Chapter 1: Rook 1 ROOK Hex-A-Gone. The name didn''t quite inspire visions of magical greatness. It was a pun. A bad one but funnily apt for a local emergency on-call curse-breaker. And while I could appreciate the humor on a campy level, the name definitely was not what had drawn me there. I wasn''t cursed. I wasn''t hexed. I wasn''t in need of a magical service, but I stood outside the nondescript office front that had the name emblazoned in simple white letters across the glass door, and a "Consortium Sanctioned" certificate tucked into the corner of the window.
A wilted potted plant leaned mournfully toward a sliver of sunlight on the other side, and beyond that, the lights were dimmed, making it difficult to see anything other than the reception area. The whole image was the epitome of depressed office park chic, down to the plain black welcome mat on the other side of the threshold, and not what one would expect from a magical business owned by the supposedly most powerful sorcerer in Spire City. Ignoring the dour exterior, I pulled on the door handle and stepped inside. I had a freshly printed high school diploma in my backpack alongside my newest invention and a deep desire to work with magic, and I wasn''t going to be put off merely because the office appeared abandoned. A frisson of excitement or terror--I couldn''t tell which--swept down my spine. The inside was somehow less impressive than the outside, filled with typical dull office decor, including an empty receptionist desk and a room of prefab cubicles. I fidgeted, hands digging like claws into the straps of my backpack, unsure of what to do next. Should I call out a "hello" and hope that someone heard me? Should I ring the little bell on the desk? Should I turn around and walk back out because what the hell was I even doing there? A teenager with no magical ability at all about to beg for a job in a magical profession.
I gritted my teeth. No, I was not going to run. I could do it. I could totally do it. I was going to do it. I had to do it. I literally had graduated from school the day before, and I needed a job. But beyond that, I needed to find out if I belonged.
The worst thing she could do was say no. Right? Well, she could turn me into a frog. She was a sorcerer after all. But I doubted she would because she was in the business of helping people, albeit for a price. Huh. Hopefully not only for a price. I wasn''t exactly swimming in riches, hence my search for employment. Regardless, the chance of potentially being turned into a frog was one I was willing to take to be able to talk to Antonia Hex.
I shuffled forward, my heels scraping across the mat. I glanced toward the coatrack in the corner, which sagged against the wall. It turned in my direction. I blinked. What? The coatrack straightened from a slouch and regarded me much like how I regarded it. I bit down on my startled yelp as it moved, hobbling over on three legs. It bowed deeply at the waist, or what counted as the waist for a coatrack. Then it gestured toward my backpack, holding out its spindles in invitation.
I clutched my bag with white knuckles and took a step backward, as I had the abrupt and stark realization that my judgment and my self-preservation instincts were not as honed as they probably should be for a nonmagical almost-seventeen-year-old. For one, I should have freaked out at the sight of a helpful coatrack, and while I was slightly wary, because weird , I somehow stayed outwardly calm. I wanted to poke it to see what would happen, curious about the mechanics of an obviously magical coatrack, but self-preservation did kick in and I resisted the urge. For two, I had willingly walked into the business owned and operated by a formidable sorcerer. I was sure many customers had come and gone in the agency''s tenure--otherwise it wouldn''t still be in business. But I was also sure that few of them were penniless, utterly powerless humans like myself. And three, while the coatrack tapped its stand, impatiently waiting for me to hand over my bag, I became achingly aware that this was magic . Real and powerful magic.
Something I hadn''t been allowed to experience in so long. The elation of feeling the slightest tingle of it prick along my skin chased away all the apprehensions clamoring in my stomach and replaced them with a bone-deep reverence. I sucked in a breath as I squirmed in the doorway. Despite the name, Hex-A-Gone was a well-respected business that responded to magical emergencies and specialized in breaking curses, hexes, and jinxes. I had done my research. The owner, the aforementioned Antonia Hex, was a powerful sorcerer, and the rumor was that though she wasn''t evil per se, she wasn''t what one would call lawfully good , either. And if she ever wanted to turn evil, there wasn''t much anyone could do to stop her. I should have been terrified or cautious at the very least.
