“Mr. Von Dread, may I speak with you?”
He paused and nodded again. “Yes, Miss Griffin?”
Rachel spoke quietly, making sure that no one overheard her. “I cannot help but notice that you seem devoted to law and order. I want to ask you a favor. There is a girl in Drake Hall, a freshman, who seems to be…” Rachel paused to moisten her dry lips and then forged ahead. “She often has bruises, as if someone is hitting her. There isn’t anything I can do, because I cannot protect her in her dorm. But you can. Maybe…do you think you could look out for her, try to keep people from abusing her? Her name is Magdalene Chase.”
He listened closely. When she finished, he said, “I will speak to the college resident and to her sister, Eunice. As you might have noticed, bruises quite often accompany dueling practice. You, whom I have heard are quite a flyer, probably also realize they accompany broom sports. I will not make assumptions but, if I find she is being mistreated, I will see to her protection and to the punishing of those responsible. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”
Speak to Eunice?
Oh no! Had speaking to him been a huge mistake?
“Just…” Rachel bit her lip. Her heart beat so loudly that she had trouble hearing herself. “Please be careful whom you talk to. Her sister may be the person who…And please don’t mention I was the one who expressed concern. Her dorm-mates don’t like me. If they knew, they might be meaner to her.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter whom they like or dislike. If they are hurting the young woman, they will stop. I am not a tutor or a fool. I will notice if they continue to heap abuse upon her after I have told them not to.”
Not a tutor or a fool.
Rachel liked that. It meant he would not ignore her the way Mr. Fisher and Mr. Tuck had.
A wave of gratitude assailed her. She put her hand on his arm and gave it a tiny squeeze. “Thank you.”
Von Dread lay his fingers over hers and nodded one more time. Rachel ran off. Behind her, she saw him standing and looking at Magdalene’s sister. Eunice was busy doing something and did not notice. Then she saw him glaring at her and flinched noticeably.
When Rachel arrived back where the other freshman stood, they were watching a match between two college students, Taka Ishizuka from Japan and Seymour Almeida, a young man with a scar across his cheek. When Almeida won, he vaunted loudly, strutting back and forth and congratulating himself. Gaius rolled his eyes.
Gaius continued to instruct them, introducing a new cantrip called nothor, which caused airborne objects to swerve away from whatever it was cast upon. It was useful for deflecting arrows and bullets, and also to stop certain kinds of spells. Rachel recognized it as one of the two Nastasia and the others had learned at the YSL the previous night.
As the girls began practicing, they were interrupted again by Almeida vaunting. He had beaten a cheerful young woman by the name of Jenny Dare. She was descended from the school’s founder Virginia Dare, for whom Dare Hall was named, though Jenny herself lived in Marlowe. She lay dazed on the mats while Almeida laughed and taunted.
“Excuse me a moment,” Gaius murmured to the girls.
Gaius walked across the room and bowed to Almeida, who shrugged and grinned. “Sure, Valiant. You want to go down, too? My pleasure.”
The two of them squared off, and the duel began. Seymour stood face on. He held his wand out, shooting and parrying incoming spells with the same hand. As the two older princes had done, Gaius stood sideways, like a fencer. He used his wand to attack, while gesturing over his head with his left arm to deflect incoming spells.
Gaius was lithe and quick on his feet, dancing and weaving to avoid gouts of red sparkles and glowing golden bands. While Almeida shouted, his face growing red as the match continued, Gaius remained calm, his slight smile never leaving his lips.
Then, Almeida hung upside down in mid-air, his wand on the other side of the chamber. Glowering, he conceded. Gaius lowered him to the ground and bowed. Students on both sides clapped.
Without a comment, he returned to instructing the girls.
• • •
The meeting ended at midnight. Many left well before that. Rachel continued practicing diligently to the end, despite the fact that she was starting to weave on her feet. She could not remember the last time she had been up so late.
