by E Hall
Ms. Storch appears on the stage and glares at him. “That’s enough. We are here to reform these students, not offer them condolences. They’ve misused their magic and that is final.”
Professor Popperwell presses his lips together and his nostrils flare. “After the commencement ceremony, we’ll meet in the dining hall for dinner and then off to your dorms to settle in. I’m looking forward to a wonderful year ahead.”
“You mean you’re looking forward to reforming our magical community,” Storch corrects.
He exits the stage to a round of applause louder than the one that welcomed him.
Strange that we received two nearly opposite message from two opposite looking people.
Instead of quieting, the applause amplifies when what I can only describe as the wizard of all wizards takes the stage. He has long white hair and silver, shimmery robes. His hair and robes almost match. I glance to the girl sitting next to me as if to ask is this for real, but his voice booms through the auditorium. He lifts his arms as though receiving the full blast of excitement from the student body.
“Professor Derrington mentioned the three Cs. These are guidelines you’ll follow when you’re here and long after convocation and you leave this campus.”
He stops midstride. My pulse thunders fast and hard along with at least a hundred more. “You’re charged with the gift of magic, but it’s also a great responsibility. Each time you use your powers, first say thank you because when we operate from a place of gratitude we’re less likely to do harm and more likely to do good, which is precisely why we’ve been given our gifts, to do good. I believe that of everyone in this room. However—”
The man returns to the podium, clasps his hands and adds, “However, there are those who disagree with magic. Are threatened by it. They want to put an end to it. What was once our illustrious school is now a place to retrain and restrain.” He leans in. “It’s the last stop before the Iron Tower.”
A murmur ripples through the crowd. I hear the words jail, prison, and penitentiary whispered. Was that where the djinn first tried to bring me? If so, I’m thankful not to have been sent there.
The wizard goes on. “This year, as we navigate these changes we can say thank you. Thank you for this opportunity to learn and—”
Someone shouts, “And stay out of magical jail.”
The wizard wiggles his fingers in a sort of wave and says, “I’m going to go get a slice of pie while there’s still some left. Peach tonight, I believe. But I sure am looking forward to the apple.”
Then he disappears.
Poof.
The dude left the building.
A low murmur rises among the students. I turn to the girl next to me. I have questions. Even in the near dark, her skin is luminous, her hair smoothed away from her face, and her eyes bright.
“Who was that?” I whisper, but before she can answer, the spotlights come on and a pair of unicorns prance onto the stage.
I am not even kidding.
Chapter 7
★
Three, four, five, six unicorns appear. They shower us with a shimmering light show. Then tiny lights take the stage. The girl next to me whispers, “pixies!”
The fire, sparkle, and shimmer are spellbinding. Next, a troupe of elves does a lyrical dance. They glide gracefully, smoothly, otherworldy. Singing begins by several other figures that look somewhat human but have a certain quality that I’ve never seen, or rather felt, when the Hamilton High choir took to the stage.
By the finale, my mouth hangs open at a display of fireworks shaped like hearts, stars, and miniature hopping toads.
The elves do acrobatic feats that no gymnasts, not even Olympians—and I’ve seen many—could possibly do. They levitate in the air. At last, the stage lights up with glitter that rains across the audience.
I’m astounded. I’m awestruck. Gobsmacked.
I’m clapping along with what sounds like the entire assembly when the lights go down and the stage clears. Maybe it won’t be so bad here after all.
When the doors open, flooding the auditorium with sunshine, what must be nearly two hundred students surround me. Like on the stage, not all of them are human.
The girl next to me says, “To answer your question that was Chancellor West. Head of school. Most powerful wizard in history. Educator. Legend. All around hero in the magical world. I could tell by your expression that you’ve never heard of him. Surprising. I’m Yassi by the way, and no, I am not a unicorn. They come every year for the ceremony, but this is the first time other magical beings have taken part or even attended Riptivik. Also the first time we’re a reform school.” Her laughter reminds me of the wind in the woods. “Who are you?”
“I’m Maija Wessels.”
“No way, I’m your socium.”
My eyebrow lifts.
“Social partner if you don’t know. It’s Gibberish—an old-school thing. I have a list of translations and definitions if you’d like to borrow it. I definitely needed to refer to it at first. Now I’m fluent.”
I must look confused because she goes on. “Every secondary student is paired up with a primary student to help them get used to life at Riptivik Magic Academy, er, Reform School. I thought maybe you weren’t coming.” She looks sad as though she somehow knows my tardiness had as much to do with my reluctance as it did a delay.
“Better late than never?” I try to keep my voice light because Yassi seems really nice, but I’m not sure what to think or who to trust.
She goes on. “Never, ever be late to Derrington’s class. Her detentions are the worst. Popperwell is good as long as you don’t have him right after lunch. He tends to get sleepy and loses track of what he’s saying and blathers on and on. In fact, he tends to be long-winded no matter when you catch him.”
We get to our feet as our row empties.
“Let me see your schedule,” she says.
I pass it to her.
