Rachel gave the ground no thought. She fixed her eyes on the young man and pursed her lips, whistling. The shrill notes of the petrify spell pierced the air. Amidst blue sparks and the scent of spruces, the boy froze. Then, she shouted, “Varenga, Vroomie!”
The gravel path, with all its sharp stony points, rushed toward her. Four feet. Two feet. A foot and a half. Rachel tucked her head and somersaulted. Sharp pebbles pricked her painfully. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. Grateful for her gymnastics classes, she came up out of the roll onto her feet.
As she rose, her hand closed around the polished handle of her broom, which had shot toward her when called. Swinging onto the seat, she leaned forward and snatched the wand out of the petrified boy’s hand. Angling her broom toward the trees above, she shot upward.
Back in the air, Rachel slumped over her handlebars and rested her forehead on the handle. She had lived, and with only five or ten uncomfortable bruises. Thank goodness. The bruises, however, filled her heart with an unexpected sorrow. No girl with a cat familiar should have been hurt by that fall.
Beneath her, the other students clapped and cheered. Straightening, Rachel flashed them a split-second smile and waved.
Then, she sped onward, shouting, “Alarm! Alarm! Petrify all students with wands!”
• • •
Continuing her Paul Revering, she shot past the yellow walls of Raleigh and the stone scholars decorating Dee. In the distance, she could hear cries, shouts, and strains of music.
“Alarm! Alarm! Mad tutor alert! Students gone rogue,” she cried as she passed fellow students. “Shut the doors of your dorms and don’t let the thaumaturgy students in!”
Lively music swelled from the trees ahead of her. Abraham Van Helsing, Conan MacDannan, and the other vampire-hunting boys from Dare stood side by side, defending a group of students, mainly girls. A circle of white sparkles spread out from their instruments, driving back the shadows that had been part of Mordeau’s cloak. Rachel waved, and the boys grinned. Max Weatherby, the funny boy with the big chin, nodded over his flute and winked. Alex Romanov, the princess’s brother, called out to ask after his sister.
Rachel gave him a thumbs-up as she rocketed by.
She flew back across the commons again. The young blond proctor, Mr. Scott, stood on the lawn, directing students into Roanoke Hall. As she flew closer, he waved her over, looking stern.
“Thank you, Miss Griffin. That is enough for now.” He gestured toward the wide double doors. “Please join the others in the dining hall.”
In her mind, she gave a swift kick to the geared contraption known as Obedience to Adults. It groaned and collapsed into a dusty pile of mental parts and fastenings, performing no function whatsoever.
“Yes, sir,” Rachel saluted.
Without even the minutest qualm, she flew in the entrance, through the dining hall, and out the back door, where she soared upward and over the wall. She saw the trees swaying and jumping before she heard the earth-rending crack. The ground in front of Drake Hall split open. The granite wall of the august dormitory cracked. The sleeping stone lion listed sideways. With a whoosh, the waters of the moat began to rush into the newly formed chasm.
Up through the gaping tear in the earth came the black dragon. It writhed its way from the dirt, shook itself off, and spread its huge purple-black bat wings. Opening its mouth, it breathed a huge gout of foul-smelling flames into the pit behind it.
Through the flame rose the dean, carried by her golden eagle familiar. She held her hands up in an unfamiliar cantrip. The flames bent to either side of her.
The dragon and the dean squared off. Drawing itself back on its hind legs, like a winged-serpent rampant on a heraldic crest, the dragon roared out words. Its voice was surprisingly shrill for such a huge creature. “My servants, hear me! Kill the other two primary targets! I will take care of Dean Moth!”
Across the campus, shadows flickered, rushing away from the students and off toward some new goal. Rachel spun her steeplechaser, but she could not tell where they were heading. Terror grappled her, making her limbs tremble. She had no idea who these primary targets were. Valerie Hunt? But Dr. Mordeau and her assistant, Jonah Strega, had had Valerie under their power. If they wanted her dead, why wouldn’t they have killed her then? Who else could it be? Mr. Chanson? Herself? John Darling, son of the other person who caught Mordeau’s father?
