Academy of Magic Collection

by Angelique S Anderson et al.

  “I’m glad you guys made up.” Cora interrupted our conversation by appearing back at our table, holding an entire tray with food. “By the way, Alanis,” she said as she sat down, “I wanted to ask you something.”

  I frowned. “Sure, ask away.”

  “There’s dance class this afternoon,” Cora said before she shoved half a sandwich into her mouth. “Classical dances, like the waltz and the Foxtrot, that kind of stuff. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.”

  “Don’t you usually need a partner for that sort of thing?” I wasn’t a huge fan of dancing, reason numero uno being the constant lack of partner. Even when we had to dance during gym in my previous school, boys stumbled over each other’s feet to dance with the pretty girls, and I was either left dancing with a guy who’d rather be anywhere else but there, or dancing with one of the other partner-less girls.

  “Yes, but there will be guys a-plenty there,” Cora reassured me. “Everyone signs up for dance classes. It’s sort of expected that if you’re good at playing classical music, you have to be good at classical dancing. Besides, who needs a guy anyway? We could dance together.”

  “Who came up with that stupid assumption that just because you’re good at music, you need to be good at classical dancing?” I arched my eyebrows, baffled. “I for one can tell you that’s blatantly untrue. I have two left feet.”

  Cora shrugged. “If you don’t want to go, it’s fine. Dante’s ditching on me too.” She pouted and gave me puppy-dog eyes.

  “Why are you ditching her?” I asked, turning my attack against Dante. If I could convince him to participate, then I wouldn’t have to, and Cora would still be happy. That sounded like a win-win for me.

  “I,” Dante said as he leaned back in his chair, “already know how to dance. Trust me, the waltz holds no secrets for me anymore.”

  “All the more reason why you should sign up to do Cora a favor.”

  Dante snorted. “It’s not like Cora’s going to dance with me anyway. And then I’d have to look for another dancing partner, and that’s way too much hassle.” He yawned. “Nope, can’t do.”

  “Pleeeeease, Alanis, pleeeeeeease,” Cora said in a pleading voice. “Come on, I’ll owe you like a huge favor.”

  I sighed, contemplating what was the worst thing that could happen. Cora finding a partner and I being stranded without one, was one possible scenario. But maybe I should do her a favor—I could use a friend, being new and all, and she’d been really nice to me so far.

  “What the heck,” I said before the words fully sank in. “I’m in. What time is it?”

  “You are?” Cora’s mouth dropped open and her eyes lit up as if someone had just told her Christmas came early this year. “Awesome!” She leaned over to high-five me, which I awkwardly returned.

  “It’s at two o’clock, so just after lunch. Location is the grand ballroom, but don’t worry about finding it, I can show you.”

  Dante looked at me, rather amused. “Well, Scaredy-Cat, you surprised me. I never thought you had it in you, but you have more guts than I gave you credit for.”

  “Ha ha,” I replied sarcastically. “Now come on, lazy bums, we have to get to class.”

  Dante might not care much about being late, but this school was a new chance for me, an opportunity to prove myself and I did not want to be late.

  Despite the attempts of my so-called friends to slow us down, we arrived at our next class, Musical Composition, just in time. We slumped down on one of the middle rows, Dante right behind me and Cora to my left. As I put my backpack on to the floor and slipped into my seat, someone tapped on my shoulder.

  I turned around, raising an eyebrow at Dante. “What?”

  “What what?” he asked, frowning. “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You tapped on my shoulder.”

  “Wasn’t me.” Dante shrugged, putting his backpack down as well. “Probably just a phantom touch.”

  “Phantom touch?”

  “Are you a parrot echoing everything I say?” Dante sat down and crossed his arms. “A phantom touch or a phantom feeling, like you feel someone is there, but it’s no one, just the wind. I get it all the time.”

  A phantom touch. Phantom feelings. Like the giggling I heard in the rehearsal room yesterday.

  Alanis, chill. There’s a completely rational, normal explanation for that. Could’ve been someone from outside, a gush of wind—it has nothing, absolutely nothing, to do with phantoms.

  My thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Mrs. Ryder, the Musical Composition teacher. She was tall for a woman, towering high over all of us as we were seated down. Plump, but with a thin, sharp face, she reminded me of one of the Witches from Roald Dahl’s story.

