Seventh Born

by Monica Sanz

  “And why do you care?” she asked, teeth clenched.

  “Because you need a referral.” He slid off his teaching robe and hung it on the coat-tree by the window. Sitting on the edge of his desk, he clasped his hands in his lap and met her eyes. “A referral I’m willing to give you, in exchange for something, of course…”

  Sera paused at the word “referral.” “Excuse me?”

  “Surprising, yes, I know, but I believe this is an arrangement we will both enjoy greatly. You get the referral you need, and I get your services whenever I need them. A mutual benefit.”

  Taking in his words, his stance, and his slow exhale as he regarded her, she flinched. Memories crept from the darkest pits in her mind, and the countless scars along her body tingled to life. She knew well how men treated seventhborns—mere things for their own wicked pleasures, to be used as if…as if they were something less than human.

  “How dare you?” she seethed, trembling. “Regardless of what you think of seventhborns, I am a respectable woman. Never contact me again, or I swear upon my wand, I will set you on fire.” She made to leave.

  “Well, this is surprising.” He spoke over the whoosh of her skirts and the taps of her boots on the hardwood floor.

  “Despicable brute,” she muttered.

  “I didn’t imagine you would reject my offer to refer you to the Aetherium…”

  Sera pulled the door open. “Wayward boor—”

  “…in exchange for your help on a case.”

  She stopped.

  “But,” he went on, “every day does come with its own surprises—”

  She snapped the door shut and silenced him. “What do you mean help on a case?” She turned, yet still alert, she remained by the door.

  “Well, in my spare time, I am a consultant of sorts and”—he motioned to his desk—“my workload is great. Sadly, there is only one of me.”

  Sera frowned. “A tragedy.”

  He clicked his teeth. “Indeed. It’s this terrible and tragic lack of me that has left me in need of an assistant. I invited you here to ask if you would be said assistant.” He straightened and ventured around his desk. “As payment, I would give you the referral needed for your exam. Seemed like a good idea when I thought of it, but, well”—he sighed heavily, adjusting his cuffs—“no respectable lady would ever associate with a despicable, wayward boor like myself. I should’ve known better, and I apologize. Good night, Miss Dovetail.”

  Heat waved from her feet to the crown of her head. Oh, she could have thrown something at him, but she braced her spine and strode back to the chair. “Perhaps I’m not so respectable. What type of assistance will you need on this case?”

  He held up a hand. “First, an order of business.”

  He slipped his wand from within its holder at his waist and held it out to her. “This is an oath, and every word spoken in this meeting is for us alone and bound to secrecy between us. We have entered into this agreement freely and must both be in agreement to break it. Agreed?”

  Sera brushed aside her cloak and drew her wand the same. She paused, her hold tight on the cool metal handle. Oaths were no small matter. If she uttered even a word of it, she could lose her ability to speak for years.

  Yet she ran her gaze along his wand fashioned out of rosewood, then fixed on his ring. She would never hold a wand like his, and she would most certainly never wear an Invocation ring, if she didn’t first pass the Aetherium entrance exam to become an apprentice and then a proper witch.

  More, an inspector.

  But could she really trust this man?

  She swallowed. It was a risk…

  …and her only chance.

  She touched her wand to his. “Agreed.”

  His wand glowed blue as though he held a bolt of lightning. At once, his magic streamed into her wand and illuminated each thread of wood in blue. A warm sensation then tickled up her body, little pinpricks traveling from her belly to her fingertips. Her magic seeped out, crept up her wand, and overtook his, amber like the firelight. Their respective wands absorbed the foreign magic, their oath made.

  Sera lowered her wand and exhaled. “Now then, Professor, what does this position entail exactly?”

  Barrington sheathed his wand. “Murder.”

  She blinked. “Murder?”

  “Yes, yes, lots of it, in fact. Apparently it’s quite a profitable business,” he said with the ease of one speaking of the weather. “Our job is to investigate those no one seems to care for.”

