Burned by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #1)(27)

The magical energy around us faded, and I let out a small sigh of relief as the Chief Mage turned his deadly glower from me so he could look at Fenris. “She has to be.”

Fenris shook his head. “Director Chartis handles most of these reports, and it’s unlikely he would have passed anything like that along to you,” he told Iannis. “I researched this recently, and from what I understand, approximately three quarters of all magic-wipes result in permanent damage to the subject.”

The Chief Mage was silent for a several seconds. “Seventy-five percent?” His voice was dangerously frigid now. “That’s intolerable. I’ve performed several magic wipes myself – any properly trained mage should be able to do it without causing permanent harm. Who is performing these spells?”

Fenris eyed him warily. “You’d have to ask Director Chartis. But if I were to guess, it’s likely low-level mages, or even apprentices.”

“Are you kidding me?” I shouted, balling my hands into fists at my sides. I wanted to punch the Chief Mage in the nose, but I settled for shoving my face into his instead. “You’ve been letting inexperienced mages perform mind-altering magic on us? You lazy, incompetent bastard!”

“Enough!” The Chief Mage raised a hand and blasted me with a pulse of magic. I staggered several steps backward before I found my footing and froze as our gazes collided again – his violet eyes glowed with rage. “You are not the only one in this room capable of reducing another being to a pile of ash,” he said in a soft, deadly voice. “I would advise you to remember that when you speak to me, Miss Baine.”

“Fine.” I swallowed hard, then firmed my chin and shoulders, forcing my body not to tremble. As angry as I was, the man standing in front of me was the Chief Mage for a reason, and I did not want to f*ck with him if I hoped to make it out of this place alive.

“Good.” The anger abruptly disappeared as his face returned to stone. “I’m going ask you a series of questions. My magic will tell me if you are lying, so I suggest you be truthful.”

I resisted the urge to scoff, unsure whether I believed that. But in the interest of staying alive, I decided to answer his questions truthfully. I could always test his claim later, when he was less likely to want to incinerate me.

“Excellent.” He turned around, reaching for something on his desk, and when he turned back I saw he had a manila file with my name on it open in his hands. “You are the daughter of Saranella Baine, correct?”

“Correct.” A pang went through my heart at the mention of my mother’s name. It had been fourteen years since she’d died, but I still missed her fiercely.

“Did she ever mention your father to you? His name, his rank, his country of origin?”

“Not once.” I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “I think she figured that if I didn’t know my father was a mage, I might not tap into my powers until I was old enough not to be subjected to testing any longer.”

“An interesting theory, but quite incorrect,” the Chief Mage said, almost conversationally. My nails dug into my palms – did he not realize how insensitive he was being? “You were eight years old when you had your first test?”

“Yes,” I murmured, my mind flying back to that day. I remembered how terrified my mother had been, how she’d sobbed and clung to me and wished aloud that she could keep me home from school that day. I’d been scared too, not so much because of the test but because my mother was crying. That was the only time I’d ever seen her shed tears. She’d been a kind and compassionate woman, but tough as nails, and the moment of weakness still shook me even as a memory. “I passed.”

“Obviously.” The Chief Mage flipped a page in my file and scanned it. I gritted my teeth. “Had you shown any signs of magical aptitude before then?”

I frowned, thinking back. “I conjured some rainbow butterflies at my third birthday party,” I recalled. “My cousins thought it was the greatest thing they’d ever seen, and my mother nearly had a heart attack. None of my aunts ever brought their kids back to our house again.” My heart ached for the hurt and bewildered child I had been. Whether I liked it or not, she still lingered as a ghost in my heart, waiting in vain for someone to accept her.

“Were they real butterflies?”

I blinked. “Huh?”

The Chief Mage frowned impatiently at me. “Were they real butterflies, or just an illusion?”

“Oh, they were real,” I insisted. “I caught one in my hand and felt its wings fluttering against my palm.” Happiness burst through the ache of that memory, and I paused, surprised that I actually had a joyful memory of magic in the recesses of my mind.

The Chief Mage’s eyebrows arched. “At only age three? Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive,” he muttered, scanning my file again. Warmth filled my chest at the accidental compliment, but I pushed it down. “And yet you passed the test.”

I sighed. “I don’t understand it either.”

He studied me for a long time. “Your mother died when you were ten years old, correct?”

“Correct.” It had happened so long ago, and yet at the mention of it, I still remembered the way her hand had felt in mine, so weak and clammy as she’d drawn her last breaths. She’d been taken by a rare shifter disease that destroyed the immune system – a true tragedy, as she’d barely reached a hundred years of age, only a third of a shifter’s normal lifespan.