A Spell for Death: Rosewilde Academy of Magical Arts

by B. C. Palmer

  It was clear that the ritual involved a cascading series of such spells, each one building on the next. My research had at least given me a sense of the overall structure of it. Energy was gathered, contained, directed, reshaped the way a key might fit a lock, rotated through some mysterious medium, changed a second time, turned again… if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was almost like picking a lock. Nathan was brilliant and loved complexity, but he knew when simplicity served better.

  Amelia groaned. I looked up from my most recent attempt at a graph for the ritual, expecting her to be waking up but instead she only turned in her bed to face me. Her face was obscured in the shadows.

  “Amelia?” I whispered her name, the syllables rolling off of my tongue like a spell.

  She didn’t answer. She must not have been sleeping well again. I started to turn back to my work but she made another noise—this one sharper, fearful. I paused again, waiting, and in a moment she groaned again. “Help me,” she murmured, her voice thick with sleep and fear. “What… did I do?”

  “Amelia,” I said, louder. “Hey, wake up.”

  “C-can’t… breathe…”

  She began to wring her blanket, shifting back and forth as she twisted against something I couldn’t see. A weak sob escaped her.

  Amelia had been having nightmares, I knew. So far, they hadn’t broken out like this. I stood, waiting for her to calm down, to slip back into sleep. When she didn’t, I almost cast the only sleeping spell I knew off the top of my head to see if it would settle her. After our alchemy violation, though, it didn’t seem like the sort of thing that would go over well. Plus, it might just throw her deeper into a sleep she couldn’t escape from.

  I leaned over her, half into the darkness around her bed, and put a hand on her shoulder to shake her gently at first. “Amelia, wake up. You’re dreaming.”

  She shook her head, gasped for air that wouldn’t come, and whined as her legs kicked in slow motion against whatever she was dreaming about.

  I shook her harder. “Amelia!”

  Her eyes fluttered open. She gasped for air as if she’d been drowning. For several seconds her eyes were wide and wild, and a shaking hand snaked out from under the blanket to grasp at my wrist. “I… Hunter?”

  “You were having a nightmare,” I said, and began to pull away.

  She clutched at my arm. “Don’t go. It was… I haven’t had that dream in a while. It was worse this time.”

  The thought of pulling away when she seemed so distraught seemed to grip my heart and squeeze until it hurt. I sank to the edge of the bed, letting her hold onto my arm. I held myself back from lying next to her with all of the mental focus required of a greater work of magic. “Do you want to talk about it? It might help.”

  Her eyes closed, and she reached up to put a hand over her eyes, then combed her fingers through her hair. “It’s… I’m in a forest, surrounded by trees,” she said. “I make my way through them to a beach, except the ocean doesn’t look right. Then there are these four men… um, they take me to the water’s edge, and I think that they mean to help me or something but then the ocean comes to life and starts to drag me away. Three of them seem like they want to help, but the fourth one gets in the way, lets it happen. Like… like he thinks that it’s supposed to be that way? And then I’m dragged under, and I can feel the pressure from the water, and see the light disappearing and… usually I wake up at that point. This time it felt like I never would. I knew I was dreaming, is the thing, but I couldn’t do anything about it.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said. I turned my hand in hers so I could take it and give a reassuring squeeze. “You’re awake now, though.”

  “Yeah, and exhausted,” she sighed.

  “Well,” I said, and started to stand, “I should let you—”

  “Stay with me?” she asked. “Just for a little bit. Just until I fall asleep again. Please?”

  I grimaced. “Amelia, I don’t think there’s anything I can do to…” She looked crushed already and began to let my hand go.

  It was impossible for me to know what it was like for her. Finding out her parents may not have been the people she hoped, losing everyone she cared for, discovering there were mysteries in her past, even experiencing some kind of haunting—on top of the nightmares that plagued her. I knew it must have been awful, though. I gave up in the face of that look of hurt. And a small part of me wanted to be selfish. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Just until you sleep.”