From this height, she could see two members of the White Hart Alliance, Marta Fisher and Ivan Romanov. Both had been fighting students who were under the influence of the geas. Both paused now and looked around, uncertain as to the threat. If they did not know what to do, how could she—a mere freshman who knew only a meager handful of spells—be of any help?
If only she knew more magic. If only she knew who the other two targets were. If only she knew anything useful. But who could discern Mordeau’s twisted mind?
Panic threatened to highjack her.
Then, in the midst of her frustration, she paused.
She was very smart—otherwise she would not have been invited here a year early—and she had a perfect memory. As she told Mr. Chanson, she had been paying attention.
What if she already knew the clues?
Rachel slowed her broom. She closed her eyes and calmed her thoughts. Prime targets…of what? Dr. Mordeau wanted to kill Rachel because of what her father had done. But Rachel was not a target. If she had been, Dr. Mordeau would spent more energy trying to kill her. Dean Moth was a target. Who else?
As rapidly as spells firing from a dueling wand, Rachel Griffin drew from her mental library every reference she had ever encountered related to Dean Jacinda Moth and Dr. Melusine Mordeau, the daughter of Eliaures Charles, the Serpent Master of the Morthbrood.
Come on, Information. Come find me! No one loves you as much as I do!
Puzzle pieces whirled through her mind faster than fan blades. What if Mordeau wanted to kill the people at Roanoke responsible for the fall of her father’s masters, the Terrible Five? Who would that be?
Who was still left at Roanoke from the Terrible years? Dean Moth, Maverick Badger, and Crispin Fisher. That was three. The dean was facing the dragon, and Rachel knew, though Mordeau probably did not, that Mr. Badger was not on campus. Dean Moth had mentioned that the head of the proctors had departed to pick up his wife. That left Mr. Fisher.
If she reached Mr. Fisher, and she was wrong, no harm done.
But if she were right…
Bending low over her steeplechaser, Rachel shot off across the campus. She dodged the spires and bell towers of Roanoke Hall diving into a large loop as soon as she cleared the building. Halfway through the loop, she flipped over, so that she was now upright, barreling directly toward the window of her alchemy classroom. Not all the windows of Roanoke Hall were the kind that opened. Thankfully, these did. Hurdling at the glass at high speed, Rachel let go of her handlebars and performed the Opening cantrip.
“Libra!”
The top slid down the tiniest bit.
Forcing herself to take a calming breath, she tried again. Flying through narrow openings was not something most people could do; however, she had practiced. She had often darted in and out of windows at home. All she needed to do was open it about three times as far as she already had, and she could fit through.
“Libra!”
It opened another inch or two.
“Libra! Libra! Libra!”
The window budged no farther.
The building was now ten feet away, eight feet away, five feet away. It was not going to open. Rachel’s heart took off like a frightened rabbit. She was two seconds from not being able to swerve in time.
Should she swerve?
Through the window, she could see the classroom. Towards the back, students crouched behind the lab stations. Up front, an upperclassman wielded a slender whip that gleamed like moonlight. Droplets flew from it as she flicked it backward. Some splattered on the pair of eyeglasses that rested on the counter where Mr. Fisher usually s
at.
Red droplets.
The hairs stood up all along the back of her neck. Her heart lurched. The young woman with the whip raised it again, preparing to strike. Rachel threw her arms in front of her head and slammed into the window’s wooden muntins.
Glass shattered.
Her own scream hurt her ears.
Her broom spun. She whirled through the classroom, shedding shards and splinters. The blonde turned and raised her whip, flicking it at her, but Rachel was twirling too quickly for even a possessed girl to anticipate. The whip sliced the air with a tremendous crack, grazing her ear. Rachel screamed again.
Rapidly toggling the brass levers on her broom, she struggled to regain control of her steeplechaser. The broom continued to spin. She suspected she was rather badly wounded, but the pain had not hit her yet.
Rachel closed her eyes an instant and concentrated. A three-dimensional picture of the scene sprang up in her mind. Rapidly, she calculated which forces needed to go where if she wished to achieve her goal. Then, throwing her weight far to the right, she crashed into the upperclassman, knocking over the blonde and her wicked whip.