  “And why does an Alchemy professor care for murders?” she asked slowly. “Especially those no one else cares for?”

  “The same reason you will care for them, Miss Dovetail. The same reason you’re here: need.” He snatched up a piece of paper. “Tomorrow, you’ll report to me at the same time, only you must come a different way. I can imagine the gossip if anyone sees you entering my office again and closing the door.” He held the page out to her. “You will use this spell. If you cannot execute it properly, I will find another assistant. If you knock on this door, I will find another assistant. If you ask anyone for help—”

  “You will find another assistant. I know.”

  “I was going to say it would break our oath, but also that.”

  Sera rolled her eyes and took the paper. A protection circle dominated the page, and within it, a transfer spell. She eyed the chain of circular ciphers, each one containing parts of the travel coordinates. “But we aren’t allowed to use transfer spells without permission—”

  “Permission granted.” He walked to the door and opened it. “Now, I have things to do. Dismissed.”

  She tucked the spell into the pocket of her cloak and walked out into the hall. “Good night, Professor.”

  He inclined his head once and closed the door between them.

  Left alone in the newly settled night, Sera leaned back against the stone wall beside the door. What on earth had just happened? Her mind swam with questions, with words of agreements and murders and spells. With the infuriating Professor Barrington.

  But however strange and inappropriate, one truth coaxed a smile from her lips: she had been wrong. Good had waited on the other side of that door.

  3

  impressions

  A thick concoction bubbled and popped in the small cauldron before her with the pulse of an agitated heart. Sera sighed and pushed her grimoire away. If only she could dip her head into the Rhodonite potion instead of listening to Mrs. Aguirre drone on. Of all Aether-level courses, Mysteries of the Mind was her favorite, but after last night, her concentration splintered between class and Barrington’s spell burning a hole in her inner mantle pocket.

  Even worse, thinking over the rather odd visit with Barrington had chased away all sleep, and come morning she still wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. When he could have expelled her and burned her wand for using wandless magic, he’d instead asked her to be his assistant—in dealing with murder, of all things. Need, he had said. But… Sera settled back. What need could be so great that he would seek her out? And above all, why her?

  Mrs. Aguirre set down her large wooden spoon on her workbench and picked up a vial of Rhodonite crystals. The round, silver-haired woman then turned to the class. “If everyone would please pour the contents of your vials into your spell dishes. What I am about to show you is an alternate method to the potion we’ve brewed.”

  Sera twisted the cork off the narrow tube and sprinkled the pink dust into the black dish on her worktable. A hairline crack ran the length of the dish, but without any funds, she had been unable to secure a new one.

  “If at any time your patient cannot drink the Rhodonite elixir and gives you permission to access their memories, you can always sprinkle the crystals on their forehead as you’ve done on the dish,” she said, her tone an excited, secretive whisper. “If they are completely unconscious, chances are it will not work. But if they show the slightest bit of consciousness—even if just a murmur—you can appeal to them, a
s their spirits can still hear you. They can then allow you entry into their minds where you can uncover whatever it is they’re unable to tell you due to injury or illness.”

  Sera made a mental note to research the method later on, when she could think beyond Barrington’s spell. Perhaps she could use Rhodonite crystals to summon some of her own memories? It was worth a try. Aetherium doctors could have attempted it, but who would waste precious resources on a seventhborn?

  Images flitted through her mind of that terrible night she was rescued two years ago. Of those Aetherium doctors in their stark white robes who poked and prodded her with their wands to heal her cuts, not caring that they inflicted pain themselves.

  Still, the pain they caused had been nothing compared to…him, and the cruelty he’d inflicted on her for a year. Though she had not one memory of her life or her family when he’d found her, he’d taken her under his wing and given her a place beside him. He became her everything, the only person she trusted. But then she learned he was no person. He was a monster. A knot jammed firmly in her throat. She didn’t need Rhodonite crystals to remember his viciousness. She bore the proof of it on her skin. But Sera shook her head. She wouldn’t think of him. He was dead, and she was free. As free as a seventhborn could ever be.

