Charmless

Chapter 1: Queen of Failure

Meredith

I’m not a thief, liar, or an exceptionally talented performer, but tomorrow I’ll need to be all three, unless I want to be dead. A tempting offer if I wasn’t such a bad quitter.

“One step at a time, you just need to have faith,” my brother reassures me, dark curls grazing the ridge of his brow. The slats of the metal fence cast shadows across his hunched shoulders, and he’s popped his collar to hide his mouth. It completes the ensemble I like to call ‘amateur criminal’.

“I guess we’re only breaking the law a little bit,” I say. “I have faith they’ll be lenient if we’re caught.”

Rolling his eyes, Elijah unclips an iron ring from his belt and grasps it, light warming the fissures of his fist. When he uncurls his fingers, a Perl gleams within the ring, the trapped magic beating with iridescent blues, pinks, and gold. “Some pocket money?”

“Thanks.” I take the Perl, holding in a sigh. It’s beautiful. It’s the opposite of me, so full of potential it could literally become anything imaginable…

I stop that thought dead. I will not be jealous of a penny!

“Good luck. And don’t worry, you’ll create them someday.” Elijah’s smile is genuine, but we both know it’s unlikely. If I could, I would have done so by now, like everybody else my age, and then we wouldn’t be in this mess.

My brother hovers his empty hand over the turnstile entrance into the shopping square. The symbol beneath glows as it detects the magic in his blood, and with a clunk, the metal gate twirls him into the bustling crowds. It’s so easy, it hurts.

I approach the turnstile with shaky hands and try to distract myself. The weekly trinket market in the square booms with life as vendors boast about their charmed goods and one-day-only bargains. A colour changing bobble hat for two Perls? That’s not bad…

When no one’s looking, I hover my hand above the scanner because I’m a sucker for hope, but the arrow-shaped sigil doesn’t light up. It fails to detect my presence, which is the way it would act for a toddler who doesn’t yet understand how to bring their energy to the surface, or the elderly when their magic is tired and their number is almost up. The turnstiles are for monitoring crowd numbers—they’re not meant to keep anyone out, not really, so I can’t hesitate. As queue forms behind me, I switch to a tactic, one that I’m hoping will trick the high charmology into thinking I’m ordinary. Magical.

I crush the Perl in my fist, a warm buzz filling the palm of my hand as Elijah’s energy becomes pliable. Carefully, I drip the magic over the sigil indent—missing by millimetres. Nerves catch my breath when the metal sizzles, but that’s nothing compared to the cold sweat that encases me when the metal folds over the ridge and hardens, changing the sigil’s shape. A metallic aftertaste bites the air. I adjust my aim and the sigil lights up, activated, but the shape is off by a fraction. Will the mechanism still work?

With a big lunge and little faith, I throw myself against the turnstile. The bar pounds my stomach, unyielding, knocking the air from my lungs. I keel into the gravel, heart sinking alongside me.

“Hey, you!” a woman shouts as I dust myself off. This is my last day to practice the tricks that could save my life, the sleight of hand my brother and I have just about managed to work out at home, and I’ve failed at the first hurdle. The gate wasn’t even supposed to be the hard part.

“What?” I groan, already fed up. The guard approaches with shoulders broader than a redwood tree trunk, and I regret my tone.

“She’s with me!” my brother yells from across the turnstiles, jostling with the eager shoppers. He bunches his shirt to reveal the infinity symbol tattooed onto his shoulder, the universal sign he’s an average citizen of Exilium, nothing abnormal here.

“How old is she? Where’s her Tribute Counter?” The guard rests her hand on her wand holster, displaying her protective vest. Her uniform is covered in sigils designed to counter any magic thrown her way. The symbols swirl and arch together, knitting strength and resistance into her armour.

I scoop my white hair from my eyes and stretch the neck of my baggy jumper, revealing my bare arm. “My exam’s tomorrow. I don’t have a counter yet.”

The guard rests her teeth on her lip. I know she thinks I’m too old to need assistance with a basic gate—because I am. It’s embarrassing. But still, she nice enough to activate the entrance sigil from her post, and the metal gate opens its jaws. Her glare narrows on Elijah as I pass through. “Keep an eye on her.”