The young woman fell backwards, striking her head on a lab station. Her body slumped to the floor. She twitched slightly, moaning, but did not rise.
The impact slowed Rachel’s spin. With a shaky sigh of relief, she gained control of the steeplechaser again. She tried to whistle, but her lips would not purse. Her cheek ached. Raising her hands, she pointed two fingers at the young woman’s weapon.
“Tiathelu, Varenga!”
Her voice came out hoarse and unrecognizable. Yet, the whip flew into her hand. She stuffed it into the large pocket in the bottom of her robe. Only then did she look around.
Two bodies lay on the ground, crisscrossed with long red welts. Mr. Fisher was on his back, gasping for breath, his face a web of cuts. Over him, as if he had thrown his body in the way to protect his teacher, lay Siggy’s roommate, mild-mannered Enoch Smithwyck, the English boy from Japan whom Sigfried had called a wuss. Enoch lay very still, his throat a mess of blood and welts. His chest was not rising or falling. His eyes were open, glassy.
A horrible keening noise filled Rachel’s ears. It took her a moment to realize that she issued from her own mouth. From the back of the room, Wendy Darling and Sakura Suzuki rushed forward, clutching each other. Wendy ran over to the alchemy tutor and fell to her knees, her hands pressed against her pale, pale face.
“Uncle Crispin!”
Mr. Fisher was not actually her uncle, but Rachel knew the two families were very close. Wendy’s eyelids fluttered as if she might faint, but she took hold of herself and ran to the sink, looking for water. Sakura had stopped beside Wendy. Her eyes locked on Enoch’s motionless form. She tried to swallow. Her dark eyes glowed with tears.
“No! Enoch! No!” Sakura’s anguished cry ripped through the room, like the shriek of a torn soul. Rachel remembered that the princess had said that Enoch and Sakura had come from the same landscape.
Rachel’s heart quivered. But she could not stop for grief. Using the same technique that allowed her to mask her emotions, she shoved her fear and sorrow aside and surveyed the room. On the floor, the blonde groaned and reached toward the back of her head. She tried whistling again. Pain tore through her cheek.
“Tie up the upperclassman! Or petrify her.” Rachel called to the remaining students. “I’ll get the nurse!”
The window was an unholy mess of sharp edges. Instead of leaving that way, Rachel shot out the classroom door, down the hallway, around the spiral staircase, and out through the back door of the dining hall. She rocketed up over the walls, heading directly for the infirmary. Something moved out of the corner of her eye. She glanced that way, but she did not pause. Later, she could review her memory and see what her gaze had fallen upon.
She barreled in the open front door of the infirmary, screaming for the nurse. Nurse Moth came running, blanching when she saw Rachel.
“Don’t worry about me!” Rachel leapt to the ground and shoved her broom at Nurse Moth. “Mr. Fisher. Enoch. Might be dead. Alchemy room.” When that was not enough to launch the nurse, Rachel shouted, “Go!”
“Lie down, Cherie. The gems on the bed will begin the healing process.” The nurse hopped on the broom and left.
Panting and aching, Rachel moved towards the bed. Her cheek and ear felt as if they were on fire. Her shoulder ached. Her back throbbed. Her leg burned. As she limped slowly across the room, she played back her memory of the motion she had glimpsed from the corner of her eye.
She blinked and played it back again. It stayed the same. Through the woods leading to the infirmary, a little porcelain doll walked of its own accord, dragging the unconscious body of Magdalene Chase.
Chapter Thirty-Three:
Valiant Efforts
Rachel looked longingly at the bed with the pretty green and purple dragon-vein agates containing healing magic that glittered welcomingly in its headboard. She glanced around the infirmary, taking in the sleeping Valerie, the unconscious and restrained Fuentes, the gurgling fountain, the orrery overhead. Sighing, she took a quick gulp from the healing fountain and splashed a bit of its icy waters on her face. Then, she headed for the woods and the living doll.
Rachel limped along the path. Her right leg did not want to work correctly. Her back ached where she had somersaulted over the gravel. Her shoulder still throbbed after striking the wood struts of the window. Her ear smarted where the whip had caught it. Her cheek burned. It must have been cut by the glass from the window.
