by Marian Gray
“She’s too polite,” Sara whispered.
I nodded, sensing it as well.
“Throughout this course we will learn about the laws and ethics within wizard society, as well as the history and influence of the International Chamber of Magical Affairs. There will only be two tests given: a mid-term and a final, which will account for 75% of your grade. The other 25% will come from homework. We will meet five days a week for a total of 90 minutes. Are there any questions regarding these procedures?”
It was the same basic introduction Soh and Ozal had given regarding class structure.
“Wonderful,” Prudence Hanover stated after a few seconds of silence. “Please take out paper and a writing utensil. We will begin today’s short lecture with what is expected of you now that you are a recognized witch or wizard in society. I’d like to start off with some volunteered feedback. Tell me something you know or believe is important about being a magical citizen.”
A few hands shot straight in the air without hesitation.
“Yes, you in the second row,” Mrs. Hanover called upon a girl with stringy brown hair sitting straight and tall.
“My aunt always tells me that as a magical community, we should side with our own kind over mundies.”
Mrs. Hanover’s eyebrows shot up. “A popular and current topic in the world: Community Loyalty. For those who aren’t aware of the terminology she used—mundies are people who do not possess any magical abilities. It is derived from the word ‘mundane’. Anyone else? Yes, you in the back.”
“There’s a bunch of laws regarding magic.”
Mrs. Hanover smirked and buttoned down a giggle. “Yes, the magical community is well-regulated and governed. There are multiple key laws that we will learn during this summer semester that all wizards and witches learn growing up.” She pointed toward the far corner with her thin wand. “In the back corner, what would you like to add?”
“You can’t use magic to become famous or rich.”
“That’s a big one I was waiting for someone to bring up.” She nodded, pleased. “Becoming rich or famous in our world is completely acceptable but in the mundies’ world, it isn’t. This particular issue is attached to a large, more encompassing law that forbids each and every one of us from revealing our world to the mundies. Now, why is this so important? Well, throughout history, we have examples of wizards and witches being tortured and killed for what they are. In Europe, being accused of witchcraft was a one-way ticket to the stake in order to be burned alive. In many countries, practices such as these continue for those who are discovered. And in the more developed world where witchcraft is not illegal, we are seeing cases of wizards and witches being kidnapped and enslaved due to their powers. Needless to say, it is dangerous to have your abilities be made known. Due to this, it is against the law to reveal yourself, others, or any knowledge you have regarding the magical world.”
“What about mixed families?” A girl asked without raising her hand. “I think most of us have mixed mundi and wizard families, otherwise we wouldn’t be taking this class or any classes during the summer for that matter.”
“I believe 'flup' is the term you're looking for. A flup is someone born into a wizarding family without powers. In that particular case, the Chamber operates upon a set of addenda attached to the law. Witches and wizards are required to report all flup-born family members as well as any mundies that marry into the family. These individuals are closely monitored, and should the wizard or witch feel threatened or afraid of being revealed by a family member, the Chamber will intercede and act accordingly.
“Now, can anyone define for me what a witch or wizard is?” Her hands held themselves behind her back. “Yes?”
“A witch is a female magic user, and a wizard is a male magic user.”
She shook her head. “Absolutely incorrect. Would someone else like to give it a try?” Her eyes roamed over the body of students, expecting another answer but no one raised their hand. She was chasing after a specific answer, a specific set of words that nobody could regurgitate. “What about you, Ms. Blackwood? Surely you must know.” I shrunk in my seat as the weight of everyone’s attention settled on my shoulders. “According to the law as set forth by the International Chamber of Magical Affairs, what is a witch?”
“A magical user that is registered and recognized by the Chamber?”
“No, but I appreciate your thinking. Perhaps a career with the Chamber would be a good fit for you.” She took a few steps to the side, standing center in the room. “The reason your answers are all incorrect is because they’re too broad, too encompassing. A witch is a female that possess magical abilities expressed through instruments, incantations, movements, and rituals. A wizard is the male variant. And by law, only wizards and witches are recognized magical citizens.” A hand shot up in the classroom. “Yes?”
“There are other people who have powers? We aren’t the only ones?”
Professor Hanover giggled before answering, “No, we aren’t the only ones. But we’re the ones who matter.” Her thin lips pulled back into a sweet smile. “Outside of the Chamber’s protective reach, there are three other types of magic users: magi, warlocks, and sorcerers. Magi draw their power from a limited internal source known as mana. Their powers also have certain restrictions that are not all encompassing but assigned on an individual basis. Some magi can manipulate water while others may only be able to chop vegetables in the kitchen. Warlocks are summoners of spirits. This includes ones that are alive as well as dead—nasty bit of business if you ask me. Finally, we have sorcerers. These are magical users who perform magic without instruments, incantations, movements, or rituals. Their abilities are not learned but rather innate. This group has managed to somewhat organize themselves and petition the Chamber for inclusion and access to our world. But sorcerers have an awful reputation for being irrational, ruthless, melodramatic, and insane.”
