“Sir,” she said. “There’s another problem.”
“Another problem,” Gordian repeated. He sounded as tired as she felt. “And it is...?”
Emily hesitated, then plunged onwards as Caleb squeezed her hand. “I have a theory about how my magical signature was found near the library,” she said. She wasn’t sure she wanted to carry on—Gordian might decide to lock her up, all for her own good—but pressed ahead anyway. “If someone had a sample of my blood, they could use it to manipulate me... couldn’t they?”
Gordian’s face darkened. “And does anyone have a sample of your blood?”
“I don’t think so,” Emily said. “But if they did, would I know about it?”
Sergeant Miles scowled. “Even if someone took control of you and used you to get the books,” he said, “would you have time before you were caught?”
“That’s what I said,” Caleb said. “There wasn’t time!”
“There might have been,” Gordian mused. “It would depend on how the spell was cast.”
Emily shook her head, slowly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Is it possible to check?”
Gordian exchanged a glance with Sergeant Miles. “Perhaps,” he said. “We’d need a soul magic ritual... I’ll have to give it some thought.”
Professor Lombardi snorted. “And until then, we will just keep an eye on you,” he said. “We don’t have time to worry about outside influences, not now.”
“We would have to set up the ritual,” Gordian said. He rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “Is there anyone in this school you trust completely?”
Emily swallowed. She didn’t trust anyone completely, save perhaps for Lady Barb. But Lady Barb was far away, almost certainly unaware of what had happened to Whitehall. A soul magic ritual meant intimacy, enforced intimacy, with at least one other person. She wasn’t sure she could do that with anyone.
But there was no choice. “Frieda,” she said. “I trust her.”
Caleb squeezed her hand. When she glanced at him, she saw a hurt expression crossing his face before it vanished behind a mask. She shook her head at him, then mouthed "later" when he raised his eyebrows. She’d have to explain they didn’t dare risk such intimacy. They were already partners. Who knew what touching souls would do? She’d studied soul magics at Mountaintop and learned enough to know they were not to be taken lightly. A mistake could bind her to Caleb permanently or blur their souls together into one entity...
“A third year student,” Sergeant Miles said. “Emily, do you think she would be willing to try to touch your soul?”
“I trust her,” Emily repeated. “If she says no, we can look for someone else.”
Sergeant Miles looked at Gordian. “It will be tricky,” he said. “We don’t have a SoulHealer in the school.”
“There are only a handful within the Allied Lands,” Gordian agreed. “We can make the ritual work, can’t we?”
“Perhaps,” Sergeant Miles said. His eyes met Emily’s. “There are risks, young lady. Are you sure you want to embrace them?”
“I have to know,” Emily said. “If I have been under outside control...”
Her throat was dry. She swallowed, hard, as the implications struck her. What would they do if she had been influenced? Blood magic wasn’t a simple compulsion spell, one that could be easily broken. It could be woven into her very soul. Shadye hadn’t done any long-term damage, as far as she knew, but he’d only been interested in breaking into Whitehall. Someone with more skill and less immediate need for power could slowly turn her into a monster—and she’d never know it. She’d keep rationalizing it to herself until it was far too late to turn back.
“We will find out,” Gordian said, awkwardly. He cleared his throat as he glanced at his watch. “I want you to bed down with the first years—the students in your charge. Keep them comforted at night.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said. She’d seen her students briefly, in the Great Hall; it struck her, suddenly, that they must be bored. There was nothing to do in the Great Hall. “Where are they?”
“In two of the classrooms,” Gordian said. “Sergeant Miles will show you the way.”
He glanced at Caleb. “Same for you, Caleb,” he added. “Try not to let them sneak out at night. It’s no longer a game.”
Caleb nodded. “Yes, sir,” he said. “Nothing is the same any longer.”
“Hex them to their sleeping bags, if necessary,” Gordian said. “And don’t hesitate to smack them if they try to sneak out.”
“Yes, sir,” Caleb said.
Emily started as a dull quiver ran through the school, followed by a heart-rending scream that chilled her to the bone. “What...”