  “Most of you will probably know me,” she said, glancing at the class. “Some of you won’t. To keep introductions brief, I’m Mrs. Ryder and I teach Musical Composition, and really that is all you need to know about me.” She gave a small smile, but I wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “Since most people don’t like composing—and don’t bother denying it, I’ve been in this line of work for over a decade and if one out of every fifteen musicians likes composing, that’ll be a steep estimate—I’ve decided to do things a little differently this year. Teams.”

  A collective groan escaped from the room.

  Mrs. Ryder pretended not to notice. “Groups of two. You’ll each be composing a piece for the other person’s instrument. So, if your partner plays the clarinet, you’ll have to compose a piece for the clarinet. The piano can be added in as an accompanying voice, but it’s not a necessity. I want these pieces ready within three weeks, no excuses.” She stared straight at Dante when she said ‘no excuses’, and I almost chuckled. Of course, of all people, Dante would be the one most gifted of coming up with excuses for not doing the work.

  “Now, to make this a little more challenging,” Mrs. Ryder continued, as if she hadn’t just given us a harrowing task, “I want the composition to represent your team member in some way. This can be pretty straightforward: if your partner is a cheerful, happy person, make the melody happy and playful. But it can be more subtle too – as long as it represents your partner in some way, shape or form.”

  Dear God, kill me now.

  If Mrs. Ryder considered that an easy challenge, then this academy was obviously way out of my league. I might as well drop off the face of the earth and pretend I never even came here; no way was I ever going to pull this off.

  “Time to pair up. I’m going to make this easy,” Mrs. Riley continued, “as I know that otherwise there will be chaos and mayhem. Your partner for this assignment will be the person sitting to your right. So, Mr. Martens, you'll be paired up with Mr. Teegan, and Miss O'Reilly, you'll be teamed up with Mr. Bronnen.” She gestured at each of the people she indicated. A chorus of sighs erupted from the room, as obviously everyone would’ve preferred to choose their partner.

  “Miss DuChamp.” Hearing my name almost made my heart skip a beat. It hadn’t fully registered yet that I would have to partner up too; I’d been so focused on my rising panic for having to write a musical composition that I’d forgotten the even more harrowing part: I had to team up.

  “Mr. Ravelli.” Oh, right. Dante was sitting next to me.

  Maybe this assignment wouldn’t be that bad. I was a horrible newbie at composing, but Dante had a lot of experience. At least he should be able to help me out if I ended up failing miserably.

  “Nooooooo,” Cara mouthed at us, acting all over-the-top while she wiped a hand across her face, pretending to be utterly miserable.

  “Funny little imp,” Dante whispered, shaking his head and smiling at Cara, who had thrown her head backward, letting out a silent wail when she was teamed up with a boy whose name I didn’t know yet, but who had bright red hair and a million freckles.

  “I’m glad we’re partners, Scaredy-Cat,” Dante said. “At least this gives me a chance to get to know you better.”

  “Oh. Rig
ht.” His comment made my cheeks heat up, although I wasn’t sure why. Get a grip, Alanis, the guy just said he’s glad to get to know you better—you know, like friends.

  “Anyway, I wanted to ask you something. You’re on the top floor too, right?”

  “Well, since you almost gave me a heart-attack when you were hanging out in the hallway next to my room, I would’ve expected you to remember that.”

  Dante chuckled. “I wasn’t sure if you had a room there, or if you were lost. You sure looked like a lost little lamb. Anyway, besides the point.”

  Mrs. Ryder cleared her throat loudly, shooting a pointed look at us.

  Dante stayed silent for a second until the teacher shifted her focus. Then, he lowered his voice and leaned closer, whispering.

  “Do you ever hear noises?”

  “Noises?” I frowned. “From where? The front yard can get kind of noisy when it’s crowded, but—”

  “No,” Dante interrupted me sharply. “Not from outside. From inside.” He turned toward me, looking me straight in the eyes.

  “From the attic.”

  An ice-cold finger traveled the length of my spine, and I shivered— as if someone had just stepped on one of my ancestor’s graves, that’s how it felt. “No… Why?” I paused for a second. “Have you?”

