by B. C. Palmer
Just the slightest whisper of adrenaline rushed into me before I could cut it off and force myself to calm down. “I do,” I said. “I haven’t had to use it but it’s in my office.”
“Yes,” he said, and furrowed his brow. “Not once?”
I shook my head. “No, sir. I haven’t had a reason. I’ve considered coming in to tidy up but, well—you apparently keep your office cleaner than previous headmasters. Though, I can if you’d like.”
“That isn’t necessary,” he assured me. “My personal collection is full of potentially dangerous objects to the unwary. Better to keep it strictly to critical administrative business. Tell me, speaking of administrative business—how is our young Cresswin girl doing? I understand you spend quite a bit of time with her.”
It was foolish to think rumors wouldn’t reach the headmaster, and we’d been spending almost all our free time together lately. No one, I was certain, knew exactly why. Amelia had even kept Serena in the dark. At least, I was pretty sure she had. “Ah… we’ve become friends, yes. She’s doing quite well, I think.”
He winked at me, leaning over his hands a bit. “Come now,” he said, “don’t be modest. Aren’t the two of you involved? You and Mr. Roth? Or perhaps that’s just the student rumor mill doing its work. It’s of course perfectly fine if you are.”
The problem was, I didn’t know how much he knew. I swallowed and rubbed the back of my neck sheepishly. “I didn’t realize it was entirely public knowledge. But I assure you, most of our time together we spend studying. Since path week she’s been falling behind just a little, but we’re keeping her caught up. She was bummed that she didn’t have a path of her own, and I think classes are just getting more intense. But her spell work is improving every day.”
“Plus with her extracurriculars…” He watched my face. He was looking for a reaction.
I didn’t give him one. “I… don’t think she has any at the moment,” I said. “Or if she does, she hasn’t said anything.”
“Ah,” Sinclaire said. “Well. Perhaps I’m mistaken on that front.”
“I’m happy to talk as long as you like, sir,” I said, “but you said you had a few things for me? Requisitions, it looks like?”
Sinclaire sat back, took up his pen, and signed the last one before he picked up the stack and tapped them neat. “Indeed,” he said. “Just the usual, though there is a book slip in there. Make sure that gets priority.”
I took the stack from him. The emphasis was clear. He knew, somehow, that we’d messed with his books. He had to. A book requisition was meant to go through Mara. “I’ll get that to the library, sir,” I said. “Right away, before I file the rest.”
“That would be ideal,” he replied.
Usually, the headmaster dismissed me when we were done. This time, he only smiled up at me. I stood and dipped my head. “If… that’s all?”
“I believe it is,” he said. “You can go, Lucas. And thank you.”
“Of course, sir,” I said, and had to make my body relax and stroll casually to the door to leave. Once outside, with the door closed behind me, I nearly doubled over from my nerves. Something had changed. What was it? We’d had the copy for weeks—had he been hiding that he knew? Was he just now making a move on us? And if so, why?
Possibilities swirled through my mind as I tried to figure out what was in his mind. I walked back to the library. The worst thing I could do would be to not do my job for him—that would certainly confirm whatever he suspected.
I was halfway back down the east hall to the library when the lights cut off. Not just the lights along the ceiling, but even the windows themselves. Darkness simply fell, in an instant.
The papers fell from my hands as I began muttering a dispel. I skipped the first six and went straight to seven—overkill was rarely ineffective. My hands moved through the familiar gestures, fingers locking together at the end before I tore them apart and spat the final word of the spell.
Nothing happened. Not a failure, though—something pushed back against the magic. Instead, I summoned a light spell. The beacon appeared, the size of a golf ball, in the air above me, but shed no actual light. It was muted, like a plain white dot against the ink the world had become.
Panic began to sneak in. I began the motions for a Whisper spell, doubling up with my own modification to send it simultaneously to Hunter and Isaac.
Before I transitioned from the second hand sign to the third, something took hold of my hands. They simply locked in place, as if the darkness itself was suddenly solid, a dark, icy pressure that held my fingers apart.
