Free The Age of Mages: Book I of the Mage Tales by Ilana Waters Page A

for becoming a senior member, Arthur didn’t need to know that I couldn’t care less.
    “You don’t seem all that disappointed,” he said, furrowing his brow. “Most novices are raring to go. Can’t wait to get out into the field and all.”
    Blast . I should have put up more of a fight; I did want my presence there to seem realistic.
    “It’s just . . . I assumed as much,” I said. “From what I know of the PIA and all.”
    Arthur nodded. “Glad to hear you’ve done your research. Not that it’s easy to get background information on a society like ours. Still, researching is a necessary skill for all members—especially delving into things others might not want found out.”
    You have no idea .
    Arthur picked up a manila folder on his desk, which he miraculously managed to find beneath all the books. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on, then began flipping through the folder. I could see my name jutting out from the label.
    “So, where did you grow up, if you don’t mind my asking?”
    My eyes wandered around the room. “Oh, here and there.”
    “I know you came here from the States, but something about you sounds British,” he pondered. “Were your parents from England? Just curious.”
    Too curious . Of course, if I had my way, the PIA would know absolutely nothing about me or where I came from. But I couldn’t expect to get out of all social niceties. “I spent several years in London growing up,” I replied. “So . . .”
    “Ah! This must be like coming home, then.” Arthur nodded vigorously. “Splendid. Still, must be lovely to live over there. I’ve always wanted to go to California. I hear the weather there is fantastic.” He placed some papers behind others in the file.
    “Oh, it is,” I agreed. I didn’t want to explain to Arthur that I didn’t stay in one location so much as floated around. I did keep an old house where Abigail and I had lived in upstate New York, but I couldn’t bear to stay there. Too many memories. Around every corner I kept expecting to see her face, hear her voice calling down the hall. Even the scent of the furniture polish she used was too much, drifting as it did from the cracks in oak and pine. Then there were the terrible memories from the night she disappeared.
    I blamed myself that she was taken at all, though I still didn’t quite understand how it happened. There had been nothing to suggest it was anything other than an ordinary evening, which would lead to another ordinary day, at least for us.
    You see, Abigail was a midwife—a fairly unusual occupation in the modern age. Then again, she was an unusual person. All floppy hats, wide-legged pants, and loose blouses. Mind you, by the time I was born, it was well past the sixties and seventies. But apparently no one bothered to tell my mother, because she seemed to enjoy being partly hippie. Not that she would have ever given up her laptop and gourmet coffee, of course. It was from her I learned growing and healing magic, which was a nice counterbalance to Titus’s more violent tutelage.
    “California, yes, yes.” Arthur was muttering and shuffling papers around in the file. “What did you do before you joined the PIA again?” he asked.
    Well, I’ve never had to earn a living in the usual way, but I know the language, history, and science of thousands of eras. I’m also intimately familiar with countless ways of healing and killing people.
    “Oh, you know,” I replied, tapping my fingers together. “This and that.”
    “I had your resume around here somewhere.” Arthur picked up various documents on his desk, but couldn’t seem to find what he was looking for. Finally, he gave up. “Anyway, I remember it was most impressive,” he added.
    And faked, as were the references I gave you .
    I smiled and waved my hand. “It was nothing, I assure you.”
    “Nonsense,” he said. “You’ve done quite a lot for someone so young. Most of our applicants are older by a least