Professor Barnabus Carbey stared out at the class behind thick lens. The heavy frames were silver and shimmered every time he moved his head. “For the first part of the semester, we won’t spend too much time in a classroom, but rather we’ll be outside in the garden or the greenhouse. Once the fall semester begins, I normally ask students to wear clothing they can get dirty, but since we are limited in time during the summer, I’ll try to keep you all as clean as I can.” He gave us a warm grin, much like a teasing grandfather does with his grandchild. “There will be three tests, alongside a final at the end. If you do well on the three tests, I suspect you shan’t have to worry about the final. The first test will be over botany, or herbology if you prefer; the second test will consist of potions; and the third will deal with elixirs.
“Now,” Professor Carbey continued as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t particularly enjoy having a difficult summer session. I don’t believe many parents teach their children a lot about alchemy; and therefore, I think the gap between summer bejants and fall bejants as it pertains to this subject is minimal.”
A boy’s hand rose in the air. It hovered barely above his head in a telltale fashion of someone who was unsure whether they wanted to ask the question they had in mind.
“Yes?”
“What is a bejant?”
“Ah, yes.” Professor Carbey folded his hands on his chest, allowing the ends of his white beard a place to rest. “Ivory was founded by a Scottish wizard, Baltair Banach, and while many of the traditions and culture within in the school have been Americanized, some things still hold. One of which is the terms we use for our students. A freshman is a bejant; a sophomore is a semi; a junior is a tertian; and a senior is a magistrand. Does anyone know what we call fifth years?”
No one raised their hand.
He grinned at the class again, just as he had before. “Trick question. They’re just called apprentices.” He giggled to himself as he sat up.
“Congratulations!” A bald, sinewy old man clapped his hands together. “You’ve made it to the last class of the day.”
He gave his wand a strict whip toward the chalkboard, and the green face erupted into emerald flames. My heart gave an excited jump, perking my attention. The renewed energy spread through the student body. “I am Professor Horace Dart, tenured professor in the Casting Department with a specialization in spells or more particularly, combat.” The flickering fire burst into one big huff of smoke, leaving the name ‘Horace Dart’ burned across the board.
He grinned, pleased by the class’s excited reaction. “Within the world of academia, casting is often considered the low brow branch of magic out of the four: alchemy, casting, oracular, and augmentation. But don’t let the other professors’ disregard detour you from pursuing casting should it end up being your calling. Hexes, curses, spells, rituals, and healing magic are the bread and butter of a witch or wizards’ everyday life. If you truly want to be equal to your fall peers, I suggest you put most of your effort into this class. I don’t say that because it’s my class, but because in my experience, this is where fall bejants drastically outperform summer bejants. A lot of you may believe wand laws level the playing field, but I assure you their knowledge of spells is far greater than yours. They’ve spent the last eighteen years of their lives, listening and watching their parents cast. I bet today is the first day many of you have witnessed more than a single spell.”
The truth of his words stung. Uncle Hank and Aunt Margot performed very little magic in their daily lives. James was the most ample caster, and from what I gathered, he wasn’t even a true wizard. He didn’t use a wand or speak any words. He twirled his hands and willed it with his mind.
“I tell you this in order to prepare you for our summer together. I will not go easy on you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if many of you come to hate me by the end of the semester. That being said, I hold double the amount of office hours as the rest of the professors and will be more than willing to help you, should you come to me for guidance. Are there any questions?”
A melodic knock beat out a cheery tune against the door.
“You may come in,” Professor Dart called out.
A plump face with rosy cheeks and a greasy mustache poked out into the classroom. “Sorry to disturb you, Horace. But I was wondering if you could spare a student for a moment.”
“It’s the first day, Cecil. It’s important my students are here for class.” Dart folded his arms across his chest.
“I,” Cecil Greaves emphasized the word while pressing a hand to his chest, “understand that more than anyone, I assure you. If it were not urgent, Professor Dart, I would not have disturbed you.” His words were polite, but all sincerity fled from his eyes.
Dart’s jaw locked and spine straightened. “Is there a particular student you had in mind?”
Cecil opened the classroom door wider, allowing for his bulbous belly to poke past the door frame. “Why yes, in fact. I’m here for Kim Blackwood.”
Chapter Ten
My body stiffened moments before melting. I slid lower in my chair to hide. Several heads in the front row turned around in search of me, but my bottom remained planted. My breath shallowed as I tried to shrink. I hoped that he had the wrong name on his lips.
“Blackwood?” Dart's voice was thick with incredulity. His arms dropped to his sides, and his weight shifted.
“Yes.” Greaves grinned, smearing his forefinger across his mustache to ensure every hair still laid flat against his upper lip. “Miriam’s great-granddaughter.”
I sighed. It was inevitable now.
