Academy of Magic Collection

by Angelique S Anderson et al.

  “The Board is coming? To Brightling?” I echo.

  Great. Just as the world starts making sense again, I’m thrown another curveball. If the Board has been called, that means my grandmother might also show up—she may be retired, but she’s still an advisor. And if she shows up, she might find out about how I’m failing Poise and Charm.

  Not that it probably matters anymore, with the threat of Clio’s prediction coming true, but still.

  Headmistress Fothergill nods and, reaching for her phone, begins to shoo us away. “Yes, of course. The Board is coming to fortify the school and arrest the culprit before it’s too late. Naturally, I must redirect their attention to Jupiter Raventhorne now instead of you, Sebastian. While I do so, you’re both free to go—please return to your dorm rooms like all the other students.”

  I hesitate, still glued to my seat, unable to leave. It’s like my limbs won’t work until I know the full truth. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘fortify the school’?”

  The headmistress’s fingertips move over the keypad of her phone, dialing. “The last omen,” she says casually, as though it should be common knowledge. “It references an attack on Brightling.”

  Bright halls turning dark.

  That’s what Sebastian said Clio’s final sign entailed. Of course. Bright halls. The halls of Brightling. Where Muses are made.

  I feel feverish as I glance knowingly over at Sebastian.

  “But we’re Muses, not fighters,” he says, a panicked undertow beneath his words.

  The headmistress cradles the phone against her shoulder. I can faintly hear the ring on the other end of the line. “Technically, you are a Seer, Mr. Greenbriar. We are the Muses. But you’re otherwise correct. We’re not fighters—we’re artists. However, we are able to influence others, and that is how the Board will manage our current situation. They have given us the authority to inspire any Mundane in any way necessary to protect the school.”

  “But—”

  “Hello. Yes, this is Evangelina Fothergill with an urgent message for the Board …”

  As she turns her focus to the phone, the headmistress shoos us again, her plump hand waving us away like we’re a pair of dramatically overgrown flies in blue and gold plaid. Sebastian stands slowly, in stunned disbelief—like a man on death row just given a pardon. But a moment later, when we’re alone again in the hall, he turns to me, and the worry is back in his eyes.

  “Something still doesn’t make sense,” he says, frowning.

  “What doesn’t?”

  “The statues in the auditorium. It wasn’t me who smashed them, so who do you think did?”

  As soon as he asks the question, I know the answer, and it’s terrible. It makes me feel cold and exposed, like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.

  “Kash,” I whisper.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Kash? Seriously?” Sebastian repeats, doubtful.

  “Why not? She was gone last night, she was angry, and she had access to the statues,” I explain as we hurry down the corridor.

  “But she didn’t know about Clio’s Lost Scroll,” he says. “You think she just randomly chose the right thing to attack that would fulfill the prediction?”

  I stop short as we enter the main foyer of the building.

  “What is it?”

  “She did know about the Lost Scroll,” I tell him. “Maybe not everything, but something about it, anyway. She’s the one who suggested we look into it.”

  The truth is an arrow to my heart. The pain is sharp, and I feel like I may bleed out from the wound it leaves behind. Kash is too sweet—too gentle—too fragile to do something like this on her own. Someone must’ve gotten to her—forced her—over-inspired her. Someone like Jupiter Raventhorne. That’s why she tried to warn me to stay away from this. That’s why she needed me, and that’s why she was upset I wasn’t there for her.

  “Poor Kash …” I choke. “She’s the feather crushed under the weight of a burden. She’s the eighth omen. I didn’t see it in time.”

  Sebastian takes my hand. “Don’t blame yourself, Bee. I didn’t see it either.”

  I glance at the grand staircase to my right. Beyond it is the elevator to the dormitories. To safety. To following the rules. Obeying Headmistress Fothergill’s instructions may keep me out of danger, and it may keep me from flunking out of Brightling, but it will do nothing to help Kash—or to stop the final omen from coming true. This is our last chance, and we have to take it.

  “Come on,” I tell Sebastian, pulling him along with me toward the front entry. “We have to try to find her. She might know where your uncle is and what he’s planning. Maybe together, we can stop the attack on Brightling after all.”

