Chapter 4: A Serpent in the Garden

Three days of intensive training had left Elara feeling like she'd been run over by a particularly vindictive lorry. Her magical control remained frustratingly inconsistent—she could shatter every piece of glass in a room when angry, but couldn't manage to light a single candle when calm. Finch assured her this was normal for emotional-based magic, but normal didn't make it any less maddening.

She was attempting to levitate a feather for the hundredth time when Silas materialized in the study doorway with his usual eerie silence.

"Master Finch," the butler announced in his perfectly modulated voice, "Senior Warden Thorne has arrived. He requests an immediate audience."

The feather dropped to the desk as Elara's concentration shattered. She'd never seen Finch look genuinely worried before, but something flickered across his features—gone so quickly she almost missed it.

"Of course," Finch said, closing the magical theory tome he'd been reviewing. "Show him to the formal sitting room. And Silas?" The butler paused in his retreat. "Ensure the house's... defensive protocols are active."

"Already done, sir."

Once Silas had vanished, Finch turned to Elara with an expression she couldn't quite read. "It seems your presence here has attracted official attention sooner than I'd hoped."

"Is that bad?"

"Potentially." He stood, straightening his waistcoat with deliberate precision. "Senior Warden Thorne is the Magisterium's enforcement arm—think of him as a magical police inspector with considerably more authority and significantly less oversight. His visit is unlikely to be social."

Elara felt that familiar twist of uneasiness in her stomach. "What does he want?"

"To assess whether you represent a threat to magical secrecy and order." Finch's tone was matter-of-fact, but his blue eyes had gone cold. "The Magisterium prefers their magic users properly catalogued and controlled. Unauthorized practitioners make them... nervous."

"And if he decides I'm a threat?"

"Then we have a problem." Finch moved toward the door. "Come. You'll need to meet him eventually, and it's better to do so on our terms."

The formal sitting room was even more intimidating than the study, all dark wood paneling and portraits of stern-faced ancestors whose eyes seemed to track movement. Elara perched on the edge of an antique chair, acutely aware of how out of place she looked among the centuries of accumulated wealth and power.

The man Silas ushered in was nothing like what she'd expected from Finch's description. Where she'd imagined some elderly bureaucrat, Kaelen Thorne was perhaps twenty-eight, with an athletic build that suggested he was more than comfortable with the physical aspects of magical enforcement. His dark hair was military-short, his grey eyes sharp with intelligence, and everything about his bearing screamed controlled aggression.

He wore what looked like a tactical uniform crossed with formal dress—black trousers and jacket cut for movement, with silver runes embroidered along the seams that seemed to shift when not directly observed. A wolf's head emblem gleamed on his collar, and the staff he carried hummed with barely contained energy.

"Archmage," he said, offering a bow that managed to be perfectly correct while conveying no actual respect. "Thank you for receiving me on such short notice."

"Senior Warden Thorne." Finch's voice could have frosted windows. "To what do I owe the... pleasure?"

Thorne's grey eyes flicked to Elara, taking in every detail with an intensity that made her skin crawl. "I think we both know why I'm here. Reports of unauthorized magical activity, an unlicensed practitioner living under your protection." His gaze returned to Finch. "The Council has concerns."

"The Council has many concerns these days," Finch replied smoothly. "Most of them unfounded."

"Are they?" Thorne moved closer to Elara, close enough that she could smell his cologne—something expensive and aggressively masculine. "Miss Vance, isn't it? Former ward of the state, unlicensed private investigator, no magical training or lineage on record."

"That's right," Elara said, proud that her voice remained steady despite the way Thorne's presence made her magic itch beneath her skin.

"And yet three nights ago, you manifested a scrying field powerful enough to pierce dimensional barriers. Quite remarkable for someone with no training." His tone suggested it was anything but remarkable—more like deeply suspicious. "Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate these... natural abilities?"

The request sounded reasonable, but something in Thorne's posture suggested he was hoping she'd refuse. Or worse, that she'd try and fail spectacularly.

"I don't think that's necessary—" Finch began.

"Actually, I'd like to see what all the fuss is about," Elara interrupted, standing slowly. If this was some kind of test, she had no intention of backing down. The streets had taught her that showing weakness to predators only made them circle closer.

Thorne's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Excellent. Something simple, then. Light manipulation is usually the first skill taught to apprentices." He gestured to the room's chandelier. "Perhaps you could extinguish and relight the central fixture?"

Elara looked up at the ornate crystal chandelier, its dozens of candles casting warm light across the formal room. Simple enough, in theory. She'd shattered plenty of lights during her training sessions with Finch.

