A Spell for Death: Rosewilde Academy of Magical Arts

by B. C. Palmer

  “I understand,” I said, Isaac speaking almost at the same time.

  They gave us a long look, offering one more chance to admit our guilt or Lucas’s, before they finally stalked away.

  We waited until they were long gone before we spoke. Magicians in security almost certainly had sense-enhancement spells going. We stepped into the room, and I did a quick sweep for any new magic. Nothing stood out—they were suspicious, but not so serious about it that they’d bugged the room. “If they suspect some kind of sanctioned magic,” I started.

  Isaac finished, nodding. “The healer said she couldn’t identify what it was. But it had to have been Sinclaire, right? That’s the last place Lucas was, and after we… borrowed the book. He must have found out.”

  “That’s grounds for expulsion usually,” I said. “Not an all-out attack.”

  “Unless having the book would have gotten Sinclaire in trouble with the Court,” he countered.

  I tugged at my beard. “I’m not disagreeing with you. But I think it must be about more than a book.”

  “So what do we do?” Isaac asked. “We can’t very well confront Sinclaire directly. There’s no telling what he’s capable of.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I said. I only half believed it. The fact was, Sinclaire could have killed Lucas, if he wanted to harm him at all. He hadn’t. So that either meant he was trying to keep his tracks covered, send a message, or…

  “We should get back,” I said. “We left Amelia there.”

  Isaac nodded and headed to the door but stopped. “Amelia,” he whispered. “You think… but why?”

  I pushed past him to pull the door open and usher him into the hall. “I don’t know,” I said as we made our way down the hall and toward the clinic. My heart raged against my ribs at the thought of the headmaster going after Amelia. “But if Sinclaire is responsible, he’s got to have some kind of a plan. We know Amelia and Nathan are connected—perhaps we’re not the only ones. If he knows about the book, he has to have some idea of why we want it. He was the one that closed the investigation into Nathan’s disappearance. He’s not stupid, he’ll have connected things, and Amelia’s already wary of him. I trust her instincts; she’s spent enough time with him.”

  We reached the clinic and found Lucas alone. My gut churned.

  The healer met us before we reached him. “There’s good news,” she said. “The headmaster came by. He thinks he can fix whatever’s wrong.”

  “Where’s Amelia?” I demanded.

  The healer didn’t particularly like my tone, it seemed, because her expression faded to something flat and unamused. “I understand you’re upset,” she said. “Mind your attitude, please. Your friend went with the headmaster to assist.”

  “She’s with him,” Isaac breathed, as panicked as I was.

  “Yes,” the healer said. She narrowed her eyes. “Is something the matter?”

  “How long ago?” I asked.

  She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Fifteen minutes? Twenty?”

  We both turned and rushed out of the clinic. Whatever Sinclaire had done to Lucas, we weren’t going to be useful here. If he had Amelia, he wanted something from her and was using Lucas as leverage. That was the only thing that made sense. I’d rip the man apart with my bare hands if he hurt her, and I knew Isaac would be at my side.

  I was already casting revelation spells when we reached Sinclaire’s door. It was late enough that only a few students were in the halls. None were hanging around the faculty offices. I raised my hands and looked through the revelation spell. A dense network of spells crisscrossed the door, several of them tangling around the doorknob. There were layers upon layers of them. “Shit.”

  “Locked to hell and back, I imagine,” Isaac said quietly.

  “We need other faculty members,” I said. “This is too serious.”

  “None of them are going to accept that Sinclaire is in there putting the thumbscrew to a student,” he said. “But… there might be another option.”

  “I’m willing to entertain anything,” I said. “What?”

  “Serena,” Isaac said. “She had to break out of a Somali dungeon after she went to some kind of pirate party. Told me once she could pick just about any lock spell after that. She likes to be prepared.”

  Of course she did. Serena also knew a litany of spying spells. If she couldn’t get us in, she might be able to get us a look inside at least. “Good,” I said. “Get her here. Whatever’s happening—if Sinclaire has them locked in there, it’s because he wants something now. There’s no telling how much time Amelia has.”

