The Zero Curse

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Rose frowned. “Is it a good idea to strike back?”

  “I have to,” I said, surprised. I felt a pang. I’d spent too long trying to stand up to her before I’d discovered my talents. “Or else she’ll just walk all over me again.”

  “Yes, but ...” Rose struggled for words. “What’s to stop her from just snatching the earring again? Or catching you in the shower? Or ... why don’t you just stop this feud?”

  “Because she won’t leave me alone,” I said. I understood the dangers. But I also understood my sister. When I’d been powerless, I’d been a threat to her reputation; when I’d discovered my talents, I’d become a threat to her future. People who had scorned Alana for having a powerless sister now paid court to me instead. “I can't let her get away with it.”

  “And she has your earring,” Rose said. “What can she do with it?”

  I shrugged. The earring wasn't blood-bonded to me. Alana could wear it too, if she pierced her ears. Maybe she could rig up a clasp, if she didn't want to risk Mum’s displeasure. And the earring would work for her, if she didn't accidentally destroy the spellform. But anyone wearing it wouldn't be able to use magic themselves. It wasn’t a problem for me, of course, but her? Alana would feel crippled without her magic.

  And yet ... I rubbed my earlobe as we headed down to lunch. There would have been traces of my blood on the earring, wouldn’t there? Could Alana do anything with it? I honestly wasn't sure. Blood magic was banned for a reason. Alana would have to be insane to risk something that would get her expelled, from polite society as well as the school. And even if she did ... I didn't know if a spell focused on my blood would strike me. I had no magic running through my veins. It was quite possible that Alana would merely waste her time.

  I should find out, I thought, grimly.

  But I wasn't sure how. Dad wouldn't use blood magic on me, not even as part of an experiment. And anyone else would be in real trouble if they were caught. Magus Court was unlikely to sanction any experiments involving blood magic. The only thing they’d take a dimmer view of was left-hand magic. Dad’s political enemies would use it to tear down his position and destroy the family.

  The dining hall was crowded, hundreds of students stuffing their faces before the games. I glanced at the football teams - jeering at each other - and then sought out my sister. Alana, surrounded by a gaggle of older girls, was making rude faces at Isabella. Isabella was making them back, surrounded by her own teammates. I exchanged glances with Rose as we collected our food and sat down with the handful of sane students who paid no attention to the games. We ate slowly, even as the bell rang. No one would care if we stayed behind when the players and their supporters went to the arena. Sandy - mercifully - had stopped insisting that everyone should attend the games.

  And she wouldn't know who she wanted me to cheer for either, I thought. I didn't want to cheer for Isabella or Alana. Maybe I should go check out the football game instead.

  “The library will be empty,” Rose pointed out. “We wouldn't be fighting for the books.”

  “We’ll go there later,” I promised. I understood Rose’s reluctance to make an enemy of my sister, but I couldn't stop. I needed to make Alana pay. “Let’s go.”

  We returned our trays to the staff, then headed down to the arena. The noise-dampening charms had weakened, if someone had bothered to put them up at all. I could hear the roar of the spectators shaking the walls themselves. The announcer was giving a running commentary so loud it could probably be heard on the other side of the city. I didn't have to attend to know what was happening.

  The changing rooms were deserted, as I had expected. There were four: two for the girls and two for the boys. The gym teachers preferred to keep the two teams separate while they got changed, knowing that one player might decide to hex another player and remove her from the field before the game began. I pulled on my spectacles and examined the half-open door suspiciously. There was a very generalised ward drifting over the entrance, but nothing else.

  Designed to make note of who enters rather than anything else, I thought, as I pulled on one of my bracelets. I’d designed it myself, then tested it against Dad’s wards. It wouldn’t break down the ward, but it should conceal me from its unblinking gaze. They should have just locked and warded the door.

  “Stay here,” I muttered. “And cough loudly if someone approaches.”

  My heart started to pound as I stepped into the changing room. There was a toilet at the far end, giving me the barest fragment of an excuse if anyone caught me in the changing room, but I doubted anyone would believe it. Sabotaging the other team was a long-standing tradition. So was hexing anyone caught in the act. I looked around, silently noting the team banner on the wall. Whoever had designed the ugly thing must have bribed the team to accept it, I thought. It was a hodgepodge of colour and crude patterns.

  I found Alana’s clothes and peered at them through the spectacles. There were no less than five hexes guarding them, all nasty. I wondered, absently, if her teammates hadn't been too pleased when she’d joined the team. Alana hadn't really had time to develop her skills. I could easily understand why some of her teammates might resent her presence, no matter what she’d offered them. Losing because of a first-year student would turn them into a laughing stock.

  And they’ll probably hex her today if she loses, I thought. Alana was good, but she was no match for someone three or four years ahead of her. I wouldn't want to be in her shoes.

