Her clothing had been put away in a matching freestanding wardrobe. There was a real Turkish carpet on the floor, old and soft and beautiful.
The fireplace she was staring into was giving off just enough heat, and no smoke at all. It had a tiled hearth, and a carved mantle of some sort of dark red wood.
As for the rest of the furniture, there was a real red-velvet “fainting couch,” and two red velvet chairs that were so cushy you hated getting out of them, positioned on either side of the fireplace. Another wardrobe actually hid a mini-fridge, a TV with cable, and a player.
And the bathroom was to die for, with a cream-colored, claw-footed tub deep and long enough that a tall man could float in it without hitting his head or feet. The supply of scents for the water was enough to make even the most jaded hedonist raise an eyebrow.
If this room had been hers, she’d probably have considered herself well and truly spoiled rotten.
But it wasn’t hers. It was in the guest section of the West Building of St. Rhiannon’s School for Exceptional Students, and she was here, because her parents, who were FBI agents with the FBI’s Metahuman Agents section, had been sent out on a Job, and it wasn’t one she could go along for. Which was super-depressing, because it was Yule Break at the School, and she could have gone without anything getting in the way of her studies.
As long as it was just her parents, and the Job in question was something she could contribute her Talents to, she had gone along on a lot of their cases in the past. But this was going to be something tough, FBI Metahuman Division 39 had sent out three teams on it, and not even her Godfather, Agent Hosteen Stormdance, thought having a teenager along was a good idea. And he, not her parents, was usually the one to override protocol and sneak her in because of her Talents.
Super depressing. Not only was she missing a Job, everyone concerned was pretty sure it was going to be a long and involved investigation. Probably wouldn’t be over until she was well into the next term. Which meant she was going to be here over Christmas. First Christmas, ever, without her parents. First Christmas alone.
That was why she was here, instead of at home in Quantico. Nobody thought it was a good idea for her to live at home in their little bungalow alone for several weeks, not even her. Too many things could go wrong—and she was not only the daughter of a pair of FBI agents, and so a potential target for bad guys, she was also the daughter of a pair of pretty formidable FBI magicians, and definitely a target for bad guys. No one fancied her becoming Daddy’s Little Hostage.
But since she wasn’t going to officially be a boarding student, the Dean had decided to put her up in the Guest Quarters. She didn’t mind not being in the dorms in East Building, not really. For one thing, as an only child, she’d never had to share a room, and she kind of didn’t like the idea. She’d seen the dorm rooms, and while they were probably about as nice as her room at home, and even though you were allowed to do almost anything you liked with them, including using transparent, fluorescent or luminous paint to make starfields on the ceiling if you liked, they were nothing like the guest rooms. For another thing, the boarders all had their own rooms, and at the moment, every room in the girls’ dorm was full. That meant she’d have to be doubled up with someone—and she didn’t think whoever she got put with would be any too pleased about being saddled with a stranger for a couple weeks to a month, having her private space invaded, and suddenly having to share everything.
So she got to luxuriate in the really posh Guest Quarters, which, if it hadn’t been Christmas, would have been grand. She’d have full access to the school library and other magical amenities, during the break, and she wouldn’t have to cook for herself. She shouldn’t be living here long enough for the novelty to wear off. It should be like a kind of solo vacation, like going to summer camp as she’d never gotten to do. And really, she’d actually be pretty excited about all of this, if only.…
If only what her parents were assigned to wasn’t, obviously, a dangerous job. If only it wasn’t happening over Christmas. Every time she started to get excited about being here, another wash of worry for her folks drowned it all. Every time she felt anticipation, a reminder that there was just not going to be any Christmas this year made it go flat.
The worry was the worst, really.
They’re smart. They’re the best there is. Division 39 hasn’t lost anyone, ever, not since the end of the Second World War.