  For a minute, a haunted look shot past Dante’s eyes, but then he shook his head. “No. I guess it’s just mice. Old houses and all that. I thought I heard something running up there, but it could be anything.”

  I couldn’t keep the shock from my voice. “You heard someone running up there? Up on the attic?”

  “Not someone. Something. The attic is locked off, no one is allowed to enter.”

  No wonder he looked so tired. If I’d heard someone—or something—running up in the attic, I wouldn’t have slept at all.

  Dante glanced down at his desk, and I felt bad for him. Wanting to cheer him up, I said: “Sorry, but I didn’t hear anything from the attic. Maybe it’s the house settling, or maybe it’s mice, or birds. Or rain.”

  “It didn’t rain last night,” Dante said quickly. “But it could be birds, that’s true. Or bats, maybe. God knows what’s hidden on those dusty old attics.”

  My mouth became very dry, my tongue feeling like parchment. The cold shiver rocked through me again.

  The last sentence Dante said had such a foreboding, threatening feel to it. It ignited horrifying images of the dark, cruel, lifeless things that could be hiding up there, just one floor above my head, while I lay asleep, unable to protect myself.

  “Hey.” Dante squeezed my arm. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “I’m not scared.”

  Dante raised an eyebrow, looking about as unconvinced as if I’d told him I was the pope in disguise. “Anyway, for the assignment—”

  “Mr. Ravelli. Will you be so kind to shut your mouth already?” Ms. Ryder asked, her hands on her hips, thunderclouds flashing across her features.

  “Sorry, Ms. Ryder.” Dante managed to look somewhat apologetic, causing Ms. Ryder to continue with class, but within two minutes, he’d turned back to me and started whispering again.

  “I was thinking I could drop by your room tonight.”

  “My…. My room?” I stumbled over the words.

  “For the assignment?” Dante raised an eyebrow at me. “Or are you not feeling up to it?”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” It’s just for the assignment. Keep calm, Alanis. Breathe. No need to start acting all awkward now.

  “Around what time?”

  “Eight? After dinner?”

  “Okay,” I agreed. For the first time in history, Alanis DuChamp will have a boy in her room. Even if it’s just for an assignment, that’s what Sam would call a milestone right there.

  I had trouble focusing on class when I thought about Dante visiting me in my room and working on the assignment together. Dante seemed like he could be a good friend, quirks aside.

  As long as I kept it together, everything might turn out all right, and I might have a future here, build a life for myself here in this academy, far away from the past haunting me.

  More people showed up for classical dance than I expected. Even though Cora had told me a lot of people were interested in the class, I thought she was exaggerating just so I would come.

  “What’s cool about dance class, is that all groups mingle,” Cora told me while we waited for the instructor to arrive. “Normally people spend most time with people from their own class, like fourth class hangs out with fourth class, and so on, but during dance class, those groups fall apart.”

  “How come you know all this?” I asked her.

  “I took dance class last year as well. But trust me, I’m the worst dancer in history.”

  “I’ve never taken dance classes before,” I admitted, a bit hesitant to go through with this now I knew some of the people present would be here for the second, maybe even third time.

  “Chill out, Alanis,” Cora orders. “Everything will be all right. It’s classic. Not that hard. Besides, Wilkens always starts with waltzes.”

  “Why would you take the same class twice, though?” I asked her, frowning.

  “Two words,” Cora explained. “Hot guys. I'’ pretty sure Nate will be in this class as well, for example.”

  “Nate?” My heart made a quick leap but settled down when I thought about his girlfriend. Nate is off-limits. Not that he was ever in my league, but I couldn’t even fantasize about him when he was clearly dating someone.

  “Yep. Oh, look, he’s standing over there.” Cora nodded her head slightly toward where Nate was standing, chatting with - who else - Elise.

  “Well, looks like he's busy,” I remarked. The teacher, Mrs. Wilkens, who was falling in for Mrs. Ryder who normally taught this class, chose this exact time to walk into the ballroom.