Everything hurt. Worse, fear threatened to engulf her. What had happened at Drake Hall? Where was Gaius when the earthquake occurred? Where was Sigfried? Where were Nastasia and Joy? She had finally found friends. Would she be able to go on if they died, all in one day?
Mustn’t think about it. Concentrate on the present.
Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to straighten up and walk with a smoother gait. After a few steps, she still limped, but it was less pronounced. She headed for the place where she had seen Magdalene. To her left stretched the lawns of the commons. A number of skirmishes were taking place there: enchanter and canticler students fought thaumaturgy students, binding them with shining, golden Glepnir bonds to keep them from casting. Across the commons, Seth Peregrine wielded a hockey stick, fighting three older students beside the reflecting lake. Near the path leading to Marlowe, students conjured bears and wolverines. Some of the conjured creatures attacked the thaumaturgy students. Some wandered aimlessly. In the center of the commons, a conjured bear fought a huge chestnut wolf.
To the right of that fight, a student from the princess’s vision, a Hindu boy with longish hair, pointed his wand at a group of students. Rachel suspected he was Duryodhana Patel. Black light came out of the wand. Another child screamed. With a sensation like waking from a dream, Rachel saw Zoë had appeared out of nowhere behind Patel and whacked him with her greenstone war club. The monstrous face carved into the patu let out a horrible, piecing shriek. Duryodhana Patel flopped over. Around Zoë, the other students cheered.
Rachel heard the leafy slither before she saw the little China doll. The tiny porcelain figure was dragging her owner across the newly-fallen leaves. The doll was crying, which was an impressive feat, considering its face was painted. Rachel’s heart leapt into her throat and stayed there. She had been so worried about Siggy and Gaius and the princess. Was Magdalene…
Falling to her knees beside the tiny girl, she was tremendously relieved to see Magdalene’s chest rising and falling. Rachel’s heart slipped back into her ribcage.
Magdalene was not dead.
“What happened?” she asked softly.
To her great surprise, the doll answered. Its voice was high and sweet. “She fight the geas. She resist it but cannot overcome. I know not how to help. I bring her to the nurse.”
“Good thinking. Very good!” Rachel clapped her hands, smiling at the little doll. The concern
on its face made it look so lost, so pathetic, that Rachel felt like crying. She felt so helpless, so…
“Wait! I can help!” Rachel jumped to her feet. She pointed at the other girl. “Tiathelu.”
Magdalene wobbled into the air. Rachel directed the floating body with her two fingers, moving toward the infirmary. It was much harder than the last time, even though Valerie had been bigger. She wondered if this was because she was exhausted. Bending, she snatched up the doll with her other hand, holding it to her chest, and moved forward. It was slow going. Twice, she dropped Magdalene. Several other times, she realized part of the tiny girl was dragging.
“Could you use some help with that?” A familiar voice drawled behind her.
Rachel’s heart skipped two beats. She spun around, keeping her guiding hand in place.
“Gaius!”
It was really him. He stood there, looking cute, if smudged with dirt, smiling down at her. She wanted to rush over and hug him, but she was too shy. Besides, she would have had to drop Magdalene. A grin spread over her face. Her whole body relaxed.
She need not wear widow’s weeds at a hundred and sixty after all.
“Gaius! You’re alive!”
“So are you.” He grinned. Then, his expression turned to concern. He reached toward her face but did not touch her. “Though you don’t look…”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t dead in the vision,” Rachel blurted out.
“Vision? What vision?” he asked, alert. Then he slapped his forehead. “Some gentleman I am. Chatting while you’re struggling. Here, allow me.”
He gestured with his wand. Magdalene jerked higher into the air, floating a good three feet off the ground.
“Where are we going?” he asked. “Is she okay?”
“She will be. We’re headed for the infirmary.”
“Infirmary it is,” he replied, walking forward at a rapid pace, the floating form of the unconscious girl moving easily before his wand.
Rachel clutched the porcelain doll to her chest and followed. As they went, she told him the short version of what the princess had seen, about Fuentes, and then about Mordeau and Chanson.
The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1) Page 35