She sighed again. Maybe it was just as well she was staying here, in the mostly-deserted school, rather than anywhere else, like with either set of grandparents. How could she possibly enjoy Christmas when she knew the entire time she’d be all balled up with anxiety? And so would the grandparents. And they’d all be trying not to show it, and trying to keep each others’ spirits up, and pretending to enjoy the holiday stuff, when in fact they would all be in tense knots and the whole holiday would be completely spoiled for everyone. Besides … Mom’s parents were in Scotland, and Dad’s were in the back of beyond in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, and just getting her there, with planes booked solid for the holiday, would have required an Act of Congress, almost. And sure, she could have Apported, but then try and explain the sudden appearance of an American girl without evidence of plane tickets if someone in authority got nosy. Trying to take magical shortcuts in the mundane world almost always got messy. Especially when you were under orders not to draw attention to yourselves.
And I bet Mom had that all figured out within five minutes of when they got assigned, she thought, stroking the soft velvet over her knees with an absent-minded finger. I bet that’s why she arranged this in the first place. At least this way she wasn’t going to have to put up a façade for anyone. If she wanted to mope here in her room and never go out for anything but meals, she could do that.
Well, I can until classes start, anyway.
And if she wanted to spend all her free time trying to lose herself in her studies, well, she could do that, too. Think of the bright side. I have Professor Higgins all to myself.
She stared into the flames, brooding. Why couldn’t her parents have been with ECHO, been metahumans, and not magic-wielding, but all-too-mortal agents of an FBI Division that wasn’t even supposed to exist?
If they’d been metas, well, the fact that metas all seemed to share a certain amount of enhanced strength, better reflexes, and faster healing would have made her feel less anxious about her parents and her Godfather.
But they’re going to be wearing ECHO nanoweave, she reminded herself. They’ll be practically bulletproof. And her mom was a healer, after all.…
The secrecy was the thing that just ate at her. They had not been allowed to tell her anything, not even what part of the country they were going to be in because they hadn’t known themselves. Moira and Alex Nagy didn’t often get investigations where they practically had to play Secret Agent, but when they did every moment that they were gone Vickie lived with a knot in her stomach. And she’d learned what we can’t talk about this meant very, very young, because her own Talents had shown up about the time she started to speak, so her parents had begun teaching her “consequences” at a ridiculously young age. Well, “ridiculous” for a mundie, not so much for the magical child of magicians.
That had its advantages, for sure, as well as its drawbacks. She felt sorry for the magical child of mundies—ordinary people, who didn’t know magic existed. Life for someone like that … at least until they were discovered, and one of the alumni would turn up with an offer “to help your child” … could range from difficult to living hell.
Hearing some of those stories had really driven home how lucky she was. Though you would think, in a world where the guy that just robbed the bank is as likely to get nabbed by a psion or a super-speeder or some bloke who can bend steel bars around his little finger as he is by a cop, they might go a little easier on a kid that “does things that can’t be explained.”
So far as the parents of about half of the students here were concerned, this
was some sort of correctional school supported by eccentric benefactors, and as long as they saw their offspring as little as possible and there were no obvious signs of abuse, the lack of parental access bothered them not at all. Budding mages born into normal families tended to get into a lot of trouble they couldn’t adequately explain as they came into their powers, and adult magicians out in the world were always on the alert for the signs of a youngster in need of rescue. A little glamorie, a little persuasive geas, and the relieved parents were happily sending their “problem” off to be dealt with by someone else. And as for the kids, well, from everything some of her friends here had let slip, Vickie knew they were as relieved to finally find themselves in a place where they actually belonged as she had been.
So far as the parents of the other half were concerned—the parents who were themselves magicians—St. Rhia’s was the place where their children were free to study and practice magic openly, and where they would get the best magical education to be had in North America. More part of the campaign to keep their nature hidden; at St. Rhia’s, their kids learned both magic and camouflage. Eventually, some few, with the right skills, would actually go off and pass as meta-humans, joining ECHO, with no one ever the wiser about where their abilities came from. Most, however, would find some other way to be practicing magicians in the world.