She closed her eyes, trying to find that place of calm focus Finch had been teaching her. Breathe in, feel the magical energy flowing through everything, reach out with gentle intention...

Nothing.

She tried again, this time attempting to channel the slight irritation she felt at being tested like a performing seal. The candles flickered once, then resumed burning steadily.

"Interesting," Thorne murmured. "Perhaps something more suited to your... emotional approach. I understand your magic responds well to stress."

The way he said it made Elara's temper flare. Before she could stop herself, she snapped, "Maybe if you weren't standing there like a vulture waiting for me to fail—"

The chandelier exploded.

Not the controlled extinguishing Thorne had requested, but a violent eruption of crystal and flame that sent fragments raining down across the entire room. Several pieces struck the Senior Warden, who threw up a hasty shield of crackling energy. The magical barrier deflected the debris, but his perfectly pressed uniform was now dusted with crystal powder.

Silence fell, broken only by the tinkle of settling glass.

"Well," Thorne said, brushing crystal dust from his sleeve with deliberate precision. "That was... illuminating."

Elara's cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. "I didn't mean to—"

"Of course you didn't." Thorne's grey eyes had gone flat and cold. "That's rather the point, isn't it? Uncontrolled magical outbursts in response to minor social pressure. Quite concerning from a public safety perspective."

"She's learning," Finch said sharply. "All apprentices have difficulty with control initially."

"Apprentices from established families, with proper magical heritage and formal training protocols, yes." Thorne's gaze never left Elara. "But Miss Vance isn't from an established family, is she? No magical bloodline, no inherited understanding of our world's rules and restrictions."

"Magical ability isn't limited to the old families," Finch countered. "You know that as well as anyone."

"No, but respect for our institutions should be." Thorne finally looked away from Elara, focusing his attention on Finch with laser intensity. "The Council is concerned about your... recruitment methods, Archmage. Taking in strays with no regard for their background or potential for instability."

The word 'strays' hit Elara like a physical blow. She'd heard it before, in various forms—from social workers who saw her as just another problem to be shuffled between placements, from employers who hired her because she was desperate enough to work for less than living wages. It never stopped stinging.

"Miss Vance is not a stray," Finch said, his voice dangerously quiet. "She is a practitioner of considerable natural ability who deserves the same training and respect afforded to any magical citizen."

"Natural ability, yes. But natural ability without proper foundation can be catastrophic." Thorne gestured to the destroyed chandelier. "What happens when her next emotional outburst occurs in public? When mundane witnesses see something they shouldn't? When people get hurt?"

"That's why she's here," Finch said through gritted teeth. "Learning control."

"Under your guidance. Your highly... unconventional guidance." Thorne's smile was razor-sharp. "The Council finds your methods questionable, Archmage. Your tendency to circumvent established protocols in favor of personal judgment."

The two men stared at each other across the crystal-strewn room, and Elara suddenly understood that this confrontation had very little to do with her abilities and everything to do with some larger political struggle she didn't comprehend.

"I've been teaching magic since before you were born, Warden," Finch said finally. "My methods have produced some of the most accomplished practitioners of the current generation."

"And yet none of them have been street-raised mundanes with destructive emotional triggers." Thorne's grey eyes flicked back to Elara. "The Council requires a formal assessment. Standard protocols, controlled environment, proper documentation."

"And if she doesn't pass your assessment?"

"Then alternative arrangements will be made for public safety." The threat was politely phrased but unmistakable.

Elara found her voice at last. "What kind of alternative arrangements?"

Thorne studied her with the same intensity he might give a potentially dangerous animal. "Memory modification. Magical binding to prevent future manifestations. Relocation to a facility better equipped for... challenging cases."

"You're talking about magical lobotomy and imprisonment," Finch said flatly.

"I'm talking about responsible management of potentially dangerous individuals." Thorne shouldered his staff, the runes along its length pulsing with contained power. "The assessment will take place next week. I'll send the formal notice through proper channels."

He headed for the door, then paused. "Oh, and Archmage? The Council also wanted me to convey their... displeasure at your recent independence from established guidance. They feel you've been making too many unilateral decisions lately. Decisions that affect the entire magical community."

"Such as?"

"Such as taking in untrained practitioners without Council approval. Such as pursuing investigations into matters the Council considers closed." Thorne's smile was anything but friendly. "They wanted me to remind you that even Archmages are accountable to the institution they serve."

After he left, Finch stood motionless in the crystal-strewn room for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm afraid, Miss Vance, that your presence here has just painted a rather large target on both our backs."