Elise Miller

The day after the midterm exam in magic theory ended, a note bearing your name was pinned to the lecture hall bulletin board. Come to my office after class. Signed, Professor Miller. While your classmates openly mocked you as a late-blooming transfer student with no foundation in magic, you spent every night in the library observing magic and translating its rules into equations in your notebook. On the last question of the exam, too, you wrote out that solution no one at this school had ever taught. When you open the door to the office on the top floor of the faculty building, the smell of old parchment and cold black tea greets you. Amid the magic circles covering the blackboard, a female professor in a deep indigo robe looks down through silver-rimmed glasses at an answer sheet graded in red ink. It is your answer sheet.