Chapter Text
Rikatan House, MI, 1999
The wardrobe only stays open for half an hour everyday. Fifteen minutes in the morning, and fifteen more in the afternoon. That’s how I get to and from school. The wardrobe works like the one in the Narnia books. Going through it really is amazing! They open on the other side any old where -- the archways in the gardens, the janitors’ closets, stable doors, sometimes even the lockers. I like the gardens best, because then I can smell the flowers as I walk to class. Not in the winter, though. The flowers are dormant, but it’s still nice to walk in the snow and the cold morning air.
I’m Isobel Rivers, twelve years old, almost thirteen. They call me new-blood. That means both my parents are normal. Well, they don’t have magic. My grandparents on both sides don’t have it either. I traced my lineage back as far as I could for my history class last year, and as far as I can tell, there’s no magic back for five generations. After that I had trouble finding any details at all, so my history teacher said I’m excessively new-blood. I think that’s a good thing. Apparently wizards and witches have trouble making babies when their bloodlines are too magical. I suppose that makes sense somehow.
Certainly some of my classmates seem… inbred, as papa says. Timothy Argent brags that his magical ancestors can be traced back to Merlin and that his blood is so pure it can turn lead to gold. I say Timothy Argent is a big fathead with a freaky eye and a poorly coached out lisp. And if he insults my raven one more time I’m going to shove his head into dragon fertilizer and hold it there!
I guess Mik, my raven, is a bit odd. Not because he’s a raven; plenty of kids up here on the Lakes have corvids instead of owls. Mik kinda just radiates weirdness. He’s blind in one eye and is missing a toe. He’s got a splash of white on his feathers where someone cursed him before he became my familiar. Papa jokes that Mik stole the wrong wizard’s lunch somewhere. It would be funnier if it wasn’t likely to be true. Mik steals lots of things. I have to return the ones I can figure out the owners of, and it's embarrassing, but I’m getting used to it. He also tends to steal trash, sometimes right out of garbage cans, in full sight of everyone! And it’s no use telling them that he isn’t my bird. He kinda sticks out, ya know.
But for all that he’s sweet, and he doesn’t smell like garbage like some people say. He’s my friend. He was before they told me I was a witch, and I just thought he was a strange bird that followed me around. He’s been with me throughout it all: The introduction to the magical world, the uncertainty over the scholarship, getting used to going to a magical school on an invisible island in the middle of Lake Freaking Michigan. I guess that explains the Lake Michigan Triangle.
He isn’t my only friend. Annabelle Strikes befriended me first week. She’s got a pretty crow for a familiar. I really admire how feminine she is. She’s always got pretty earrings, fashionable clothes, and nice perfumes. I hate to say it, but puberty is being nice to her. She looks more and more like a woman each day, and I’m still a flat stick. I guess it’s good for something, because I made the swim team this year. It’s a great extra-curricular for what I want to major in, which is aquatic species. You know, mermaids and stuff. Annabelle always comes to meets to cheer me on, and afterwards we go to the park and eat the snacks her mom made. The salted pumpkin seeds are the best!
Annabelle’s family is going to throw a huge party in a few months on New Years Eve. I’m invited, but I’m not sure if I want to go. 2000 seems kinda scary, what with my family muttering about all the computers going dead and civilization shutting down. I mean, a lot of wizards and witches aren’t concerned at all, but they don’t use computers. I guess with magic, and doing things the old fashioned way, it wouldn’t effect them much. Still, I don’t mention it to them. There’s a new-blood named K.C. that loves computers and goes on and on about the big crash to old-bloods, trying to warn them. They’ve officially nicknamed him Crazy K.C. So yeah, I’m not stupid enough to make myself a target like that.
Maybe I will go to Annabelle’s party. I wonder if I can bring my parents. If the world does end, then Annabelle’s will probably be the safest place, after all.