Monday, November 14, 2022

New York, 1947

 I tucked a few stray hairs back into my victory rolls, trying to read the faces of the five mages sitting in front of me. My heart slammed in my chest like typewriter keys. Had they accepted my application?

I had spent so many sleepless nights teaching myself the Temporal Arts, and now these men with graying hair and tweed suits held my future in their hands. After this meeting, I might walk out of here as the first female member of the Dickinson Society of New York Mages. Or I’d have to find some mind-numbing job as a secretary to keep my mother and siblings afloat and accept another rejection stamped indelibly onto my soul.

 One man adjusted his gold, wire-rimmed spectacles. “Well, Miss Slatterley, the board agrees that your application is surprisingly impressive.”

 My sweaty hands knit themselves together in my lap, hope kindling in my stomach. It still seemed strange to see this familiar face in flesh and blood, not just as a tiny photograph in the back flap of a book. Clark L. Johnstone, foremost mage and scholar of the Temporal Arts.

Lewiston, a balding man, shuffled through a few papers sitting in front of him. “Your application says your father was a mage. Did he teach you?”

 I stiffened. “He didn’t teach me. I taught myself.”

Johnstone frowned at my quick reply.

“Remarkable.” Lewiston set the papers aside. “The board has unanimously decided to grant you membership into the Dickinson Society of New York Mages.”

My breath caught, and joy washed through me. I wished Father could see what I’d accomplished now. “Thank you–”

“There’s just one catch.”

My smile froze. “What do you mean?”

“The research paper you submitted as a sample of your work was excellent. There are, however, some changes we want you to make.”

“If I made an error, I’m more than happy to correct it.” Why did they sound so grave?

Johnstone steepled his fingers. “It’s actually the opposite problem. You see, you include explicit references to the Temporal Arts’ ability to de-age paper. We would like you to say it’s impossible to target both the paper and the ink in the same spell.”

I stared at him. My lips felt numb. “But that’s a lie.”

Johnstone gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Join us tomorrow for the next installment of The Dickinson Society of New York Mages.