If Emory’s blood had once made the hand on that clock stop in the New Moon sector, in the first quarter that confirmed her as a Healer, it did no such thing now. It stood firmly in the solar eclipse sector.
“There you have it,” Baz said. “Eclipse.”
Emory’s mouth twisted downward, as if the result displeased her—as if she’d expected something else. But these tests never lied. There was no denying it: she didn’t belong to House New Moon. She was Eclipse-born, or perhaps Eclipse-formed was more accurate, if her powers had unlocked in Dovermere rather than manifesting in her early childhood.
They locked eyes, and Baz could tell she was thinking the same thing. Wondering if whatever happened in those caves made her this way, changed the very fabric of her blood somehow.
Emory rubbed at her wrist. “What are the chances of others having this kind of magic?”
“I think we would have heard of other Tidecallers by now if it was a common gift. Besides, Eclipse-born are rare enough as it is, so the chances of there being others with the exact same ability as you are slim to none.”
“Surely I can’t be the only one.”
“You might very well be. No two ecliptic events are ever truly the same, which is why Eclipse magics are always so different from one another. There’s no real pattern, and that makes it hard to pin down what dictates our abilities.” He pointed to the Eclipse sector on the selenograph’s clock, marked by a painted yellow sunflower. “It’s why we don’t have tidal alignments like the other houses do. At least not beyond the distinction between lunar and solar eclipses.”
The tide’s influence on ecliptic events and vice versa was too curious a phenomenon for even the most brilliant minds to make sense of. Professor Selandyn herself had abandoned her research on the subject a few years ago, dejected by the lack of reasoning behind it. It was part of why House Eclipse had been so misunderstood in the course of history. There was a clear science behind the other lunar houses’ magics. They each had four tidal alignments dictated by the tide’s position at the time of one’s birth—two low tides and two high tides a day, each one birthing a different magic depending on the moon cycle.
But there was no such rhyme or reason behind Eclipse magics other than what scholars had deemed different between lunar and solar eclipses. Lunar eclipses, which occurred during full moons, brought out different variations and offshoots of other lunar magics: nightmares instead of dreams, nullification instead of amplification, festering instead of healing, curses instead of protective spells, and so on.
Solar eclipses, which only occurred on new moons, were even harder to pin down. There were trends, sure enough. Repeating abilities catalogued over time. Illusion magic was the most common among them. It seemed to borrow heavily from Wordsmith magic; indeed, the subtle differences between the two had become a favorite subject of analysis among scholars. Illusions ranged from small parlor tricks to elaborate ones like the kind that made the wards around Obscura Hall manifest as ever-changing barriers, each more ludicrous than the last. （The wards themselves were Wardcrafter magic, of course, but the shape they took on to scare non-Eclipse students off was Illusion work at its finest.）
Then there was the rare and inexplicable, like Timespinners such as himself and Poisoners who rendered any liquid toxic and Reanimators who could quite literally wake the dead. And if they were oddities, then a Tidecaller was an even bigger mystery.
Emory sank deeper into her seat, looking dejected. Baz tried not to take her obvious disdain at the idea of being Eclipse-born too personally. He remembered a time when she’d been intrigued by all things House Eclipse. The awe she’d viewed his magic with… She’d thought it made him special, unique, something he’d clung to well after his father’s Collapsing forced him to bottle everything up.
Clearly, she didn’t feel that same sort of awe now that she had Eclipse magic.
She heaved a frustrated sigh. “So what’s it going to be, then: Are you going to teach me how to use these powers, or are you going to have me bleed myself dry so that I don’t accidentally implode?”
Baz shifted in his seat. Why in the Deep had he thought he could do this when he didn’t know the first thing about teaching magic—much less Tidecaller magic?
“What did it feel like, exactly, when you used those powers?”
Emory pondered the question. “Like I was mirroring the abilities of those around me.” She frowned. “But I can still feel them inside me. It’s like I absorbed them and they’re a part of me now, and if I just reach for them, they’ll bend to my will because they’re mine, not anyone else’s.”
Baz pushed up his glasses, considering her. “And the other night on the beach. Did one ability feel easier to call on than the others? Apart from healing, of course.”
“Why?”
“Well, since you specialized in healing all these years, I think it would make sense for you to have more of an aptness for New Moon magics than the others. Especially with the new moon in position right now, those magics might be easier to wield. Like when you used Darkbearer magic. Was that easier than, say, the Lightkeeper magic?”
Emory looked at her hands, as if picturing the tendrils of darkness and light she’d called upon. “I’m not sure. It all happened too fast.”
“I might be wrong, but I think if you were to reach for it again, you might notice it comes easier than the other lunar magics. And then tomorrow, once the moon starts waxing, you’d have a better affinity for those magics. Clearly you can use all of them regardless of the moon phase, but it’s something to consider.”
Emory turned her palms up in front of her and stared at them as though they held all the answers she was looking for. Her brow scrunched in concentration.
The shadows around them shifted.
Baz froze. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to reach for the darkness.”
“Are you mad—stop!”
Darkness gathered between them, shadowing the window. The soft glow of poppies on the stained glass made purple hues dance in the dark nebula. Baz reached instinctively for his magic. Time paused, and for a second, so did the pattering of rain against the window. He plucked the thread that would unmake the darkness, winding back the clock on its existence. It rushed back into Emory, a thing undone.
“What in the Deep was that?” he snapped. “Someone could have seen, or worse, you could have spun out of control.”
“Oh, come on, it was harmless.”
“There’s no such thing as harmless when it comes to Eclipse magic. Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve said?” Baz sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You can’t just start flaunting these powers you know nothing about. You need to learn the theory behind them first.”
Emory set her hands in her lap. “I wanted to see if I could do it, make sure the other night wasn’t a one-time thing.”
“Well, it works. Don’t do it again.”
Her eyes flitted to the book and its gruesome illustrations on Collapsing. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Mindlessly, Baz took a gulping sip of the coffee she’d brought him, trying to calm his nerves. He winced at the watered-down, almost cardboard-like taste of it before pushing it aside.