  Amelia

  Sinclaire glanced at the door, eyes narrowed, ignoring my question as he seemed to watch something. After a moment, the corner of his mouth twitched into mild frown. “It seems your friends have caught on. A little too late, unfortunately.”

  Hunter and Isaac. My heart flipped in relief and fear. They were probably just outside the door, then. I couldn’t hear anything. Either they were being quiet or the room was too secure to let any sound pass. Either way, I wasn’t alone. They’d come for me. “Don’t change the subject,” I pressed, my confidence bolstered by the men. “What do you mean, a ‘harbinger’? What do you know about me?”

  The headmaster leaned back in his chair. “Everything, of course. You know I was a close friend of your mother’s while she was here. We were almost lovers, too. She and your father were having hard times. But… well, in the end she had only eyes for him.”

  “There were only seven survivors that year,” I said. “You’re not on the list.”

  “What list is that?” Sinclaire asked blithely. “Do you have any idea where Nathan got it? Come now. There were eight survivors.”

  “And you’re the only one left,” I realized. I made a leap. “All of them died. You… did you kill my parents?”

  Sinclaire scoffed. “Of course I didn’t,” he said. “I didn’t kill any of them. I didn’t need to. I kept my end of the bargain; I was faithful to our patron. They died because they were not. None of them understood what we were really doing. They thought it was about power, about new magic, or knowledge. And when it came time to pay for what they had gained, they all tried to wriggle out of the deal. It was their greed that undid them, you see. What I want is not about any of that, it never was. I was the only one worthy to serve.”

  “I don’t believe you.” I closed my eyes, my parents’ voices and faces flashing through my mind.

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “The pain is all over your face. You must know by now. You must have had dreams. That’s how She speaks to us, usually. In dreams. We asked for them, invited them—but you… oh, you are something very special indeed. You have always belonged to her. She’s been with you from the beginning, guiding your steps, your choices. Making the path clear for you. Your mother. Your true mother.”

  I thought I was going to be sick. I’d been right to worry. Sinclaire would lie—I knew he would, and I didn’t trust everything he said, but I could feel the truth in what he said. I’d had strange dreams ever since I was a child. Dreams of shadows, and ancient forests, and faceless men and hungry oceans.

  I swallowed back the bile that tried to rise up my throat. “What do you want from me?” I croaked quietly. “Just tell me what you want, what all this is for, Sinclaire.”

  He tsked. “I am still your headmaster, Amelia. But, it is nearly that time. Very well. Tonight is your final exam. You’ll be summoning your patron.”

  “I don’t want to be a summoner,” I said. “If this is what it does to you—”

  “Ah, you don’t quite understand me,” he said as he rose. “I don’t mean that you’re going to acquire a patron. You already have one. An incomprehensibly powerful one, in fact. Old beyond time itself. Az-Harad, the Dreadmother. She with the hundred names and the thousand hungering offspring. You are not going to entreat her aid, Amelia—you are going to bring her here, into this world. And if you do not, then I assure you that Lucas Tu
rner will suffer an eternity in her grasp. Right now what he’s experiencing is unpleasant. Az-Harad has had all of time to foster her creativity.”

  “I won’t,” I whispered. It killed me to say it. But I knew what Lucas would want me to say. “Whatever… doomsday bullshit you think you’re going to manipulate me into, it won’t work. I won’t drink your Kool-Aid. Lucas wouldn’t want that. He wouldn’t want me to bring some… some horror into the world to save him. I know it.”

  Sinclaire was unperturbed. “No,” he agreed, “I don’t imagine he would. But among the many gifts the Dreadmother has bestowed upon me is a particular kind of sight. She has given me the ability to look into the Abyss unscathed, granted me its knowledge and the delectable sights that await there. All the things that never were but could have been, if she hadn’t been usurped. She’d given you the same vision. Let me show you.”