“It came from the hall,” Sergeant Miles said. He hurried towards the door, followed by Gordian and Professor Lombardi. “Quickly!”
Emily and Caleb exchanged glances, then followed the tutors as they ran down the stairs and into the entrance hall. Normally, it was empty; students would unload carriages and leave their trunks on the floor, then transport them up to their rooms. Now... she stared in horror at the sight before her, her mind fighting to grasp what it was seeing. Professor Rooihemp was floating in the center of the chamber, his body frozen even as it started to explode, as if someone had pushed pause. She had to fight from throwing up at the look of agony on his disintegrating face, convinced—deep inside—that Professor Rooihemp remained conscious even as his body died. He knew what was happening, yet he could neither save himself nor die.
“Oh, hell,” Caleb breathed.
“He’s isolated from us,” Professor Lombardi said. He held a wand in one hand, waving it thoughtfully towards Professor Rooihemp. “I’m not sure what happened to him...”
“He failed to make it out,” Sergeant Miles said, sharply. “That’s what happened to him.”
“Enough,” Gordian said. He glanced at Professor Lombardi. “Can you get him out?”
“I don’t know,” Professor Lombardi said. “Grandmaster, this isn’t a freeze spell. I’ve no idea how he’s even caught in it.”
Gordian ran his hands through his hair. “If trying to teleport out was enough to shake the entire school...”
His voice trailed off, but Emily knew what he meant. Whitehall was perched on the brink, between safety and utter disaster. If they stayed where they were, their doom was assured... but if they tried to fight their way out, they might only precipitate the final disaster, triggering the final destruction of the school. And because they knew so little of the wards—and of how the school had been built—they would end up experimenting with something equally disastrous.
We’re a car, trapped halfway over a cliff, she thought. One wrong move will send us plummeting, but the cliff face is already crumbling. And staying where we are will also kill us.
Gordian turned to Emily. “Sergeant Miles will escort the pair of you back to the classroom,” he said. “Get a good night’s sleep. You’ll need it.”
“Yes, sir,” Emily said.
Professor Lombardi cleared his throat as Emily and Caleb headed for the door. “I think he’s trapped in a twisted dimensional fold,” he said, softly. “If we poke it, Grandmaster, it might be enough to free him.”
“And let the poor bastard die,” Gordian said.
“Except doing that might do further damage to the school,” Sergeant Miles said, grimly. He held up a hand before Gordian could say a word. “He’s trapped forever in a moment of time.”
“He’s aware,” Gordian said. His voice grew stronger. “I can feel it. He knows what’s happened to him.”
Emily frowned. Gordian had that feeling too?
“We can’t take the risk,” Sergeant Miles said. His voice held no give at all. “There’s no way we can justify risking everyone else in the school...”
Another quiver ran through the building. Emily saw Professor Rooihemp’s body twisting in strange directions and realized, in a moment of horror, what was about to happen. She put up a shield, just as the b
ody disintegrated, throwing a sheet of blood and gore over the hall. Gordian and Sergeant Miles had raised shields of their own, but Professor Lombardi was drenched in blood and looked ghastly. Emily heard Caleb retching behind her and had to swallow, hard, to keep from joining him. Blood dripped down the edge of her shield and pooled on the stone floor.
“Tell everyone that this chamber is to remain sealed,” Gordian said, harshly. He sounded deeply shocked. Emily didn’t blame him. She’d seen death before, but she’d never seen anyone ripped apart by warped dimensions. “And spread the word. No one is to attempt to teleport out again.”
“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Miles said. “I’ll make sure everyone knows.”
Gordian threw a sharp look at Emily. “Go clean up, then see to your charges,” he ordered. “And not a word about this to anyone.”
Emily nodded. For once, she wasn’t inclined to argue.
