While my hunt for Finnish paganism led me to various corners of the Finnish and English Internet, to websites, blogs, personal Instagram accounts, and beyond, I did make extensive use of Risto Pulkkinen’s Suomalainen kansanusko: samaaneista saunatonttuihin, a book I know is an imperfect resource but one of few regarding traditional Finnish mythology. In My Name Is Magic, I have tried to stay true to the essence of the mythology and be fair to the many creatures living in the Finnish forest that peacefully coexisted with the earliest Finns before later being labeled as devils by Christian interlopers. But, this remains a work of fiction, and so I have certainly taken some liberties with the mythology—like adding runes from Norse folklore as well as my own—and it should therefore be seen as a story “inspired by” rather than “based on” any particular aspect of this rich, if lesser-known, mythology.

There’s magic in the world. All different kinds, seeping into the veins of people across the planet. Sometimes it soaks an entire family tree, flowing up from the roots and extending out through every branch.

Sometimes it prefers those with a sprinkling of fairy blood or a smattering of troll genes, and sometimes it ends up in a person with entirely human DNA. From Longyearbyen to Cape Town, Los Angeles to Suva—there’s no escaping it.

And then there’s me—a tiny leaf at the end of a twig shooting off a long branch of the giant, sprawling, epic Turunen family tree, making me a descendant of some of the most powerful tietäjät in Finland. Potent lineage, right? Bet you think that means I’m guaranteed to be a total badass, right?

Wrong.

Fact is, I don’t have magic at all. Not a drop, not a sliver, not one single quark of the stuff and, to be honest, I’m a little bit bitter about it—especially considering my name.

Taika. It literally means magic. So, thanks, Mom and Dad for naming me the one thing I’m not.

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It’s not fair the week starts with the worst subject in the world: Practical Thaumaturgy. Theoretical Thaumaturgy, now that would’ve been just fine, but anything involving actually doing magic only makes me want to puke.

Trudging through the soggy fallen leaves, I drag my feet to first period. So far my morning is going great. I slept through my alarm and had to eat cold porridge, then I forgot my mittens and when I rushed back for them, I slipped on the porch steps and tore my favorite jeans—skinning my knee in the process. Now, as if all of that wasn’t bad enough, the clouds have started spitting sleet into my face.

A typical Monday really.

Worst of all, I still don’t have any good ideas for newspaper articles. There’s a measly six hours until our next Journalism Club meetup and I’m fresh out of inspiration.