns cannot charm other leprechauns. Sirens cannot enchant other sirens. And so on.”
When he pauses to make sure I’m following, I nod.
Satisfied, he continues, “Elves are the exception. They can use their magic on anyone and anything, even their own kind. In fact, their own magic is the only magic that may be successfully used on them.” He leans forward, clasping his hands on the desk.
“So, you see, mages cannot use their magic on other mages. It simply doesn’t work.
And high fae can’t use their magic on mages either. Can you tell me why?”
“Because they share blood,” I say, humoring him.
“Correct!” He beams at me as though I’m a model student.
Thankfully, I think he’s done with his impromptu lesson now. Maybe we can move on.
“But Rowan knows that,” he muses. “So here we are, back to my question. Why are you here?”
It takes Rowan a good hour to explain his complicated spell and where it went wrong.
The two mages are using technical terminology, so I only follow about half of what they’re saying.
“You made two rookie mistakes,” the professor says when Rowan is finished. “You experimented on yourself, and you didn’t buy your ingredients from a reliable source. What is Professor Myleorn constantly harping about?”
“Your spells are only as good as your ingredients,” Rowan answers, sounding a touch bitter.
“Yes, but specifically, spell safety,” the professor says, contemplating his former student. “What a mess you made for yourself.”
“Yes,” Rowan says stiffly, obviously not caring to be reminded of it.
With a heavy sigh, the professor sits back in his chair. “Though I find this all quite fascinating, and I’m impressed with your success despite the mix-up with animals, I don’t see how I can help you.”
“While I attended Mablemyer, you were studying pixies.”
The professor glances at me, suddenly hesitant. “Yes…”
Encouraged, Rowan flaps his wings and then tucks them against his body. “You found a way for pixies to wield their innate magic, didn’t you? Would it be possible for Kit to change me back?”
“You’d be better off to find an elf to help you.”
“I don’t know any elves,” Rowan says, exasperated. “And where am I supposed to find one?”
“Ryder is an elf,” I remind Rowan.
He turns his attention to me, and the feathered ridge over his eyes lowers like he’s scowling. “Ryder is a fae college drop-out.”
“Well…I never attended a fae college at all.”
“Yes,” he hedges, “but I can work with you.”
“You can’t work with Ryder?”
“I like Ryder just fine, but he wouldn’t have the patience for the process.”
I feel like he’s keeping something from me, but I don’t know what.
“And you think I do?” I press.
“I know you do, because you’d like me out of your house. Motivation is a glorious thing.”
Frowning because he’s right, I turn back to the professor. “Is it possible? Can I learn to wield my magic?”
“It is possible. In a manner…”
“How do we start?” Rowan demands.
I almost think the professor is going to send us away, but then he finally answers, “First, you must make Kit’s magic accessible and stabilize it so she may use it—she’ll never be able to work with it as it is now.
Once you’ve done that, she must learn how to manipulate it.
Since she’s a complete novice, as unprepared as a human, it won’t be an easy feat. ”
I feel like I should take offense to that, since my magic has been a part of me since I was born, but he’s right. I don’t know how to cast spells or create charms. I couldn’t make a potion if my life depended on it. I can’t even make soup.
“How do you make pixie magic wieldable?” I ask.
The professor contemplates me again, making me a touch nervous.
Wearing a grim sort of expression I don’t care for, he says, “First, you’ll have to siphon some of it into a holding vessel.”
A cold chill travels my spine, and goosebumps rise on my arms.
“And then you must mix it with another magic to stabilize it. In the past, I’ve experimented with my own magic, but that won’t work for this particular exercise.”
I’m still caught on the part where he said he’s going to siphon my magic. It’s a pixie’s nightmare, the thing we fear most as children.
“What type of magic do you need to temper it with?” Rowan asks, like this is all okay.
And it’s not.
I stay quiet, listening as they calmly discuss this thing which is absolutely not going to happen.
“Your first task will be tracking down a proper vessel,” the professor says. “And this time, Rowan, make sure you go through an authentic dealer. A glass amulet will suffice for temporary storage—new, not used. But a dust pendant would be preferable.”
“It’s going to be impossible to find a dust pendant outside of the black market,” Rowan points out, glancing at me like he’s just now realizing this has become creepy.
The professor nods. “If I still had mine, I’d give it to you.”
“What did you do with it?” I ask, my voice sounding small even to my own ears.
“I destroyed it after…” He goes silent, like he started talking before he thought better of it. “I had no use for it anymore. I moved on to different studies.”
“And your pixie helper?” I ask. “What happened to him?”
“Her.” The professor’s frown deepens. “She passed away.”
“While you were working on your experiments?” I ask, aghast.
“No,” he says thoughtfully. “But I’ve always wondered…”
“What did she die of?” Rowan demands.
“Cottage cough.”
The fae don’t catch human diseases, and vice versa. But we have our own illnesses, and cottage cough is no worse than the common cold. It’s almost unheard of for someone to die from it.
Unless their magic was compromised.
Which hers was.
“We worked together for five years,” Professor Bellview says gently. “If she passed away because of our experiments, it was because we kept at them for too long. I don’t expect you have anything to worry about.”
