Underground

Chapter 1

I was just seconds from putting on my disguise when I realized I was being watched.

I could feel someone's gaze on me, like sandpaper scratching across my skin. The hairs on the back of the neck stood anxiously, and my Magical senses tingled in warning. I didn't know why someone would be watching me at seven in the morning, but I was pretty sure they weren't just admiring my toothbrushing technique.

Muscles tense, I moved toward the small bathroom window and scanned the area outside. Nothing. The yard was clear, the streets unnervingly empty. Even as I looked, the feeling of being watched began to fade until it had vanished completely. I found myself wondering if I'd just imagined the feeling, if I'd let my paranoia get the best of me.

I didn't think that was the case, but I couldn't be sure. Lately, I'd been more paranoid than a seal in a shark tank. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before I started wearing a tinfoil hat and storing canned beans under my mattress. Though in my defense, we Magicians did have pretty good reason to be nervous these days.

And I had more reason than most.

I tried to remain calm as my quivering hand pulled down the window shade. Unfortunately, staying calm had never been my strong suit. Already, my thoughts were spiraling into a never-ending series of "what-if's." What if there really was someone outside? What if they knew I was a Magician? What if they meant to break into the house? Or set it on fire?

A memory of flames surged to the front of my consciousness. I struggled to push the memory back, to fight down the irrational flood of panic that threatened to wash away all logic. I needed to think rationally, to regain control. But how could I, when I could taste the smoke in my mouth and feel the tightness in my chest and hear someone screaming in the background? I tried to breathe and choked instead. My legs wobbled and my vision spun and I needed air but I couldn't...

I didn't realize I'd fallen until sharp pain raced up my right knee. It wasn't pleasant, but I was grateful for the sensation: it gave me something I could grab onto, an anchor outside of the whirlpool of panic that was pulling me under. I focused on that pain, using it to push some of the memories aside.

Breathe.

This time, I managed to get some air.

Breathe.

The bathroom came back into focus around me. I was huddled on the floor underneath the window, sweating and heaving as if I'd just run a marathon with an elephant strapped to my back.

Not my most inspiring moment.

Gingerly, I pushed myself back onto my feet. The panic wasn't gone—I could still feel it in my shaking hands and queasy stomach—but I was back in control now. Mostly.

As my anxiety receded, new emotions bubbled up in my chest. There was anger at my own weakness, and embarrassment, too. I'd just collapsed at the sight of my empty backyard. I'd collapsed because someone might be watching. Even for me, that was a new level of fragility.

Some part of me knew it wasn't just my possible mystery stalker that was bothering me. It was this entire day. It was the trial that was looming just a few hours in my future. It was the idea that this afternoon I could lose my Magic forever.

Focus on what you can control. Uncle Ben's voice was steady and comforting in my head. One thing at a time.

There probably wasn't anyone watching me. And even if someone was, there was nothing I could do about it now. I needed to concentrate on getting ready. And that meant putting on my disguise.

Moving away from the window, I reached for the small, silver ring I'd set on the sink. As I held the ring, I noticed a new scar had formed on the back of my right hand, stretching from the base of my wrist to the tip of my ring finger. That wasn't unusual: new scars appeared randomly on my hands every couple of months, usually as a reaction to particularly intense Magic or particularly intense stress.

Recently, I'd had plenty of both.

By now, my hands were covered by so many markings that they looked like my old cat's wooden scratching post. The markings weren't ugly, exactly, but I wasn't going to be doing any hand-modeling any time soon.

Since my hands had changed, I figured I'd better check my eyes as well. Sure enough, they were different: they'd transitioned to a lighter shade of silver, and three new specs of gold dotted the pupil. Seeing those new golden spots made me sigh: soon, I was going to need a new disguise.

Soon, but not today.

After taking a breath to steady myself, I closed my eyes and slipped a finger into the ring.

A swell of warm energy rushed up through the ring and spread over my body. For a moment, I felt like my skin had turned into warm jello, like it might slide off my bones and land in chunky globs on the floor. But then the spell ended, and the sensation passed.

When I opened my eyes, the scars on my hand were gone. Or, at least, they appeared to be gone. According to the mirror, my ring had disappeared as well, though I could still feel the cool metal band on my skin. My previously gold-speckled eyes now looked like a dull, perfectly ordinary shade of brown.

As always, the ring had done its job. The disguise was complete.

Aside from my eye color and hands, the disguise didn't change much about me. My eyes still had the same shape, my nose the same awkward slope, and my hair still looked like I'd spent the entire night tumbling around in a dryer. But with my real eyes and Magical scars hidden, I no longer looked like a Magician. Now, nobody would shout at me on the street or stick notes that read "terrorist" on my locker. Nobody would hold their purse nervously as I passed or call the police just because I'd entered their store. Nobody would threaten me in a restaurant or throw bricks through my window.

The disguise kept me safe. Or at least, safe-ish.

And yet, every time I put on the disguise, I couldn't help but feel a tiny sense of loss. It was as though I was erasing little pieces of myself every morning, pieces I wasn't sure I could ever get back.