Prophecy Gone Wrong

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Winter

Istared at the mess of clothes scattered across my bedroom floor with a resigned sigh.

The clean pile had migrated into the dirty pile sometime during the week, creating an archaeological dig of my wardrobe choices.

Somewhere in that fabric jungle was something appropriate for work. There had to be.

"Shit, shit, shit," I mumbled around a piece of toast dangling from my mouth, honey dripping dangerously close to my ratty sleep shirt. My knee twinged as I bent to rifle through a promising stack near my dresser.

My third alarm, the "you're officially late now" alarm, blared from my phone, making me jump. I wasn't still asleep (small victories), but that didn't change the fact that I was running behind.

"I know, I know," I grumbled, silencing the shrill reminder with a swipe of my finger. "Shut up already."

I grabbed what looked like my black work slacks from beneath a sweater I didn't remember owning and hopped awkwardly into them, nearly toppling into my nightstand when my bad knee protested the movement. Yanking them up, I frantically scanned the room for a clean blouse.

"Come on, where are you?" I spotted a promising cream-colored button-up half-hidden under my bed. I snatched it up, giving it a quick sniff test. Good enough.

As I buttoned it with one hand and finished my toast with the other, I glanced at Frank's bowl on my dresser. My betta fish swished his magnificent blue tail, watching me with what I swear was judgment.

"Don't look at me like that. Not everyone can have their food magically appear twice a day," I sprinkled a few flakes into his bowl. "Some of us have to work for a living."

I grabbed my bag, keys, and phone, and gave Frank a little salute. "Hold down the fort, buddy. I'll be back after I organize a bunch of dusty scrolls that could potentially turn me into a toad if I'm not careful."

My ancient Honda protested as I cranked the engine, but eventually coughed to life.

I pulled out of my apartment complex, joining the morning commute to Arcadia University, where I'd spent the last decade of my life shelving books and cataloging magical artifacts in the library's special collections.

At a red light, I glanced at the sidewalk where a harried-looking businessman checked his watch while waiting to cross beside a seven-foot minotaur in a tailored suit, his massive bovine head bobbing as he spoke into a cell phone.

A young witch in training robes levitated her coffee cup while checking her phone, nearly colliding with an elderly goblin couple who were arguing over a newspaper.

Just another typical morning in the city.

It wasn't until I was halfway to work, stopped at another light, that I looked down and noticed the large purplish stain on my blouse, right at chest level where it couldn't possibly be missed.

"You have got to be kidding me," I groaned, poking at the spot. Grape jelly from last Wednesday's lunch, most likely. I'd grabbed the shirt from the "probably clean enough" section of my floor, and now I was paying the price.

The light changed, and I accelerated with a sigh. Too late to turn back now. I'd have to make do.

When I pulled into the staff parking lot, I remembered the navy cardigan I kept in my car for the library's aggressive air conditioning. I reached into the backseat, fishing it out from under a pile of reusable grocery bags I never remembered to actually use.

"Better than nothing," I muttered, slipping it on despite the muggy summer air that hit me like a wall when I stepped out of my car.

By the time I hurried up the grand stone steps of the library, sweat was already gathering at my temples and down my back.

The cardigan was a mistake, but a necessary one.

Malko, my boss, stood at the circulation desk with his massive arms crossed over his chest. His gray-green skin looked particularly mossy this morning, a sign he was annoyed. The troll's tusks jutted out from his lower jaw as he checked his watch pointedly.

"Ten minutes late, Ms. Winter." His voice rumbled like stones in a dryer.

"I know, I'm sorry," I tried not to pant from my dash across campus. "My alarm…"

He held up one giant hand. "Save it. New scrolls came in from the Mediterranean dig. They need organizing and preliminary classification before the professors get their hands on them."

I nodded, setting my bag behind the desk. "I'll get started right away."

"And Winter?" Malko called as I turned toward the special collections room. "Wear the anti-magic gloves this time. Professor Nightshade is still finding glitter in his beard from the last scroll you handled without protection."

"That was one time," I protested weakly, but he'd already turned back to his computer, effectively dismissing me.

I trudged to the back room, my knee complaining with each step. The humidity always made it ache worse, and the heavy cardigan wasn't helping my overall comfort. When I pushed open the door to the processing room, I nearly groaned out loud.

"A huge stack" was an understatement. Scrolls were piled high on the sorting table, some clearly ancient with frayed edges and faded ink, others newer but thrumming with contained magical energy. This would take all day, if not longer.

