I scrutinize the man on the desk, wondering if his words apply to himself. He has a sharp-faced, prep-school look, with just enough hint of the rogue to make him interesting. I can’t see what color his eyes are. When I try to focus on them, my gaze slides aside like a magnet attempting to connect with the same pole. He looks no more than in his fifties, though.

He seems undisturbed by my close inspection and answers the obvious question with a warm smile. “I celebrated my one hundred and twenty-second birthday two months ago. An old man, but a stripling compared to the commander. And witches are human, but some can extend their lives.”

“Right.” That’s a serious age. But three hundred years old is unimaginable. No wonder Flanagan’s got a stick up his arse.

Outside the windows, the summer sky is a perfect baby blue, vividly contrasting this dusty room with its cluttered bookshelves. My fingers tingle with the need to escape, to feel fresh air on my face.

“So, when does this test start?” I say to the witch.

He’s watching me intently. I catch fascination or wonder in his expression, but he shutters it away before I can pin it down. “Oh, my dear boy, the test began the moment I arrived.”

Goose bumps ripple my arms. Does that mean he’s reading my mind?

He smiles, a tight curve of his lips. “I can read your mind if I wish, but a lot can be garnered from an individual’s reactions and responses.”

Is he showing his hand? I try to lock eyes with him but frustratingly find myself staring at his nose.

“Fear not. I am a friend. An ally, Michael.”

Yeah, right.

Leaving his cane, he saunters over to join me by the window. He moves with smooth precision, as if avoiding the barest disturbance of air. I suppress the desire to retreat to the opposite side of the room.

“Tell me,” he says. “What do you know of the supernatural world? Has no one shared its presence with you before?”

“Why would they?” I sweep a hand toward the line of twisted trees outside. “How would I know anything about this crazy shit before I met the Guardians? I knew nothing. Now, though. Now I know I’m channeling an energy I don’t want. Fairies aren’t just a fairy tale. Witches are a thing.” I glance at the door. “And giant Scandinavian arseholes exist.”

He slides a smile onto his face. I’m not sure he believes me. “So much to learn, then. So much to explore. I think you will enjoy reading the…alternative history. The wars, the battles, the fascinating characters who have shaped this world.”

He’s probably right, but what’s that got to do with getting out of that cage? I wait to see where he’s going with this.