  “I don’t—”

  Sinclaire uttered a word, something incomprehensible, that tore at my ears to hear it. My guts lurched like I’d been dropped from a great height, and the light of the room faded to black.

  In the black was a figure. Lucas. I could see him like he was in front of me; both close enough to touch and too far away to reach, as if space no longer had meaning. I tried to touch him but my arms weren’t really there to grasp anything. He flinched and swatted at something, then threw himself backwards as if trying to escape whatever plagued him. There was black ooze leaking from his nose, his ears, the corners of his mouth. He screamed without noise, clawed at his skin until it bled. The wounds opened and poured out insects before they healed over, and the insects began to seek out the soft bits of his body while he thrashed.

  “Lucas!”

  The vision was gone as suddenly as it appeared, and I was on my knees, clinging to the edge of Sinclaire’s desk. My face was wet, and my voice hoarse from screaming. I looked up to see the headmaster’s black eyes staring down at me with sympathy.

  “The moniker ‘She of the Thousand Hungering Offspring’ is apt, but from a time when a number like one thousand seemed nearly infinite,” he said. “In truth, they are innumerable. Do not doubt me, Amelia. Lucas will linger on in his state indefinitely. Neither dying nor truly living. His soul trapped in the Abyss, to endure countless unthinkable tortures until what is left barely resembles a soul and is certainly no longer human. The longer he remains there, the more twisted he becomes. And if, in the end, you refuse me and you do manage to release him, I can assure you of this: you will have to put him down for his own sake and everyone else’s. I don’t want you to have to suffer that choice.

  “Do as I say, and he will recover. Az-Harad does not wish to destroy this world. Far from it. She craves the world. The warmth of light on her skin, the visceral connection of experience. She simply wants to be free from the pain of what was done to her. Don’t you see? This is her home. This world was meant for her.”

  I struggled to my feet and had to brace myself on his desk. I couldn’t get the image of Lucas out of my mind. Every time I blinked, the darkness seemed to swallow me up again and show me his flailing body. “How can I believe you?”

  “You have no need to believe, child,” Sinclaire said as he moved slowly around to my side of the desk. “It’s about faith. I suspect our Mr. Taylor has the utmost faith in you. Now. Come with me. It’s time.”

  My resolve had already cracked. The moment I had seen Lucas in pain, it was gone. Lucas, the gorgeous honeypot tease, always quick to make me laugh or steal a kiss. Sinclaire was right; I couldn’t leave him like that. Even if it was what Lucas would have wanted. “Release Lucas first,” I said. “Release him and I’ll do what you want.”

  He waggled a finger. “That isn’t how this works, and I think you already know that. My suggestion is that you work quickly and accurately. Follow me.”

  Sinclaire turned and strode toward one of his built-in bookcases. He pressed one of the shelves, and then another, and the shelf swung silently inward to reveal a torchlit stone staircase leading down. He looked back at me, grinning. “I must confess, I have a penchant for appropriate ambience. All that you require is in preparation below.”

  I glanced at the door, hesitated just a moment, then tried not to hang my head as I went to the hidden entrance and stared into the dusky, wavering light. Hunter and Isaac would come for me. I knew that much. Even if they had to bring the entire faculty down on Sinclaire, they would at least try, and they thought we were in his office.

  Shivering visibly, I tugged at the lapel of my coat, where my little Rosewilde Academy pin was set. “I’m… I’m afraid.”

  “That’s entirely natural,” Sinclaire replied, his voice measured and reassuring, like he was trying to teach me to ride a bike. “Transformation and change terrify us. Only after can we see the true benefits and accept it. Go on now.”

  I pulled the pin off as I smoothed the jacket down, and without warning I turned on a heel to put my other fist into Sinclaire’s jaw. The pin dropped onto the floor silently.

  An inch from his face, my fist hit thick air or a distortion in space. Invisible force pushed back gently but firmly, preventing me from getting any further. He sighed. “I thought you were a more cultured young woman than that. Come now. Battle me if you must, Amelia, if that’s the choice you want to make. But with wit and magic. Not this crude… barbarism.”