  Mrs. Aguirre circled the much larger cauldron dominating the front of the room, her black skirts dragging behind her. With the vial of pink crystals in hand, she motioned the proper application along her forehead. “You sprinkle the crystals on their brow just as you’ve done in your dishes. If some spills off the side, that’s fine. All that matters is proximity to the mind. Then, with your wand, slowly ease out your magic. This will ignite the crystals, and if you’ve acquired their permission, their memories will linger in the smoke. But I stress, this requires a great deal of skill and will work only with permission. Also keep in mind that any information recovered in these sessions is confidential. Betrayal of this trust could cost you your wand.” She lowered her hands. “Now, set your wands above the dust and feed your magic out slowly, covering the crystals…”

  Sera drew out her wand and held it over the dish, her magic already racing within her. Magic manipulation was part of Water-level courses during the first year of schooling—a year she missed entirely, along with Earth levels, which made this class all the more taxing, considering half was dedicated to brewing potions. Still, she took a calming breath and imagined her magic as a spinning reel, a tip from Mary to help Sera control her vast reserve of magic. She envisioned herself winding it back…back…back…until it stopped.

  She hissed. Denying its release forced her magic to gather in her fingertips. Her hands burned and trembled under the strain, and sweat sprouted at the back of her neck.

  “Remember, slowly,” Mrs. Aguirre echoed, pacing through the rows and nodding in satisfaction. “Not all birds soar on their first try.”

  Sera winced. Mrs. Aguirre had meant it to be kind, but of all the words she chose to say… Sera shut her eyes tightly against the memories threatening to surface. This was not the time.

  Sera, Sera in a cage…

  No, she wouldn’t think of him.

  She focused on her mound of Rhodonite crystals and thought of her magic as a small stream, trickling from her fingertips. A cloud of red smoke seeped from the tip of her wand.

  Sera, Sera wants to fly…

  Her magic rattled for release, but clenching her teeth, she held it back.

  But her pretty wings are broken…

  Refusing her powers burned her fingers. The heat then swept up her arms and into her head like claws biting into her skull. But she had to hold it a little…bit…longer…

  Mrs. Aguirre drew closer.

  A little longer…

  Look at her fall from the sky…

  Sera cried out, the pressure in her temples feeling as if it might crack her head in two. Magic burst to her fingers, hot and burning. Fire flared from the tip of her wand like a torch and consumed the dish and crystals. The force thrust the wand from her hand.

  Mrs. Aguirre rushed beside her and whirled a hand over the dish. “Extinguish!”

  The flames died with a hiss. Curls of thick, gray smoke swiveled from the Rhodonite crystals, now black instead of pink. The class grew quiet, but Sera’s pulse beat wildly in her ears.

  Mrs. Aguirre stared at her, her ochre complexion deepening, her brown eyes wide behind her glasses.

  “I…” Sera started, but struggled through the smoke and memories clenching her throat.

  She snatched up her wand and rushed out of class, hurrying back to her room in the tower. Kicking the door to her room closed behind her, she slid to the floor, her maroon skirt spread around her like a pool of blood. Folding her legs to her chest, she bumped her forehead against her knees. If only it could dislodge the stupid, stupid memories. He was dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore…

  And yet, here she was once again.

  Fumbling with her cloak, she pulled Barrington’s spell from the safety of her mantle’s inner pocket and set it before her. These ciphers—this spell was all that mattered. Her memories wouldn’t ruin this.

  When it was time to see Barrington, Sera dragged herself to her feet, paced the room, and eyed the page. There was a circle with symbols along the border of the shape, a few she could decipher as a basic protection spell. On the outside rim of the circle were the coordinate ciphers of Barrington’s location. The character in the middle of the circle, however, she had never seen before. When they studied elementary transfer spells during Air-level courses—moving simple objects like onions and radishes—there wasn’t ever anything written inside the protection circle.

