Another week, and still no real progress in my magic. The gossip about purple eyes has died down, and all I've heard from Logan is a text message five days ago saying he'll be gone for another week.
No explanation, and Marcus isn't saying shit, even when Penelope harasses him.
There is one silver lining to my shitshow magic high school life, though. After Logan heard about the weird holographic visitor, he told me to sign up for the Supernatural Research Club.
It sounds lame, but little did I know—this group of nerds is my people.
I hum a half-remembered song from my childhood as I arrange the three smooth wardstones on the table. Their obsidian surfaces catch the dim light of the study area, almost pulsing with potential. My fingers tingle as I place them in a perfect triangle, each exactly six inches from the others.
