Fern was brushing her teeth for the night when the door to her house slammed open. She groaned at the sound. Today was just not her day. First, she got negative feedback on her semester project in her Herbology and Plant Life class, then she bumped into Lady Saewara when walking home. She couldn’t forget the whole ordeal with that seer boy that managed to get in. Goddess, that was a headache. And now this. 

From her living room someone shouted for help, quickly followed by the sound of a body hitting the floor. Fern flushed with anger when she recognized the voice as that of the seer boy. What did he want? She’d pretty explicitly told him to leave her alone. She did not want to deal with what that was going to lead to. He shouted again, with a hint of panic in his voice. 

Fern rolled her eyes and spit in the sink, before taking a moment to adjust her hair in the mirror. As she stormed down the stairs, she flicked her finger and cast a small spell to close and lock the door behind the boy. She swore to herself. What the hell could he want? The fact that he’d managed to get through her wards not just once but twice in one day was infuriating. Especially because she knew for a fact that she’d used more powerful enchantments when she recast them. Fern made a mental note to double check with Professor Zynwil to see if there were any errors with her casting. 

All of her anger evaporated when she turned the corner and saw the state Oliver was in. Blue magical energy flashed across his body, emanating from a light in the center of his chest. He was trying to stand back up, but another blue arc danced from his heart and into his eyes. He gasped in wordless pain and Fern saw his legs wobble. She was at his side in a moment and caught him before he collapsed. 

He seemed barely conscious, as she dragged him over to the couch. The magic was still dancing across his skin, and as she watched, she noticed a pattern to its madness. She watched it for a few seconds more before the energy’s path jogged a memory loose in her head. She’d learned this pattern last semester in class. She cursed again as she ran to the bookshelf and began poring over the titles. Fern plucked the book she was looking for, The Magic Matrices of the Human Body, from its resting place and quickly flipped through it. She compared the diagram in the back of the book with the magic on the boy, and they matched almost exactly. 

Tossing the book aside, she held her face, pressing the heels of her hand into her eyes. What should she do? She screamed internally, and probably a bit externally too, before rushing to the kitchen. On the couch, Oliver groaned again, delirious from the pain. What are you even supposed to do in a situation like this? Fern wasn’t a medical magic student. She was studying herbs! She squished her face together and planted her hands on the countertop, trying to force her brain to function. A pain suppression potion!

She snatched the ingredients from her alchemy shelf: rose child, ginger, tear of grief, mouse hair, and some peppermint. It wouldn’t be terribly effective but it was a first step. She measured out the ingredients and tapped each one into a ceramic bowl. She winced, nearly dropping the concoction when Olly screamed from the next room over. Fern mashed the components together with a pestle, turning them into a thick paste. Fuck! She didn’t have any potion tonic left. 

She set the bowl on the counter, being sure not to spill it, before flinging open the fridge. She mentally calculated what liquid would work best. Water was too weak. Milk was the wrong energy. Fern noticed the orange juice stuck in the back of the fridge and yanked it out without a second thought. The lid popped off and some of the liquid splashed on her arm but that wasn’t her biggest concern right now. The juice was probably a bit too old. But it was the best option she had and shouldn’t be too different from her usual potion tonic. She poured the juice into the bowl and quickly stirred it with the pestle. 

With the paste thoroughly saturated, she poured everything into a glass, whispering a few words of power as she went. The glass vibrated as the magic took hold, before stilling. The liquid inside turned from a dull orange to an iridescent gold, and Fern prayed in gratitude that it’d worked with the juice. Being careful not to spill a drop, she rushed back to the couch and carefully poured the potion down the boy's throat. He whimpered as his writhing stilled into sleep. His body went limp as the drink did its work, and Fern collapsed with relief. The magic still arced over his body, but he wasn’t in pain. 

She sat there on the ground for several minutes, letting her heart settle and her mind catch up. She still had no idea what was happening to the boy. It didn’t seem like an enchantment because the timing between the sparks was too irregular. It probably wasn’t a curse because most of those were developed with multiple effects and no other identifiers of that kind of magic were present. It could be a spell backfire, but Oliver was a seer. He shouldn’t be able to cast anything. Fern smacked her face a few times trying to knock loose any ideas that could help. 

There was one thing she could try. It was a relatively simple divining technique that one of Fern’s friends had shown her. If she focused her magic into her fingers and touched a person’s head, she could force her magic into a person’s body, and feel what type of energy was working within them. It normally wasn’t that useful because any conscious person with any latent magic at all will automatically reject the divination, but medical witches sometimes used it on comatose patients. 