  She looked as though she might argue, now that I’d told her I didn’t want to. Which wasn’t entirely accurate; but what I wanted and what was right were different things. She sealed her lips, though, and shifted in the bed to make room for me.

  I lay down next to her, on my back. After a short time, she rolled under the blanket to face away from me. I stared at the darkened ceiling, and then at the dim light coming through the veil of shadows that surrounded us, counting silently to myself and listening to her breath gradually change. It took almost ten minutes, but eventually the swelling and receding of her body grew shallow and slow as she slipped back to sleep. I began to get up carefully.

  Amelia twitched and made a soft groan. I figured she’d gone right back into REM sleep, it was a common enough technique for dreaming to wake up midway through the night and go back to sleep, straight into a vivid dream. When she twitched again, and gasped, I lay back down, turned over and slipped my arm around her. I pressed close to her on top of the blanket and whispered, “It’s only a dream, Amelia.”

  Tension left her body by degrees, until she was placid again, peaceful and, I hoped, no longer having nightmares.

  I should have gotten up then and gone back to my work or even to bed—it was late, and my first class was early. But I told myself I was worried for her. That if I left, and slept in my own bed, she would be chased through dreams again and this time no one would wake her. Dreams were usually only phantoms of the mind, but in her case I did wonder if it wasn’t more than that. Something that could actually hurt her, if she lent it any magic.

  And I was only a human, after all.

  So I chose instead to stay with her, one arm draped over her body. Telling myself it was only until it seemed she was safe from her dreams.

  Amelia

  It was exactly as I feared. I flopped onto the grass where Lucas sat as he waited for Isaac after my final evaluation and stared at the sky.

  “That doesn’t look good,” he muttered. “How did it go?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I have nothing. No path. I have about the psychic ability of a rock—”

  “In fact, remarkably psychic… but never mind.”

  I eyed him sideways. “I couldn’t divine the location of my own ass, I’m pretty sure necromancy is a hoax, elemental magic is beyond me. I even suck at thaumaturgy. I mean… how is it possible that I’m just bad at all magic?”

  “Come on,” he said, and lay down next to me. “Just because you don’t have a specialized path doesn’t mean you’re bad at all magic.”

  “Name one other student you know without a path,” I challenged.

  He had to think about it. For a while. “Curtis Shiner,” he said. “He’s a senior, graduating this year.”

  “I think you’re making that name up.” I scuffed at the grass with my heel and wished there was a cloud in the sky. Maybe I could read it and divine some omen about what I was good for. “How is it possible I’m some kind of Abyssal creature and don’t have a natural talent for a particular kind of magic?”

  Lucas sighed as he rolled onto his side and propped his head on his palm to look at me. “You’re not an Abyssal creature.”

  “Whatever it is,” I murmured. “At least having a path would make me feel like I understood it. Even if I didn’t, it would be something to focus on, you know? What am I supposed to do now?”

  “Go to classes,” he said. “Learn magic. Do what you can, find your own individual path through it. Path specialty is just…
a program of focus, Amelia. It isn’t an indication that you’re special, it just means you’ve got a predilection. If anything, it restricts the courses you end up taking, and you either have to take on extra classes and fill your schedule or end up with large gaps of knowledge. Now, you can be a jack of all trades. Try to see the positive.”

  “It’s just one more reminder that I’m no longer a big fish in a small pond,” I said. I rolled to my side to face him. Hummingbirds played chase above us, hiding the fact that beyond the edges of the Academy it was well into the fall now and beginning to cool fast. It would be winter soon but that wasn’t obvious from the greenery here. “I kicked ass in school. Top of every class, almost, and always ahead of the curve. I keep getting reminded how dumb I am compared the rest of you. It’s not a fun experience.”

  Lucas rolled his eyes. “Stop it. You’re far from that. Don’t obsess over this. You know Isaac didn’t get affirmed for alchemy his first time. He worked hard and asked to be evaluated again after winter break.”