“Ah, so you have Derrington for conservation.”
“Conservation? What exactly is that? Like, saving the forest and stuff?”
“No. You’ll learn about it in detail, but conservation and creation classes are more like good and evil. Well, evil and good respectively. Conservation is how we protect ourselves against the bad stuff, conserving the good so to speak to fend off the evil. Creation is straightforward: creating good using our magic skills. They could have simplified it and called the classes fighting evil or creating good. Would have made more sense, I suppose. Then again, with everything changing who knows.” Yassi’s smile falters.
All I can say is one round, “Oh.” I was not expecting that. Wand work, spell casting, bubbling brews, maybe a hex or two, but not good and evil.
“Yeah, it’s serious stuff. Long ago, the academies were for our kind to train to become warriors or guardians depending on your talents and skills. Not anymore.”
“About restraining and retraining our magic—that’s not a problem for me since I have no idea how to use it. It’s our last chance before jail. Isn’t this illegal?”
“Depending on whose laws you follow.” Yassi leans in. “There are rumors that the Office of Magical Management is corrupt—non-magicals pushing their interests converted Riptivik to a reform school. There’s no way our parents or the outside world knows.”
“Don’t we have rights?” I ask.
“Not anymore. What else?” She reads my schedule. “You have language arts—you’ll learn lots of spells, alchemy which is like potions, arithmetic—all this magic stuff really comes down to energy equations. If you want to get geeky about it, it’s like a math and science fusion class. And futurism, which I love. It’s a class to explore how the past informs the future of magic.”
“Cool.” I love math. “But you don’t seem freaked out about the changes.”
She shrugs. “Goodness will always prevail. That’s what I believe anyway. Plus, we have West. Also, worry isn’t in my nature.” She glances at the schedule card. “Oh, and you h
ave a bonus class. Seminal seminar.” She stops midstride and looks me up and down.
Her eyes soften and then brighten, as she swiftly understands something. “Oh, they didn’t tell you.”
“Who?”
“Your parents.” She shakes her head. “Some parents choose not to tell their kids they’re magic. It’s a shame. Sometimes it can get nasty. I’ve seen some angry disputes.”
“I’m not mad. Not really. I was for like a minute. Now I’m just confused.”
“Makes perfect sense. You woke up today and thought you were going to regular high school and instead were shipped off here with the P.S. by the way, you have magic abilities.”
“Sort of. Wait, how’d you know?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” She smooths her hair into one long column.
“Pry?” I ask, not following what she’s saying.
“It’s a habit and sometimes habits are hard to break. That’s part of the reason why we’re here—to learn how and when it’s appropriate to use our abilities...or not use them.”
“Hold on, did you read my mind?” I ask, aghast.
She holds up a finger. “That’s a gross oversimplification.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I’m still working on shutting it off. Or in the words of Professor Popperwell, knowing when to keep a lid on it. I drive my sisters nuts.”
“Have you always had your magic?” I ask.
“For as long as I can remember.”
“Are your sisters like you?”
“They have their own talents. But that’s also why we’re here. To learn more about each other. This is the first year Riptivik opened its doors to all magical beings. Then again, that’s probably because we’re now a reform school. Well, almost all magical. There are still a few restrictions. Thank goodness they don’t let demons in. That spells disaster. Technically, this is the first integrated class or I should say group of dangerous criminals. That’s what they call us now.” She grimaces.
“So you were here last year?”
“Yup and I loved it. You would’ve too. At least one thing hasn’t changed though. Chancellor West said there’s still pie. Come on, I’m starved.”
☆
We exit the auditorium and follow the path past the houses covered in ivy to a circular building. From the outside, it looks like an enormous merry-go-round with walls. The delicious smell of pie greets my nose and my stomach rumbles. I didn’t eat lunch and breakfast was merely a bar I gobbled while packing.
Round windows of various sizes dot the walls like portholes. Around the rim of the room are serving stations. Round tables already occupied with students fill the center.
“It’s buffet style so you can take what you’d like,” Yassi says as we get in a long line that’s nearly to the door. “Over there you’ll find standard comfort type food: pot pies, potatoes, peas. Then pizza, burgers, macaroni and cheese.”
“Sounds good for any school—reform or not. Much better than the Hamilton cafeteria.”
Yassi sniffs the air. “Peach pie tonight, cherry last night. Late summer pies. But if you like pie, the apple is going to blow your mind. You’re in for a treat. It’s the school specialty since we have apple orchards. But first, how about tacos?”
“Sounds perfect.”
Yassi is a few inches taller than I am and what some would describe as magazine perfect: long limbs, smooth dark hair, olive skin without a single blemish, and proportionate features. She moves with the grace of a ballerina and her voice is as pleasant as a lullaby. While we wait in line, she says, “Since you knew nothing about the magical world, I’ll tell you everything I can about Riptivik. Then again, things might be different now.” She stops in front of the food line. “Where are the tacos?”
The woman behind the glass shakes her head and dumps a pile of slop onto a plate and thrusts it in Yassi’s hand. “Next.”
