But today I have an audience, and not just Ethan glaring daggers into my back or the sideways glances of the other apprentices. I’ve gotten good enough in just a week that the glances I get are worried, not snide. Diantha and Reina sit on either side of Xander while Aristelle paces to the right of me. If I squint, I can pretend she’s not there, but her eyes still burn into me even when I can’t see her. I don’t know if it’s part of her power or just my reaction to being judged.

You would think I’d be used to it. When you’re a foster kid, everyone’s always judging if you’re a good fit for them or not. But I’ve let myself forget this is a competition.

I’ve already fallen into a routine. I train with Xander during the day and then visit our pretend beach with him before he leaves with Aristelle to hunt vampires. They still won’t take me, not even after a full week of training. Apparently Santa Cruz is a vampire hot spot. They’re drawn here—even the ones that don’t know what hunting magicians can give them. They sense the power of this place radiating through the whole city, even if the spells keep them from finding it.

I get stuck hanging out in Reina and Diantha’s room with them and the twins. None of them like hunting vampires, so Xander and Aristelle are happy to pick up the slack while we sit on an overstuffed green velvet couch and watch the Tomb Raider movies on repeat. Or Indiana Jones if I get to pick. Sometimes I play Yahtzee with the twins. It all feels oddly normal, even though when I leave their room to go back to mine, I step into a magical hallway that may or may not look the same as it did when I walked in.

I’ve started to become part of the troupe, even if I feel like the kid who’s not old enough to go out with the grown-ups.

I walk forward and rip my knives from the trunk. It heals itself immediately.

At least the twins, eyes always shifting in unison, aren’t here. They still creep me out. And I know they cheat at Yahtzee.

The metal hilts heat in my hands until I struggle to keep my grip on them. My anger at everyone watching, at letting myself forget that I’m on trial, seems to make me believe in myself more and calls the magic rapidly against my will, or maybe because I can’t control my own will. My magic presses against my skin, more like a scream that wants to be free than a hum. I don’t know that I could control that. That doubt stops me from totally letting go.

I bite the inside of my lip and taste blood.