The old-fashioned way, then.
“Isaac! Hunter!” I shouted. “Anyone! I’m—”
Something icy poured into my mouth. It filled my throat, choking me, and then filled my stomach, and then all of me. It was so cold that it burned, and I couldn’t even scream from the sudden flash of pain.
The pain, though, was brief.
Amelia
It was Hunter’s idea to check the clinic when Lucas didn’t join us. We walked the halls first, then asked after him with the headmaster, but all Sinclaire said he knew was that he’d given Lucas some forms to file and send out. Lucas had left, and that was the last he saw of him. I didn’t like it, but there was no reason for me to accuse the headmaster, of all people, of foul play. Just to be thorough, Hunter suggested we drop into the clinic.
That was where we found him. My heart leaped into my throat when I saw his face, pale and wan, his eyes closed. His eyes moved under his lids, rapidly. “What happened?”
The healer on duty was a round-faced woman with dark skin, her hair graying into a cascade of tight locks. She was replacing a compress on Lucas’s forehead. “We haven’t completed our analysis yet,” she said. “It’s magical, but we can’t say for sure yet what kind it is. You are his friends?”
“We are,” Isaac said.
“If he was attempting any kind of experimental magic,” she said, “now is a good time to tell us.”
We all shared a look of guilt. It was possible this was a result of what we were doing. We’d all experienced changes, haunted dreams, headaches.
“Nothing that we know of,” Hunter said. He put his hands up and made a square, then a triangle, then a large circle with them, muttering revelation spells as he did. Whatever he saw with the last one, he froze, then lowered his hands. “That’s not… what kind of magic is that?”
“That’s the complication,” she said. “None of the staff is familiar with it. We’ve asked the headmaster to come down, but I’ve seen just about everything there is to see. This is a new one on me. We’re testing the more common cleansing and dispel remedies, along with a healthy drip of alchemical fortification solutions to help his own magic fight back—”
“And if it’s his own magic that’s attacking him?” Isaac asked sharply.
The healer gave him a flat look. “I’ve been doing this for fifty years. The magic isn’t his own; we checked before hooking him up. Now, if you three are his friends and have any access to his belongings, you’ll need to make them accessible to security. They’ll be investigating.”
“We should do that,” Hunter said. “Isaac, you come help. Amelia…”
“I’ll stay with him,” I said. “You go.”
I knew what Hunter intended. They needed to clear anything related to Nathan’s work, and the copied book, out of the way of any investigation. My instinct was to tell the healer what we had been up to—maybe it would help him. But if they couldn’t identify the magic already, then what were the chances that knowing would help?
“We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Isaac assured me. He kissed me, and pressed his lips to my ear. “He’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out.”
Hunter gave Lucas a long, troubled look, met my eyes as if to check that I understood the need to keep our work quiet, and I gave him a nod of agreement.
“I’m Amelia,” I said when they left. “What’s your name?”
“Tish
a,” the healer said. “I take it you’re more than a friend?”
I smiled weakly and started to reach for Lucas’s hand.
Tisha reached to intercept me. “You shouldn’t,” she said quickly. “Many magical ailments are contagious, depending on the purpose. Better to be safe. All the healers are covered in protective spells.” She pulled up her sleeve to show a winding snake tattoo, intricately detailed, with fine little glyphs on each scale.
“Too bad we can’t all have those,” I said. “Maybe it would have kept him safe.”
“Comes with a cost,” Tisha said softly. “Those of us that take the caduceus marks practice only healing magic—nothing else.”
“You must be very dedicated then.” I ached to reach out and touch Lucas, but I would be useless if whatever afflicted him struck me down, too. “You said you contacted the headmaster?”
“As soon as he was brought in,” she agreed.
A coal of anger sparked in the back of my brain. “And, ah, how long ago was that? Will he be here soon?”
“About an hour,” she said. “He’s very busy. Lucas is stable, though. Headmaster Sinclaire may be searching his books—we gave him a general assessment. He’s a very smart man, a brilliant magician. I’m sure he can help.”
