The Rubicus Prophecy

by Alane Adams

  Hugo’s eyes widened. “It would be an honor, sir!”

  “Excellent. Then I’ll see you after school.”

  Hugo paused. “After school?”

  “Yes. You can’t exactly grade papers during class. Why? Is that a problem?”

  “No, sir, it’s just—”

  “Great. Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two. Maybe three.”

  The door banged open, and students began pushing their way in for the next class. Hugo groaned silently as he made his way out.

  How was he ever going to meet Abigail now?

  Chapter 5

  Abigail gathered up her things after Awful Alchemy and followed Calla into the hallway. She was busy thinking about elements and magic when a hand landed on her shoulder and spun her around.

  “Why, Abigail, how was summer taking care of the babies?”

  Endera stood facing Abigail, flanked by her two sidekicks, Nelly and Glorian. Nelly was tall and still skinny as a stick, her shoulders hunched forward. She waggled talon-tipped fingers at Abigail. Honestly, the girl’s hands looked like claws. She must have used magic to make them so vicious looking. Glorian had grown even stouter, her cheeks so plump they looked as if she’d packed them with Cook’s dumplings.

  “Not now, Endera.” Abigail tried to move past her. “I don’t want to be late to Horrible Hexes.”

  But Endera stepped sideways, blocking her path. “Did I say you could leave?”

  “Yeah, did she say you could leave?” Nelly jeered, moving to one side of Abigail as Glorian closed in from the other side.

  Abigail’s temper rose. “I don’t know, did I say you were the boss of me?”

  “That’s right.” Calla came up from behind her and hooked her elbow in Abigail’s. “Who put you in charge?”

  “Glitch-witch, you should have never been allowed in,” Endera sneered. She drew a small ball of witchfire to one hand, rolling it around her fingers. “Maybe you’d like a taste of my magic?”

  “Bring it, Endera,” Calla snapped back. “Use magic against Madame Hestera’s niece. The one who has her powers.” She drew up her own ball of witchfire. “Now shove off before I tell my aunt you’re not fit to be a witch.”

  Endera let her witchfire sputter out. “I’m just looking out for the coven,” she said sweetly, folding her arms. “Abigail has a history of being a traitor, or didn’t you know? Her mother once left the coven with her.”

  Abigail startled. “Wait, how did you know—”

  Too late, Abigail realized her mistake. Endera’s face was triumphant; the girl had led her into a trap.

  “So it is true,” Endera pounced. “Now all I have to do is prove it, and you’ll be out of here.”

  “Leave her alone!” a small voice shrieked.

  A flicker of witchfire flew across the hall straight at Endera’s head. She cast it aside easily, whirling to see who had flung it.

  Safina glared, another wispy ball of witchfire ready. “Abigail is my friend, so you better be nice to her.”

  Endera sputtered with rage. “You … you used magic against … me!” She called up another glowing ball of witchfire.

  Nelly flexed her talons. “Want me to hold her while you incinerate her?”

  “Yeah, we can pin her down while you teach her a lesson in manners,” Glorian added.

  Abigail jumped in front of the young witchling. “She didn’t mean it, Endera. Say you’re sorry, Safina.”

  The girl had a stubborn look on her face. “But I’m not. She’s—”

  Abigail grabbed the girl’s arm, hard. “Say it.”

  Safina winced but obeyed. “I’m sorry, Endera.”

  “See, she said she was sorry.” Abigail backed away, tugging Safina with her.

  Madame Barbosa peered out of her classroom, and Endera let her witchfire go out.

  “Just wait, Abigail, she’s mine.” Endera spun around and flounced off.

  Nelly lingered, leaning in close. “Next time, little witch, you’ll taste my claws.” She waggled her fingers at the girl. Glorian hissed at her, baring her teeth, and the two strode off after Endera.

  When the bullies had finally gone, Abigail whirled on the younger witchling. “Have you completely lost your mind? What were you thinking?”