Sighing, I pulled on the thick dragonhide gloves from their special case, which smelled like mothballs and old magic, and picked up the first scroll. The label marked it as a weather manipulation text from 3rd century Greece. I placed it in the "elemental magic" bin and reached for the next.

For the next three hours, I sorted through scroll after scroll.

Weather spells, healing incantations, transformation curses, historical accounts of magical battles, and even a few embarrassing love poems written by a lovesick wizard who had terrible rhyming skills.

My knee throbbed and the cardigan felt like it was slowly cooking me alive.

Finally, I decided to take a break. Standing up straight, I stretched my arms overhead, wincing as my spine popped in several places. I peeled off the dragonhide gloves, setting them on the table beside a particularly ornate scroll I hadn't classified yet.

"Sweet relief," I murmured, flexing my fingers. The gloves were necessary, but they made my hands sweat terribly.

That's when the floor beneath me suddenly lurched.

Books shuddered on their shelves as a low rumble vibrated through the building. I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself as the tremors increased, sending a few loose scrolls rolling across the surface.

"What the…!" I began, just as a powerful shockwave ripped through the room, knocking me sideways.

My hip slammed into the table edge as I stumbled. I reached out blindly to catch myself, my bare hand slapping down on the table, right onto the ornate scroll I'd set aside.

The moment my skin made contact with the ancient parchment, a searing pain shot up my arm. I tried to pull away, but my hand seemed fused to the scroll. Brilliant blue light erupted from beneath my palm, pulsing outward in a wave that rippled through the room, through the walls, and beyond.

In the space between heartbeats, something changed. The air felt charged, crackling with potential. The pain in my hand intensified, then vanished completely as the scroll crumbled to dust beneath my fingers.

When I finally managed to lift my hand, a glowing symbol had been burned into my palm. Intricate swirls and ancient runes that pulsed with a soft blue light. It didn't hurt, but it felt strange. Like my hand belonged to someone else.

Before I could process what had happened, alarms began blaring throughout the library, the magical breach sirens I'd only ever heard during drills.

"Oh fuck," I whispered, staring at my marked hand.

Heavy footsteps thundered toward the processing room, and seconds later, Malko burst through the door, his mossy skin now pale with alarm. His eyes immediately fell to my glowing palm, and he dragged one massive hand down his face in exasperation.

"You didn't," he groaned.

"It was an accident!" I held up my hands defensively. "There was an earthquake or something, from the alchemy lab next door, I think, and I fell, and the scroll just touched me!"

"That wasn't just any scroll, Winter." Malko's voice had dropped to a grave whisper. "That was the Lost Prophecy of Alexandria. We didn't even know what it was yet, it was still sealed when it arrived."

My stomach dropped. "And now it's in me?"

As if to answer my question, the mark on my palm pulsed brighter, sending another ripple of blue energy across the room.

Malko grabbed the ancient rotary phone we kept for magical emergencies, regular phones tended to melt during magical incidents, and dialed a number with grim resignation.

"This is Malko Stonehammer at Arcadia University Library. We have a Class 1 Prophecy Incident. No, I'm not joking. Yes, I need a full PEB response team." He paused, listening. "Yes, it's active. No, I don't know the contents. The scroll transferred to a human host before we could translate it."

I sank into a chair, suddenly feeling light-headed. The Prophecy Enforcement Bureau. They were the magical government's elite force for handling runaway prophecies, the kind that rewrote reality if left unchecked. They didn't mess around.

It took less than ten minutes before the doors to the special collections room burst open, and a team in sleek gray uniforms poured in.

At their head was a tall elven woman with platinum blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun.

Her pointed ears twitched with irritation as she surveyed the scene, her eyes eventually landing on my glowing palm.

"I'm Agent Sylvia Nightstar, PEB," she announced crisply. "Which one of you is the host?"

Malko pointed at me without hesitation. Some loyalty.

Agent Nightstar strode toward me, her hand outstretched. "Let me see it."

Before I could respond, she grabbed my wrist, yanking my hand up to eye level. Her touch was cold, clinical, and I instinctively pulled back.

"Hey! Boundaries!" I snapped, jerking my hand away from her grip.

As my hand moved, a streak of blue light leapt from my palm, arcing toward one of the security guards who'd entered with the PEB team.

The man barely had time to look surprised before his form contracted, twisted, and shrank, leaving behind a very confused-looking ferret in a uniform puddle on the floor.

A shocked silence fell over the room.

The ferret chattered angrily, running in circles.

"Oh fuck," I breathed, staring at my hand in horror.

Agent Nightstar's face tightened into a grimace. "Pretty much."