Thornbound: Volume II of The Harwood Spellbook

by Stephanie Burgis

  “As she would know,” Annabel murmured from the back of the room.

  I didn’t even pretend not to hear her. “Exactly so,” I said grimly. “That is why I will not allow any of my students to risk their own powers or safety in my school. Understood?”

  I myself had been—notoriously—rash enough, strong enough and fortunate enough to survive any number of risky magical gambles across the years, all for the sake of proving my own powers to a skeptical and hostile world...until that final gamble, last year, when my luck had run out. That last spell had nearly killed me—and although I had survived it in the end, multiple experts had confirmed that if I ever drew on my shattered magical resources to cast even the simplest and most trivial of spells, the act would kill me instantly.

  I would fight to the death to keep any girl I taught from ever sharing my own final magical experience.

  I could see the frustration in many of their faces now, but a reluctant chorus of acceptance rippled around the two half-circles of chairs.

  “In that case....” I stepped aside to reveal the large white basin of water that sat upon the high table at the front of the room. “I’d like two volunteers to begin with, please.”

  “Pardon me, Miss Harwood.” Lady Cosgrave’s voice was sharp-edged as she tapped the commonplace book in her hand, ignoring the hands of all of my students shooting up before her. “Doesn’t this mark a significant alteration from the syllabus that you presented to your students last night?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Now, for my first—”

  “So you’re making a second significant change already?” Her voice carried easily through the room, lilting with just the right amount of disbelief to be persuasive. “After Mr. Luton’s...surprising non-appearance this morning?”

  I stretched my lips into a thin smile. “How serendipitous that you should mention him now,” I said, “because Mr. Luton himself is to be the object of our spell.”

  A rustle of interest swept through my students, and I nodded. “He couldn’t teach you this morning, but you will see him now if you can, together, cast a successful scrying spell. This will be a test of your memory, your powers of concentration, and your ability to work with your classmates, blending your powers together into a whole.”

  “And has Mr. Luton volunteered to be the object of this spell?” Annabel inquired idly from her seat. “Or is this simply a discourteous jest that you’re playing on a defenseless member of your staff?”

  “Mrs. Renwick. And Lady Cosgrave.” I looked pointedly from one of them to the other. “Correct me if I am mistaken, but you were intended to be unbiased observers of these lessons, were you not? Rather than active participants—or hindrants to them?”

  “Well!” Lady Cosgrave’s eyes flashed. “If you think—”

  “I am aware,” I snapped, “that both of you would prefer my students to remain uninstructed in their magical abilities. You have both made your feelings on the matter quite clear. Therefore, it can only serve your purposes to interrupt my lessons and subvert my students’ faith in me during these few days that I’ve been granted for your inspection. But”—I held up one hand to still any further objections—“I will not leave any of these young women without a foundation for their own further studies, no matter how many underhanded angles of attack you may pursue against my school.”

  My gaze landed meaningfully on Annabel’s face with my final words. She frowned warily in response, compressing her lips together.

  Was she thinking of that sinister fey altar in the library? She must have known I would suspect her as soon as it was discovered. Not only was she the least trustworthy of our visitors, she was also the only one who had lived before on this estate, with more than enough opportunity to learn about our local fey traditions. I would have loved to press her further now, but with every minute that passed, I could feel those ominous, directed green vines wrapping ever tighter around Luton’s house...and possibly even starting toward Thornfell itself.

  Lady Cosgrave gave an impatient huff and began to scribble rapid notes in her commonplace book—an outline, no doubt, for the excuses she would give when she inevitably voted to close Thornfell down. I ignored the busy scratching of pencil against paper and turned back to my wide-eyed students. “Miss Banks and Miss Stewart, if you please. I’ll direct both of you through it at first, before the rest of the class splits into their own pairs.”

  Miss Banks had studied magic before she came here, using the books that I had lent her, and Miss Stewart—the final student without an alibi for last night’s doings—was also the only student who had been notably excited to study weather wizardry with Gregory Luton himself. None of my students knew him personally yet, but she, at least, knew of him—and that, I hoped, might add just a touch of personal connection to seal the scry.