Gaius left when the last group shuffled out. A number of people paused to say goodbye to Rachel. She smiled cheerfully at each of them. While everyone was leaving, Von Dread called to Eunice, calling her “Miss Chase,” asking her to please stay and speak with him. She grew slightly pale but agreed.
Rachel was careful not to even look in their direction. She did wish that Von Dread had not glanced over at Eunice right after she had spoken with him. She sighed. Clearly, he was a law and order type but lacked a sense of delicate feminine diplomacy.
Gaius escorted Rachel out into the darkness of the early September night.
“Thank you, Mr. Valiant,” she said softly, once they were on the lawn. “I believe we made a good team.”
“Miss Griffin, it was an honor and a privilege to be your sponsor.” Gaius replied gallantly. “Thanks for not losing. I’ll walk you back to Dare Hall, if you don’t mind?”
“That would be very kind of you, sir.” She leaned toward him and confided. “I must admit that it’s way past my bedtime, and I’m feeling a bit woozy.”
Gaius took her arm, squeezing it once. He walked her all the way to the front steps of Dare Hall. Once there, just as she had known he would, he smiled, leaned in, and kissed her lightly on the lips.
Rachel gazed up at him, her lips slightly parted. Beneath her calm and happy exterior, she felt quite frightened. Kissing him when he was paralyzed had been great fun. But this was for real. He seemed very big, and she did not know what he wanted from her.
She feared her terror showed in her eyes.
He whispered, “Have a good evening, Rachel.”
Rachel nodded once. Then, she bolted, running into her dorm, pausing only once to wave cheerfully over her shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
Without a Trace
Rachel woke up early yet again, too excited and troubled to sleep. Mistletoe lay curled beside her, his warm body cuddled against hers. It felt so strange to be able to tell exactly where he was, even with her eyes closed. She ran a hand over his silky fur. He purred sleepily as she gently pushed him aside.
She rose and made an attempt at pinning back her hair. Then, grabbing her broom, she slipped out through the window and soared upward. She glided through the pre-dawn twilight, a hint of peach glowing along the horizon. All around her, birds sang of the joyous morning. Rachel was aware of the loveliness of it all, but her mind was on other things. The feeling that had gripped her last night—that she and Gaius were being drawn toward becoming boyfriend and girlfriend—was even stronger this morning, and she was not at all sure how she felt about it.
The idea of being admired by a dashing and competent older boy was intoxicating. She had liked Mr. Valiant even when she thought he was a mediocre student and a loner. Now that she knew him to be a brilliant scholar and popular, talented sorcerer, his attention to her was even more exhilarating. Plus there was their shared secret about wishing they had been in Dee Hall, which still made her glow inside when she recalled it.
And he had paid attention to her!
Rachel played back her memory of the previous evening, carefully noting the interactions between the girls and boys. Ethan Warhol was definitely interested in his girlfriend, Salome, but she seemed interested in everyone. Bernie Mulford, the son of her parents’ friends, was a male Salome, flirting with all the girls. William Locke and Naomi Coils were almost certainly an item, and Samantha Strega, the girl whose neck had been slashed, fancied Seymour Almeida, the braggart with the scar on his cheek. Maybe it was a scar thing.
Most of the other girls vied for the attentions of the two crown princes, but nei
ther Von Dread nor Romulus showed interest in any of the young ladies batting their eyelashes at them. Gaius was nice to everyone. Even so, it was hard to ignore the fact that he had spent more time with her than anyone else. Her natural humility balked at this conclusion, but her memory confirmed it. She could perfectly recall the times he blew off other girls to pay attention to her.
Could it be that he liked her?
And he had kissed her. Twice now. Though, they had yet to kiss each other. Last night, Rachel had been too frightened to return his kiss. The memory of his lips brushing hers warmed her. She felt like melting right off her broom.
But…
First of all, she was thirteen, a year younger even than Valerie and Sigfried. While there were a few students in her year who had boyfriends, such as Salome, most freshman girls did not. Many girls were not allowed to date until they were sixteen or older. At nineteen and twenty-one respectively, her sisters Laurel and Sandra still did not have steady boyfriends.
