Professor Ibaia had drawn a rectangle on the wall using his wand, and it had opened like a sliding door to reveal a glowing, swirling panel of bluish light. Wayland had been staring at it for a good ten seconds.

"You don't ask many questions, do you?" Ibaia said. He tapped his wand next to the panel and a small square popped into being, displaying a stylish white question mark.

"There are too many questions to ask," Wayland replied.

"I can only imagine," Ibaia said with an empathetic nod. "Well, this is a porthal. We use them to get around. They're all connected to the Nemo Network, which is this thing here," he added, tapping the small square. "See, watch." He cleared his throat and pressed the tip of the wand against the square. "Creek & Taschner External Campus, please."

The panel shifted and the bluish color began to vanish, replaced with an image of trees in a sunlit forest. Wayland rubbed his forehead with one hand and looked around at the passengers and security guards walking by like nothing was happening. A few glanced in their direction, but none of them seemed to take note of the jelly-like blue doorway on the wall. "Where's my luggage?"

Ibaia seemed taken aback. "I'm sorry?"

"My luggage. If my flight wasn't real, then who took my bags? Those are Mr. Yoon's bags. You better not have gotten rid of them."

Ibaia grinned at the vague warning. "Don't worry. This is one of the mundie airports that we're involved with. After all, we can't just let anyone draw porthals willy-nilly. This place is a place specifically designed for travelling wizards to use them. And, of course, the have to get in and out without arousing suspicion – so MACUSA hires folks, mostly squibs, to run luggage."

"I… I only understood a few of those words."

"Sorry. Don't mean to overwhelm you. It's a lot to take in, I'm sure." He tapped his wand to the square again. "Let's take a little detour and get you some supplies. Pen and paper won't be enough when you're learning magic."

Wayland continued to rub his forehead. "Do you have any Advil?"

"What's that?"

"… Never mind."

"Alright. To Watsawenna, please."

The scene in the porthal shifted again from a sunlit forest to one side of a cobblestone street. Across this street stood several close buildings connected by their facades, each distinct and antique. Signs along the street, all carved delicately from wood with bright gold and silver letters, read things like MARJORIE'S ENERGETIC BREWS AND POTIONS and FALCO REESE'S FAMILIAR EMPORIUM and other overlong titles with curious implications. The street was busy, and all of the commuters were dressed in long, dark robes, wide-brimmed hats of various kinds, and neat layered shirts with what seemed to be mostly old-timey breeches. It was like Halloween, Wayland thought, but it felt so casual and alive that it simply couldn't be theatrics. It was a hidden world.

Ibaia gestured. "After you, Mister Ready?"


They didn't blend well with the crowd at Watsawenna. First, Wayland was still wearing his usual dim red hoodie over a Batman T-shirt, and if he had to guess, he'd say no one nearby knew who Batman was. Second, he was staring so hard and so frequently at everything that his eyes were starting to hurt. Once he looked, bewildered, at a man with strange mutton chops magically pulling a cart behind him; the man looked back, and he realized his jaw was hanging open. He quickly receded into his jacket.

"This is actually Colorado," Ibaia was saying, as they brushed past an older woman carrying what appeared to be a bubble with eyes in a cage. "We're in the Rockies. Watsawenna is covered in enchantments so the mundies don't get too close. Been that way since the Witch Trials."

Wayland perked up. "I read about those," he said, surprised that something else surprised him today. "Those were real witches?"

"Mm. Well, some of them," Ibaia murmured in response. "Here," he said, interrupting himself, "is our first stop. My old friend Bella runs the place now, so maybe we'll get a discount, huh?" They'd paused in front of a huge building at the corner of a large, flat square, in the middle of which stood a fountain featuring a man with the head of a deer. The statue moved briefly, looking towards another part of the square, and Wayland rubbed his eyes, thinking it was a trick of the light.

The building itself appeared to be a bookstore – or otherwise a library. The double doors opened as they approached the stoop, revealing a flood of heavy tomes bound in heavy leather and scrolls stacked in pyramids on deep, labeled shelves. The main room, two stories tall, was lit with what seemed to be the solar system in miniature, huge decorated metal spheres orbiting slowly while floating just below the ceiling. Wayland was hit with the smell of yellowing paper as he followed Ibaia in and smiled for the first time in a while.

Ibaia took out a small notebook and flipped through it using his thumb. "Oh, that's more than I thought," he muttered. "You're doing Alchemy this year? We have to get to the reagent shop…"

Wayland resisted the temptation to reach for the nearest book and flip through it, instead tapping Ibaia on the arm. "Professor?" he said. "I only have twenty dollars. And I'm supposed to save it for emergencies."

Ibaia glanced down. "Don't worry about the price. I mean, most of the books are provided by the school. We're just looking for one." He tapped his temple with his notebook and slipped it back into his pocket. "Mnemancy and Amnemancy. Can't share a book like that."

Wayland decided to venture carefully into his first real question. "Why is that?"

"I'm glad you asked. This subject is, in fact, my subject. See –"

As though on cue, the voice of a young woman came suddenly from the doorway. "Professor Ibaia! Fancy seeing you here!" Wayland and Ibaia both turned to the door, where a woman in long dark blue robes was standing in front of a group of children, mostly also robed. She wore a playfully accusative glare, one auburn eyebrow raised, hazel eyes glimmering. The children, in the meantime, looked up and around like nervous seagulls – which Wayland realized he must have resembled only a few seconds ago. They were far more talkative than he was, though, constantly murmuring or gasping in surprise or whispering excitedly to one another.