  It was maddening not to be able to perform the scrying spell myself and race to save Luton immediately...but this many months after my accident, I refused to allow bitter helplessness to overwhelm me any longer. Taking a deep breath, I accepted it...and let it go.

  “Now,” I said as my students moved into position on either side of the table, “join hands, look into each other’s eyes, speak these words, and focus.”

  It was easy for them to repeat the words of the spell I recited for them next—but to focus, sincerely and wholly, in that moment was a challenge. There was an unavoidable jolt of startlement, of course, whenever one looked directly into another person’s eyes for the first time. For two magician’s magics to connect, that look could be nothing so simple as a brief or neutral glance. Shields had to be dropped on both sides for a true connection to be made.

  Our magic came from the rawest, most vulnerable parts of ourselves. We had to open ourselves completely in order to share it.

  And then, when two magics met and joined, guided by the simple words of that spell...

  I had been talking, calmly and steadily, to my students throughout the process, but I had to clench my hands to hold back a full-body shiver as vivid memories suddenly splashed across me: the first time I had learned to do this myself, in a stuffy, windowless classroom at the Great Library, wearing my long black student robes and looking—inevitably—up into Wrexham’s dark eyes.

  I looked at him; he looked at me. It had been that way ever since I’d first arrived and awareness had sparked wildly between us. Everything we did, we did to show off to each other. We were acknowledged rivals in every class. We were intense and combative friends outside.

  But that day, under the droning instruction of our professor, we were forced, at long last, to drop every one of our clever, protective barriers as we met each other’s gazes. None of our emotions could be safely hidden any longer.

  And the raw hunger that I’d seen in his eyes then, as my magic burst free and merged with his...

  Heat washed through me at the memory, tingling and irrepressible—and entirely inappropriate. I gave my head a quick, sharp shake. This was not a recollection to indulge in whilst teaching!

  Fortunately for the heat levels in our own classroom, Miss Banks and Miss Stewart shared no such personal history as Wrexham and I had. There was some awkwardness and shuffling of feet as their gazes connected, but none of the crackling emotional tension of my own experience. It took more than a few minutes before they managed to relax, slow their breathing, and truly focus in unison, but once they did—

  Ah! Their magics connected with a burst of power that sent prickling energy through the room and made every hair on my arms stand on end.

  Indrawn breaths sounded from every watching student—and when I glanced across the semicircles of chairs, holding up one hand for silence, I was startled to find the ever-imperturbable Miss Fennell staring at her secret fiancée with shockingly naked intensity. I wouldn’t have expected her to know what that sudden shift in air pressure meant—but then, perhaps what she was reacting to was the sight of Miss Banks leaning forward, lost in her classmate’s gaze...for Miss Stewart, it had to be said, was re
markably attractive, with curling auburn hair, full lips, and a mischievous sparkle to her eyes.

  I gave my two students a full minute to adjust to their new fusion, keeping a minatory gaze on their audience to ensure that not a single sound could distract either of them. That magical melding couldn’t help but feel astonishingly intimate and exhilarating, no matter who the partner might be; paired with one’s worst enemy, one would still thrill to sense that sudden doubled well of magical strength, making anything—anything!—seem possible.

  It was a feeling I missed horribly...but I couldn’t blame Miss Fennell if she felt an ignoble pang or two as she watched it happen. Knowing exactly how intimate that magical union felt, I shouldn’t care to watch Wrexham pair with anyone else, either, for all that I knew better than to rationally mind it.

  I should have liked to give my students more time to absorb the sensation, but the thought of those wicked, growing vines was a constant irritation at the back of my mind. So, after a minute, I stepped closer to Miss Banks and Miss Stewart, keeping my voice low and soothing, the better not to jolt either of them into dropping the connection. “Look,” I said, “down into the water, but don’t let go of each other’s magic. Feel it filling the air between you, tying you together into one force.”

