A dull, throbbing pressure behind my eyes that I dismissed as stress or dehydration. I took aspirin. I drank water. I ignored it.
But three days after the library, the headache turned into a fever.
It wasn't like Guilermo’s fever. It wasn't hot. It was cold. A freezing, creeping chill that started in my marrow and radiated outward.
I was in my apartment, trying to pack a bag for the Solstice. My hands were shaking so badly I dropped my toothbrush.
"Just nerves," I whispered to myself, bending down to pick it up.
The room spun.
I grabbed the edge of the sink, my knuckles white.
This isn't nerves.
I looked in the mirror.
My reflection stared back at me, pale and gaunt. My eyes were sunken, rimmed with dark circles. But the worst part was my magic.
Usually, my aura was a faint viole