Chapter Thirty
THE CLASSROOM LOOKED ODD WITH THE desks pressed against the far wall and the chairs piled atop them, clearing a space for thirty first-year girls and their mentors. She waved at Melissa as she entered the room, then looked around for her own charges. Jasmine and Lillian were talking in one corner, their voices hushed; Adana, Julia and Dulcet were playing some kind of card game with four other girls. Only Tiega was alone, reading a book as she sat hunched against the wall. Emily’s heart went out to the younger girl: she felt a pang of bitter guilt that she’d yet to catch the letter-writer. That... person, she vowed to herself, was not going to get away with it forever.
“Emily,” Melissa said. She’d been helping one of the other girls with her textbook, but she rose to her feet as Emily walked over to her. “There’s been no real trouble, save for a couple of idiots who tried to sneak out of the room.”
Emily winced as she followed Melissa’s pointing finger. Sneaking out might be a grand old tradition, but only when the only real danger involved being caught by a prowling tutor. Now, with the corridors warped and twisted and classrooms relocated at random, it would be all too easy to get lost—or killed. The two girls standing in the corner, their feet firmly stuck to the floor, would be embarrassed and humiliated, but at least they were alive and well.
“Ouch,” she said. Her watch insisted that it was early evening, but it felt more like the middle of the night. “Did they get something to eat?”
“The staff brought ‘round sandwiches,” Melissa said, pointing to a tray. Her lips quirked into a smile as she nodded at Adana. “One of yours threw a terrible fit until I threatened to silence her. The others were quite well behaved.”
“She was probably trying to embarrass you,” Emily said. Adana was Melissa’s cousin, after all, even though the older girl had been disowned. “Do you want me to have a word with her?”
“She’s always been a little spoilt,” Melissa said. “The thought of not having what she wants for dinner... horror of horrors!”
Emily nodded. Melissa was probably right. Adana was almost certainly the most privileged girl in her class, even though she wasn’t the only child of a magical family. The others would be more used to eating what they got and feeling glad to have it, particularly Dulcet and Jasmine. They hadn’t always had enough to eat.
“Let me know if she gives you a hard time,” Emily said. Her own stomach rumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. The rations she’d been given lay uneaten in her knapsack. “I’ll just have a bite to eat, then I’ll join my group.”
The lights seemed dimmer, somehow, as she walked over to the younger girls. Adana’s game of cards was growing louder, the girls laughing and shrieking as they played with savage intensity. They were scared, Emily realized; they were scared and trying to hide it. She watched the game for a long moment, then looked at Jasmine and Dulcet. It didn’t look as if they needed help or support. Finally, she sat down next to Tiega. The younger girl barely looked at her.
“Hi,” Emily said, gently. “How are you?”
“Professor Thande had me scrubbing caldrons yesterday,” Tiega said, tonelessly. “He was mad at me for blowing up two potions in a row. I just couldn’t focus on what I was doing.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Emily said. Tiega was in trouble, she knew, yet she wasn’t sure how to help. Asking a tutor to help track down the letter-writer would be more than an admission of failure. It would be useless. “Did he promise to supervise when you tried to brew the potion again?”
Tiega shook her head, mournfully. Emily winced. That was not a good sign. She promised herself that, as soon as they regained contact with the outside world, she would go to Professor Thande and request permission to supervise Tiega’s brewing herself. It was unlikely the professor would agree, despite his somewhat lax attitude to safety, but it might convince him to give Tiega another chance. Denying her the option of trying to brew the potion for a second time suggested, very strongly, that he’d given up on her.
“We’ll see what we can do,” she said, wrapping her arm around the younger girl and trying to give her an affectionate squeeze. Tiega showed no reaction at all, neither leaning in towards Emily nor trying to lean away. Was she so starved for affection that she didn’t even recognize it when it was offered? “And your other classes?”
“Not good,” Tiega said. She smiled, suddenly. “But I did enjoy Magical Creatures. The unicorns were lovely.”
“They are,” Emily agreed. She smiled at the memory of having the creatures nuzzling her palm, even though she generally disliked horses. They’d shown no hesitation in approaching her either, although they’d been reluctant to allow Imaiqah anywhere near them. “Did they let you pet them?”
Tiega colored. “They did,” she said. “I...”
