Am I still a witch if my magic doesn’t work like it should? Am I still me at all?

Pascal smiles brightly, before fracturing into a full-body laugh. He slaps his knee with glee, collapsing nearly in half. “You!” he exclaims, pointing at Maxine. “You are gifted as well? Oh, how marvelous! Oh, how exciting! You’ll forgive me my reluctance in admitting it. We are not supposed to tell!”

Pascal may be laughing, but Oliver looks panicked. I can’t imagine how it must feel to hear that his closest friend in Paris has been keeping such a big secret from him. At best, it’s an innocent lie by omission. At worst? It’s too terrible to consider. We know all too well the cost of trusting the wrong boy with an easy smile.

Pascal gestures between Lena and me. “You are like me as well?”

Lena gives a cautious closed-mouth smile and levitates the wine bottle off the steps as her wordless answer. I just nod, feeling useless. I’m glad he doesn’t ask me to demonstrate.

Pascal claps Oliver on the shoulder with a big hand. “Oh, my friend did not know! But now he does!” He bends over in a fit of giggles once more.

I feel equal parts fear and fascination. I’ve never met a magical person outside of New York. Nearly everyone else I know is a Haxahaven witch. I knew the Sons of Saint Druon, too, once upon a time, but I don’t want to think about them, here, on such a lovely night. I know a few hedge witches from the magical market in the city, but even then, most of them were educated at Haxahaven at some point, so it doesn’t feel like it counts.

“I attended Saint Bosco’s School, right here in Paris!” Pascal exclaims. “I’ve heard of a magical school in New York. Haven something?” He drops his Hs so it sounds more like ’aven.

“Haxa,” Lena says, looking a little taken aback at Pascal’s reaction to being found out. “Haxahaven.”

“Saint Bosco’s?” Maxine asks, cradling her head in her hands, her elbows resting on her knees.

“It’s Paris’s own school of magic! The finest in the world!”

Maxine scoffs, “In your opinion.”

“Of course, of course!” Pascal brushes her off, as animated as ever.

Lena shoots me a sidelong glance and I know what she’s thinking. The last time we met a boy with magic, it didn’t end well.

“You’ll forgive us if we’re cautious,” I say. The truth is I want to ask him one million questions. I want to sit in on Saint Bosco’s classes, to meet with their instructors and see if any of them have answers for what is happening to my magic. But I can’t get ahead of myself.

Pascal nods. “Of course, but please, my friends, do not be.”