I said.
“Yes.” He stared at something across the room, a somber expression on his face. “She would have been forced to leave, just as our parents had.”
I glanced to where he was looking and it was a photo of him as a teenager wearing a cloak and holding a rolled document. Graduation? Was he thinking of how his parents were absent in the photograph as they were in his life?
A smile might have hinted on his lips just then, but I couldn’t be sure, not with the weak lighting coming from the lamps. “Marietta and I discovered each other by accident. I knew instantly that she was my sister. Her resemblance to the changeling was precise, down to the mole on her cheek. I can hardly believe Marietta is gone.” He spun the chair to face the window.
“But my mother’s last name was Costa, not Bianchi. Marty Costa.”
“Costa, eh?” He swiveled his chair back to face me. “It’s the surname of a childhood friend of hers. She couldn’t use her real name. She didn’t want to be found.”
Of course, she’d changed her name. “That makes sense.”
He studied me. “Well, we needn’t speak of sad things right off. Shall we get to work, then?”
I swallowed hard. “Sure.”
Professor Attwood stood. “Well, then, each Sentinel can perform two globes. One is a light globe, which you can do, and the other is a battle globe.” He walked around the desk to me. “Stand up and give me your hand.”
I pushed up from my seat and then placed my hand in his.
“We’ll start with fire. Flatten your palm.” He unfurled my fingers. “Just focus on everything you know about fire. Imagine a flame burning, consuming your mind. Feel the heat. Smell the smoke. Hear the crackle. All magic starts from deep inside you, within the core of your being.”
I stood there, thinking about fire. I even roasted a marshmallow.
“Now, command it by saying fuoco, which means—”
“Fire. I know. I took Italian.”
“Good. Go ahead and try it.”
“Fuoco!” I said.
Nothing happened.
“Try it again.”
I attempted it several times. Nothing.
“Okay, so we can eliminate fire. Let’s try water.”
I tried to create water, but it just made me thirsty. Next, I strained to conjure wind. We continued working through his list of possible globes.
A Sentinel’s wizard ancestry determined their abilities. Whatever magic was their ancestors’ specialty showed up in their globes. And there were many of them. Along with fire and water ones, we tried others—stunning, lightning, smoke screen, wind, and one that was like a sonic wave.
An hour passed without any results. No matter how hard I imagined, or thought, or focused, nothing happened, and I stomped my foot. Maybe I couldn’t invoke globes after all. I’d had enough trouble keeping my light from winking out.
As frustrated as I was, he dropped my hand. “There’s only one globe left. I hoped it wouldn’t be the one.”
“Why, is it bad?”
“It can be. It requires the person’s blood and getting it from someone can be dangerous. If it’s the one, you must promise to do as I say.”
Yeah, that didn’t just raise a red flag. If I believed in superstitions, I would’ve crossed my fingers behind my back when I answered, “I promise.”
He reached behind me, grabbed a pushpin from a holder on his desk, and pricked his finger with the point. Panic fluttered in my stomach. I hated the sight of blood, and there was no way I was going to make a blood oath with a stranger. There’s no telling what kind of diseases might transfer.
“I’m not going to prick you. I want to see if you can create a truth globe. I’m not certain you can. It’s a difficult globe to conjure, but an ancestor of yours was able to master it.”
I gave him my trembling hand. He turned it over, exposing my palm, and pressed his pricked finger above it. A drop of blood beaded and fell on my skin.
“As I said, you need a blood sample from the person you’re verifying to perform this globe.” His blood raced along the creases of my skin. “Now, in Italian you’ll recite show me the truth, which is—”
“Mostrami la verità.” Lights flickered above my palm and then vanished.
“Well, we found your globe,” he said, his face somber. “Now, try it again.”
I tried several times to form the globe. A thin membrane would bud, grow, and shape into a bubble, but before it could fully expand, it popped. Professor Attwood’s hand resembled an empty pincushion with all the tiny