“I’m sure he can,” I muttered. I was this close to a full-blown rage. Sinclaire had known Lucas was here. He’d lied to us—which meant he had something to do with it. During our lesson, he had said nothing that gave it away. In fact, he’d been upbeat, and even told me I was likely ready to summon my patron.
“Ah, see?” Tisha nodded to the entrance behind me. “Here he is now. Told you he’d be along.”
I turned slowly to meet Sinclaire’s eyes. They were impassive, with just a bit of sympathetic wrinkles at the corners for good effect. “Miss Cresswin,” he said. “I see you found young Mr. Turner. An inquisitive magician. He must have dabbled in magic that was well beyond his comprehension. Dangerous, that.”
It took an effort not to grind my teeth in front of Tisha. “Can you help him?”
Sinclaire drew a colored monocle from his pocket and peered through it. The color of the lens shifted prismatically as he made a show of examining Lucas. “Yes,” he said. “I believe I can. It will require some preparation, however. Perhaps you can assist me? It would be in his best interest, I believe.”
He leveled a blank look at me, with the exception of one slight raise of an eyebrow. A threat. Why, though, I couldn’t begin to comprehend. What was the point? What did he want from me?
“Of course, Headmaster.” I stood slowly and tried to smile at Tisha. “If the magic affecting him is external, some kind of… protective circle might help cut it off, wouldn’t it?”
“The magic is internal,” Sinclaire said. “No point in wasting resources. The faster we assemble the counterspell, I think, the better. Time is of the essence, after all.”
“I’m inclined to trust the Headmaster, Amelia,” Tisha said. “You go on. I’ll make sure Lucas is kept warm and as safe as I can manage.”
She didn’t get it—and I was terrible at conveying subtle hints or pleas for intervention, apparently. I nodded, and wished I could spare Lucas a kiss.
“Come along,” Sinclaire said lightly, headed for the door.
Tisha smiled at me as I gave her a nod and turned to follow him.
“What did you—”
“We’ll discuss the method of Mr. Turner’s recovery once we’re in my office,” Sinclaire said. “Where we won’t be interrupted, and I’ll have your full attention. Hm?”
I followed him to his office in silence, my mind spinning quickly through every spell I knew, every possible way I might get Sinclaire to let Lucas go, or fix him, or whatever it was he could do to reverse Lucas’s condition. By the time he closed the office door and cast his locking spells on it, I had nothing except blunt physical threats. Logic told me Sinclaire knew a lot more magic than I did and how to use it to greater effect. A magician battle was going to be short. But if I got the chance, I could hit him over the head with something. Would that halt an ongoing spell? Probably not—he’d have used some enchantment, had thought up something for if I fought back. So when he told me to have a seat, all I could reasonably do was follow instructions and wait.
“What is this about?” I asked. “If you’re holding Lucas hostage, there’s something you want from me. I can’t imagine what, though.”
“That’s hardly surprising,” Sinclaire said as he unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down on his side of the desk, “given that you barely know who you are or what you can do.”
“Enlighten me, then,” I said, letting my anger seep into my words. How dare he go after Lucas like this. “Let’s just get this over with. Whatever you want… I just want Lucas back. You could have just asked me; you didn’t have to hurt him.”
He spread his hands helplessly. “In my experience, it is better to hedge one’s bets. Has the book you and your friends copied been helpful?”
“If this is about the book, I can just—”
He snorted dismissively. “Please. The book hardly matters. It only alerted me to the fact that you were beginning to hone in on what Nathan Crowley was about. I couldn’t let that progress. Oh, I’m well aware of Mr. Webb’s project, and that Mr. Roth and Mr. Turner have been helping him. And you, as well. Applying all that I’ve been teaching you. Industrious of you, and no doubt the source of your remarkable trajectory. It’s as if you’ve been practicing regularly.”
“All right,” I muttered, caught. “So you know about what we’re up to. What does that matter? Why do you care what Nathan was doing?”
He smiled. “Are you aware that Mr. Crowley was adopted?”
