The Council came for Hammond on a Tuesday.
Callie was in third period when she felt it—a cold prickle at the base of her skull, the kind of magical signature that made her teeth ache. She looked up from her chemistry notes to see Hammond's empty desk across the room.
He'd been there ten minutes ago. She was sure of it.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out under the desk, heart hammering.
Unknown Number: Hammond Chastaine has been removed from campus for mandatory evaluation. Do not attempt contact. —Arcane Council, Regional Office
The phone nearly slipped from her hands.
Removed from campus. Not "called to the office." Not "sent home sick." Removed.
Callie was out of her seat before she could think, chemistry textbook clattering to the floor.
"Miss—where are you going?" her teacher called, but Callie was already at the door, pushing through into the hallway.
The school felt wrong. Too quiet. Too still. Like the air itself was holding its breath.
She found them in the main office—two figures in dark gray suits that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Council agents. One was tall and angular, the other shorter but somehow more menacing. Between them stood Hammond, his face pale, his hands clenched at his sides.
Behind the reception desk, the school secretary looked confused and vaguely frightened, like she couldn't quite remember why she'd let these people in.
"Hammond!" Callie burst through the office door.
All three turned. Hammond's eyes went wide with relief and terror in equal measure.
"Miss Reyes." The taller agent's voice was smooth and cold. "How convenient. We were planning to speak with you next."
"You can't just take him—"
"We can." The shorter agent produced a slim black folder from inside her jacket. "Hammond Chastaine is a registered Witchkind minor whose magical activity has exceeded acceptable parameters for unsupervised practice. Per Council Regulation 7-B, he is subject to immediate evaluation and potential enrollment in the Academy for Controlled Development."
The words hit like a physical blow. Potential enrollment. That was Council-speak for "we're taking him and you can't stop us."
"He hasn't done anything wrong," Callie said, trying to keep her voice steady. "He defended himself. That's allowed—"
"Defended himself with magic in front of non-magical witnesses," the tall agent interrupted. "In a public space. Using spells beyond his registered skill level." His gaze shifted to Callie, sharp and assessing. "Spells that, according to our investigation, he learned from an unregistered tutor. Would you know anything about that, Miss Reyes?"
Callie's mouth went dry.
They knew. Of course they knew. The mill, the practice sessions, every moment they'd spent together—the Council had been watching all of it.
"I want to talk to my parents," Hammond said suddenly, his voice tight but controlled. "You can't take me without notifying them first."
"Your parents have been notified," the shorter agent said. "They're meeting us at the Regional Office." She turned to Callie. "You, however, are to remain here. Your own evaluation is scheduled for tomorrow morning. Nine a.m. sharp. Your parents will receive formal notification within the hour."
"Wait—" Callie started forward, but the tall agent raised one hand.
"Do not make this more difficult than it needs to be, Miss Reyes. Hammond Chastaine is coming with us. You will have your turn to answer questions tomorrow. If you attempt to interfere, to contact him, or to leave the city before your scheduled evaluation—" His smile was thin and humorless. "—the consequences will be severe. For both of you."
Hammond met Callie's eyes across the office. In that look, she saw everything—fear, anger, determination, and something else. Something that said don't do anything stupid.
But stupid was kind of Callie's specialty.
"I'll see you soon," she said, putting every ounce of promise she could into those four words.
Hammond nodded once, barely perceptible.
Then the agents were guiding him toward the door, and Callie was left standing in the office, her heart pounding, her mind already racing through every spell she knew, every rule she'd ever broken, every possible way to fight back against an enemy that had all the power and all the time in the world.
The Council had made their move.
Now it was her turn.
Callie made it through the rest of the school day on autopilot. She sat through classes without hearing a word, nodded when teachers spoke to her, and avoided eye contact with everyone who'd witnessed Hammond being escorted out by people who looked like they'd stepped out of a noir film about magical fascism.
The moment the final bell rang, she was out the door.
Her phone buzzed as she hit the parking lot. The formal notification, right on schedule:
Callie Reyes is required to appear for mandatory evaluation at the Arcane Council Regional Office, 412 Ashwood Boulevard, tomorrow at 9:00 a.m. Failure to appear will result in immediate sanctions. Do not attempt to contact Hammond Chastaine before your evaluation.
She stared at the message, her jaw tight.
Do not attempt to contact Hammond Chastaine.
Yeah. That wasn't going to work for her.
Callie pulled up her contacts and called Hammond's number. It rang once, then went straight to a recorded message: "This number is temporarily unavailable due to Council restrictions."
Of course. They'd cut him off completely.
She tried texting anyway: Are you okay? Where are they taking you?
The message failed to send.