  Mrs. Wilkens had the perfect figure for a dancer: tall and impossibly skinny, long limbs and short, boyish hair. She was at least a head taller than I was, more like two. As soon as she walked into the room, everyone stopped talking and focused on her. She drew attention to her like a graceful swan, like a prima ballerina in the middle of a performance. She demanded we focus on her, a wordless, unspoken demand we all followed like mindless slaves. I had always envied those people, who could make an entire room stop talking and focus on them. But instead of lavishing in the attention, like I’d probably do, Mrs. Wilkens had a hard, tough look in her eyes.

  “Well, looks like this class is popular again this year,” she stated, as if she never expected anything else. “And a few people from last year here as well. Good. As you know, Mrs. Ryder also teaches this class, so one week you’ll be dealing with me, the other week you’ll be dealing with Mrs. Ryder.” She stretched her arms. “I'm warning you all right now, I don’t have the time nor patience to deal with drama. If you want to cry about how bad I’ve treated you, go do that elsewhere. Now we’ve got that out of the way, we’re here to do some classical dancing. Back when people still had decent fashion sense, they used to dance together, as opposed to dance alone like you’d see in clubs nowadays. You won’t be able to waltz on your own, so go off and find a partner. I prefer boy/girl couples, but if you absolutely have to pair up with your BFF, don’t mind me.”

  Mrs. Wilkens was a paradox: she sounded as stern as a prison guard when she talks, but there was a secretive smile lingering on her lips that made me suspect this was all one big joke to her, and she hardly took herself as serious as she sounded.

  Cora and I waited for a few minutes, but when it was clear no guy was going to come ask us to dance, we teamed up together. I’d rather dance with a friend than a stranger, anyway. Mrs. Wilkens led us through the beginning steps of the waltz. She explained them to us, then demonstrated them with a random student, and then let us practice them ourselves.

  “One, two, three,” I muttered below my breath as Cora and I danced around. “One, two, three.”

  Cora chuckled. “I did that too first time
around. It gets easier, though. Promise.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but I didn’t comment on it anyway. I closed my eyes and tried to let the music guide me. The base steps weren’t that difficult, but all the circling around was making me slightly dizzy. Maybe I should’ve eaten a bit more at lunch.

  Mrs. Wilkens taught us a few follow-up steps, and we rehearsed them. After doing a few more circular movements, the room spun around me. The walls seemed to close in on me, and my head throbbed violently. I felt like I was drowning in the music, like someone would scream ‘faster, faster’ and I was obeying them, although my pace stayed the same.

  Faster. Keep spinning, little bird. Turn, and turn, and turn as fast as you can.

  The thought popped up in my mind without reason. It wasn’t something I had heard before. It was like someone whispered it in my ear, made me think it although I wasn’t really thinking it myself. And what does it mean?

  “You okay?” Cora asked. “You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine. It’s a little hot in here, don’t you think?”

  Cora shrugged and gave me a worried look. “Would you like to sit down?”

  “No, I’m all right,” I said. “It’s all the twisting and turning that’s got me feeling a little dizzy.”

  We continued, but I couldn’t shake the dizziness. It grew increasingly worse, and by the time dance class was over, I was glad we were done. I dropped down on one of the large, old-fashioned couches positioned at the sides of the large ball room and took a few deep breaths.

  Done dancing, little bird?

  This time I was absolutely certain those thoughts weren’t my own. Instead, it felt more like someone whispered them, and I just happened to pick them up. It was strange and discomforting, and the worst part was I had no idea what they even meant. Who was the “little bird” they were talking about? It sounded like a nickname, but who was the person talking addressing?

  My Grandma used to believe that old places could house memories, that walls could remember entire histories of the people who once lived in a house. If I asked her, she'd probably say that a place this old and this magnificent had to have its own share of memories. I remembered we once visited one of the oldest Opera Buildings in the world, Teatro alla Scala in Milan. The building was large, and glorious, and I was amazed by how beautiful it was. Grandma told me the original theater, Teatro Regio Ducal, burned down in 1776 following a carnival gala. She also told me of the many operas that played at La Scala during its impressive history and how, if you paid enough attention, sometimes you could hear whispers from lines that didn't quite fit with the current opera. Memories of days long forgotten, she used to call them. She swore to me she once heard Mozart's Ascanio in Alba being performed there, while the stage was empty; she had agreed to meet a friend of hers who was an opera singer after the performance.