It began to rain as the navy-blue Honda Civic pulled into a parking spot across from the Baltimore airport. The huge building looked rather like a tiered wedding cake made from white concrete and bars of industrial steel, and the long walkway along the departures gates reminded Wayland of an automated assembly line like you might see in a cartoon. Above, silhouettes of planes roared as they took to the sky.

"Did you remember the umbrellas?" Mr. Yoon asked Mrs. Yoon as he opened the trunk. Since they'd received the letter, the Yoons (and Wayland, to a degree) had communicated over the phone with the foster care agency and a few representatives of the school. They'd gathered his clothes into one trunk, his books into another trunk, and his school supplies into a backpack. They'd meticulously planned for his return flight, made sure he understood his food plan, gone over the rules available on the school's website, and took the time to carefully explain the intricacies of air travel. It's no wonder they forgot the umbrellas.

By the time they made it through the massive parking lot and across the street to the airport itself, they were mostly soaked, and, since it was turning out to be an uncharacteristically cold autumn, it was miserable. Not that Wayland wasn't already in a miserable mood. His plan to make Mrs. Yoon renege had backfired badly, and he could tell that this business was far too serious to beg his way back out. Walking through the automatic doors into the airport was the final nail in the coffin.

"What's Georgia like?" he asked as they wiped their feet in the atrium. It was the first time he'd spoken since they left the house.

"Oh, Georgia is a pretty place," Mrs. Yoon replied. She was busy shaking off the laminated roadmap that she'd used to keep her hair dry. "You'll like it there."

"But what's it like? It's in the south, so it must be hot. Is it a desert?"

Mr. Yoon chuckled like he did whenever Wayland asked that sort of question. "No, it's not a desert, little man," he said, rubbing Wayland's mess of black hair. "It's sort of like Maryland, but they have oranges and alligators."

Wayland remained quiet as the Yoons checked in his baggage for him. Alligators are carnivores, so the oranges must be unrelated. He thought about this school – coincidentally the same layout as his first elementary school – sat in a marsh surrounded by alligators and orange trees. On one hand, it was both alien and dangerous. On the other, it was rather intriguing.

As soon as they reached the security checkpoint, Mrs. Yoon leaned down to give him a hug. "We'll miss you, dear. Now, remember to focus on your schoolwork. I know you'll make friends quickly, but this school might be kind of tough. You can do it if you just… buckle down."

"That's an interesting phrase," Wayland said, smiling a little despite himself.

Mrs. Yoon laughed. "I'm glad you think so."

He hugged Mrs. Yoon back, his thoughts moving from regret to cautious optimism. Buckle down, he thought.

He made his way through the security checkpoint, where he noticed the odd looks he was getting from the uniformed guards. They checked his backpack and waved him through a metal detector without hassle, but just in case, he picked up the case. He made his way down the towering hallway; his ticket, a bit crumpled from his pocket, read "Flight CT1556," which was departing from gate C15. After briefly appearing lost at the junction between the concourses, he hiked up his backpack and pressed on, glancing over his shoulder for anything out of the ordinary.

As he glanced over his shoulder, he ran headfirst into someone and fell back onto his tailbone. "Sorry!" he said preemptively before he looked up. The obstacle in question was a tall woman in a bright white security guard's uniform, her badge and belt and radio all set at perfect, neat angles. He blinked a few times, wondering whether to run away.

The woman leaned down and offered a hand to help him stand, which he took carefully. "Good morning," she began with a tight-lipped smile. "I've been told that you're traveling alone. Is this true?"

"Yes," he replied, trying not to stammer.

"Can I see your ID?"

He took out his small travel wallet, which contained every sort of card that he might need on his travels, and handed the security guard a small white card with his name and photo. They had to order it to specifications from the DMV.

She took it and glanced at it. "You're eleven? Born 2001?" She shook her head and handed the card back. "To travel alone, you have to be twelve. Do you know who dropped you off here?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Yoon," Wayland said, explaining hastily that they weren't his real parents, but that they were guardians, and everything was perfectly legal. He explained even more hastily that he was going to Georgia to go to a preparatory school, and the name of the school was Markus Young Preparatory School, and he didn't want to go but he agreed and now that he's been thinking about it it might be fun, and he felt as though he might be over-explaining.