  The back gates aren’t closed yet. The lockdown order is too new for all the procedures to have been carried out. Groundkeepers still rush around the property, getting everything in order. As Sebastian and I sneak around the building, we see them shuttering windows on the lower levels, barring the entrances, or clearing the lawn of any valuables that could be destroyed in an attack. Sebastian and I dodge them all, hiding behind shrubs or signs along the way.

  Then, we step out into the open: the city streets beyond the academy. In just the short few days since I last left the school property, so much has changed. Dense clouds hover in the sky above, a natural reminder of the darkness threatening to descend on the city. Litter is scattered around the sidewalk—trash of all shapes and sizes, from discarded coffee cups to the stained, torn-up mattress propped against a building on the corner. Even the air is dirty; napkins and plastic bags swirl in the breeze. The people are different, too. They stomp around, grumbling, fists clenched at their sides.

  “It’s awful out here,” I murmur.

  Beside me, Sebastian nods as he, too, takes in our surroundings. “It’s already bleak—just like I saw in my dream. If it’s this bad now, imagine what it’ll be like after the ninth omen comes true.”

  As we stand and gape, someone trudges by, crashing into my shoulder. “Move it!” he shouts at me, glaring.

  I retreat, rubbing my shoulder, leaning closer to Sebastian. “He’s right, in a way,” I tell him. “We need to get going, or things will get worse.”

  He nods. “Where do you think we should try first—Empire Opera House or Brambleton Terrace?”

  The decision is an important one. I turn in circles, unsure, as I weigh our options. Kash mentioned going to Brambleton—but Empire Opera House is where we last saw Jupiter Raventhorne. Either one makes sense. “I don’t know,” I murmur, overwhelmed. “I don’t—”

  “Bee, look—over there, by Grand Park.”

  I jerk my head in the direction Sebastian points. In the distance, a cluster of birds—dozens, maybe hundreds of them—encircle the sky above some location deep within the park. It’s hard to hear much over the brash sounds of the city—traffic and chatter, jackhammers and machinery—but if I hold my breath, I can hear them cawing ominously.

  “They’re Ravens,” Sebastian tells me. “My uncle has decorations of them all over the estate. I’d recognize them anywhere.”

  I let out my breath, a long, slow exhale, hoping it’ll settle the uneasiness churning inside me, rising like a red tide. “I guess we’re going to Brambleton,” I murmur.

  Like many of the other surfaces across the city, the sign pointing us in the direction of Brambleton has been vandalized. Spray paint is scrawled across its front, changing the name “Brambleton” to “Disaster-ton.” Not the most inventive choice of words, but at least it’s accurate.

  The park is busier than I would have expected today. The paths are crowded, people walking shoulder-to-shoulder along them. Men and women, even children and elderly. There’s something strange about them all, too. They move in unison, in a cross between a march and a stumble, their arms barely swaying at their sides. Each has a dazed expression: glossy, vacant eyes and pallid cheeks, mouths ajar and unsmiling.

  “They’re going to the sam
e place,” Sebastian notices, craning his neck in the direction they all seem to be moving.

  I follow his stare. He’s right. Everyone is moving like zombies, staggering toward the edge of the park—the side closest to Brightling’s front gates. In just a moment, they’ll reach the exit and begin spilling out into the street.

  “They’re over-inspired,” I gasp. “Someone’s controlling them, sending them to the academy.”

  Sebastian gulps and wets his lips anxiously. “My uncle. He’s told them to attack.”

  My heartbeat quickens, thundering in my chest like an echo of the raven’s wings beating furiously overhead. “Let’s leave the school to the Board of Nine, like the headmistress said. We have to get to Kash.”

  Together, we practically run the rest of the way toward whatever remains of Brambleton. As we ascend the small hill to the courtyard, the ravens’ calls grow louder, the beating of their wings almost deafening. The air seems to throb around us, pulsing in my ears and against my skin. Ash covers over everything, drifts of soot instead of snow, and the smell of smoke still wafts through the air.

