Dashing out of the poison lecture (and leaving behind a perfectly clean floor), Alastia and I raced each other to the next classroom. On the schedule, this slot once again flaunted three fat question marks.

  "Wanna bet it's gonna be 'Magical Concepts'?" I yelled, vaulting over an animated bench.

  "Nope!" Alastia picked up the pace, her hair fluttering comically in the wind. "My money is on the Gas Man!"

  "What are the stakes?" I braked at the right door. "Lunch!" she squinted slyly. "Loser gives up their portion."

  We burst into the classroom and... both froze. Sitting in the middle of the room was a large, shaggy dog. It lazily scratched its ear with a hind leg, yawned, and then suddenly began to rapidly change shape. Bones crunched, fur retracted, and a couple of seconds later, a man with a very mournful gaze stood before us.

  "I am the teacher of Transformational Magic," he introduced himself, adjusting his crumpled jacket. "Transformation is a difficult and thankless thing. In most cases, it is not a gift, but a curse. As in my case."

  I took a closer look at him. A black equilateral triangle was clearly visible in his pupil.

  "Umm, Alastia," I whispered, taking my seat. "Why does he have a triangle in his eye?" Alastia just shrugged.

  She unceremoniously pulled off her gloves—here, next to me, she felt completely safe. We locked hands and started a thumb war. A silly childish game, but I felt the warmth of her skin, and it was pretty damn extraordinary. Then her palm migrated to its usual spot on the top of my head.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  That was it. My breathing rhythm slowed down. I felt so good that the lecture on turning into a stool faded into the background like white noise.

  I sat a row over and just watched them. My little sister... She is finally truly happy. For the first time in fifteen years, she isn't just "existing," she is living. She can touch, she can feel, she can laugh without the fear of killing the person she's talking to. I was smiling on the inside, watching the two of them fool around. Greg—whoever he might be—had become the best medicine for her.

  The dog-teacher apparently didn't appreciate our little intimate bubble in the middle of the class. He slowly walked up to our desk, looming over us like a shadow.

  "Listen here, youngsters... Maybe you know my subject better than I do? What is this disrespect toward your teacher?"

  I lazily raised my head and looked at him. As soon as our eyes met, the triangle in his eye flared with a toxic-yellow light. He clearly felt something.

  Alastia snorted cheerfully. "Look, Teacher!" she touched her hand to her temple, pressing slightly. Right before my eyes, her iris began to change color. A second later, her eye became exactly the same bright green as mine was today. We exchanged a glance and burst out laughing synchronously.

  The teacher froze, shifting his gaze from one to the other. "Brilliant, Alastia..." he muttered. "Few would risk playing with eye pigmentation; it's a direct path to blindness. Instinct-level control."

  He turned to me. "And you? Alastia has shown that she has mastered shell transformation. And what will you show us, Greg?"

  I sighed. I didn't want to "show" anything, but laziness whispered: do something right now, and he'll leave you alone forever. I held my hand out in front of me.

  "What about... how about this?" My fingers began to take on different colors, one after another. Index—red, middle—blue, ring—gold. The colors pulsed and flowed into each other, as if it weren't blood under the skin, but liquid rainbow.

  The dog-teacher turned pale. He silently turned around and trudged back to his podium. "Very well..." reached us. "You don't need to worry about grades. You are exempt from the midterm tests."

  Alastia moved her hand away from her temple, returning her eye to its original color, and gave me a victorious look. "Lunch is mine!" she whispered. "And why is that?" I said.