"Welcome to Brakebills."
Eliot looked up at Dean Fogg, not sure that he'd heard correctly.
"… Are you sure?"
The Dean stared straight back at him.
"Eliot, you have magic. That much is clear." He gestured at the remains of his office strewn around them. "Could do great things, with training."
Something light in Eliot's chest soared, but was pushed down.
"Is this some sort of trick? Bring some country kid to upstate New York and pretend he can have a different life? What sort of price are we talking?"
The first glimmer of irritation shone in Fogg's eyes.
"I assure you it is not, and there is no price."
"But…"
"But nothing. You may either stay here or not, the choice is yours."
Eliot felt his foot crunch against glass as he stood.
"Of course I'll stay."
Even if it is a joke. Even if there wasn't a chance.
"Good. Now you will be taken to your room."
_
The room was a wide expanse of white paper and beige carpets, the bed in the centre a double all to himself. How many people were expected to sleep in here, he wondered? How many people could fit? Maybe he'd have the chance to find out.
Across from the bed was a large, full-length mirror, the kind tailors had for dressing. Slowly but surely, Eliot repeated the movements he'd made in the Dean's office. Everything whirled around him. The ceiling seemed to flip and jolt, and objects from the shelves at the far end of the room came flying towards him, forcing him to duck. He caught his breath. Slowly, everything fell to the ground once more, as peaceful as if it had never been moved.
Magic.
It had a name, this thing. And a name made it easier to conquer.
Eliot.
That was his name. A name he'd had since he was born. He didn't mind it so much as his last name. The name given to him by his family. That… that had to go.
On the bedside table was the book he'd been reading, the one his father had said 'weren't normal'. Brideshead Revisited. And suddenly he knew.
Eliot Waugh.
A name made it easier to conquer.
Excitedly, he stripped off his shirt in front of the mirror and traded it for a staid cotton one. Replaced his tie with paisley print. Found a waistcoat hidden in the back corners of the wardrobe. Changed the jeans he'd been forced to wear on the farm for long, polyester trousers. And the cufflinks.
With one hand he swept his hair back from his face and donned a silk dressing gown over his clothes. In the mirror was a different person. In the mirror was Eliot Waugh.
He met his own eyes in the mirror and said aloud:
"Welcome to Brakebills."