“Yeah, keep an eye on me,” I murmur close to him, “while I test out my pickpocketing skills so I can cheat tomorrow.”

“Shh,” Elijah hisses, his cheeks still red as we mix ourselves among the shoppers. Soon, we’re distracted by the rows of stalls, each decked out with charms, potions, and other magical goods. The herb stand is my favourite, but it’s not why we’re here. Tomorrow I’ll need to covertly manoeuvre a Perl to enchant a testing device, tricking a doctor into thinking I have magic. If I can lift a couple of small items under pressure now, then maybe I have the skills to pull off the lifesaving cheat tomorrow. After all, isn’t every heroine in every book on my shelf great at pickpocketing? It can’t be that hard.

It’s time to find a mark.

Lavender and rosemary accost my senses from the homemade soap stand at the front of the market. A hanging sign claims the calming effects rival any ingestible soothing concoction. It only costs a Perl per bar so Elijah can pay for it if I mess up, but the smell is so strong it hurts my head. I don’t want to get closer.

A vendor wafts a ‘forever-new’ blanket in the air, a wave of cotton freshness breaking over me. Charms clatter from the next stall over, the metal symbols polished into life, chiming with a faint buzz of magic that tickles beneath the skin. Neither can fit in the palm of my hand, so neither are quite what I’m looking for.

Behind the market stalls are the expansive, glass-front chain stores like Perl Threads and Enchanted Bargains, but with their high charmology and complex hidden security sigils, I’ll steer clear of them today.

After we complete a full circuit of the market area without saying a word, I realise my brother isn’t scouting for a mark like we discussed. He’s watching me like a crutch that’s bending in the middle, a step away from snapping. I pretend not to notice, until he nudges my ribs. I flinch to attention.

“First of all, calm down,” Elijah whispers, although there’s a hypocritical jitter in his tone. “You know, we can practice just between the two of us.”

“No, I need the nerves.” I rub my hands on my jeans to remove a layer of sweat. Sleight of hand won’t work with clammy palms, and if I’m too nervous now, I’ll be a wreck tomorrow.

“Your mum would not approve…” Elijah murmurs.

“Mum never approves.” If Mum found out what we’re up to, she’d give me a lecture on accepting my lot in life. “Do the test honestly and fail like you’re supposed to,” I say, exaggerating her sentiment. Elijah snorts. There’s a reason I’ve asked my older half-brother for help and not my parents.

 “How about one of those?” Elijah points to a potion stall. I don’t let myself think of all the reasons not to and instead nod, approaching the stand alone.

Vials glisten atop the pale sheets like jewels in the sand, and when I run my fingers over the glass, the sparkle intensifies. They must be coated in shimmer dust, despite laws against enchanting goods for sales alone. Like I can judge right now, I think, preparing to make my debut as a petty thief.

“Wow, that one is cool,” I say loudly as I approach, pointing at the opposite end of the table to distract the vendor. He hooks an eyebrow at me, his thin lips twisting like a knot in a cord. But instead of following my line of sight, he lingers on my grey eyes, white hair, and pale, pockmarked skin—all signs of magical deficiency. I probably look like his mark for all these quick-win brews that can’t possibly work.

“What exactly is it supposed to do?” I ask. I can’t help my snappy tone. Magic is colour and spice and everything nice, and I am none of those things. It doesn’t mean he can stare.

He scratches his ear before following my direction. Once he’s distracted, I curl my thumb around a different vial and sweep my hand back to my side, nabbing the potion. Guilt thrums through me. I’ll give it back later.

“Oh, yes, a Seduction Potion,” he says, voice dripping like honey. “See the needles of rosemary? They’ll have all the schoolboys falling at your feet.”

I grind my teeth, itching to correct him. I might be magically inept, but I’m not stupid. Rosemary sounds sweet, but it doesn’t have alluring properties. Not to mention, I couldn’t care less about the boys at school, most of which enjoyed shouting ‘dud’ in my direction with a poorly timed cough. Anyway, after last week’s final exam, that part of my life is over. Good riddance.

The vendor lifts the vial towards me, an extra buzz pulsing from the cork as if he’s enchanted that too. “It will cost you just two Perls, my dear. I even have a Perl ring if you’d like to create them now.” He holds up a ring of metal identical to the one my brother used earlier. The sight of it grates me further because he’s right to assume anyone can use one.