Second, Gaius was an older boy. Older boys were scary. They expected things. Things no thirteen-year-old girl wanted to do. Rachel knew she was not ready for any of those things yet. Even the idea of snogging terrified her.
Third, he was a thaumaturge from Drake Hall. They were reputed to be unscrupulous. The reputation might be unwarranted in this case, but what would her family think?
Fourth, he was a commoner. That might not matter to most people, but, again, Rachel was not certain how the family of The Duke of Devon might respond.
Fifth, there was the brother factor. She did not want to date a boy of whom her brother had not approved, and she could not imagine Peter wanting to see his baby sister in the company of an older commoner from Drake. Still, if Gaius really liked her, he could petition Peter for his permission. The thought of him doing so delighted her.
Finally, much as she liked Gaius, Rachel was not entirely sure this was the boy she wanted. She still felt giddy when she thought about John Darling—as horrid as he had been—and there were a great many other boys at school. What if she started dating this one and discovered she preferred someone else?
That could be painful.
Rachel sighed and dipped downward, skimming so close to the hemlocks that she could breathe in their pungent evergreen scent. Diving lower, she shot between the trees, maneuvering around the trunks at breakneck speed. Her hair tugged free of its barrettes. She laughed joyfully, racing her broom against the wind.
Eventually, she slowed down and hovered among the hemlocks. The sky was aglow with dawn light now, all golden and fiery red. Watching the sunrise through the branches, it occurred to her that the statue with the wings must be nearby. She sped off to look at it again.
It took her much longer to find than she expected. She went too far, skirting near the line of trees that made up the wards of the school. Beyond, the tor rumbled, as if the imprisoned Heer of Dunderberg and his lightning imps were playing at a giant game of nine pins. After searching vainly, she flew above the trees and used her memory to retrace her path from that first morning. Even so, she did not see it until she tried searching while remembering back. Apparently, this area was veiled by its own obscuration. She wondered why. The place was in the deepest part of the forest, bordered by the creek and steep rocks. It would be nearly inaccessible by foot.
Spotting it, she wove through the trunks, landing where she had landed the first day. Only, this was not the right statue. Hopping on her broom again, she circled the area three times, but she could not find any others. Slowly, she returned to where she had started.
She gazed around her, comparing this wingless statue and its surroundings with what she had seen last time, an eerie tingle running up and down her spine. The glade looked the same. There was still a split pine growing to the left, a rounded granite boulder to the right, and above, the bough upon which the Raven had perched. Nervous, she thought back a moment, but no great black bird sat brooding on the branch.
She drew closer to the statue. It was the same feminine form, draped in stone robes. The moss on the cheek still reminded Rachel of tears.
But…
Where were the wings?
Had someone broken them off? Her stomach lurched. She hurried around behind the statue. No. The back was as weathered and lichen-covered as the rest, as if it had been thus for decades. She ran her fingers over the cold stone but could find no rough or broken spot.
Rachel stared at the statue, blinking. Had she imagined wings?
Had she dreamt wings?
Had there ever been wings?
Carefully, she recollected her previous visit. The winged statue gazed back at her from her perfect memory, sorrowful and wise.
The hairs stood up along the back of her neck. There had been wings. They had been here. She remembered.
How could they be gone, leaving no trace?
• • •
By the time Rachel arrived back in her room, Kitten and Astrid had left for breakfast. The princess sat on a chair in front of her vanity. She tugged on her tortoise-shell hairbrush, which was tangled in her long, pale golden locks. It looked quite painful. Rachel winced, but the princess did not whimper or cry. Her perfect lips merely arranged themselves into a slightly dissatisfied moue.
“May…I help?” Rachel approached her tentatively.
Nastasia gave her a grateful look. She said apologetically, “At home, there were many servants. I…have never had to brush my own hair before.”