Callie shoved her phone in her pocket and started walking, her mind spinning through options. She could try a locator spell, but the Council would have wards up—they weren't amateurs. She could fly to the Regional Office and try to break in, but that would get her arrested or worse before she even got close to Hammond.
She needed help. Real help.
Twenty minutes later, she was standing on Hammond's front porch, knocking hard enough to rattle the door.
Mrs. Chastaine answered, her face pale and drawn. "Callie—"
"Where did they take him?" Callie demanded. "The Regional Office? Is he—"
"Come inside." Mrs. Chastaine pulled her through the door and shut it quickly, glancing at the street like she expected Council agents to materialize out of thin air. "We just got back. They kept us there for three hours."
Mr. Chastaine was sitting at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. He looked up when Callie entered, and the exhaustion in his eyes made her chest tighten.
"Is he okay?" Callie asked, her voice cracking slightly.
"For now." Mr. Chastaine gestured to a chair. "Sit. Please."
Callie sat, her hands clenched in her lap.
"They're holding him overnight," Mrs. Chastaine said quietly, taking the seat across from her. "For 'observation and assessment.' Tomorrow morning, they'll decide whether to release him or transfer him to the Academy."
"They can't just—"
"They can," Mr. Chastaine interrupted, his voice heavy. "We've been through this before, Callie. When they decide you're a risk, they don't need much justification. And Hammond using magic publicly, in front of witnesses, after we were already on their radar—" He shook his head. "They have everything they need."
Callie's throat felt tight. "What about my evaluation tomorrow? If I—if I say the right things, if I convince them we're not a threat—"
"They're not evaluating you to decide if you're a threat," Mrs. Chastaine said gently. "They already know you are. They're evaluating you to decide what to do about it."
The words hit like a punch to the gut.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" Callie's voice came out smaller than she intended. "Just show up and let them—what? Bind my magic? Send me to the Academy too?"
Mr. Chastaine and Mrs. Chastaine exchanged a long look.
"There's one thing you need to understand about the evaluation," Mr. Chastaine said finally. "They're going to ask you about Hammond. About your relationship, your magic, how you work together. They want to know if you're stronger as a pair."
"We are," Callie said immediately.
"We know." Mrs. Chastaine reached across the table and took Callie's hand. "We saw it at the mill. The way your magic harmonized—it was beautiful. And terrifying. Because that kind of power is exactly what the Council fears most."
Callie's mind was racing. "So if I lie—if I tell them we're not that strong together—"
"They'll know," Mr. Chastaine said. "They have ways of testing it. Ways of measuring magical resonance between Witchkind. If you lie, it'll only make things worse."
"Then what do I do?"
Mrs. Chastaine squeezed her hand. "You tell the truth. You show them that you and Hammond aren't a threat—you're just two kids who found each other. You make them see you as people, not problems to be solved."
"And if that doesn't work?"
The silence that followed was answer enough.
Callie pulled her hand back and stood, her chair scraping against the floor. "I need to see him. Before tomorrow. I need—"
A flutter of iridescent wings cut through the kitchen.
The sprite materialized on the table between them, its tiny face grave.
"The girl is right," it said, its voice unusually serious. "She needs to see the boy. Tonight. Before the Council makes their decision."
Mrs. Chastaine's eyes widened. "How—"
"I can get her inside," the sprite continued, ignoring the interruption. "But only for a few minutes. And only if she's willing to break one more rule."
Callie met the sprite's gaze.
"When have I ever not been willing?"
The Regional Office looked like every other government building at night—dark windows, empty parking lot, the kind of architectural blandness designed to make you forget it existed. But Callie could feel the wards humming beneath her skin, layers of magical protection woven so thick the air itself felt heavy.
"How are we getting through that?" she whispered.
The sprite hovered beside her ear, its wings barely audible. "We're not. I am. You're just going to hold very still and trust me."
Before Callie could ask what that meant, the sprite darted forward and—
—merged with her.
It wasn't possession, exactly. More like the sprite folded itself into her shadow, became part of the space she occupied without taking up any room. Callie gasped as her vision doubled—she could see through her own eyes and the sprite's simultaneously, could feel the wards as living things, pulsing and breathing and aware.
Walk forward, the sprite's voice whispered in her mind. Slowly. Don't think about the wards. Think about the boy.
Callie walked.
The wards should have stopped her. Should have screamed alarms, locked her in place, summoned every agent in the building. Instead, they parted like water around a stone, the sprite's presence somehow convincing them that Callie belonged here, that she was already inside, that there was nothing to see.
The door opened under her hand.