I nod, but my throat is tightening with panic. This isn’t what I signed up for. I thought I was going to learn how to wield my magic. I thought it was going to stay inside me, where it belongs.
I stay quiet as Rowan and the professor discuss it, barely remembering to murmur a goodbye when it’s time to leave the office.
Rowan sits on my shoulder as we walk down the hall, unusually quiet. When we step outside, we’re greeted by storm clouds. If I’m not careful, I’m going to flood the campus.
A grumble of thunder sends several students scurrying inside.
“I have to stop by the office and let them know we’re leaving,” I remind Rowan.
“Take that path up ahead, the one that cuts through the garden.”
We just make it inside before it starts pouring. Rowan doesn’t say anything, and I don’t know him well enough to sense his mood.
A dour-looking woman sits at the receptionist counter, scowling at the sky through the window. “It wasn’t supposed to rain today.”
I glance out, trying to hide my guilt. “Weird.”
She shrugs, turning back to her computer. “You know weathermen, though. They’re never right.”
It’s really unfair they’re blamed for pixie mood swings.
“I’m visiting the school,” I say, “but I’m ready to leave now. The man at the gate said I needed to let you know.”
“Ah, you’re the pixie,” she says with a nod. And then her eyes sharpen on me and move to the rain-drenched window like she knows it’s my fault.
I force a smile.
“I’ll send someone to open the gate for you,” she says heavily, like I’m an impossible burden.
Normally, I could laugh it off, but I’m a jumble of emotions. I barely manage a meek thank you before I leave.
As soon as we exit the building, I run across the parking lot to my car. But I forget to unlock the doors, so the slick handle snaps back, breaking my fingernail and nearly making me curse.
Finally, I manage to get inside the car, owl and all. Rowan flies to his perch atop the passenger seat headrest, but he’s dripping wet and nearly misses.
I turn on the car, and I’m about to pull out when Rowan says, “Take a minute to calm down.”
“I’m fine.”
“The rain says otherwise.”
A bright flash of lightning is immediately followed by a crack of thunder.
I decide Rowan’s right and put the car back into park.
“Laverna caused a few rainstorms, but I’ve never seen a pixie-drawn thunderstorm,” Rowan says, his voice too careful. “Did Professor Bellview scare you that badly?”
I wonder what it would be like to be a different type of fae? I’m not particular—any of them would be fine as long as people couldn’t witness the physical manifestation of my feelings.
“It was disturbing,” I say sharply. “Don’t pretend it wasn’t.”
“I didn’t realize he was extracting magic,” Rowan says heavily.
“I won’t do it. We’re going to have to find some other way to turn you back to your normal self.”
He’s quiet for a minute, and he twists his head one way and then the other. “All right.”
I expect him to argue, but this quick agreement makes me feel almost guilty. Which is ridiculous. It’s my magic—if I want it to remain in my body, then that’s where it should stay.
Turning my eyes to the wet campus, I force myself to take a slow, deep breath. There are puddles on the ground, and many of the flowers have succumbed to the weight of the water, lying on their sides. They’ll be fine, but that makes me feel bad, too.
The storm rages on for another fifteen minutes, and then, the sun peeks through the clouds. Mages emerge from the buildings, peering at the puddles and the blue sky, flummoxed.
“You’re going to hate me for saying this, but you’re magnificent,” Rowan says solemnly, looking out the windshield.
“I think you mean turbulent,” I correct, though the odd praise warms me.
“Yes. That too.”
I smile a little, and then I sniff. “I’m sorry I won’t help you.”
“It’s too much to ask.”
“It feels selfish, though. You made one mistake, and now here you are—a bird. And I…I…”
“You’re going to bring back the rain if you’re not careful,” he says gently.
“Are you very miserable?” I whisper.
“The clouds are building again. The meteorologists will have a fit trying to figure this out.”
“Rowan, tell me.”
“It’s not uncomfortable to be in this form, no. It was hard to adjust to, obviously. And it’s inconvenient to have wings instead of hands. But it’s not miserable.”
“I don’t mean physically.”
“I know that, but it would be selfish of me to answer the question truthfully, so I was avoiding it.”
I draw in a deep breath and then nod. “Let’s go home.”
We’re almost to the main gates when I remember the poor man they sent out. He’s the same as earlier, but this time, he’s drenched. When he sees me slowly driving toward him, he scowls.
Wincing, I give him a wave, avoiding eye contact as I roll through the gate.
Rowan doesn’t say much on the trip home, but that’s okay, because my thoughts are chaotic. At least the storm doesn’t follow us, and I don’t create any new ones.
By the time we pull into the parking garage, I’ve made a decision.
I turn to Rowan before I get out of the car. “Where can we find a dust pendant?”
“Kit, no,” Rowan says heavily.
“You heard the professor—he said it should be safe for the small amount we need.”
“I’m not going to risk your life because I’m too selfish to live with the consequences of my actions.”
“We’ll be careful.”
“We don’t even know how to be careful. Neither of us has ever attempted this before.”
Determined, I step out of the car. “No, but we’ll figure it out.”