“Just a few vases of fresh flowers would’ve done the trick,” says Diantha, stepping around us and smoothing a hand over her bright blue, fifties-style skirt that’s stitched with daisies. It seems like a casual gesture with casual words, but her hand trembles slightly.

“I like it,” Roman says.

I stiffen at the sound of his voice.

Xander snorts. “You would. It matches your soul, I would think.”

I finally look at Roman. Xander’s not wrong. Roman’s face holds no expression even as his eyes meet mine for the briefest moment before looking away again.

Aristelle brushes past me. “See you at the opening ceremony.” She pauses a couple of steps up the stairs and looks back at Xander. “Make sure she’s dressed appropriately.”

I bristle at the implication I can’t dress myself.

“I already have it covered,” Xander says. Apparently he’s thought of it too.

The others start to break away, leaving just Xander and me, and Roman and Willow.

Roman gives me a polite nod. “See you later.” He beckons Willow, and she follows him tentatively up the stairs.

“What opening ceremony?”

“The start of the competition.”

I freeze. “You said I had time to train first.”

Xander gives me a breezy smile. “Don’t worry. The real battle doesn’t start yet. This is just a chance for everyone’s apprentice to showcase their skill,” Xander explains. “Earn a spot to keep training.”

I swallow. “I don’t have a skill.”

“Your coin trick will do. It just has to be something to prove you belong here.” He gives me a reassuring nudge that does nothing to fill me with confidence. “Don’t worry. This is the easy part.”

“I wasn’t worried.” But I am now.

I step forward and run a hand over one of the points on the railing, pulling back with a wince. A line of blood appears.

Xander snaps his fingers, and suddenly he’s pressing a white handkerchief to my palm, dabbing away the blood. My blood is the brightest thing in the room.

“Don’t feed the magic any more than needed,” he jokes. At least I think it’s a joke. There’s a humming vibration in the room now, like the house’s stomach is grumbling. But maybe I’m imagining it.

“The magic here is—” “Dangerous” comes to mind, but I pull the word back to me. “Strong,” I give instead.

“Magicians have been contributing to the spells in this place for so many years that the magic is overflowing now.”

“I can see why you like it here,” I lie.

He frowns a little. “ ‘Like’ is a strong word.”