Just not me.

“The boys can stay upright.” I try my best to stay sweet, but a bitter tone rings true.

As the vendor’s smile drops, I search for my brother, eager to get away with the potion concealed between my fingers. Elijah’s curls graze a metal charm dangling from a marquee, and he spins around, still on edge. I can’t help but giggle.

A hand clamps around my wrist.

“Did you really think you could steal from me with your filthy tricks?” the vendor says, spitting each word. My heart races. He snatches the stolen potion and rolls up his sleeve, revealing an eighty-six tattooed across his shoulder—not an infinity sign like my brother, and not what I would expect for someone as young as him. It’s a number that shocks me into a deeper state of regret. He only has eighty-six days left before society will demand his sacrifice. Either he lacks the magic needed to earn his place in our world or he’s a criminal who’s paid for their crime with their life. Either way, he’s not messing around.

“You’re ticking?” I ask. It slips out of me, and he rattles my wrist with a snarl.

“You should be more concerned with your own counter. That’ll cost you at least two days. Was it worth it?” he hisses.

I shrug the jumper off my free shoulder, and he winces at the sight of my bare patch of skin. His grip relaxes, probably because it’s unarguable. The mark cannot be cheated, charmed, or changed, not with any form of magic we know. I haven’t had my medical exam so I don’t have a Tribute Counter yet, which means I can’t lose days. I’m not worth his precious time.

He wrinkles his nose.

“Meredith!” my brother yells, rushing over. “Let her go.”

“Children get away with murder.” The vendor bares his teeth and releases my arm with a shove. “Get out of here, scum!”

“Yes, certainly, sir,” Elijah says. The vendor marches us to the turnstile, and the guard isn’t surprised to see us scuttling through the exit. She’s tinkering with the sigil I broke earlier, using a sharp piece of metal called a sigil scraper to fix it. Now that vendor is filling her in on our antics, I worry she’ll realise I’m the one who vandalised the turnstile.

What if they decide to charge Elijah instead? The thought quickens my pace like a whip at my heels.

“Merri, it’s okay, they’re not following,” Elijah says as we reach the inner city, the herby smog from the high street potion store thickening the air and making it hard to breath. “It’s okay.”

He’s wrong. I shake my head and don’t slow down, but I don’t know where to start – there are too many problems. I failed, and I put you in danger, and I’ll fail again tomorrow…

“This world doesn’t want me,” I murmur, too softly.

“Huh?”

I can’t repeat it, not without crying, and I can’t go there right now.

Elijah guides me towards a bench, his hand a heavy anchor on my shoulder. “Sit here and relax for a bit. Actually…maybe not here.”

I follow his gaze to the globe store in front of us. My frantic escape has led me to the worst place I could possibly go right, and true to my luck, the timing is impeccable. The midday news streams across their glassy cores in sync.

It’s time for the daily sacrifice.

We might have missed the transmissions of the ceremony that airs at twelve, but there’s still time to thank the tribute as a picture of today’s sacrifice streams boldly from the globes. The man’s red nose suggests he was a dedicated drinker over the years, and his chocolate curls were peppered with grey. His photo looks bright and warm. At a guess, I’d say he was sixty, which is the average age of the sacrifices, and yet it still feels wrong.

My thoughts darken. This is the face of a dead man, sacrificed for the good of us all so that magic can live on. And if I can’t fool the system into thinking I have magic, then I’ll likely be next. The great queue of life is determined by blood-magic levels that naturally wane with age, making it the fairest way to preserve magic⁠—except I’ve never shown any signs of having magic at all. It makes me angry and scared all the time, and I don’t know what to do about it.

The globes cuts to footage of the orb, the ancient artefact that demands life in exchange for powering magic. It shimmers with pleasure after gobbling up the last sacrifice.

Elijah stares at me again as if he can read my thoughts.

“Another life lost to the orb,” I say to break the silence, rubbing my bare shoulder.