“Thank you?” I say to both Yassi for offering to fill me in on the details and the cafeteria worker for the plate when she passes mine.
“At least there’s still pie,” Yassi mutters.
If I were at Hamilton as a senior, I’d be at the top of my game—no questions about what to do—or not do. The numerous round tables, most of them filled, pose a problem.
As if Yassi read my mind, because she probably did, she says, “Don’t worry. Come with me. There is always space at my table.”
I glance around, thankful, and then spot a shadowy figure wearing a top hat. My heart leaps. But I must have been imagining things.
Why and how would JJ possibly be here?
Chapter 8
★
Yassi weaves easily through the maze of round tables. I end up bumping into a girl with one eye, a fae with crystalline wings, and a boy with golden hair and eyes. “Sorry, excuse me, pardon,” I say in turn as I make my way across the dining hall.
Finally, when I move to sit down at an empty chair Yassi whispers, “No, not there.” She signals a different empty seat. “I rescued you from being bored to death by Quince.” She gestures to the boy on the other side of her. “He requires a buffer. We were in class together last year. Trust me; you don’t want to hear him talk about his polymorphous theories. Bor-ing.” She mocks falling asleep. “Well, unless you’re a changeling interested in hacking your biochemical makeup.”
Quince takes a bite of slop, sneezes, and pushes his glasses higher on his nose. A girl sits down on his other side and as if on cue, he asks her, “Have you heard the relevant theory on—”
“So, Riptivik Magic Academy 101,” Yassi says, taking a delicate bite of the slop. “Riptivik Reform,” she corrects. “And this tastes like Gurg Loaf.” She makes a gagging face. “That’s maggot bread.”
I stick out my tongue. “Gross.”
“Okay, back to RIP, that’s what we call it for short.”
“More like Rest in Peace to my freedom,” I mutter, pushing my plate away.
A heavy sigh settles over her. “Yeah, magic jail,” Yassi says. “Though not as bad as the Iron Tower. At least we can still meet up in the dining hall and to study. Not that everyone does. Let’s see. You have the geeks, bookworms, and perfect students.”
“That sounds like me.”
Yassi laughs. “And me.”
“There are the athletes.” She points to a few tables that overflow with larger than average students. They might be actual giants.
“Yes. They’re giants. Used to go to Leberge School.”
“Wait? There are other magical schools?”
“Of course, there are, well, were, including Amsterdam Island. It became a reform school as well and then was destroyed. If you’re wondering, Hogwarts isn’t one of them. Some things really are fantasy.”
I scan the room for Hagrid, just in case she’s wrong.
My attention lands on a table full of guys dressed all in black, reminding me of the guy by the bonfire. “Who’re they?” I ask.
“The rebels. Looks like the shifters joined them.” She tilts her head to the left. “And the vamps.”
“As in vampires?”
“You got it.”
“They’re magical?”
“Not all vampires, some of them are blood-sucking idiots, but a select few who’re sent here, yup lots of magic.”
I observe the table with quiet fascination. Chelsea and I went through an intense Twilight phase.
Yassi continues, “The girls with the colorful hair are the changelings. You can tell because they have different colored hair, skin, facial arrangements, you name it, practically every day.” I want to ask about djinn, but she goes on, “When this was still an academy, there was the Gold Class—the elite and popular, practically royalty. And the Red Class—the rest of us ordinary folk.”
I nod, having seen enough of the social hierarchy to understand what she means.
“There are primary and secondary students as well as mastery level, post-grads. Or rather, now, I should say our release rather tha
n graduation. This is like a university, not high school.”
I guess I’ll be here forever since my magic feels about as far away as home.
Yassi says, “Also the pixies, elves, and...” She trails off turning toward the door.
When I turn, I’m face to face with a mane of chestnut hair.
“Hi, Wyatt,” Yassi says in a cheerful yet shaky voice.
“Elf extraordinaire, at your service,” says a guy with curved ears.
“Have you ever seen hair like that?” Yassi says softly to me, twirling a finger through her own. “I’m so jealous.”
Gone is the radiant girl and in comes the giggling flirt. Wyatt appears and suddenly she’s goo. I have to admit, he is handsome: tan, muscular, well-defined arms, and a strong jawline. His hair is a long, dark mane of silky, shiny perfection. Everything about him is handsome, by anyone’s standards. But given how strange my life just became, guys are the last thing on my mind.
“We met at summer camp two years ago. Some people in the magical world believe all magical beings should have access to the same opportunities. Others disagree because of long-standing feuds, prejudices, and dislikes. Never thought we’d end up here together.” The look they exchange is the kind you get when struck by Cupid’s bow—and I wouldn’t doubt it, at least not at this school.
Two girls scoot Quince over as he drones on about his theories. Yassi introduces me to her roommate, Audra. She has the same smooth features as Yassi. She introduces us to her socium, Winnie Tarbell, a dwarf.
Audra says, “So, what did I miss?”
I instantly miss Chelsea.
“I was giving Maija the Riptivik overview,” Yassi says.