  I briefly considered dispelling the hexes, but I knew she’d notice at once. Instead, I looked around for the bottles of juice. Isabella had bragged about the juice - brought in from Sweetmeats by older students - often enough that I knew they had to be there. And they were, resting on a bench and carefully labelled with each student’s name. I walked over, checking carefully. There were no hexes guarding them from theft.

  Because while hexing one’s opponents is allowed, theft is not, I thought, wryly. It isn't tradition.

  I picked up Alana’s bottle and opened it, then removed the syringe from my pocket. I didn’t dare put too much in the drink - she might notice the taste - but a few drops should be more than sufficient. I closed the lid, returned the bottle to the others, then hurried out of the changing room. Alana might realise that someone had opened the bottle and cast detection spells, but it wouldn't matter. What I’d done didn't rely on magic.

  Rose was outside, looking pale. “Are we done?”

  “Nearly,” I said, as we hurried towards the arena. “We just want to wait and see the results.”

  No one bothered to question us as we took seats in the stands and watched the game. Alana, Isabella and the rest of their teams were throwing a ball around, hexing and jinxing each other when the referee’s back was turned. I’d never really liked the game, even as a spectator. It was just another reminder that there were things I’d never be able to do. And besides, who was I meant to cheer for?

  I watched Alana running around, dodging hexes and tossing the ball to her teammates. She wasn't bad, I admitted sourly; she was smart enough to keep moving, rather than trying to hex her older opponents. And she was fast, faster than I’d realised. I’d always thought she’d never had the time to learn to play, but perhaps she’d played with her friends. I hadn't attended those parties.

  The whistle blew for half-time. I leaned back in my chair and waited, patiently. The die was cast. Alana would drink the juice or she’d smell a rat and pour it down the toilet. I wasn't sure how long the potion would take to take effect - my calculations had been imprecise - but I was fairly sure it would work quickly. And then ...

  She won’t even know who to blame, I exulted. No, that wasn't entirely true. Alana would have a very good idea who to blame. But no one else would listen to her. They’d be more inclined to think she accidentally drunk the potion herself.

  Isabella’s team returned to the field, took up their places and waited. And waited. I waited too, impatiently. No team captain would leave their
opponents on the field for long, not when the opposition would take advantage of the opportunity to scatter hexes all over the place. The referee might not even bother to object. But where were they?

  Rose nudged me. “Are you sure you didn't hurt her?”

  I nodded, curtly. And yet ... had something gone wrong?

  Alana’s team reappeared. I knew, immediately, that nothing had gone wrong. Alana’s mouth was tightly closed, her lips and teeth clenched together. And yet, it looked as though something was trying to come out of her mouth. The referee blew the whistle, startling everyone ... and Alana brayed like a mule. I laughed, along with the rest of the audience, as she clamped her mouth shut. She’d be braying like that for hours, perhaps days.

  I tried not to giggle as the game resumed. Alana’s captain must have threatened her with something truly awful to make her take the field. I could tell she was furious and humiliated - and who could blame her? Her mouth kept opening and emitting donkey sounds. And she was perplexed, too. There were quite a few hexes to make someone talk like an animal - she’d used them on me, far too many times to count - but no one had hexed her. She would have noticed.

  “Let’s go,” Rose said, firmly.

  I followed her out of the arena and back up the corridor. It was hard to contain my giggles. I wanted to throw back my head and cackle insanely, like a character in a mad play. My entire body shook with the effort it took to keep myself under control. Alana had been hexed and humiliated and she didn't have the slightest idea how it had happened!

  Serves her right, I thought. She’d humiliated me, often enough. And it will teach her a lesson.

  Rose caught my arm. “What did you do?”

  “I put the potion ingredients in her juice,” I said. The potion itself was quite simple, so simple that a child of five could brew it. I had brewed it. I’d just never been able to get it to work. “There wasn't any magic, you see. She couldn't detect it with her spells because there was no magic.”

  “I see,” Rose said. “And yet it worked.”

  I smirked. “Her magic triggered the potion,” I said. It was a simple trick, so simple I was surprised no one else had thought of it. Perhaps I just had a unique perspective. “The juice didn't become potion until she drank it, at which point it took effect. And then she started talking like a donkey.”

  Rose didn't seem so amused. “And how long will it last?”

  I looked back at her. “Are you feeling sorry for her?”

  “I’m worried about you,” Rose said. “What happens if she keeps talking like an ass?”

  I reflected that Alana had always talked like an ass, but I kept that thought to myself.

  “It will wear off, soon enough,” I said. “I’d be surprised if it lasted till evening.”

  But I wasn't really sure how long it would last. It depended on how much of the potion Alana had actually drunk. If she’d realised it tasted odd and stopped, she might only have swallowed a drop or two. But then, we had tried to drink Dad’s black coffee under the impression it would make us more adult. And that had tasted foul.

  “Be careful,” Rose urged. She didn't seem as pleased as I had expected. Alana hadn't been nice to her over the last few months. I’d thought she’d be glad to see the other girl humiliated. “She’s going to want revenge for this, isn't she?”