“Not lost.” Elijah scoots closer, the bench creaking under his enthusiasm. “Sure, I don’t understand how it works, but that man’s spirit will now live on through the orb. Together, they’re keeps magic and Exilium alive. With all the impossible things magic helps up achieve, you must believe there’s more than what you can see.” His voice cracks as he adds, “Merri, even if tomorrow doesn’t go as planned, you will not be lost. Your spirit will be in safe hands, protected under those that guide us. Remember that.”

I hold my breath to stop myself from arguing. Elijah is trying to help, but his reasoning is way too hopeful for my tastes. I change the subject. “The sleight of hand stuff was so much easier when we practiced at home.”

“You’re good enough to pull off what you need,” he says. I give him a doubtful look. “Anyway, once this is all, I’ll help you set up as a gardener, like you wanted. No magic or tricks required for that. Just knowledge and honest work, perfect for you.”

I deflate even further, my modest dreams so far out of reach. “If they find out I’m a dud, they won’t give me enough days for that to matter.”

“Merri, listen to me.” His smile is pleasant enough, but the problem is his strong brow that droops either side like a weeping willow. It’s a family feature. Us Potts always hold a sad truth in our eyes—it’s in the structure of our bones. “You don’t need to be good at everything. One step at a time, the rest can come later.” He takes out a couple of small Perls from his pocket and counts up the loose change. “Wait here, I’ll grab something from the shops. I want to make sure you’re eating before I leave you.”

My brother, always the counsellor, no days off when it comes to taking care of people. I wish I could copy his optimism and faith in magic, but I haven’t decided what I believe yet. I haven’t had time.

As he heads to the newsagents, I sink into the bench defeated—until a buzz in the air worms down my throat and tickles a cough out of me. It’s magic, I think, condensed and strong, but we’re not in the markets anymore, or watching a performance spell. The street is empty, other than the stores which are unusually quiet, thanks to the market.

Another buzz ripples through the air, and I jolt upright. It’s not the first time I’ve felt magic like this, too strong to block out, but whenever I ask if anyone else can feel it too, they usually give me a weird look and always say no. Most people have to be up and close to magic before feeling it’s effects, almost like the magic in their blood distracts them.

Nothing distracts me as another buzz washes over my body. I hold out my hand, the sensation jittering through the air like a volcano waiting to erupt.

Like magic about to burst into the streets.

I should stay put. I keep my head straight, but the tribute’s face stares blandly from the globes, haunting me as another rumble scissors through my stomach. I not powerful, gifted, or physically strong…but I’m still a bad quitter.

I get up, unable to ignore it any longer, the buzz leading me into a thin passage between an orb gift store for anyone visiting the capital and a life planning office for those of us living next to the ball of existential dread. The cobblestones are uneven and moss clings to the tarnished bricks bringing a dampness to the air. The rumbles draw me deeper into the shadows, each step forbidden. If I can feel the magic from this far away, it must be really something. A smoky breeze warns of fire ahead, and the thrill of danger cheers life into me.

I don’t know what I’m doing right now, but at least I’m doing something.

When I spot people, my heart jumps. Three figures huddle just beyond the dustbins, their voices hushed. Backtracking into a corner, I hide against the brickwork, pressing my fingers into the moss, only stealing glimpses when I’m brave enough to lean into the alleyway. Their matching coats are covered head to toe in pockets. I brace, unsure whether to run or hide, but the adrenaline from earlier must be still coursing inside of me, urging me to take one last risk.

“He was like a father to me,” the younger woman says. “I was fighting to save him.”

Chocolate curls drip from her ponytail, and the point of her nose matches the tribute from today. Her fingertips tremble, fire rippling across them and then blazing like a campfire in the wind. Each burst of magic sends ripples through me. Her minor magic must be strong. Most people can barely create more than a Perl at a time, and even then, most people prefer to use a charm to help.

“Torren, give Katia your gloves,” the other woman says, her voice soft but intense.

The young guy with mahogany skin peels off his gloves and tosses them over to Katia. The way he dusts off his hands afterwards seems like an awkward joke as he proclaims, “Take them, all yours. Glad to be of service.”

“Thank you, Torren,” the older woman says. “You can go now.”

He freezes, and I realise he must have been bobbing around like an excitable puppy. “You mean, this isn’t my call? We’re not going to fight the fight?”