I blinked, uncomprehending. “Uh… I didn’t. What does that have to do with his work?”
“His father was Alister Magnus,” Sinclaire said.
That name was familiar. Where had I heard it before? “Magnus,” I echoed. “Alister Magnus… he was one of the seven survivors of the class of ’99.”
I could practically hear Hunter listing off the names, muttering to himself and trying to figure out what they had in common, why Nathan was so obsessed. So Nathan had never told him. If Sinclaire was telling the truth now.
“Indeed,” Sinclaire confirmed. “Does that shed some small light on his interests?”
“It does,” I said. “But I still don’t know what that has to do with me.”
“As with so much in the magical arts,” he said, “context is everything. Have you determined what it was that Mr. Crowley was attempting to accomplish? I suspect not. If you had, I believe you would have attempted to recreate his ritual. Mr. Webb certainly would have. But they wouldn’t be able to do it without you, and your unique… talent.”
“Nathan was a summoner,” I said. “We already know he had a patron. You lied to me; you said he wasn’t your student.”
Sinclaire held up a finger. “Ah, now—I have never quite lied to you, Amelia. Mr. Crowley was not my student. He came by his patron independently. A brilliant magician, that one. And he accomplished that even before he came to Rosewilde. No, I was not the cause of Mr. Crowley’s demise. You see, the ritual he was attempting was doomed to fail from the start. A summoner is not what is needed to complete it. He overestimated his importance, made the wrong connections. He didn’t know about you.”
A chill spread over my skin, raising hairs and goosebumps. “Me?” I breathed. “What… what do I matter?”
“I think you know,” he said softly. “You have some idea, at least. How you’re different?”
My heart thumped against my ribs. I could hear it in my head, throbbing faster. Amelia… That horrible whisper scratched against my eardrums.
“It’s been calling to you,” Sinclaire said with growing intensity, a malicious glee which definitely creeped me out, “reaching out to claim what belongs to it. To Her. Your young men haven’t been able to unlock their friend’s ritual because it was never meant for a mag
ician—not even for a summoner, and not for a savant like Nathan Crowley. Oh, no. It is far, far older than anything taught to magicians of this age. It needed you, Amelia.”
He leaned over the desk, grinning as his eyes darkened until they were Abyssal black. “It needed a harbinger.”
Hunter
Isaac and I collected all the material relating to Nathan’s ritual, including the copy of Sinclaire’s book, and hid them under the floorboards beneath my bed. I had prepared the spot just in case, and when everything was tucked safely away, I pressed my hand to the loose boards and muttered the trigger for the concealment spell to keep them safe. With all the other warding in the room, it just looked like another part of the overall net of spells.
It was finished just in time. Academy security had started with Isaac and Lucas’s room. They knocked on the door, and I answered. It wasn’t hard to look stressed and worried—I was both of those things. And I had a very bad feeling about what happened to Lucas.
“Hunter Webb,” one of the two security magicians said. He was a short fellow, his black hair curly and hanging around his head like a barely tamed mane. Good-looking. His partner was taller, a sandy blonde with her hair cut short. She assessed me once as she passed and then looked around the room like she expected to find a dead body there.
“That’s me,” I said. “Please… come on in. I assumed you’d want to look over my room as well. Mind the wards—they’re not dangerous, but they keep the other students from spying on me when I… well, you know how it is.”
Neither introduced themselves, but the shorter one gave me a nod and waved at the door. “If you could wait outside, please.”
That was not a question. We retreated to the hallway to wait, anxious for the search to be over with so we could return to Lucas and Amelia.
It didn’t take them long to finish their search. Other than the most certainly illicit materials hidden under the floor, the rest of the room barely contained anything. Textbooks for classes, clothes, a few toiletries—Amelia didn’t collect much and neither did I. They emerged, unhappy with the outcome from the look of them. “If you think of anything that could help,” the handsome short magician said, “report it to our office or the headmaster’s. Understood? If it’s found out Mr. Turner was practicing sanctioned magic, and you knew about it, it’ll go badly for you.”