  Where the kiosks and fountains once stood is now a dark, charred mess. Waist-high movable fences have been set up around the worst of the damage, but someone has cast a section of them aside to allow access to the wreckage anyway. Inside that makeshift arena is a semicircle of white clay rubble. Arms and legs stick out from the piles at odd angles—the statues of the Muses, broken and scattered. And within the enclosure formed by their remains is Kash, dancing across the cinder-strewn ground, moving swiftly, as light and as graceful as a feather. There is no music; no instruments accompany her. Instead, she pirouettes to the ravens’ song.

  Kash isn’t alone, either. People line up around her, as eager to watch her dance today as they were the other day, before the fire. They’re drawn to her like magnets. After a few seconds of watching, their stares dull, and their shoulders slacken. Then they shuffle off again down the path, winding their way out of the park and toward Brightling.

  “It’s her,” I breathe. “She’s the one over-inspiring everyone, not your uncle.”

  Sebastian’s face contorts, his anger turning his handsome features harsh and stony, like jagged rocks on a shoreline. He starts forward brusquely, determined.

  “It’s not her fault,” I remind him, grabbing at his arm. “She’s too powerful—she doesn’t realize what she’s doing.”

  “It doesn’t matter—we have to stop her.” Breaking away from me, Sebastian cups his hands to his mouth and begins to shout across the distance, trying to get her attention. “Kash! Kassia!”

  She can’t hear him, though. Not over the ravens. She just keeps twirling and leaping mechanically. Ballerina and automaton alike.

  “She’s over-inspired, too,” I realize. “Look at her face.”

  It’s true. Her symptoms are the same as everyone else’s. The gaunt face and lifeless eyes, the lack of emotion in her movements.

  Whirling around, we search the crowds for the source. For a dark Muse more influential than any of us. For one who would willfully control Kash and use her to manipulate the Mundane. For Jupiter Raventhorne. But before we can find him, he finds us.

  “At last, the return of my wayward nephew,” says a cold, condescending voice behind us.

  I know that voice. I heard it in the alley the day he stole the violin from the street musician and orchestrated the theft of the Laffitte painting.

  “Uncle Jay,” Sebastian gasps as we turn. He takes my hand protectively.

  Jupiter Raventhorne is exactly as I remember. The events of the past week have taken their toll on us and the city—but not on him. He’s still immaculately dressed, his tall figure framed in his trademark black suit and his silvery hair clean and combed. I’d assumed he was a Mundane the first time I saw him, but now I understand him differently. It’s not a lack of imagination that envelops him—it’s tragedy.

  “I must commend you, Sebastian,” Jupiter says. He barely looks at us when he speaks, as though we’re unworthy of his attention. He simply takes the emerald handkerchief from his pocket and uses it to delicately brush away a bit of ash on his sleeve. “At first I didn’t believe that you could possibly defy me. I gave you the benefit of the doubt for a day or two, even after Butler cautioned me against doing so. Alas, he was correct. I underestimated you.”

  The errant ash gone, Jupiter folds his handkerchief neatly again and tucks it back into his pocket. He clears his throat then and, finally, raises his eyes.

  “A most unfortunate thing for both of us,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

  With a flick of his wrist, two men break away from their work of shepherding the curious passersby toward Kash’s enclave of doom. They’re dressed in black suits with green handkerchiefs, similar to the kind Jupiter wears. The lackeys Sebastian mentioned. I gasp and struggle against their grasp as they seize us. They grab at our shoulders and twist our arms behind our backs, immobilizing us. Making us their captives.

  “No matter, though,” Jupiter continues, straightening the cuffs of his suitcoat. “I have found someone else to assist me, and I must say she is doing a rather fantastic job, wouldn’t you?”

  The men turn Sebastian and me around so we can watch Kash create her endless stream of over-inspired Mundane robots. There’s nothing gentle in how they handle us, either. I cry out as pain jolts across my shoulder. I glance over at Sebastian, and he shakes his head sadly. A silent apology.

  “Watching Kassia dance is a far more enjoyable sight than whatever the army she’s creating for me is doing to the academy right now,” Jupiter says as he joins us, flanking Sebastian’s other side. “I must caution you, though. Don’t get too close, or you, too, may find yourself susceptible to her inspiration.”