“Torren, leave.”

I shuffle close enough to smell the dirt on the bricks. My hiding spot lacks proper cover so if he passes the bins, I’ll need to lie or act natural—things I’m objectively bad at. Luckily, Torren heads the other way.

I consider leaving too, but only for a brief moment. If this is what it takes to feel like I’m doing something to help myself, to feel a rush of something, then I’ll do it.

The older woman turns her attention to Katia and helps slip the gloves over her fingers. “Sorry about him. I needed someone who would come quickly—”

“I didn’t train to save tomorrow’s stranger,” Katia interrupts, her eyes red and teary. The buzz in the air dies as she wiggles the material into place.

“Shh, I understand, but your uncle will be the last. Tomorrow, we end them for good.”

“The sacrifices?” I whisper.

Out loud.

Like an idiot.

My adrenaline got the better of me.

I cover my mouth as their heads whip around, their eyes skating right over the dustbins and straight at me. My heart thrums harder in my chest. Are these people trying to end the system the day before it could swallow me whole? It’s too late to duck or dive, and if they’re fighting to save lives like mine, I want them to find me. I need to be seen.

“Move along girl,” the older woman says. Bold eyeliner lifts her gaze, but her irises are the pale green of lavender stalks. She reaches a hand into one of the many pockets of her coat and watches me carefully.

My stomach churns, begging me to leave, but my legs have seized up, pinning me to the spot. “Are you…rebels?” I ask, pushing my limits as far as possible. Katia snorts, so I quickly add, “Do you need help?”

“Why?” Katia asks, turning her pointed nose towards me, eyes glaring with threats. She’s not much older than me, but the muscles in her upper arms are possibly more than I have in my entire body. “Are you interested in our work?”

“Katia,” the older woman warns. “We’re crossing a line right now. This isn’t how we find new recruits.”

Recruits?

Katia sniffles. “Who cares? It’s not like we’re effective.”

“Today you feel that way. Tomorrow you might not.”

I take another step forward. “If you’re looking to stop the sacrifices, I want to help. I want to—”

“Join us?” Katia finishes. She tips her head back and laughs, wiping an old tear from her cheek.

It hurts, but I don’t think about that right now. Instead, I try to appear strong, clenching my muscles, raising my chin.

The older woman pauses. She eyes my white hair and sips air through her teeth. “We accept students to our… ‘academy’ this time of year.” She purses her lips thoughtfully, but her resolve hardens when she glances at Katia. “Recruits must possess strong magic, and I don’t think that’s on the cards for you. For your own sake, stay away.”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Tears prickle as I back out of the passageway, heart still jamming away like I’ve survived something dangerous and not just humiliation. I haven’t even begun applying for jobs or to academies, and I’ve already received my first rejection. A sour thought follows: even if I pass tomorrow’s test, will there be a place for me in this world? I slink back onto the bench, trying my best not to break down.

When my brother returns, my mood is worse, but he doesn’t react. It’s like I’d already sunk so low, he can’t tell the difference. He hands me a packet of crips and a can of dandelion fizz, but I can’t muster the effort to open them.

“Oh, I booked the morning off from the clinic just now,” he says. “I’m coming with you.”

The gesture should warm me, but it just doesn’t fill what’s missing. I hate my defeated tone as I try to joke, “To counsel your sister instead of tributes? Not exactly the morning off.”

“You’re not work to me,” he says with yet another nudge. It’s as if he thinks he can poke and prod and mould me into something I’m not. Something happier. “Speaking of hard work, have you talked to your mum or Dad yet?”

“Would you?” I ask, snorting. He gives me a stern look, and I know I’m being difficult. “They’re actually going on holiday this week, so they’re not exactly concerned.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We should have come clean before I moved out.”

“I thought you said I’d be okay. If that’s true, then they never need to know.” I stand up and raise my dandelion fizz in his honour. “Thanks for everything. I mean it.”

“You’ll be okay.” His grimace speaks louder than words.

Whether I’m ready or not, tomorrow is my graduation exam. Elijah is the only person in the world that knows I don’t have the magic to pass it without cheating, and as long as a couple of cheap tricks can fool the foundations of our entire system, then everything will stay that way.

So, in short, I’m doomed.