  “You have to defend yourself. It says so in the Witches’ Code. ‘A witch’s blood burns with power, cross me not or—’”

  “Just drop the Witches’ Code already,” Abigail snapped. “Witches are mean all the time. Get used to it. Now grow up and stay out of my way.” She shoved past the witchling and stomped down the hall.

  That’s it, dark witch, use your anger.

  Somehow that stupid spellbook could still reach her, and that only made Abigail angrier. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered.

  “I didn’t say anything,” Calla said from her side.

  The glitch-witch had followed her, which added fuel to the strange fire boiling inside Abigail.

  She stopped short and turned to face Calla. “Would you please quit following me around? I gave you back your magic. You’re welcome. That doesn’t make us friends. You were the one who got me into trouble last year by stealing the spellbook, so don’t think I’ve forgotten.”

  Calla looked hurt. “But, Abigail—”

  “Just leave me alone!” She pushed the girl aside, and Calla squealed. Abigail looked in horror as a red brand appeared on Calla’s forearm, as if she’d been scalded. Abigail stared down at her hands, which were now glowing.

  A little gift, dark one. You have only to ask. There is so much more I wish to share.

  “What did you do?” Calla stared at the red mark and then at Abigail.

  “I … I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Calla winced, passing her hand over her arm and murmuring, “Delora benifico.” An aura of pale light passed over the skin, and the red mark faded away. “See? All better.”

  But it wasn’t all better, because Abigail felt terrible. Completely awful, in fact.

  “I didn’t mean those things,” she began, but Calla shushed her, patting her arm.

  “I know. Things are complicated. That spellbook has a grip on you, doesn’t it?”

  Abigail nodded, fighting back tears. “It calls to me,” she whispered.

  “Then we’ll find a way to fight it,” Calla said firmly. “I promise you. And who knows, maybe we’ll learn a curse in Horrible Hexes that will turn Endera into a toad.”

  Abigail smiled faintly, but as they walked to their next class, she could hear the spellbook laughing at her.

  Thankfully, their Horrible Hexes professor, Madame Arisa, wasn’t mean; she simply never smiled. She had an angular face with pencil-thin eyebrows and hair cut short like a boy’s. She knew more about spell casting than anyone Abigail had ever met. Hexes were similar to spell casting, only they involved saying a curse to make someone’s life miserable.

  On top of their desks, a fat textbook labeled Horrible Hexes from A to Z waited for them.

  “You will memorize every spell inside by the end of the school term,” Madame Arisa said without preamble, “or you will not move on to your third year.”

  Every spell in the book? They would be up reading until their eyeballs bled!

  “This book is amazing,” Calla whispered, thumbing the pages. “It has curses for Revenge, Envy, even Jealousy. Look at this one.” She pointed. “It’s a Level One Spite Curse. You can change what people hear into something else. Like, instead of your name, you hear ‘sneevil butt.’”

  “That’s terrible,” Abigail whispered back.

  Calla’s eyes glowed. “I know. Imagine using that on Endera.”

  They burst into a fit of giggles that earned them a glare from Madame Arisa.

  “This year we will be studying more advanced spells than creating a gust of wind with ventimus, as we did in your first year,” Madame Arisa continued. “Therefore, it is equally important that you learn protection spells to defend against a harmful attack.”r />
  Minxie raised her hand. “Madame Arisa, surely another witch wouldn’t use magic against their own?”

  Madame Arisa snorted. “Surely you’re not a naive fool. Witches are capable of a good many horrible things. But all sorts of perils exist in the world. Would you go out unprotected?”

  “No, madame.” Minxie slunk down in her chair.

  “Then we will practice the most basic protection spell. Simply bring your hand around as you call on your magic and repeat, ‘Escudo.’” Madame Arisa threw her hand in an arc, and immediately a translucent bubble of energy surrounded her. “Minxie, send a blast of witchfire at me,” she said, her voice muffled.

  Minxie stood, raising her hand, and shot a ball of fire.

  The witchfire bounced off the shield. Madame Arisa snapped her fingers, and the shield popped. “Now, girls, you may practice on each other.”