  We were so close, and ever since Serena’s motivational speech, I’d been forced to acknowledge the tension between us. Serena had been right, of course, and now that she’d called me out, I knew there was no way Lucas could ever be like a brother to me. Not when all I wanted to do was pull him on top of me and let him do very un-brotherly things to me.

  “You can do that?” It was a ray of hope if so. Whatever Lucas thought, I had always excelled—AP classes, college prep, academic extracurriculars. I was a star mathlete for three years, until I had to quit to focus on diversifying into other STEM programs to impress MIT.

  He gave a half shrug with one shoulder. “Isaac’s family knew some people. My point is, as a magician you will change and evolve over time. You’ll grow, and if you don’t have a path right now, it may not be forever.”

  “Unless I’m like Curtis Shiner?” I asked. “I’m gonna ask around, see if I can find this guy. I’m not convinced.”

  Lucas chuckled and poked at my ribs. “You’ll never find him; he’s elusive.”

  I swatted his hand away, smiling. “You can’t distract me from this.”

  “Freshmen are always so enamored of this idea of having a—ah… a moment.” Lucas sat up and his eyes unfocused for a moment. When whatever it was had passed, he gave a nod and flicked through the gestures for the Whisper spell. “Of course, Headmaster. I’m with her now, in fact. I’ll escort her right away.”

  I perked up at that and pushed myself up to sit. “What’s up?”

  Lucas stood and brushed grass from his butt, then held out a hand to help me up. “It seems the headmaster would like a word with you. He tasked me with hunting you down.”

  My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What about? Did I do something wrong? I know how this place is about rules but I haven’t broken any—”

  “No, no,” he said quickly as I stood with his help. “I don’t believe it’s anything like that. He checks in from time to time, he’s seen two other students this term so far. He probably just wants to see how you’re getting along, catching up—that sort of thing.”

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  Lucas turned and waved me toward the southern end of the west wing. I fell into step beside him. “Yes,” he said. “Absolutely certain. Or at least certain you’re not in trouble for anything. Why? Does going to the principal’s office make you nervous?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” I said. “I never went. I never got detention, either. Didn’t even get time-out when I was little. I’m a good, virtuous, honest student.”

  “I can only imagine. But you know what they say about lying down with dogs, don’t you?” He threw me a crooked smirk.

  I let him open the door for me and brushed past him. “I’d hardly say you have fleas,” I told him. “You are the headmaster’s PA, after all—somehow I imagine he wouldn’t have a ne’er-do-well for an assistant.”

  Lucas put a finger up. “Ah, but that assumes I’m the sort of ne’er-do-well that gets caught. Perhaps I’m a very clever criminal.”

  That did sound about right. We went down a short hallway off the entrance that I hadn’t noticed before, and came to a tall, wide, gilded door in gold and dark cherry wood. Augustus Sinclaire, Headmaster was emblazoned on a plaque affixed to the middle of it. Lucas knocked twice, waited, then opened the door for me. “This is as far as I go. Whisper me when you’re done. I’ll be with Isaac and perhaps Hunter if he’s up for it.”

  Hunter. The memory of waking tucked up against his chest, his arm draped over my waist, the soft puff of his breath against the top of my head… it made my heart ache. He’d woken shortly after, asking after my dreams and then acting as if nothing had happened. Then again, nothing had happened… but it certainly felt like something changed, until he put his damn walls up again.

  “Sure thing,” I said. “Wish me luck?”

  Lucas gave a soft snort and walked backwards down the hall until I turned away to enter the headmaster’s study.

  It was a big room—definitely the sort of room that said “important person”. One entire wall was lined with books, the opposite with built-in shelves that held all manner of magical tools, most of which I hadn’t seen before. The hardwood floor here looked newer than in the halls. Headmaster Sinclaire sat behind his desk, scribbling something in an open file when I entered, and he eyed me briefly over his glasses before gesturing at the chair in front of his desk with his pen. “A moment, please, Miss Cresswin.”