  Moving as slowly as if the air had become thick liquid, they followed my directions, leaning over to look down with glazed eyes. The water in the white bowl between them rippled under their twinned breath, perfectly transparent.

  “Think,” I said, “of Mr. Luton. Recall every detail that you can, no matter how small or insignificant. It could be the shade of his hair, the sound of his voice, or the words he spoke in his introduction last night.” Or the way he sprawled in his chair afterward as if he owned the whole estate, I thought uncharitably.

  The water in the bowl was already swirling, colors seeping in through the growing whirlpool. Green and gold and blue—aha! That was the blue of Gregory Luton’s eyes...seen so close, as the vision settled into place, that his face filled the entire bowl, and the green and gold I’d glimpsed along the way were abandoned far outside the confines of the water.

  Good God. Was Miss Stewart really only interested in Luton’s weather wizardry? Because the vision summoned here, stemming from the most vivid impression plucked from either of the two women’s memories...

  Never mind. I would have a firm talk later with Miss Stewart about the inadvisability of being taken in by a pair of fine blue eyes, waving golden hair, and an impressively confident demeanor.

  In the meantime, I kept my own voice pitched low as I murmured, “Well done, both of you. Now, let yourself fall back a bit. Let’s see more than just his face, shall we? Hold onto your sense of him, but move away slowly...yes. Just like that. Perfect!” Water swirled again, reshaping itself within the bowl, and pride lit within my chest like a lantern, casting away the last shadows of frustration.

  Yes, I could have cast this spell myself a year ago, with ease—but to watch my students discover the wonder of casting it together? And to see them do it so well on their first try? That was a gift beyond any measure.

  I leaned forward to catch every detail of their vision as colors settled into place...and my jaw clicked shut as sudden outrage overwhelmed my pride.

  Oh, damn the man!

  That green did indeed come from vegetation, but not at all the kind I’d feared. Branches swayed around Luton’s shoulders, heavy with lush green leaves that brushed gently against his skin as he frowned in thought, tapping one hand against his chin.

  No vines were in sight; nothing compelled him to remain. He stood free and unhindered, without the slightest trace of fear or anxiety in his expression. After all the hours I’d spent panicking that he might be trapped, tortured or worse, he, apparently, had been ignoring his teaching duties to take a pleasant stroll in my family’s woods—exactly as I’d warned him against on his arrival!

  A fleck of blue formed in the corner of the vision, and I sucked in a breath, leaning closer. There, just in the corner of the vision...

  “Are those bluebells?” Annabel inquired over my shoulder.

  If there had been a wall nearby, I would have banged my head against it.

  Gregory Luton had walked directly into the woods during bluebell season and hadn’t even made any attempt to avoid them.

  As if Annabel’s words had been a summons, my seven watching students all leapt from their seats and crowded around us, bobbing up and down to peer over our assorted shoulders. Under other circumstances, I would have waved them back to preserve Miss Banks’s and Miss Stewart’s joint focus, but I was too busy battling down rage to trust my own voice at that moment.

  He had known that we were under Boudiccate inspection. He’d known just how vital these few days would be for Thornfell—for every new dream I’d cherished since I’d lost my magic, and for every girl who deserved a magical future of her own.

  Against my own better judgment, I had given him a chance to prove himself—the kind of chance I would have given anything to win after my own time at the Great Library—and as his thanks, he had quite possibly ruined my school’s chances forever.

  “Shall we—?” Miss Banks began.

  I cut her off. “Excellent work, both of you.” My voice shook with anger; I ignored the tell-tale wobble as I swept one hand firmly between my two scrying students. “You may sever the connection. Now.”

  “But—!” Miss Stewart began, even as the image fizzled in the bowl before her.

  “I am very pleased with your first scrying attempt,” I said, “and so will Mr. Luton be. He wasn’t sure you’d be able to find him in that woods on your first attempt, especially if he stood so close to bluebells.”