Even Vickie’s parents managed that, at least as far as most of the FBI was concerned. Outside of Section 39, except at the very top levels of the Bureau, no one was aware that they were anything other than metahumans—or that the things they stalked were sometimes considerably different than “mere” super-criminals.
Most of the time, their job wasn’t that much different from a meta-Agent, or even a mundie-Agent. Investigate the crime, identify the criminal, intercept and arrest. Most of the time, the criminal was much more invested in avoiding discovery than he was in fighting back.
But this time … it could be different. They’ve taken a three-team Job … over Christmas. The Longest Night. Bad things can happen on the Longest Night. Anyone schooled in magic knew that there were “bad” times of the year, when really nasty things could turn up. Samhain—Halloween, to mundies—was the one most people thought of. But the Longest Night, Midwinter, or, as the mundies and non-pagans knew it, Christmas Eve, was far more dangerous. So were the days on the run-up to the Longest Night. Darkness had sway over Light, and on the night itself, had its hold over this half of the world longer than at any other time of the year, and bad things lived in the shadows. If they were off going after something at this time of year … if they were lucky, it was just a really dangerous mundie or meta, that the Bureau thought could only be caught by the “outside the box” method of Division 39.
But if they weren’t lucky … it was something else. It was the “something else” that had her in knots.
But they’re the best. And there’s going to be nine of them. And Hosteen promised me he’d keep me updated. There was that. Her Godfather was not only the team leader for this job, he knew how she fretted. She’d at least know, if not what was happening, at least that they were all right.
With that held firmly in her mind, she decided she would at least try and read her book. And eventually, to sleep.
The central courtyard was covered in about a foot of snow, with neat paths cut through it in the shape of a big equal-armed cross. That was another difference between here and home. When Vickie stepped out into the court, she was forcibly reminded that the school was somewhere in upper New England, not Virginia. Where it was, exactly … not even her parents knew. You came and went either by Apporting into the Central Courtyard, or by private plane to an airstrip about a mile from here on private property, and Apported from there. There weren’t more than a handful of people who knew the exact location. It was safer that way.
The teachers and students might live in separate buildings, but everyone ate in the same place. The Dining Hall was in the East Building, but although she was starving, Vickie paused for a moment to take in the sight of the School resting in the silence, with soft snow falling gently into the Court.
It was gorgeous. Like something in a book.
The buildings looked a lot like many of the buildings at Oxford University in the UK, actually; Gothic, but in the pretty way, not the morbid way. Stone made graceful. More of the “dreaming spires” that poets talked about. It was hard not to feel a little awe. The buildings were a gorgeous, pale, pale gray, nearly the color of the raw stone they had been built from, rather than the darker gray of buildings aged and darkened by years and pollution.
North and South were the classrooms, East was the dorms for the live-in students, and West was home to the teachers’ apartments, theater, gym, library, guest rooms … all the other things that weren’t classrooms or dorms. The place was set in the middle of an extensive garden. Outside the garden were thick woods that looked really, really old, and impenetrable, although Vickie knew for a fact that the students were actually encouraged to explore them.
Right now everything was softened by snow. The pigeons and doves that lived here on the grounds were all wisely settled in their roosts, and at the moment, so were the ravens and crows that were as much pets here as the tamer birds. Silence hung over everything.
The area in the very center of the Central Courtyard was completely clean, but it wasn’t shoveled clean—magic kept the snow off, and for good reason. This was the “landing platform,” the Magical Circle that you Apported to when you came here.
The Magical Circle was a construction built of several circles, carved into the granite of paving in the middle of the Courtyard; it was one of the most complex permanent Circles she’d ever seen. Literally a Master Piece; carefully inlaid in the granite of the paving, it had been put together by the Founders as one of the first constructions of this School. There were five smaller primary circles within the huge circle that enclosed the entire construction, one at each of the cardinal points, and a slightly bigger one in the middle. When someone Apported here, they landed in the smaller circle that corresponded to their Element. Vickie was North, which was Earth. South was Fire, East was Air and West was Water. Your magic wasn’t necessarily restricted to that of one Element, of course, but you, yourself, always had a Prime Element associated with you.