  They spent the rest of the period trying to cast protection spells. Too soon it was time for History of Witchery with Melistra. The class was being held in a different room than the one Madame Greef had used. The new space was free of ancient artifacts, with rows of neat desks and bare walls. The secondlings were nervous, whispering among themselves as they waited for Melistra to appear. Endera sat proudly in the front row, hands folded on her desk, her two cronies parked on either side.

  Abigail dropped into the seat next to Calla, wishing she could fold herself into a small shape and become invisible. She was busy imagining all the horrible things Melistra was going to do, when she saw the woman again—the one who had peered around the tree and then vanished. This time she was standing in the corner, peeking out from behind the coatrack.

  “Who is that?” Abigail whispered.

  Calla raised her head. “Who is who?”

  “That woman, behind the cloaks.”

  Calla frowned, tilting her head to see better. “There’s no one there.”

  “She’s right there.” Only she wasn’t. Once again, the woman had vanished. Before Abigail could go investigate, the door opened, and Melistra stood in the doorway.

  She wore a long sheath of green silk that clung to her shape and flared at the bottom. Her eyes swept the room, passing over the heads of every girl until they settled on Abigail with a satisfied gleam. She sailed forward to the front of the class and whirled around.

  “Welcome, dear secondlings. I am so pleased to be teaching you History of Witchery Year Two. So lovely to have the classmates of my very own Endera.” She waved a hand toward her daughter, and Endera glowed with pride. “But don’t think I will go easy on you.” She drifted down Abigail’s row, looking side to side. “Just because you’re in my daughter’s class, don’t expect I will have mercy”—she stopped in front of Abigail and leaned down so her face was inches away—“or that I will ever forget the past.”

  Melistra slowly clenched her hand into a fist. Abigail’s heart cramped in her chest, as if Melistra was squeezing the life out of it. She was vaguely aware of Calla speaking, but the pain was a roar in her ears as all the blood in her body backed up, unable to pass through her heart.

  Chapter 6

  “Melistra, have you taken attendance yet?” Madame Vex stood in the doorway, eyeing Melistra coldly.

  Abigail’s heart began pumping again as Melistra straightened, flattening her hands on her gown. “I count nineteen of them,” Melistra said airily.

  “I suggest it stay that way.”

  “I suggest you get back to teaching your own class,” Melistra snapped.

  Madame Vex tilted her chin ever so slightly and withdrew, pulling the door shut behind her.

  “Well, that was fun,” Melistra said. “Now let’s get to work. I must be frank, history is a bore. Why learn about the past when it’s so … depressing? This war. That war. None of which we ever win. What’s the point of learning history when it’s all the same?”

  A sallow-faced girl named Zeon raised her hand. “Why do we go to war so often if we’re just going to lose?”

  Melistra stiffened, her fingers clenching into fists. “Why do we go to war?” She prowled over to the girl, crooking her finger and magically drawing Zeon to her feet. “Are you a witch or a lowly rathos that crawls on its belly, hoping for the scraps of others?”

  “A witch, a witch,” Zeon pleaded.

  Melistra flung her hand out in disgust, and the girl dropped back into her seat. “Witches need power like a fish needs water. For centuries, we have been denied what our forefather promised us: the right to rule this place. If that coward Odin hadn’t cut off Rubicus’s head—”

  “We would all be dead,” Abigail muttered before she could stop herself. Mortified, she slunk down in her chair, hoping Melistra hadn’t heard, but of course she wasn’t that lucky.

  “What did you say, Abigail?”

  “Nothing, Madame Melistra.”

  “No, no, I’m quite sure I heard you say something. Speak up and share it with the class.”

  “I said … nothing … I mean … I just … I didn’t mean anything.”

  “Nonsense, I’m sure we’d all love to hear. Speak.”

  The command was followed by a snap of her fingers. Abigail was dragged up out of her seat by a powerful magical force, and her jaw began working against her will. “I said everyone would be dead if Rubicus hadn’t been killed. The red sun curse was beyond his control. Everyone knows … he … he couldn’t stop it. It would have killed us all.”

