I burned the letter in my hand. I watched the flames consume it until only black embers formed a pile in my palm. I blew them away and felt the mana course through my hands. I formed the spell, opened the portal, a bright red due to my anger, and stepped through. I’d set this all right.
I stepped out of the portal to the boundary of the administrative office and walked in. A secretary stopped me from going any further.
“Can I help you, young man?” She wore a gray suit with her gray hair in a tight gray bun.
“I’m here to see Mr. Albert,” I said it calmly. No need upsetting the gatekeeper.
“And what time was your appointment?” She looked at her calendar, and even from the other side of the desk, I could see how full it was.
“I don’t have one, but it is important that I see him.”
“He is quite busy—”
“I’m afraid I didn’t give my name. How about we start there?” I said. “I’m Alister Cogworks, Tinker family. My father is Allcott Cogworks.”
She swallowed hard.
I continued, “I’ll just have a seat over there.” I produced a small book from underneath my robe. I saw a few people come and go. I patiently turned each page, never glancing up to ask when I’d be seen. Garozz’s Mechintations kept me a bit intrigued, although it was rudimentary stuff. I’d conquered it last year when people at this school would only be introduced to it next year.
“Mr. Albert will see you now,” the gray receptionist said.
I opened the door, and Mr. Albert didn’t look up from the paper he was reading. His large frame made the desk look small. His suit was cobalt blue, with a green tie, a proclamation of his mastery: nature, primarily in the ice domain.
“May I help you, Mr. Cogworks?” Albert said in a flat tone.
“Yes, there was a clerical error about my admissions in the fall. I received a rejection letter. I’m here to clear that up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Cogworks.”
“Apology accepted, Mr. Albert. I’m sure we can—”
He looked up. “I was not clear. I’m sorry to hear that because there is nothing to clear up. You were, in fact, rejected by the school.”
I stood there, and my ears started to ring.
“Have a seat, and we can talk about it.” He motioned to the chairs in front of him.
I didn’t move as if I forgot how to.
“Very well. Stay standing—your application did not show the rigor that is required to attend this school. Other candidates showed more potential and application in their magical aptitude. Therefore, you were not accepted.”
“You have to give my application another look. I’m sure one of your interns probably made a mistake—”
“I denied you myself, Mr. Cogworks. I signed the letter. Myself. And a shame you burned it. I’m sure it was by accident, not out of petty anger.”
I rolled up my sleeves, showing the gauntlets attached to my hands and forearms, each sigil carefully etched in plates of copper and silver with the appropriate gems installed.
“I could put any of those students down in a fight. I can recite pages of text by memory, and by the time they start casting a spell, I could have built a creation to store that spell and use it to power something they haven’t dreamed of.”
“And there it is—Mr. Cogworks,” he wore a smile and looked as if he were about to put his feet on his desk.
“There is what?” I said.
He stood up, and I could feel the cold coming off of him. His eyes became slightly more frost blue.
“This school is about the betterment of our magical society. Do you know what the most common word was in your application? I’ll tell you. It was ‘I’. Everything was about how the academy would better your creations, your works, and your studies. You didn’t have a word about what you would do to help your fellow wizard. Your creations could do so much good, Mr. Cogworks. But instead, you talk about the kingdom you would build for applause and praise. Those students aren’t welcome here. There are other academies that would open their gates for you, grey or dark as they, but not this one.”
I pushed down the tears. “You’ve made a huge mistake. My father will hear about this.”
“Oh, I called him myself to let him know. He completely understood, Mr. Cogworks,” he leaned forward on his desk. “And he agreed with my assessment. The fact you are on a waitlist is a gift from us to him. And that’s so your father has something to say at the club.” He leaned in and whispered. “And I assure I couldn’t hold a candle to those on the waitlist.”
He looked directly at me and said, “That will be all, Mr. Cogworks.”
I turned and walked out the door, clenched my fists, holding back the urge to weep, not knowing where I’d go.
If someone shared this with you, I publish a weekly(ish) newsletter where you can get my fiction, recommendations and just commentary on the writing world. You can sign up for it at the link above.