Inside, the building was worse—fluorescent lights, beige walls, the smell of old coffee and bureaucratic indifference. The sprite guided her through hallways that all looked the same, past offices with frosted glass doors, down a stairwell that descended into something that felt less like a basement and more like a dungeon.
Here, the sprite whispered.
The holding area was a row of small rooms with reinforced doors and tiny windows. Callie pressed her face to the third window and saw him.
Hammond was sitting on a narrow cot, his back against the wall, his hands clasped between his knees. He looked exhausted. Scared. Alone.
Callie's chest tightened.
The sprite separated from her shadow with a soft pop, and suddenly she could breathe again. It darted to the door's lock—a complex magical mechanism that would have taken Callie hours to unravel—and did something that made the tumblers click open.
Callie pushed through.
Hammond's head snapped up, his eyes going wide. "Callie—what—"
She crossed the room in three steps and threw her arms around him.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Hammond's arms came up around her back, holding her tight enough that she could feel his heartbeat against her chest, fast and unsteady. He smelled like fear and soap and something uniquely him, and Callie wanted to memorize it, wanted to hold onto this moment in case it was the last one they got.
"You shouldn't be here," Hammond said into her hair, but he didn't let go.
"Yeah, well." Callie pulled back just enough to see his face. "I'm really bad at doing what I should."
Hammond's laugh was shaky. "I noticed."
They sat on the cot together, shoulders pressed close, and compared notes in hurried whispers. The Council had questioned Hammond for hours—about his magic, his training, his family's history. About Callie. They'd asked how long they'd known each other, how often they practiced together, whether they'd noticed their spells harmonizing.
"They kept asking if we'd planned it," Hammond said, his voice tight. "Like we somehow engineered our magic to work together. Like it was a conspiracy instead of just—"
"Us," Callie finished.
"Yeah."
Callie told him about her evaluation tomorrow, about the sprite's warning, about her parents' own histories with the Council. Hammond listened, his jaw getting tighter with every word.
"You can't help me," he said finally. "Callie, if you go into that evaluation and tell them we're connected, that our magic works together—they'll take you too. They'll send us both to the Academy, or worse."
"So what, I'm supposed to lie? Pretend I don't know you?"
"Yes." Hammond turned to face her fully, his hands finding hers. "Tell them it was a coincidence. Tell them you barely know me. Tell them whatever you have to tell them to stay free."
"No."
"Callie—"
"No," she repeated, squeezing his hands. "I'm not doing that. I'm not pretending you don't matter. I'm not—" Her voice cracked. "I'm not losing you because I was too scared to tell the truth."
Hammond's eyes were bright, his expression torn between fear and something that looked dangerously close to hope. "What if the truth is what gets us both locked up?"
"Then at least we'll be locked up together."
The sprite, which had been hovering silently near the door, made a soft chiming sound. "The girl speaks wisdom. And foolishness. Often simultaneously."
Callie ignored it. "We go to our evaluations. We tell them the truth—that we found each other, that our magic works together, that we're not trying to overthrow anything or break any laws. We're just two people who—" She faltered.
"Who what?" Hammond asked softly.
Callie met his eyes. "Who don't want to be alone anymore."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with everything they weren't saying.
"It's a gamble," the sprite said, its voice unusually gentle. "The Council might respect your honesty. Might see you as children rather than threats." It paused. "Or your confession might be exactly the evidence they need to justify separating you permanently. To bind your magic. To ensure you never practice together again."
"I know," Callie said.
"I know too," Hammond added.
They sat there, hands clasped, the weight of tomorrow pressing down on both of them.
"I need to go," Callie said finally, even though every part of her wanted to stay. "If they catch me here—"
"I know." Hammond stood with her, still holding her hand. "Callie—"
"Yeah?"
He pulled her close again, and this time when he spoke, his voice was steady. Certain. "Whatever happens tomorrow—whatever they decide—I'm choosing you. Okay? Even if they send me to the Academy. Even if they bind my magic. Even if they try to make me forget you existed." His hand came up to cup her face. "I'm choosing you. Every time."
Callie's throat felt too tight to speak. She nodded, then stood on her toes and kissed him—quick and fierce and desperate, a promise and a goodbye and a refusal to let go all at once.
When she pulled back, Hammond was smiling. It was a small smile, fragile and scared, but real.
"See you on the other side," he said.
"See you on the other side," Callie echoed.
The sprite merged with her shadow again, and Callie walked out of the holding room, through the warded hallways, past the sleeping building and back into the night.
She didn't look back.
She couldn't.
If she did, she'd never leave.
To Be Continued in Part Four. Look for it on July 8, 2026!
.jpg "Cassie Reyes, Teenaged Witchkind")
