After the training session (which ended when Evan accidentally made a target dummy grow flowers instead of taking damage—the dummy now looked like a very confused garden decoration and kept sneezing petals), Evan found himself in what the servants called the "Morning Parlor."
It was smaller than the other rooms, with comfortable chairs that had clearly been chosen for comfort rather than intimidation value. Windows looked out over the gardens, where the light was starting to fade toward evening. Most importantly, it had fewer breakable objects than anywhere else in the manor. Evan had counted. Only three vases, all of which he was carefully not looking at.
Emma poured tea—actual tea, not the magical wakeleaf concoction—while Evan stared at his hands as if they might explain everything.
"So," Emma said, handing him a cup. "Magical training. How's that going?"
"I made a worm angry and taught a sword proper posture." Evan took the cup carefully, holding it with the kind of attention most people reserved for handling explosives. It didn't break, which he counted as a major win. "Also, I think Ross might be insane. Like, genuinely insane. The kind of insane that's charming at first and then you realize he has no concept of danger."
"He's enthusiastic."
"He's the human equivalent of a golden retriever who's discovered caffeine and decided to make it his entire personality."
Emma laughed. "He means well. And he's one of the few people who isn't terrified of you. That's worth something."
"Small blessings." Evan sipped his tea. It was good—earthy, with a hint of something floral, the kind of tea that didn't try to be more than it was. "Why aren't you terrified of me? Everyone else is. The servants flinch when I walk past. The furniture groans. Even the worms are mad at me."
"Because terror is boring." Emma settled into the chair opposite him, tucking her feet underneath her in a way that would have gotten her scolded by every etiquette teacher in the kingdom. "My great-aunt Agatha could turn people into frogs when she was annoyed. My second cousin Reginald once accidentally summoned a minor demon during a dinner party. Demonic possession ruined the soufflé, by the way. Family legend."
"So destructive magic runs in the family."
"Destructive everything runs in the family." She grinned. "You're just the latest iteration. Although you're more... systemic about it."
"Systemic?"
"Agatha turned people into frogs. You turn the concept of froghood inside out and make it question its life choices." She gestured with her teacup. "It's a difference of scale. She made individuals uncomfortable. You make reality uncomfortable."
Evan considered this. "So I shouldn't feel bad about being a walking catastrophe?"
"Oh, you should absolutely feel bad. You're going to ruin a lot of furniture. You're going to confuse a lot of worms. But you shouldn't feel alone." Her expression softened slightly. "The Carter family has been producing magical disasters for centuries. You're just... particularly talented."
"Lucky me."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the last of the daylight move across the garden. Somewhere, a bird sang—probably the same one from this morning, still complaining. The world, for just a moment, felt almost normal.
Then Evan's teacup developed a hairline crack. Not enough to leak, just enough to announce its presence with a tiny tink sound.
He sighed. "And there it is."
Emma leaned forward, examining the cup. "You know, most people's magic responds to emotion. Anger, fear, joy, the usual suspects." She tapped the crack. "Yours seems to respond to... awareness. The moment you notice something, it notices you back. Like you're having a conversation with reality and reality keeps getting distracted."
"That's deeply unsettling."
"It's also why things break. They're not breaking from force. They're... accommodating. Trying to be what they think you need them to be." She picked up the cup, studying the crack. "A sword becomes a hook because you don't want to hurt anyone. A training dummy grows flowers because you find violence ridiculous. A teacup cracks because you're worried it might crack."
Evan stared at her. "How do you know all this?"
She shrugged. "I pay attention. Also, I may have peeked at Lina's notes when she wasn't looking. She leaves them lying around. Very unprofessional."
"Of course you did."
"The point is," Emma continued, "your power isn't destructive. It's... adaptive. It makes things into what they think you want them to be. The problem is, they're not very good at guessing."
"And what if I don't know what I want?"
"Then they don't know either." She leaned back. "Hence, the breaking. The confusion. The worms giving you dirty looks."
Evan looked at his hands again. They still looked like hands. But now they felt like something else—like wish-granting devices that didn't understand how wishes worked, staffed by extremely confused magical entities.
"Great," he muttered. "So I'm a monkey's paw with better hair and no evil intent."
"Basically." Emma's grin returned. "But look on the bright side!"
"There's a bright side?"
"You'll never be bored. And neither will anyone around you. We'll have stories to tell for generations. 'Remember that time Evan accidentally turned the garden hedge into a dragon?' 'Remember when he made the floor think it was art?' It'll be great."
As if to prove her point, the wallpaper beside Evan developed a subtle paisley pattern it hadn't had before. The flowers in the pattern shifted colors slowly, cycling through the rainbow like they were putting on a show.
Evan looked at the wallpaper. The wallpaper, in its own floral way, looked back.
"This is my life now," he said to no one in particular. "I have conversations with interior decoration. I'm on a first-name basis with worms. I'm pretty sure the chandelier is judging me."
"Welcome to nobility," Emma said cheerfully. "It only gets weirder from here. Wait until you meet the rest of the family. There's a cousin who talks to ghosts and a great-aunt who's been dead for fifty years but still shows up for dinner."
"...What?"
"Kidding. Mostly." She finished her tea. "Get some rest. Tomorrow you have more training, and I have a feeling Ross has plans. Big plans. Possibly involving explosives."
"Great. Can't wait."
He finished his tea. The cup held. Small victories.
***