Professor Dart turned to the student body. His eyes scanning the classroom, eager to meet the hiding Blackwood. “Ms. Blackwood, please gather your things and go with Mr. Greaves.”
I swallowed hard. My spiral notebook creaked as it closed, and the classroom’s eyes flew to me. I kept my gaze from them, concentrating on my every movement. I rose from the desk with quiet grace, slow and steady. In one smooth movement, I hung my bag’s thick strap upon my shoulder and began the long march to the front of the lecture hall.
“Right this way please,” Greaves said, shepherding me out. When the door had closed behind us, his mouth began rambling. “I hope you don’t mind me pulling you from class, but an Emporium journalist just arrived and couldn’t wait an hour and half for your class to let out.”
“Emporium journalist?” My brow scrunched in surprise. “Why are you bringing me to someone from the Emporium?”
His pace quickened as we strode through the university halls. “Oh, don’t worry my dear. We just want to do a very small piece.” He brought a finger up to his eyebrows, giving them a good hard rub. “There hasn’t been a Blackwood on these grounds since Henry Blackwood, whom I presume is your great uncle?” He was referring to Uncle Hank.
“Yes, he is.”
“I gather you aren’t very familiar with your heritage? Entering in the summer semester.” He tutted. “Then again I doubt any of us thought we’d see the day a Blackwood entered as a summer bejant.” His eyes snapped open. “Don’t let that hinder you though. I mean that as no offense.”
The more he rambled, the more my curiosity grew. I had begun to assume my family’s recognition was due to wealth. But the way Professor Dart and Cecil Greaves reacted upon seeing me, I knew there had to be something more to it than a large bank account.
“I’m not offended,” I replied.
“And it makes sense for you to be here during the summer, honestly. If your great uncle was the last of your line to possess magical abilities—” He shook his head. “Let’s just say you are rather far removed from your more magical relatives.” He glanced over to me, taking in an eyeful. “You have her small build, but you don’t look very similar to Miriam at all. Have you ever seen your great grandmother?”
“I can’t say that I have.” She was a well-kept secret in my home.
His face drooped into a disapproving frown. “Well, she had the family hair—thick, curly, and black.” I imagined it was similar to what Uncle Hank had in his youth. “Large brown eyes, small pout, alabaster complexion, and the attitude of a lion. You—” He sighed. “You are quite different. Ashy brown, straight hair; blue eyes; olive skin; and from our few moments together, you’re a bit more on the shy side I reckon.”
My heart sank from his apparent disappointment. “Well, I am three generations removed from my great grandmother. That’s three generations worth of changes.”
“Precisely.” He dismissed my comment as his hand gripped the brass knob of a red oak and glass door. “Right in here, please.” Across the frosted panel, Cecil’s name had been painted in glittering gold script. Beneath, his title ‘Committee of Education Senior Representative’ was stamped in small bold black letters.
I held my breath as I stepped in, feeling as though I were entering the lion’s den.
“Please take a seat.” Greaves directed my attention to the only empty chair in front of his imposing executive desk. Beside the mid-century seat stood its match, filled by a woman with a heavy brown bun.
I sucked in my lips as I dove deeper into the regal office. Hardwood paneling drew up the sides of the walls before spilling into fern colored wallpaper that pasted its way to a high ceiling. A single large window brought in the afternoon sun, casting Cecil Greaves’ small shadow onto his two guests as his round figure found its way behind the large desk.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Kim.” The tanned woman began. Her tongue heavy with a Spanish accent. “I am Adriana Ojeda from the Emporium. I hope you don’t mind us pulling you out of casting class.” She winked at me as though my insides still churned with the same grade school excitement of missing a class. “The Emporium is interested in doing a piece on you, and I reached out to Mr. Greaves, who assured me you would at least consider the proposition.”
Until today, I had never spoken a word to Cecil Greaves. I was clueless as to how he would know I would be interested in something like this. “Why me? Surely there must be someone out there far more exciting to interview.”
“A
ctually, this is a top story. I’m sure you are at least somewhat familiar with your family’s connection to the school.” Her thick plum lips slid into a wide smile. “This situation is the equivalent of the star quarterback coming home after a championship win and being a top pick in the draft.”
My eyebrows lifted, hoisted by the comparison. “That seems a little far-fetched. I haven’t won anything or done anything great.”
“No, not yet. But with that Blackwood blood pumping through you, I wouldn’t be surprised if you do pull something out of your sleeve in these coming years.”
“Listen, Kim.” Greaves stepped in. “This isn’t a smear piece or some tabloid gossip. The world is a grim place and, by all accounts, continues to darken. We just thought this would be an uplifting piece not only for the university and yourself, but for the magical community as a whole.”
I didn’t believe the Emporium’s motivation for interviewing me was altruistic—there was money to be made too, but I didn’t see any harm in answering a few questions if it would also benefit the university. “All right.” I surrendered. “How long will it take?”