You didn’t need to Apport to an Elemental Circle, but it kept things less crowded when there was a lot of coming and going, and it kept the central Circle free for mass Apportations. Just in case, for instance, there was an entire class having a Field Trip. There weren’t too many Day Students like Vickie, so it wasn’t likely there would be much competition for the Elemental Circles when school was in session, but if there was, well, you activated your Apportation Spell, and then you waited, and when it was your turn, you Apported in.
As Vickie stood just in front of the doorway, the door behind her opened, and Dean McGregor stepped out, a tall, gaunt woman with graying brown hair, wrapped in a worn velvet cloak with a muffler that would have been the envy of a Doctor Who fan wrapped around her shoulders, neck, and head. “New to snow?” the Dean asked, dryly. Vickie laughed.
“Well, we don’t get much in Virginia,” she replied. “But I’ve been all over the world, so, not so much.”
The Dean chuckled. “I had momentarily forgotten about your parents,” she admitted. “Well, shake a leg, Miss Nagy, or we shall be getting cold apple pancakes, instead of piping hot. There is only one cook on duty during vacation, and she is justifiably disinclined to linger about for the sake of someone tardy.”
Vickie was exceptionally short, and the Dean was exceptionally tall, so she had to trot to keep up. “What do we do if there’s a blizzard?” she asked. “Or if we get sick?”
“If there is a blizzard, there is a small, well-stocked kitchen available to us in West Building. It’s right next to the laundry-room. Given your self-sufficiency, I assume you can cook?” At Vickie’s nod the Dean continued. “You may feel free to use it at any time, of course, although
during vacation we assume you will clean up after yourself, as we allow most of the employees their holidays as well as the students. If you are ill, you must let me know, and I’ll make sure that meals are brought to you and someone keeps an eye on you.”
“Is anybody staying here besides me?” she asked, trying to not get a lump in her throat at the thought of being all alone here, with no one her age, for three weeks.
“Not staying the entire vacation, no.” When Vickie looked up, she saw the Dean’s mouth was slightly turned down. “It seems that no matter how little our pupils’ parents may care for them, even the most despised are expected to come home for Christmas. But there are a half dozen that will be leaving just before the day itself, and returning almost immediately. You won’t be left entirely alone for most of the break. And of course, there will be myself, Professor Sidhe, Professor Dav of Eastern Studies, Professor Yiu, Professor Stanislova, Professor Hakonen, and Professor Higgins here as well.” The Dean smiled as Vickie felt her own expression brighten at the mention of her favorite instructor. “Professor Higgins is looking forward to working with you uninterrupted, so I doubt you will be bored.”
By this time they had entered the ornate brass-sheathed doors of the East Building. The Dining Hall was the first door just inside the foyer, a beautiful piece of wood and leaded glass.
Vickie politely held the door open for the Dean, who nodded her thanks, and the two of them entered.
Since the entire School was based on the architecture of Merlin College in Oxford, it was scarcely surprising that the room was monumental by American standards. And it was stunning. Wood-paneled, with stained- and leaded-glass windows along one side, the walls featured oil portraits of accomplished alumni any place there wasn’t a window, and if the ceiling lacked the vaulting of its model (as well as the three-story height—there were dormitory rooms above it, after all) it still boasted more wood panels with carved borders. There was one long table elevated slightly on a dais at the far end—the literal “High Table” where the faculty ate—and three rows of tables for the students placed perpendicular to it. And they were proper tables too, not the picnic-style common to American schools, with proper chairs. There were lamps placed at intervals along the tables, but although there were usually place settings at each place, right now the tables were bare. Only the High Table had been set. There were also sideboards set against each wall, and one of them was loaded down with buffet-style warming trays. Clearly you were expected to help yourself.
A Fantastic Holiday Season Page 9