With that thought, Fern concentrated magic into her fingertips. A tingle ran through her body as a faint white glow appeared on each of her digits. She cradled Oliver's head with one of her hands and cupped her magic’d hand over his forehead. With a deep breath, she pressed her hand onto his temples and released the energy. The magic flowed from her fingers like a brick dropped into a storm surge. Her magic was instantly wrested away from her grasp and caught in the raucous and rough tempest of whatever magic was afflicting him. Something screamed and she jerked her hand back, ending the spell. Her heart raced as she tried to figure whether she was the one who screamed, if it was Oliver, or if the magic itself had screamed. 

Fern jumped again when the boy shifted on the couch and groaned. His eyes fluttered open, and he stared at her for a few seconds as his brain woke up as well. 

“What ‘re you doing in m’room?” He slurred, either from the sleep or the pain. Fern stood up and dropped his head unceremoniously onto the couch. He oof’d slightly. 

“Go back to sleep, Oliver.” She said, patting his head. “I’ll try to get some help here soon.” 

He closed his eyes and hummed with contentment  before falling unconscious once again. 

~

I had never once gotten the flu in my life, but I imagined the ache that spread over my entire body was probably what it felt like. Everything felt heavy and slow. I thought o was sleeping on a couch, but a blanket covered me, and something soft was shoved under my head. I must have fallen asleep while watching TV, and mom gave me a blanket when she got home. I laughed softly to myself. She loved me too much; I don’t deserve her. 

I let myself yawn, and shifted my hair out of my face so I could wipe my eyes. I smiled at the morning light filtering through the window, warming my face, and at the girl sitting across from me. Blink, blink. Wait. I knew that girl; it’s whatshername from yesterday. Plant. Wait no. Fern! What the hell was she doing in my house. I finally looked around the room and my stomach sank. This wasn’t my house. Oh god, this wasn’t my house! Where the hell am I?

Fern was holding a steaming mug of something, with her knees hugged to her chest. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the general disheveledness of her entire self, I assumed it was something with caffeine. She noticed me stirring and set the mug on the coffee table. I was back in her house, and the memories of last night began to trickle into my consciousness. She flexed her fingers and drew her hands through the air. The light of the sun followed her hands, bending into words. She twitched her wrist and the floating message collapsed into a translucent butterfly. It flapped out of the house, phasing through the window and disappeared into the morning sky. 

“One of my professors should be here soon to figure out whatever this is.” She gestured at the entirety of me. I winced as a spark of electricity bounced out of my chest and down one of my hands. 

I pushed myself into a sitting position with a groan, keeping myself wrapped in the blanket. “What the heck is going on with me?” 

“Look, boy. If I knew, I wouldn’t have to call a professor, now would I?” I winced at her words. “All I know is that you flopped in here at moon-high, screaming in pain.” 

“Is this normal for seers?” A few more ticks of energy flicked across my body, and it flinched in response. 

“Do you want more pain suppression tonic? I have enough ginger left to make about two more servings?” I shook my head at her question. Whatever pain I had was bearable compared to last night. “Well in that case, I’ve no clue what to make of you. I’ve never studied seers. Maybe there’s some strange seer magic that’s being weird. I’m going to grab my notes from last semester, and you can take a look at anything on my shelf, and maybe we can figure you out before Professor Church gets here.” 

She left me alone in my blanket burrito, but I summoned the energy to stand up. Maintaining my burrito status, I shifted to the bookshelves and looked over the titles. One of the tomes caught my eye: Magical Beasts, Both Mundane and Mortal. It was the book that Fern had grabbed when she first assumed I was a seer. I’m really not sure how I felt with the implication that she assumed I was a ‘beast’. I returned to the couch and broke my burrito wrapping to read the text. 

Looking at the table of contents, it seemed to be a somewhat basic bestiary. I recognized some of the beings mentioned. There were some of the basic supernatural fare, vampires, and pixies, and dragons. But there were others that I’d never heard of before, Wympoltons, Waking Fire, and Whirlijigs being some of the names from the ‘W’ section. The seers were listed on page 284, which I flipped to out of hand, brushing my hair out of my face again. A woodcut illustration of a seemingly regular man took up the better portion of the page.

On the seer,

While its classification as a ‘beast’ is arguable, the havoc and frustration their kind have caused civilized society is more than enough to earn them the title. The seer is a type of human with the ability to witness, and in some exceptional circumstances disrupt, magical acts. No illusion will fool its eyes and no spell will alter its mind. The seer is brutish and unpleasant, and wishes to involve itself in any magic it may come across. The seer passes its curse to the first-bourne son in its line. However, any living kin may develop the curse, should that one die.  

