By lunch, Rose was certain of two things:
1. The broom closet incident had earned her some reluctant respect.
2. The Academy cafeteria was definitely haunted.
She stood in the food queue beneath flickering chandeliers and the watchful eyes of a floating jellyfish spirit wearing a chef's hat. The menu hovered in mid-air, changing every five seconds.
"Today's Special: Cursed Cookies – Consume with consent."
"Why do they glow?" Rose asked, eyeing the tray of suspiciously cheerful gingerbread men.
"They've got opinions," Nimbus muttered.
Rose picked up a cookie. It winked. "Eat me and you'll learn your darkest secret!"
She blinked. "No thanks, I already know I peaked emotionally at age eleven."
She chose a bowl of suspicious soup instead. It changed color three times on the way to her table, eventually settling on a threatening shade of mauve.
Across from her sat Mortimer Grint, a fellow apprentice with wild hair, thick glasses, and a nervous twitch that made him look perpetually cursed—which, as it turned out, he was.
"You're the broom closet girl, right?" he asked, eyes darting. "I heard you subdued a rebellion with nothing but a pulse spell and a winning smile."
"I mostly panicked and hoped the runes didn't explode," she said.
Mortimer grinned. "Then you'll fit right in."
They were halfway through their soup—his was murmuring anti-government slogans—when a hush fell over the hall. A tall figure entered, cloaked in crimson shadow and authority. Their footsteps didn't echo. Their gaze made soup curdle.
"That's Archmistress Belladoma," Mortimer whispered. "Runs the Trial Committee. She oversees every magical promotion. Also rumored to eat dreams for breakfast."
Rose stared. Belladoma's eyes briefly locked with hers, and in that moment Rose felt every mistake she'd ever made gather into a single bead of sweat on her neck.
"Why's she here?" Rose whispered.
"No one knows. She never comes to lunch."
Belladoma crossed the room, not looking at anyone. But just before she left, she paused by Rose's table.
"You. Wynthrope," she said, voice like silk soaked in venom. "You showed... potential. Dangerous, undisciplined potential."
Rose straightened. "I'm working on the discipline part."
"You'd better," Belladoma said, eyes narrowing. "Magic like yours tends to burn bright. And burn out."
Then she vanished in a swirl of smoke that smelled faintly of elderberries and ash.
Mortimer exhaled. "I'm not saying she cursed you just now, but I am saying you should avoid mirrors for the next three days."
Rose stared at her soup. It gave her a thumbs-up, then exploded in a puff of confetti.
"Too late," she muttered.
Nimbus floated lower. "You attract trouble like a lightning rod dipped in drama."
"I don't attract it," she said. "I just... meet it halfway."
Somewhere behind her, a cookie screamed, "Your socks are plotting against you!"
Rose didn't flinch.