“I’m sorry,” Emily said. She meant it, too. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“As if they wouldn’t,” Tiega said, bitterly. “Who would be interested in me?”
Emily kept her thoughts to herself. Tiega was the daughter of a magical family—the youngest, perhaps, but still a daughter. She might be ugly, she might be bad-tempered, yet there would be no shortage of suitors after she completed her first year at Whitehall. Her parents would probably accept the first serious offer for their daughter’s hand, then arrange the marriage for after Tiega’s graduation... if they let her stay in Whitehall. God alone knew what they’d do if Tiega got expelled.
“I thought the same way myself,” Emily said, instead.
“You’re beautiful and smart,” Tiega said.
Emily shook her head. No one had called her beautiful before she’d come to the Nameless World... and even afterwards, it had been a long time before anyone other than a maid had said it. And who could trust a maid’s opinion when their livelihoods often depended on flattering their employers? Alassa might have insisted that Emily was pretty, yet Emily found it hard to believe her. Being beautiful had never been part of her self-image.
“Maybe not that pretty,” she said, finally. “Really.”
There was a tap on the door, which opened to reveal Madame Razz. “Get into your sleeping bags now,” she ordered, bluntly. “And remember, don’t go sneaking out at night.”
“That’s not a joke,” Emily warned, as she chivvied the girls into their sleeping bags. “If we catch you trying to sneak out, we’ll freeze you until tomorrow morning.”
Adana muttered something, just loudly enough for Emily to hear the sound without actually managing to make out the words. She glowered at the younger girl anyway, while Melissa freed the two prisoners and pointed them to their sleeping bags. Both girls looked a little cramped, unsurprisingly. Standing still for so long would be painful. Emily winced in sympathy, then shook her head as she looked at her charges. Now that the card games were over, and the books had been put away, they seemed terrified. They might not know the truth behind their predicament, but the prospect of death hung over them like a shadow...
“Jasmine,” she said, quietly. “Why don’t you sing us a song?”
Jasmine frowned.
“My aunt told me not to show off.”
Emily bit down the response that came to mind. Jasmine’s singing had been the highlight of the Faire, as far as she was concerned. And Jasmine had earned more, she suspected, than many of the other non-magical performers. What was that, she asked herself, if it wasn’t showing off?
“Your singing may help your schoolmates fall asleep,” she said, instead. “It would be very useful.”
Jasmine nodded, then sat upright and started to sing a song Emily vaguely remembered from the first Faire, back when her life had been—marginally—less complicated. The words echoed in the air as the song grew lighter, a sweet little ballad about a magician who fell in love with a mermaid and ended up building a home with her by the seaside. She couldn’t help feeling a tear at the corner of her eye as Jasmine finished the first song and moved smoothly into another, a bolder ditty about an old washerwoman who challenged a magician king to a battle of wits and beat him handily. It sounded a little like a warped version of The Tortoise and the Hare, Emily decided, one where the Tortoise cheated constantly and somehow came out ahead.
But that fits, she thought. How could a washerwoman win fairly?
She was reluctant to ask Jasmine to stop, after a sad little song about a family that had been forced to flee the necromancers and a lovelorn song about a couple that could never be together, but the clock was slowly ticking towards midnight. Half the girls were asleep, she noted as she gently put Jasmine to bed and set the wards, before climbing into her own sleeping bag. She hoped—prayed—that none of the girls would try to leave the room, even to answer the call of nature. The buckets by the far wall, barely hidden by a privacy ward, might be embarrassing, but they were safer.
“I’ll take the first watch,” Melissa said, sitting down near the door. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”
Emily blinked in surprise, then nodded in understanding. Some of the students were going to try to sneak out of the classrooms. They’d been told, from day one, that sneaking around was fine, as long as they didn’t get caught. She would be surprised if some of the boys didn’t see the whole affair as a chance to sneak into the female dorms and cause havoc, despite the certainty of punishment. She’d heard enough horror stories from Alassa and Imaiqah—when their defensive magic classes had gone on field trips—not to take the prospect lightly.
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