  “Kash would never do something like this on her own,” I snarl, glaring at him. “Why are you forcing her?!”

  Jupiter’s eyes find mine. They’re pale green like his nephew’s—but without the passion inside them that makes Sebastian’s so bright and beautiful. He raises his eyebrows as he studies me.

  “Come now—Miss Harper, is it?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for my answer, just carries on with his monologue. “I’m familiar with your family. You look very much like your grandmother, you know … If you knew to find us here, then you certainly know what I seek to accomplish. When my nephew made it clear that he intended to have no further communication with me, I needed a substitute. Someone else inside Brightling who could help me hasten along Clio’s little prophecy. Fortunately, I found Kassia, and I must say, she has proven to be a far more useful stand-in than Sebastian ever could be.”

  Sebastian scowls as if his uncle just inflicted and salted a wound. He jerks against his captor furiously, trying to get free, maybe wishing he could take a swing—just one—at his uncle. But his effort is useless.

  “A remarkable talent like Kassia’s should be used for a higher cause, after all,” Jupiter adds.

  “You picked her?” I seethe, glaring. “How did you convince her? Did you threaten her?”

  Jupiter tilts his head back, chuckling. His laughter is like the cry of the ravens overhead. “She presented herself to me if you must know, Miss Harper. Not long after the Brambleton fire, I came to examine the handiwork of the men I hired to carry out my plan. The place had already been fenced off by the city. I didn’t expect to see anyone here—let alone sweet Kassia, come to mourn over the loss of her former stage. I had seen her dance before. I recognized her, and I approached.

  “As we talked, I saw how upset she was, and when I suggested that I might have the means to contribute funds for the city to rebuild Brambleton, she came alive with delight. I promised to make the donation, but I told her I may need a favor from her someday … to which she eagerly agreed.”

  “You’re revolting—you took advantage of her,” I scold.

  Jupiter shrugs nonchalantly. He’s done worse, I’m sure—he’s doing worse now, in fact.

  “Of course, I h
ad no such intention of donating the funds,” he continues. “I have invested quite a bit of time and energy in progressing Clio’s warning. To undo all that I have accomplished would be absurd. But I did gain Kassia’s trust with my lie—and extracted her promise to serve me. By the time she realized she was wrong to put her faith in me, it was too late for her to resist.

  “She came here late last night, exhausted, weeping, dressed in her pajamas. Butler found her trying to sweep away the ash—to rebuild Brambleton and destroy the wonderful progress I have made. He brought her to me immediately. I knew it was time to call in my favor before Kassia turned me in to the Board of Nine. She argued and fussed when I told her she must destroy the statues. She even tried to inspire me to let her go.”

  A hearty laugh—even deeper and more condescending than his chuckle a moment ago—bursts from Jupiter’s lips. “As if she could ever inspire me,” he says, like he’s telling a joke.

  His cruel disregard for Kash makes my blood simmer. Where’s one of the dragons Aurelia Ketterling believes in? I’d train it to strike, to incinerate Jupiter Raventhorne so there would be nothing left.

  “Sweet Kassia has been under my control ever since. Such a lovely marionette.” He shakes his head and tuts in a show of false sympathy. “She smashed the statues at Brightling in the early morning hours and, with Butler’s help, brought them here. I have great reverence for the ancient Nine. It’s important to me that their likenesses receive a proper burial—I could think of no better place than Brambleton. After the school has fallen, I’ll see to it that they are laid to rest.”

  “The school won’t fall,” I rage at him, my own teeth clenched now. “The Board of Nine is on their way and sending reinforcements. It doesn’t matter what army you make Kash create for you. The Board knows what you’re doing, and they will find you and stop you.”

  Even as I say this, something changes. Overhead, the swirl of ravens begins to break apart, the birds scattering across the cloudy sky. As the sound of the squawks and wings dissolves, Kash stops dancing. She collapses to the ground mid-pirouette, a trembling, exhausted heap struggling to catch her breath amid the ash. I want to run to her, wipe the soot from her face, and assure her she’ll be all right now, but I can’t. Jupiter’s lackeys still restrain me.