Efforts have been made by Estellen Witches to remove the blight of the seer from the world. While not fully successful, all lines of seers, save seven, have been done away with. Each of these remaining lines have been given a brand which marks them to any witch or warlock that may cross its path. Like the curse itself, the brand follows the bearer. The seven lines are as follows. The Frank Line, marked by a crescent moon on the left shoulder. The Achtenin Line, marked by a dotted circle on the palm. The Wilson Line, marked by yellow irises. The Hai Line, marked by a missing nail on either hand. The Batteux Line, marked by a downward triangle on the neck. The Hattle Line, marked by a cross on the right wrist. And the Tahir Line, marked by a filled circle within a hollow circle above the heart.

Fern returned with an armful of page binders, which she plopped on the table. I glared at her until she looked at me. “What the hell, Fern? You thought I was a seer? I’m nothing like what this book says. Honestly, it’s hurtful that you instantly assumed that of me.” 

“Look, boy-” 

“And stop calling me that!” I snapped. 

She breathed an annoyed sigh. “Look, Oliver” She stressed my name with a mocking tone. “You walked into my house uninvited. And after I told you to leave, you just decided you were going to stay the night for some dumbass bet.” 

I blanched, and another spark took the opportunity to make me flinch. “Oh, right. I did do that.” I facepalm. “I’m sorry, Fern. That was a stupid thing to say. I’m an idiot.” 

She raised an eyebrow at me again. “Yes, we’ve established this.” She stared at me again with a frustrated expression. “Why did you come in anyways. Didn’t you literally see me sitting on the couch? You looked through my window like a slack-jawed idiot for like five minutes before coming in.” 

“No, I just saw an empty room with some bones and things. I thought that was your illusion thingy.” 

She froze, and then proceeded to let loose a torrent of swear words and flowery language that I wouldn’t feel comfortable repeating. 

“And FUCK.” She shouted,”We’re both idiots. You did say you thought the house was empty, I should have realized. Goddess, I feel like you.” She sucked in her breath and attempted to rub off her own face with her hands. “Okay. Bo- Oliver. Let’s start from square one. Seers are out. You should have been able to see through the illusion. What kind of magic can you do, or see? Aside from, like, that transformation magic.” 

“The what?”

“Your… hair. It wasn’t that long when you broke into my house the first time.” I wiped my hair out my face, and oh god, she’s right. I felt the blood drain from my face, as I ran my hands through my hair. It was at least a fist longer now, almost touching my shoulders. My breath hitched in my throat as I did a mental pat down. Everything felt normal, aside from my hair. Although, I felt like I could think better. The usual cobwebs in my brain seemed to have been partially cleaned out. 

Fern stared at me again with what seemed like a growing amount of concern. “Here, catch.” She flicked something at me, which I didn’t realize was a little metal disk until it bopped me in the face and fell in my lap. She very audibly gave a sigh of relief when I flicked it back at her. 

She deftly caught it, and placed it back on the windowsill. “Well, we can rule fae out most likely. I would have been so dead if I’d let a fae into the house.” I nodded like I knew what was going on.

“So what now?” 

She flopped backward in the chair and gracelessly waved her hand towards the binders on the table. “We read. Grab a binder and find anything that seems relevant.”

I grabbed one of the binders before a thought came to mind. I put the binder back down and lifted up the sleeve on my left arm. “Hey, Fern,” She gave me a halfhearted glance from her lounge on the chair. “Where was that spot on my arm you were messing with earlier? You called me like a wildling or something.”

She shook her head. “Don’t bother. Wildlings are witches who are born outside our civilization. With, uh, humans. Er, not born. Raised. Whatever. They never get the chance to, like, learn how to use magic. Usually they get claimed anywhere from their sixteenth to eighteenth birthday, and get inducted into our world proper.” 

“Claimed? What does that mean?” I asked. 

She waved her hand dismissively. “It’d take too long to explain. It’s how we, like, form our magic.” 

That sorta made sense, so I picked up the binder and began to flip through it. It seemed to be notes on a bunch of plants and herbs and things, but the margins were filled with doodles of mice and rats gnawing on sketches of the vegetation. 

“Wait, Fern. What does being a wildling have to do with my arm?” 

“Oh, sorry.” Her voice was heavy with exhaustion. “Warlocks, or male witches or whatever you want to call them, need a witches mark to perform magic. If you press on your arm like across from your armpit, it should appear. But you don’t have one, so you can’t be a warlock. It would make my life a lot easier if you were a wildling.” She yawned and slipped into silence. I decided to let her sleep and continued to look through her notes. 

~

The professor Fern mentioned showed up a couple of hours later. Fern was still asleep, and I’d covered her with the blanket that I was previously wrapped in. When the knock at the door came, I was piled in enough binders, loose paper, and books that it took me a moment to extract myself. Despite my best efforts, one of my stacks of carefully piled books still fell on the floor when I stood up. Stepping over the mess, I unlocked the door and opened it slightly. 