  She hefted a sigh. The transfer spell was not going to draw itself. Eventually she would not need to draw or speak the spell, once she memorized it and could focus enough to spark the spell with her mind. In the meantime, she grabbed a stick of red chalk, flipped aside the corner of the rug by the window, and knelt. Then she drew a circle around her. The next few minutes were spent copying Professor Barrington’s words onto the floor, checking and rechecking his atrocious letters against her finished diagram. The last thing she needed was to end up in the wrong place.

  The spell perfect, she set down the chalk and wiped her hands on her skirt. Standing in the center of the circle, she drew her wand.

  Her breaths grew shallow, her insides jittery. It had been ages since she’d transferred, the last time being when she was brought to the school, but she remembered the nauseating suction and drop sensation she’d felt in her stomach. Comingled with the fact that she was about to see Professor Barrington again, bile rushed into her throat.

  Don’t be stupid, Sera, she chastised herself, swallowing down the bitterness. She wasn’t going to meet any danger at his hand…was she?

  She steeled her spine and closed her eyes. Perhaps he was dangerous, perhaps not. But cowardice would get her nowhere, most definitely not into the Aetherium School of Continuing Magic. She tightened her hold on her wand and closed her eyes. Should Barrington have any ill will, she’d fight like hell to live, just as she’d done before.

  “Ignite,” she whispered.

  Ready for the plummet she remembered, she drew in a breath. A moment passed, when…nothing.

  She exhaled and snapped her eyes open. That wasn’t right.

  Brushing back to her work desk, she reviewed the spell, then her rendering on the floor. Everything matched.

  When Madame Rousseau had done it, she had lit candles, though that had all been to help them focus. Barrington’s spell didn’t call for candles. Whatever the case, Sera set out to gather what candles she could. Of all the Air-level courses, transfer spells were not her forte, but tonight that spell was going to get her to Barrington even if she had to dig her way out with a spoon!

  She positioned candles around the circle and, with a quick snap, lit a fire at their wicks.

  Back at the center of the diagram, she closed her eyes and flicked her wand. “Ignite.”
<
br />   Nothing.

  Sera grunted and stomped her foot. The candles had been lit, the protection circle drawn, and the coordinates were right. “Why isn’t it working?”

  She paced away from the circle. Had Barrington made a mistake? Had she?

  Thrusting the page aside, she gripped her hair and dissolved the loose bun into a mass of curls. Her fingers brushed against a small cut on her scalp from Whittaker’s mistake, and she paused.

  Or could it be that Barrington was making fun of her?

  She dropped her hands from her hair, a tumble of curls cascading onto her shoulders. Had she been deceived once more?

  Perhaps they should’ve added masochistic tendencies to your file as well.

  “Of course,” she whispered. It made perfect sense. No wonder he had chosen her. He didn’t need an assistant. He thought her a simpleminded, desperate seventhborn there for his own amusement.

  Fists clenched and her pulse loud in her ears, she looked to the page, then to the perfectly drawn transfer spell. Every symbol was the same, down to the small curvature of his squares. But of course it didn’t work. He meant to make a fool out of her. He was probably in his office, laughing at her pathetic efforts. Oh, she should’ve known better than to believe him.

  “That good for nothing…” She crumpled the spell and threw it to the floor. “Despicable cur!”

  She aimed her wand and blasted the sheet. The bolt ricocheted from the paper and sent it floating about the room. Sera lowered her wand, her eyes narrowed. Why on earth would Barrington proof a sheet of paper against an attack? Unless…

  “You were expecting me to get angry, weren’t you, Professor? You think you know me so well? I’ll teach you. Get back here, you dratted sheet!”

  She targeted the spell once more. A bolt of light flashed from the tip of her wand. The paper swiveled from its path, and the bolt crashed against the Aetherium crest over her bed. “Damn!”