And I was, but it wasn''t going to keep me from trying to get a job there, because I wanted so badly to learn from her. The spelled coatrack made another gesture toward my bag. I shook my head. Wait, was it spelled or cursed? I wasn''t sure the terminology other than that it was an inanimate object that had been imbued with magic to act as some sort of welcoming committee to the office. If a coatrack could be judgmental, this one was, and it crossed its skinny arms, spun on its base, and hobbled back to a position by the door. Uh-oh, I had offended the coatrack. Maybe I should''ve given it my bag? Was that some kind of test? I cleared my throat. I might be in over my head.
Just a little bit. Because as much as I could research the business itself and dig up a little about the owner, the actual magic involved was hidden away under lock and key, available only to a select few. I shifted nervously on the welcome mat, my tattered sneakers squeaking on the rubber. I had the terrifying and fleeting thought that maybe the welcome mat was spelled as well, and I was basically dancing on its face, when a small crash followed by a string of expletives emanated from deeper in the building. "Son of a bitch," a woman muttered as she stepped out of a small break room beyond the partition and off to the side, dabbing at a large rapidly spreading coffee stain on her blouse with a tiny napkin. She was tall, especially in the red heels she wore, and had long dark hair, golden-brown skin, and an intimidating aura. "Modern appliances just aren''t meant to." She trailed off when she looked up and saw me standing by the door.
She was undoubtedly beautiful, with berry-colored lips, perfectly shaped eyebrows, and thick lashes, but her most striking feature was her violet eyes. They pierced through me like I imagined arrows would. Her long fingernails were painted black, and they curled around the soaked napkin crumpled in her hand while the stain wicked through the fabric of her sleeve. Her brow furrowed as she looked at me. Then her gaze cut to the coatrack brooding in the corner. "Why didn''t you alert me that someone was here?" she demanded. The rack''s shoulders drooped, and it turned away from her like a scolded puppy. "Now, don''t be like that," she said, tone softening.
"But what is the point of having spelled furniture to watch the door if it doesn''t do its job?" The coatrack seemed to sigh, then teetered back over to me and gestured an arm, beckoning me into the office. "Well, it''s a little late now," the woman said, shaking her head. "Just go. clean up the coffee. The brewer combusted again." Somehow the coatrack conveyed annoyance in the shrug of its wooden body. "Yes. I''m aware," she said, frowning.
"I''ll figure it out eventually." The coatrack slouched off, and the woman turned back to me, her previously white sleeve now brown and damp and clinging to her arm. "Don''t mind him," she said with a shrug. "Herb is moody on his best days." "Herb?" I asked. It was the first thing I''d said since I entered the office, and the woman''s lips quirked. "That''s his name. I take it you''ve never met a spelled coatrack before?" Spelled.
It was spelled, not cursed. "No. But my grandmother had a temperamental teapot." She nodded. "Sometimes convenience isn''t worth the trouble. Anyway, who are you, and why are you here?" Oh. Well. Abrupt.
But sure. I pulled back my shoulders, adjusting my posture. "My name is--" She raised her hand and cut me off. "Stop." Her violet eyes glittered. "Let''s leave names out of this for now. Tell me why you are here first." I didn''t know how to take that.
But I swallowed. "I''m here to meet with. the owner, if possible." "Really?" she said, pulling out the word. She looked me up and down. "Have you been cursed?" "No." "Hexed?" I swallowed. "No.
" She snapped her fingers. "Jinxed, then. Don''t worry, sweetheart. Jinxes tend to run their course and wear off. You don''t need to employ Antonia for a simple jinx if it''s fairly mild." She looked around the office, then cupped her hand near her mouth and stage whispered, "You probably couldn''t afford the rates anyway." As I figured. "Um.
no. That''s not why I''m here." My knees shook. "I want to ask her about a job." The woman''s eyebrows shot up. "A job? With the most powerful sorcerer in the city? Possibly in the world? You?" My heart pounded. "Yes?" "Is that a question?" "No." "So, you don''t want a job?" "No, wai.