Rachel’s eyebrows flew up, but she pressed her lips shut so as to squelch any comment. She, too, lived in a household maintained by bwca, bean-tighe, and servants. Her mother had not allowed her daughters to rely too heavily on their lady’s maids. It had been one of the few battles her mother had won in the days when Grandmother Griffin had still been the duchess and the ruler of Gryphon Park. There had been a time when Rachel had resented this, wishing that she could have been waited on like a lady of old. Now she had occasion to feel grateful for her mother’s foresight.
She disentangled the brush from the princess’s silken locks and gave her golden hair a few gentle strokes, smoothing out the mess. She started to continue brushing it but paused. If she did it for her today, Nastasia would be in the same predicament tomorrow.
Rachel handed the princess her brush back and then fetched her own. Pulling out what barrettes the wind had not already stolen, she let down her hair. It formed a dark fringe across her upper back.
“Okay. You hold the brush like this.” She held up her hand, demonstrating. “And you put your head like this.” She tilted her neck this way and that, showing the other girl how to reach the various portions of her hair. “With longer hair, you can put it over your shoulder, like this.”
Nastasia tried it, moving her brush very cautiously. When it did not get snared, her hand sped up. She brushed her hair with long, firm strokes.
“I believe I have it!” The princess’s face broke into a sunny smile, pleasure chasing away the clouds of dismay.
Rachel grinned. “Oh! And if you want to comb it, you comb it from the bottom up.”
“Excuse me?” Nastasia looked baffled. “How…I am not sure what you mean.”
“Like this.” Rachel ran and got her comb. “See. If I start at the top of my head, the comb gets stuck in the first tangles. If I try to just push through, I tighten the tangles. If I keep yanking on it, I’ll probably pull out some hair by mistake. Ouch!
“Instead, you start at the bottom—the first couple of inches—and comb downward, untangling one knot at a time. They come out more easily when you pull from below than when you push from above. Then, you move your comb up to the next knot. By the time you reach your scalp, you’ve removed the knots, and you can comb it freely. Like this…”
It took Rachel several minutes to get her hair tangle-free. Her hair was straight and black but lacked the thickness of her Korean ancestors. Each individual strand was thin and wispy, like her paternal grandmother’s. Her hair was always escaping from whate
ver she used to restrain it. In the winter, when the static electricity increased, it became nearly impossible to manage.
The princess watched her at first. Then, she caught on and followed suit, carefully teasing out the knots in her pale golden tresses. Soon, both girls could freely comb their hair.
“See…not so hard.” Rachel grinned happily. “It just takes a little getting used to. You’ll be a pro in no time.”
“I thank you.” The princess ran her brush through her hair again and again, until it shone like silk. She beamed with pleasure. “You have been of great help to me this day.”
“You are most welcome,” Rachel replied gallantly.
The princess put her brush and comb away. As she did, Rachel caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the vanity. Her newly-brushed hair, clipped back with a large black and white polka dotted bow, looked neat and orderly for a change.
She wondered shyly if Gaius would think she looked cute.
“Breakfast next.” The princess picked up her ubiquitous textbook.
The two of them went outside and down the gravel path toward Roanoke Hall. The leaves on the white birches were beginning to fall. Splashes of bright yellow dotted the path. Clouds were moving in, forming castles in the blustery sky.
“How are you enjoying school?” Rachel asked as the stones crunched beneath their feet.
Nastasia petted her Tasmanian tiger and sighed. “I find it enjoyable but wearying. I had not realized there would be so many people. Or rather, I knew the number of the student body, but I did not realize so many of them would expect things from me. No matter where I go, there seems to be someone who expects something from me. Frankly, most of the time, I can’t figure out what it is. Occasionally, I wish I could go somewhere a bit more private.”
Rachel listened with interest. It had been relief she had caught on the princess’s face when she dismissed the gaggle of students following her in the dining hall. She marveled how graciously her friend bore these impositions, not revealing by so much as a hint to those who clamored for her attention that they were a burden. A warmth spread through Rachel, a secret, quiet happiness born from the knowledge that, in Nastasia’s mind, she, Rachel, was a real friend and not part of the demanding crowd.
The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1) Page 27