“I’m not a witch,” Quinn snarled. “For one thing, witches are women. Last time I checked, I had a dick.”

“But your markings . . .”

“Wizard.” He sighed like I was the biggest idiot, and at that moment I had to agree with him.

“A wizard?” Wait a second. Human males were distinctly non-magical creatures. “There hasn’t been a wizard in—”

“—A thousand years. Believe me, I know.”

“Y-you’re a wizard?” I couldn’t believe it. A real, live wizard.

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m not a wizard. A thousand years?” He cleared his throat, his chin jutting. “Talk about a cliché. I should have realized then it couldn’t be true.”

“But your markings say—”

“Look closely. The tattoo isn’t complete.”

I took him at his word and scooted closer until he was within easy reach. I tilted his chin, ignoring the way my fingers tingled at the touch, and peered at the markings. “You don’t have a familiar.”

“That’s right.” He closed his eyes, his expression pinched.

“So you are a wizard, then.” My voice came out a little awed, but wow. A wizard. “You just need a cat or something to access your powers.”

“No.”

“No?”

He slid away from my touch and for some reason my dragon didn’t like that one bit.

“You misunderstand. I don’t have a familiar. Not just at this moment, but ever. As in, I’ll never bond with a familiar. When I did my final trial, I didn’t match with any of the familiar types.”

“You’ve lost me.”

He sighed, his movements jerky and harsh before he stuffed his hands into his armpits in an attempt to stay still. “There are five familiar types: cat, dog, raccoon, ferret, and rabbit. I didn’t match with any of them.”

I chuckled. “Rabbits, really? Witches—I mean, wizards—use rabbits to channel their powers? They just seem so . . . fluffy and cute. Harmless.”

He leaned in, his chin tipped at that defiant angle I was coming to appreciate.

“Thanks for laughing at my life. Glad it’s a source of amusement for you.” He poked me in the chest. “And for your information, rabbits are by far the most powerful of the familiars. If you see a witch with a rabbit familiar, you can kiss your ass goodbye.”

While I wanted to take a moment to process the idea of a cute, fluffy little critter kicking some serious magical ass, I forced myself to focus on the rest of Quinn’s words. “So you don’t match with any of them?”

“Ding, ding, ding. Give the guy a prize.”

“You don’t need to be so pissy,” I grumbled.

“Pissy? You think I’m being pissy?” Quinn’s voice dropped to a register I’d never heard before. “You think I have no reason to be upset? You’re right, dragon. My gosh, it was so great being identified at four years old, being ripped away from my family, going through years of arduous training, not growing up like other kids, only to get to the last trial and fail miserably—”

“Hey, I didn’t mean—”

“You know what? Screw you, Twig!” He sprang up and stomped off. I rose to go after him. Whirling, he ran back and shoved me. I didn’t budge, but he flew backwards from the impact and hit the ground. Hard.

I offered him my hand, but he slapped it away. Pushing to his feet, he brushed himself off, glaring at me the whole time. My dragon rumbled in my chest. I wanted to comfort the poor guy. Which was a little weird and even more uncomfortable. I didn’t exactly grow up in an environment where soft emotions were entertained. Show weakness to a clan member and next thing you know, you’re on that night’s menu.

But Quinn wasn’t a dragon. Did that mean he’d want me to comfort him? I searched for something that would make him feel better. I settled for, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry? Why should you care?” His voice was just a smidge short of screaming, spittle flying from his lips. “You got an indentured servant out of the deal. It must be so great for you.”

Evidently, I said the wrong thing. What did dragons—or fairies for that matter—know about human emotions? But I did know a thing or two about being unfairly accused.

“I didn’t ask for you, if you’ll recall. Brandsome offered you up. In fact, he manipulated me into it.” I crossed my arms over my chest, smoke swirling from my nose. Then it hit me. “Wait, I assumed you were indentured because . . . well, I don’t know why actually.”

Okay, so I kind of assumed he was a thief or messed with the wrong magical creature. He sure put off enough attitude for it.

Good thing he couldn’t cast spells or I’d be a pile of ash in the grass. Quinn’s fists clenched and unclenched in a rhythmic motion.

“Training to be a wizard is expensive. Befsarry Academy of Magic paid for my room, board, materials. Everything I needed. All expenses paid because as you said, there hasn’t been a wizard in a thousand years. But when it turned out I wasn’t a wizard after all, all those expenses became due effective immediately. My family didn’t have the coin, and honestly, even if they did, they wouldn’t have paid it. My failure mortified them.”

“So the school sold you into servitude to recoup the gold,” I said.

He nodded tersely.

Wow.

“To Brandsome?”

Another nod.

“Three years ago, right?”

“I was twenty-one, the age of majority for witches and wizards.”

“But how did they not know before? I mean, you were identified, right? So you must have magic potential.”

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest. “All humans have magic potential, Twig—”

“No, they don’t. That’s why there’s only been witches for the last thousand years.” I’d learned that from one of the tutors my father insisted on hiring when I’d first arrived in the Elder.

Quinn sighed. “You’re half right. Humans aren’t like fairies and other magical creatures. We don’t have access to our magic from day one. We can’t even harness it until we’ve hit the age of majority and bonded with a familiar. But we all do have at least a little magic—even males. When they evaluated me, I tested with a high probability of magic. It’s not an exact skill though. It’s an educated guess.”

“So, you’re saying they guessed wrong?”

“Essentially, yes.”

“But you’ve been training since you were a kid. How could they not know?”

“Because we practice the steps needed to do the spells, but until we bond with our familiar we can’t actually do the spells.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Almost as much as my life.”

“I-I really am sorry.”

Quinn shrugged.

“I can’t shift,” I blurted out.

“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “But I saw your claws.”

Why had I said that? I scrubbed a hand over my face.

“I can’t fully shift. It’s the reason I was expelled from my clan. You aren’t the only one whose family didn’t want them anymore. And you saw my wings. I can’t fly, I can’t shift. So I know what it feels like to be a failure. Too big for a fairy, too puny for a dragon. That’s my dragon name by the way. Twig the Puny. Great name, huh?” Shut up, shut up, shut up an inner voice shouted, but I ignored it. Obviously. “Twig the Puny Starfig.”

Quinn just stared before he burst into laughter. He laughed until he bent in half and could barely draw breath. I flinched. This was why I never shared my story. This exact reaction.

“I-I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” Another round of laughter ensued.

“Could have fooled me,” I muttered.

“Aren’t we a pair?” he gasped between chortles. “A half-dragon-half-fairy who can’t shift or fly, and a wizard who’s really no wizard at all.”

I approached and patted him on the back. Poor guy was losing it. I waited for him to wind down.

Quinn wiped at his eyes, hiccupped loudly.

“Guess I needed that.” He leaned into me, his hand resting on my chest. “Thank you.”

“For what?” My heart thumped against my ribcage. Our eyes locked and I reined in the urge to taste his mouth.

“For trying to cheer me up. And sharing your story. I know that can’t have been easy. I really wasn’t laughing at you.”

“You, ah, ready to go?” I cleared my throat and stepped back before I did something I couldn’t take back. Shouldering the knapsack, I then placed my hand on the center of the carpet. At first nothing happened. Then lilac sparks shot from all sides of the rug. It jerked and shot out from under my hand and straight into the air, only to crash back down and crumple in a heap at my feet. I straightened it out and tried again. This time nothing happened. I tried again and again, but the rug didn’t move. Even when I used what little fairy magic I possessed, the carpet stayed limp.

Fuck my life.