"Professor Daly," Ibaia said with a short, polite bowing of the head. "Is today acquisitions day? I suppose I'm accidentally on schedule."

"Oh," Daly said, looking down at Wayland. "This is the student you were in Maryland for, then?" She smiled kindly, but her eyes studied him. "I see this is your first stop. Ibaia loves to brag that his book is the only one you have to buy," she added, giving Wayland a wink.

"No, no, just happenstance," Ibaia said quickly. "Wayland, if you'd like, you can introduce yourself to your classmates. I have something I need to briefly discuss with Professor Daly."

Wayland looked between Ibaia and the other children, unsure, but stepped forwards hesitantly, leaving the adults to pace off into the shelves, whispering. Ibaia had taken his notebook out again. Within a few seconds, he was alone in the atrium with the other students.

"Are you a nomaj?" one of the students asked. It stood out from the rest of the conversation, so Wayland snapped to attention. The student in question was looking almost accusatively at him, his thumbs stuck under his belt like one might stuff their hands into their pockets. A black cloak hung from his shoulders, coming to a loose collar under his dark, soft-featured face. "At least you were raised that way," he added, stepping forwards and looking down at Wayland's shoes.

"I guess so," Wayland replied lowly, suddenly feeling more pairs of eyes on him. He fumbled on taking his hand out of the pocket of his hoodie and offered a handshake. "I'm – I'm Wayland. This is… it's the first time I've…"

The other student made eye contact again, now more quizzical than accusative, and took his handshake. "Logan," he said. "Logan Cooley. You know who I am?"

Wayland thought for a moment. "I do now," he said.

Logan's smirk turned into an earnest laugh. "Wow! I guess you must have really been raised by nomajs." He lifted his cloak near his chest to reveal a small crest, like the kind knights wore on their shields: it was bright red with a bull's head silhouette. "The Cooley family goes all the way back to Wales. Everyone knows about us," he added.

"Sorry," Wayland said. "I'm new."

"Don't worry about it," Logan replied, taking him by the shoulder. By this point, most of the other students had started to wander around the bookstore, except a few who were still watching. The tension had dissipated as soon as Logan had shaken his hand. "So, what's your sigil represent?" Logan continued, and pointed at the Batman symbol on Wayland's shirt.

Now it was Wayland's turn to laugh. "I dunno. Knightliness?"


As soon as the professors returned, they herded the students towards a small section of shelves under the stairs towards the back of the room, where they each picked up a flat, smooth white book. It felt like a solid piece of marble, though lighter; it was cool to the touch, and, most oddly, it wouldn't open. "We'll get into it later," Ibaia promised again.

Each of the students paid at the desk using a handful of coins, most of which were silver and octagonal. At the back of the line, Wayland took out his travel wallet and peeked at the twenty dollars – partially to make sure it was still there and partially to wonder why someone would carry around loads of coins instead of paper. However, when he reached the front of the line, Ibaia stepped in for him. "Bella," he said brightly to the woman behind the desk, leaning forwards to light her pipe with his wand. After some brisk, seemingly very rude conversation, Ibaia smiled and counted out some coins.

As they left, following Professor Daly's group, Wayland tapped Ibaia on the arm again. "Are you buying these things for me?"

"What? No, no," he said, waving a hand. "It's, um, paid for by the school."

Wayland could tell he was lying, but it wasn't currently his biggest concern. Especially once Logan and another boy (this one pale with hollow cheeks) fell back as the group arrived at a large building just off the main road. The building was built like a lodge, or what Wayland figured a lodge might look like – it was all wooden and built around a tall, almost looming A-frame. "Netsevoto's," Logan said, pointing at the building. "This is where you all are going to get your wands. I heard Netsevoto's been making wands for two hundred years up here. What do you think you look like at two hundred years old?"

Wayland shrugged. "Like a tired raisin?"

Logan broke into a smile. "See, I knew I liked you for a reason. Hey, this is Ernest," he added, patting the other boy on the shoulder. "He's my friend, too. Ernest, this is Wayland."

"Friends?" Wayland asked, peering at Logan.

"Well, sure. Don't you want to be friends?"

Wayland was surprised once again. Making friends with wizards was far easier than he'd anticipated. "Sure," he said. He paused, then shook his head, recalling what Logan was saying a few moments ago. "Wands?"

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, wands. You can't be a proper wizard without a wand, can you? Look," he said, reaching into his robe. He took out a small tan wand of his own, intricately decorated with a conch-like spiral and sporting a bull's head at the base. "This was my grandfather's wand. It's been passed down for hundreds of years."

"He can do some spells already, too," Ernest mentioned. He had a whistling, excitable sort of voice. "Logan! Do the one where you make him see blue!"

"See blue? Hold on, is this permanent?"

Logan had already begun to wave his wand. "Cyaneos –"

All three boys leapt about two inches in the air when Ibaia suddenly appeared next to them and grabbed Logan's wand in one smooth motion. He clicked his tongue and guided Logan's hand back to his side. "You don't have your license yet, do you, Mister Cooley?"

Logan scowled for a moment, but then shook his head. "No, sir."

Ibaia straightened his overcoat and turned to Wayland. "So, Mister Ready, you're up first. There are some specifications that we need to discuss with Mr. Netsevoto. Are you… Ready?" His lips curled into a pinched smile as he landed the pun.

"I've heard it before, Professor," Wayland replied.