  I sat as politely as one can and folded my hands in my lap to wait. Sinclaire’s desk was littered with magical looking doodads, from a tetrahedral prism that glowed with a faint blue light to a small silver globe that rotated slowly in a crystalline container that was dotted with stars. I was still staring at it, certain I could see faint lights and wispy clouds on the surface, when he closed the file and set the pen aside.

  “So, Miss Cresswin,” he said, “I understand you’re performing quite well in your studies thus far.”

  “I’m getting there at least,” I replied. “I wouldn’t say I’m excelling. But I’m keeping pace for the most part. Am I… have I done something wrong?”

  Sinclaire’s thin lips spread into a friendly smile. “Not that I’ve been made aware of. This isn’t a disciplinary meeting, Miss Cresswin. It’s about your evaluation.”

  Shit. Had Lucas underplayed the importance of having a path? Was it like not picking a major? “Oh,” I said, “I finished today. But really, I think with some more study—”

  “Your evaluation isn’t complete,” he clarified quickly, raising a hand before I could rattle off more excuses. “That’s why you’re here. I have one more test to administer.”

  Mentally, I counted off the twelve paths of magic to myself. I had tested for all of them. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I met with each of the deans… which path do you want me to test for? Because if you could let me know and give me just one day to brush up, I think I do better when I have time to prepare.”

  “Relax, Miss Cresswin,” he urged me. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself. I’m not going to retest you for a path you’ve already shown no natural inclination for. On the contrary. I’ve got a special test.”

  The way he said it made me wonder if I needed someone in the room with us just then. My stranger danger alert was clicking like a Geiger radiation counter. He stood from his chair in a smooth, slightly too slow motion that put me in mind of a large lizard, and strode to his shelves. There, he slid a black velvet-wrapped object about two and a half feet wide and, from the rough shape of it, round, from the center shelf. He carried it to a pedestal near his desk and carefully balanced it on top before he pulled the velvet away and waved me over.

  “I intend to evaluate you for a particular special kind of magic,” he said. “A thirteenth path. If you fail to show talent, your memory of this meeting will be erased and instead we’ll discuss your performance and comfort at Rosewilde.”

  A hand went automatically to the back of my head.
“My memory?”

  “Painless,” he assured me, “and entirely safe. All the senior staff have performed the simple charm hundreds of times; it only affects the short-term memory. Now, at a glance, what does this appear to be to you?”

  I examined the round tablet on the pedestal. The surface and sides were carved with intricate lines that swept and darted back and forth across a geometric figure that was reminiscent almost of the sketches in Hunter’s notebooks. There were clear differences, but the overall format was similar. “If I were to guess,” I said, “it looks like a magic circle. Meant to define the limits of a particular effect for… ah, for focus and in some cases the manifestation of hostile or friendly environments for exotic magical effects?” I mentally crossed my fingers. Ritual magic wasn’t until junior year, but Wardwell had given magic circles a very brief treatment in his lectures.

  “That is the stock answer, yes,” Sinclaire agreed. “This particular circle is special. I’m going to give you a very simple spell—the most basic foundation of this particular path—and I’d like you to take a few moments to get familiar and then attempt it. Focused on this circle.”

  “What… does it do?” I asked.

  “Nothing dangerous,” he assured me, and then passed me a small, ancient manual of only about twelve pages. “Take your time. You may use my notepad and pen to make any graphs, if you need.”

  I flipped through the pages briefly before I gave him a nod and went back to my chair and sat down to read through it.

  The spell was simple enough, the semantic element directly translatable rather than some archaic bit of foreign poetry. I recognized some of the somatic components from other spells as well—they were foundational for the most part and the only gesture that looked particularly difficult was near the end. I practiced it several times, wondering if Sinclaire would step in and correct me. Instead, he examined the slab, which looked like it was made of something other than stone or wood—possibly wax? Whatever it was, I’d never seen anything quite like it.