  And here I was lying to my students...again! This was the second time I’d deceived them for Luton’s sake. That knowledge burned into me like venom sizzling against the bright, open flower of Thornfell’s potential. But with the Boudiccate’s inspectors watching and waiting to pounce upon the slightest misstep...what choice did I have?

  “Now,” I said tightly through whirling, furious regret, “I believe it’s time for our second attempt. Miss Hammersley, please? And Miss Rosenthal? I believe we’ll attempt a different challenge this time. Perhaps...an object rather than a person. Do either of you have a suggestion? Perhaps a landmark you both know?”

  My students obediently shifted places around the basin. Miss Hammersley and Miss Rosenthal bent their heads toward each other for a quick, whispered consultation. Miss Stewart and Miss Banks gave each other half-shy, half-laughing looks of victory. Miss Fennell’s face returned to its previous cool mask, her gaze shuttered and enigmatic.

  The vines from my nightmares had arrived in real life and were smothering my staff cottage. The only weather wizard willing to teach at my school was merrily ignoring his responsibilities so he could take a nature walk around the most dangerous and infamous fey flowers in the nation, leaving me to face the Boudiccate’s inspectors alone. And Annabel Renwick stood directly behind me, her breath on my neck, only waiting for me to make a single mistake that she could use to ruin me forever.

  I drew a deep, steadying breath and forced myself to smile as my students looked to me for direction. “So,” I said. “Let us continue with our lesson.”

  11

  Mr. Westgate did not reappear within an hour or two, as planned. Instead, a note arrived in his place, whisking into mid-air in the middle of my final lesson with a brief flare of magical energy that must have been borrowed from his host.

  Have been called away on an urgent matter. Will return. Until then, keep your students well away from Luton’s folly. – LW

  I pressed my lips together and drew in a long breath through my nose.

  Of course he hadn’t bothered to talk with me before he’d left. Of course he hadn’t been interested in anything I might have learned in the meantime...or in the extremely pertinent details from last night that I’d tried in vain to share with him earlier.

  L
uton’s folly, indeed. Furious though I might be with Thornfell’s soon-to-be-dismissed professor of weather wizardry, Luton was not the only arrogant male to be contributing heavily to today’s chaos.

  So much for last night’s promise to Wrexham that I would get magical help from his supervisor if we needed it!

  “Interesting news?” Lady Cosgrave inquired from her seat, her silver pencil hovering above her commonplace book.

  “Only a note from Mr. Westgate.” I folded the cream-colored paper and deposited it safely within a hidden pocket in my gown. “He’s been called away, but he trusts we can manage without him.”

  “Yet another magician mysteriously called away on urgent business,” murmured Annabel. “First Luton, now Westgate. Shall we expect you to disappear on us too, Cassandra? –Oh, wait. I’d actually forgotten for a moment.” She smiled lushly. “You aren’t really a magician yourself anymore, are you?”

  It was becoming easier and easier not to rise to her bait. Keeping my expression blank, I looked past her to my students, who had paused in their work to observe the barbed byplay. “Has anyone finished yet?”

  They all hastily bent back over their slates, on which they were each sketching out in chalk their own proposed steps for a new spell to summon light.

  Calmly and steadily, I crossed the room and gave the bell-pull a light tug. When my housemaid appeared in the doorway a minute later, I mouthed the words Miss Birch to her while keeping my back carefully turned to our inspectors.

  Ciara was a clever girl. She nodded and slipped away without asking any questions...and twenty minutes later, as the last of my students streamed out of the room to return to their own quarters before supper, Miss Birch stepped inside with her gaze uncharacteristically downcast and her hands clasped, looking as meek and unnoticeable as a stick in the woods. Perfect.

  Annabel’s gaze slipped straight past her. “Will we be seeing you at supper, Cassandra?” Lingering behind her co-inspectors in the doorway, she raised her eyebrows with faux-concern. “Or will you be too busy to share a meal with your students...again?”