  Melistra raised an eyebrow. “So you think he deserved it? You think we deserve what has happened to us since? To have our bloodlines weakened, our magic diluted because we can never bear a son?”

  “No. I—”

  “Hmmph. Sounds to me like you’re a traitor, Abigail. Blood runs to type, I suppose.”

  Before Abigail could answer, the door opened, and Madame Hestera strode in, trailed by three other High Witches.

  “Excuse the interruption, Melistra,” Madame Hestera said, “but the High Witch Council has an announcement of extreme importance.”

  Melistra welcomed them with a wave of her arm, her gaze hooded. “Of course, my class is yours.”

  Hestera’s green gaze washed over them. “As you all will have seen by now, there has been a sign given to us that the Rubicus Prophecy has begun.”

  A sign? What sign? Abigail thought, taking her seat.

  “In the courtyard, a red sunflower has sprouted. Its meaning could not be clearer,” Hestera added with an imperious shake of her finger. “Rubicus has sent us a sign. Somewhere among us is the witchling who will one day break Odin’s curse on us.”

  The girls broke out in excited whispers.

  Hestera held her hand up for silence. “We must identify the Curse Breaker so she can receive the special training she will need to lead this coven one day.”

  “How will we know who she is?” Endera asked. “It could be any one of us. It could be me. My mother is very powerful.”

  Hestera pulled a yellowed parchment from the folds of her gown and waved it in the air. “On the day Rubicus perished, he left a sealed scroll with instructions, to be opened only when a sign was given. The scroll says we will know the Curse Breaker by her magic, which will be different from any other’s.”

  Abigail sank lower in her seat, breaking out into a cold sweat. Surely, they couldn’t be talking about her? Just because her magic was different didn’t make her the one. Did it?

  “If any of you know who this witchling is,” Hestera said, “speak now and you will be rewarded.”

  The classroom was silent. Abigail kept her jaw clamped shut, staring straight down at her hands clasped in her lap.

  “It would appear she’s not one of my secondlings,” Melistra said. “So, if that’s all?”

  Hestera glanced around the room one more time, and then she and the other High Witches left.

  Chapter 7

  Abigail dragged herself up the stairs to her attic room and flopped back on the bed. Two weeks into her term as a secondling, and she was ready for the yea
r to be over. She had just spent several hours in the study room memorizing curses for Horrible Hexes and writing an essay on the potent powers of the pucka lily plant for Fatal Flora. She still had a heap of alchemy homework to do, but she could barely keep her eyes open.

  Not to mention all the nonstop chatter over who the mysterious witchling was who would break Odin’s curse on the witches, the one who would one day bear a son who would rise up to destroy Odin. Every witchling in the Tarkana Academy was sure they were the one.

  Abigail had thought it over and concluded she wasn’t the Curse Breaker. Her magic was different because of her father, not because she was in line to break some ancient curse. Besides—lots of the girls had magic that was different. Minxie could make plants talk in squeaky high-voices. One thirdling she’d heard about could use magic to fly, although she’d broken an arm when Madame Vex had caught her spying in a window and yelled at her. The only thing Abigail was in line for was expulsion when she failed her classes.

  “Hi, Old Nan, it’s me, Abigail—I’m back,” she said, staring at the cobwebs that lined the ceiling. “Yes, I know it’s only the first month, but Madame Malaria’s practically flunked me out of Awful Alchemy already, and Madame Melistra-puss-boils-face thought I should die rather than attend her class, so here I am. Oh, and I’m starting to see things that aren’t there.”

  And where has Hugo been? She had waited every day under the jookberry tree for over an hour, but the boy hadn’t shown his face. He had left a note on the third day that didn’t explain anything, just that he was busy and would come when he could.

  She sighed. Most of the girls had it so easy. Mothers who shepherded them from afar into fields of magic that followed their own. Minxie’s mother, a botanist witch, made sure her daughter had special training in plants. Portia’s mother was a glamorous witch who made beauty potions every witch craved.

  It didn’t seem fair that Abigail had no one to look out for her. Not for the first time, she wondered just what her mother had been thinking when she’d run away with her.