Standing on the porch was a short, stout woman, with a giant smile beaming across her face and an old-fashioned doctor’s satchel in her hands. She could easily cosplay a hobbit if she wanted. Her brown hair was streaked with grey and was carefully braided in an intricate pattern. She was dressed in a long brown skirt, and a white blouse with puffed sleeves. Quite frankly, she wouldn’t look out of place at a renaissance fair. 

“Professor chur-” My voice caught in the top of my mouth and pitched it way higher than normal. I coughed to try to fix the problem.

She smiled at me. “Hello, dear. Where is Fern?”

Instinctively covering my mouth, I pointed at the girl’s sleeping form on the chair. Professor Church stepped past me and bustled over to Fern, gently nudging her awake. “Fern, dear, wake up. Rose baked you apple bread.” She produced a tinfoil block from her bag and gave it to the barely conscious girl. “Now, where’s this boy you told me about?” 

I coughed politely and tried to lower my voice a little. “Uh, right here, ma’am.” 

The professor gasped and a blush crept across her face, before she looked at me with a playfully knowing look. “Is that so?” She set herself down on the couch and moved my stacks of research material onto the table. She patted the now open seat next to her, motioning me over.. “Come, sit. What is your name, dear.” 

“His name’s Oliver, Professor.” Fern said, with her mouth half full of the apple bread. The professor shushed her with a wave of her hand, while looking at me expectantly. 

“Yeah, my name’s Olly, I guess.” I said. Fern didn’t need to just say it like that. It was my name after all, but it just felt bad. I couldn’t put my finger on why. I tried not to let my annoyance show. 

“You guess?” The professor looked at me with that cheeky look again. “Names are very important, my dear. Give it some thought whether that’s your actual name and then let me know. Now! Come, sit.” She patted the couch again and I hesitantly sat down. “Well, Fern told me that you were in pain and magic was all over your body. Where did it hurt the most? Do you know where the magic seemed to be coming from within you?” 

I gestured vaguely at my chest and she paused, looking at me for permission “Is it ok if I touch you there? I want to see if there are any marks or bumps that may give us a hint as to what’s going on with you.”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be fine?” I asked.  Her cheeky grin returned. This woman confused me to no end. I felt like her words wormed under my skin, and I couldn’t figure out why. The woman carefully pressed the back of her hand in the center of my chest, repeating the motion above and below the first place. 

“Well, I can feel a significant magical reservoir within you. It’s honestly far greater than it should be. Even a wildling who’d never touched their magic would not have this much. It is very strange.” Concern covered her face as she said this. 

“He’s not a wildling, professor. I already checked.” Fern unhelpfully piped up from across the room.

The professor shushed her again, her eyes flashing in annoyance. “That has yet to be determined. Now please, let me work, child.”  Fern blew a strand of hair out her face with a huff. Professor Church returned her attention to me. “Now, this next part may make you uncomfortable, dear, but if we want to get to the bottom of this we need to do this.” She clicked open her back and pulled out a clear, flat crystal approximately the size of a DVD, albeit much thicker. 

“I need to be able to touch this to your skin, to allow me to see the magical essence within you,” she explained. “Is it alright if you take your shirt off?” Anxiety spiked in me. No. For some reason, taking off my shirt felt like breaking some unspoken vow. I instinctively wrapped my arms around my chest, to protect myself from whatever was going on. She touched my arm, to comfort me. “I know how this must feel, dear. And I can give you an anti-anxiety charm, but with the resources I have right now, this will be the only way.”

I gulped, and my body began to tremble. Looking away from the both of them, I forced myself to nod. The professor patted my back, and I felt comforted at the touch. A strange tickle began to stretch through my body, from where she touched, and the anxiety began to ebb away. I felt… mellow, calm. It was nice. Steeling myself, I took off the shirt, and wrinkled my nose in expectation of my body odor. But there was none. Odd.

“Now lie back, dear.” She pushed me gently down on the couch. With me in a comfortable position, she centered the crystal over my heart and slowly pressed it into my flesh. It was an odd sensation, having something phase into my chest. It reminded me of that playground trick where you lay down and someone slowly lowers your arms to make you feel like you’re falling through the floor. 

The crystal acted like a window into my body, I could see my muscles and veins in a very unnerving cross-section. A few seconds later and the crystal went through my sternum, where the professor stopped pushing. She paled when she peered into my chest, and her mouth dropped in surprise. She shook her head and turned to me. “My dear, you don’t have a heart.” 

My blood ran cold at her words.