The security guard smiled and squatted down to meet his height. "If you're just going to Georgia, I'll let it slide. Will you be twelve by the time you come back?"

He shook his head. "My birthday is in the summer."

"Well, call Mr. and Mrs. Yoon when you get there and ask them to drive down and pick you up. Okay?" She smiled again, but it was more genuine this time. "Now, which gate are you going to?"

"C15," he said, scrambling for his ticket.

Her smile fell away. "C15?" She took the ticket as he produced it and scanned it, seemingly reading it a few times in a row. "CT1556? That's not a flight I know of. And we don't have a gate C15. Is this a typo?"

All of a sudden, Wayland noticed a man behind the security guard. It seemed as though he'd been standing there for a while, but Wayland hadn't noticed him until just now. The man was dressed in an odd knee-length tan coat tied at the waist but open at the breast, revealing a garish blue shirt that met in the middle of his chest apparently without buttons or zipper. His rough black goatee filled out a handsome, serious face, framed by shoulder-length black hair. He tapped the security guard on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm assisting someone else at the moment."

"Oh, I know. This is Wayland Ready, part of our school group." The man gave Wayland a quick, friendly smile, then turned back towards the security guard. "I think he might have given you the ticket to our connecting flight. We'll be taking off from gate C13. See?" He gestured over to the left, across the walkway, and there were twelve or thirteen children around the same age as Wayland taking up a section of seats, talking or staring at their phones.

The security guard hesitated. "Markus Young Preparatory School?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"But weren't you traveling alone?" she asked, turning to Wayland. Then, her eyes softened, shifting from suspicion to bewilderment. It seemed for a moment as though she'd forgotten where she was, then it seemed as though her memory returned to her. "Right. Carry on," she said, and walked away – lightly, like she was strolling through a park.

Wayland looked back at the man just in time to see his hand return to his side and place something smoothly further into his sleeve. He opened his mouth to ask, but the man snatched his wrist and walked him over to the rest of the children – or where the rest of the children were. All of them, including their various backpacks, had vanished as though they were never there.

"Who are you? What is this?" Wayland said, beginning to panic.

"Calm yourself down now, Wayland," the man said, his voice low. He sat in one of the seats and gestured for Wayland to sit, too, which he did not. "I am from the school. See?" He took a small ID card out of his pocket and displayed it as though Wayland would be able to tell whether this card was legitimate. "But you're the only applicant in Maryland, and it was easier to get the guard to believe me if I looked like I was leading a whole group. Otherwise, I'm just a creepy guy in an airport."

"Where did they all go?"

The man sighed. "They were never there. It was a little… trick of mine. Don't worry, I'll explain in depth later. In a lot of depth. In the meantime, let's get to gate C15."

Wayland almost questioned this as well, but had a feeling it would not yield any reasonable answers. "Wait," he said. "I'm not going to follow a stranger around for no good reason. You need to tell me who you are right now before I scream."

The man put his hand up. "Okay, don't – don't do that." He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a short length of wood using his thumb and forefinger. "I am a wizard. And so are you."

Wayland looked at the wand, blinked, and screamed.

Without missing a beat, the man stood and said some words Wayland didn't recognize. Wayland stopped screaming, stepping back. He whipped his head around, but no one appeared to have heard him. They went about their business, completely ignoring the man posing with a wand and the child who was screaming until about a second ago.

"Very simple ignoring charm," the man said. "Works on most mundies."

Wayland didn't move. The woman becoming confused, the fake children, this 'simple ignoring charm'… "You're a wizard?" he said quietly.

"I am, but you're missing the more important part of what I told you."

"I'm a wizard?"

The man smiled. "My name is Trevor. You can call me Professor Ibaia." He held out a hand for Wayland to shake. "Nice to meet you, fellow wizard."