The boy returned the gesture with a fierce grip . “ Greetings . I am Marck , son of Murk .”
Connor tried to say more , but Marck pulled his hand back and resumed unpacking . Connor haphazardly stuffed his clothes in drawers . Marck folded and sorted his before delicately putting them away . Connor slapped a few dueling posters on the wall over his bed . Marck set a framed family photo on his nightstand . Connor dumped the rest of his things onto his desk . Marck gave the pile a sidelong look , straightening a pencil on his own desk as if to make a point .
On top of the pile on Connor ’ s desk was a beat-up , leather glove with a scuffed , red gemstone set on the back . It was his fourteenth birthday present — one he ’ d been unable to use until he got to school .
Mom said I should wait until I had some lessons under my belt , Connor thought , staring at the glove . But , what could go wrong ?
Connor slipped the glove over his left hand and his vision exploded into a nauseating world of colors . Grays and blues and greens and browns swirled like a kaleidoscope . He couldn ’ t make sense of the rainbow assault on his senses and spun in circles until he collapsed to the ground , ready to hurl . Lying on his back , the colors danced above him . He reached his hand up , and a wisp of gray twined between his fingers . He tried to grasp it , but it only slipped away . The ethereal streamer prickled against his skin , and he tried to touch it again , but it writhed out of his grasp . The glove allowed him to see the raw essence , the literal magic , around him . He ’ d never expected so much , so close , just waiting to be used . The twisting colors shifted , and his stomach shifted with them . Connor groaned as the bile rose in the back of his throat .