  “Probably,” I agreed. Alana would know who to blame. She knew she hadn't been hexed. It wouldn't take her long to deduce my involvement. “And then I will take revenge myself ...”

  Rose sighed. “Be careful,” she said. She squeezed my arm, lightly. “Feuds never end well.”

  “No,” I said, tartly. The potion wouldn’t last. “But nor does letting someone else walk all over you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  As it turned out, I was wrong.

  Alana was at dinner that night, braying like a mule. She had to struggle to eat her dinner, then hurry back to her dorm with the entire hall laughing at her. And she was still braying the following morning, when we went down for breakfast. Even I might have started to get a little worried, at this point, if it wasn't clear the potion was wearing off. By lunchtime, she was back to normal. I was sure she was plotting revenge of her own.

  I took Rose down to the workroom after lunch, intending to work on a few of my commissions while she practiced her forging. Magister Tallyman didn't need much persuasion to convince him to let Rose work, although he insisted that either Akin or myself had to keep an eye on her at all times. Akin didn't try to argue. I’d never been sure how he felt about Rose - she might not have been an enemy, but she was still a commoner - yet he seemed happy enough to help. Perhaps he just wanted the teaching credit.

  “I’ll have more experiments for you, later in the day,” Magister Tallyman told us. “Make sure you’re back here after dinner.”

  I nodded as I went to work. None of the commissions were particularly complex, but they were satisfying. I was building up a network of favours that I’d be able to call in, one day. I’d even started working on an Object of Power that would cleanse someone of magic - all magic - without being blood-bonded to them. If I offered to rent it out to students like Jeannine, who knew what they’d pay for it? I was midway through the fifth commission when there was a knock at the door.

  “Hang on,” I called, as I moved my current project out of the way. “Come in.”

  The door opened. An upperclassman peered in and smiled. “Lady Caitlyn?”

  I nodded, slowly. He was handsome enough, although his face had a rugged look that suggested he’d spent too long playing football or rugby instead of studying. His brown hair was grown out a shade too long, something that would probably earn him his mother’s displeasure when he returned home. His blue eyes studied me for a long moment, just as I studied him. I couldn't help thinking that he simply didn't have the polish to be part of High Society, even though he clearly wasn't commoner-born. A merchant’s son, perhaps. He wouldn't have been raised to treat the whims of High Society as iron commands.

  “I am Rolf,” he said, with a half-bow. Definitely a middle-class student, then. “I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.”

  “If you wish,” I said. I racked my brain for the proper formalities, then decided to forget them. “What can I do for you?”

  “And what am I prepared to pay for them?” Rolf finished. “I’d like you to help me - us - with a project. And we can make it worth your while.”

  I nodded, slowly. A merchant’s son, almost certainly. High Society’s older children would be a little more subtle about wheeling and dealing. Dad had told me that it was the same thing, just dressed up differently. I had no reason to disbelieve him. Rolf’s approach was ... refreshing.

  “I see,” I said. “And what would you like me to do?”

  “We want to get over the back wall,” Rolf said. “And if you help us, we’ll bring you back a mountain of chocolate from Sweetmeats.”

  I blinked, surprised. “You think I can help you break through the wards?”

  “I think you can make something that can help us slip through,” Rolf said. “If some of the old stories are true ...”

  I considered it, carefully. “I might be able to make something that would help you get through,” I said. The chance to share a mountain of sweets myself ... that would give Isabella a nasty shock. “But wouldn't it be considered cheating?”

  “There’s no rule against using Devices of Power,” Rolf pointed out. “And there’s certainly no tradition against using Objects of Power.”

  “True.” I had to smile. By tradition, anyone who managed to get over the walls was free to roam the city ... although they could expect to be in hot water when they finally returned to the school. Dad’s apprentices had told me that the smarter ones brought back a bottle of wine or two to bribe the gatekeeper. Sneaking into the school was a great deal harder than sneaking out. “But would that count as you getting over the wall?”

  “You could come with us,” Rolf said.
“You’d be the youngest student to cross the walls in a thousand years.”

  It was a tempting thought, I had to admit. The youngest student who’d crossed the walls had been a third-year, nearly a hundred years ago. A number of second-years had tried to match his feat, but they’d all wound up entangled in the wards. Isabella would never be able to sneer at me for crossing the walls, unless she decided to accuse me of cheating again. But Rolf was right. There was no rule against using Objects of Power.

  There probably will be soon, I thought. I’d sold over a dozen Objects of Power to various students. The prospect of someone using one in school is greater now.

  I wrestled with my conscience for a long moment. Dad - and the Castellan - had told me to stay in the school. And yet, I was tempted. If I had an escort, I would be safe ... right? But I didn't think Dad would see it that way. He might pull me out of school altogether if I defied him so blatantly. Or he’d crush Rolf and his friends ...