Page 1 of My Demon Charming

CHAPTER ONE

"YOU'RE NOT MAGICAL, YU-JIN!"

“You are cordially invited to the Lockwood Academy for witches and Nightcrawlers1. Conditions may apply.”

Shit.

I did it. I fucking did it!

The silk-coated paper feels even more expensive in my sweaty hands, but I don’t care. I’ve been dreaming about getting into Lockwood since I was a little kid, and…they finally want me.

They want me.

I hug the letter close to my heart and close my eyes. I can already see myself in the endless green fields on the campus, mixing in with other witches and paranormals, learning magic, exploring my power.

“Excuse me.” Someone coughs and brings me out of my self-induced stupor. “Did you finally restock the joint pain potions?”

I open my eyes and look at the weathered old Mrs. Solis. She’s been a faithful patron of the Magickal Apothecary as far back as I can remember.

“We did, Mrs. Solis,” I reply and set down the letter before turning to find the glass vials with the golden liquid.

“What is this? You got accepted into Lockwood?”

I smile and offer her the potion she requested.

“I just got the letter. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

Mrs. Solis grins.

“Your mom talked about sending you there before you were even born. Congratulations, young man.”

She sets down the rest of her items, and I start ringing them up.

“So? What is it?”

“Huh?” I ask.

“Your power.”

I catch my breath before I can answer and chew the inside of my cheeks.

That’s the first problem with my acceptance letter.

“I haven’t…I haven’t manifested yet. My offer is reliant on me manifesting my power during their ignition ceremony.”

I leave out the fact that I’ve already had one ignition ceremony in the past, to disappointing results. Mrs. Solis doesn’t need to know what a failure I am.

Kevin tried to ignite my witch power, but it never manifested. I’m hoping Lockwood, with their academic and ancient knowledge, will be more successful.

“Well, good luck, young man. I hope your father is excited for you. Lockwood is a very prestigious school.”

And there’s the second problem with my acceptance letter.

“Stepfather,” I correct, handing her a little brown bag with all her stuff. “He’s not my father.”

Mrs. Solis pats my hand as she takes the bag and tuts.

“That man has looked after you all your life. He’s your father, sweetheart.”