  He swatted my fist away contemptuously and waved me down the stairs more insistently. “Now go. Make your plans but walk while you do it.”

  For good measure, I spat at his face. That, at least, made it to him. He snorted, swiped it off with a finger, and raised an impatient eyebrow.

  I turned and marched down the stairs. Sinclaire was right behind me. The door swung closed with a soft whump. From here, it was just him and me. I knew he was right—brute force wasn’t going to get me or Lucas out of this. I just hoped that when the others got through Sinclaire’s locks, they could take a hint, and that I hadn’t just spent all my cleverness leaving them a breadcrumb.

  Hunter

  “Breaking into the headmaster’s office,” Serena mused, eyeing me up and down. “I have to admit this makes you, like… about three and a half times hotter than you already are.”

  “Can we skip this part?” I asked as I rolled my eyes. “Can you work around the spells or not?”

  “If you tell me why,” she answered, but began to examine the door through a revelation spell anyway. If it hadn’t been such a tense situation, it’d have been an amusing sight. Serena ignored half of the dress code, choosing expensive stilettos over sensible flats. She basically looked like a stereotypical sexy schoolgirl, who was apparently also a master lock breaker. “I really don’t want to get kicked out of this joint. Alchemy is way better than coke. Shit, this bitch is complicated.”

  I looked to Isaac. Did we tell her? Serena knew some, but not everything—not enough that she’d be at risk. Amelia had insisted; something about Serena being the one person who could be her escape from everything we had to do.

  Isaac nodded. “Under the circumstances,” he said, “I think Amelia would agree.”

  Serena straightened, crossing her arms and frowning at us. “This about Amelia?”

  “The short version,” I said, “is that… the headmaster put some kind of enchantment or curse on Lucas, and then took Amelia into his office to force her to… we don’t know, yet, but he’s using Lucas as leverage. I’m sure of it.”

  “What the hell have you four been up to?” Serena’s eyes gradually widened and she pointed an indigo nail at the door. “Wait, so there’s a pissed off master magician on the other side of this thing?”

  “We don’t know what state Sinclaire is in,” Isaac said.

  “Maybe not now,” Serena muttered, “but I can tell you he’s gonna be pissed by the time we get to him. You got a plan for that?”

  “Right now our plan is to get Amelia back from Sinclaire,” I said. “Can you unlock the door or not?”

  Serena sighed, looked the door
over and nodded. “Yeah. It’s gonna take a minute. In the meantime maybe you can figure out what happens next because I’m pretty sure you don’t get to be headmaster around here unless you can flatten some folks without trying too hard. Fuck me with a spiky donkey dick, this is such a bad idea.”

  Isaac flinched at Serena’s colorful epithet and shot me a bewildered look. “Right—so, what is the plan then?”

  “Go talk about that somewhere else, please,” Serena grumbled, her fingers already working through some spell I didn’t recognize—it looked practically animalistic, though. Not Academy magic, that was for sure.

  I tugged Isaac away from her. “She has a point,” I muttered. “Sinclaire is going to fight back. Would Mara help us?”

  Isaac rubbed his jaw. “Maybe, I suppose. She likes me well enough. But I don’t know that she likes me enough to confront the headmaster on my word alone. Or yours.”

  Serena gave a pleased grunt. “There’s one. Come to mama, sweetness, that’s right…”

  “One day,” Isaac murmured, “I’m going to have to ask Serena what kind of life she’s actually lived.”

  “Focus,” I snapped. “Think. Serena’s an illusionist, maybe if we go in hidden?”

  “I think the opening door is going to give that away,” Isaac said. “But… it could buy us a few seconds. He won’t be able to see what we’re casting right away, so we’ll have that benefit. I can manage Murphy’s Fumbling Fingers if he tries to cast, and maybe that would buy enough time to hit him square on with something elemental?”

  “Not if Amelia’s close to him,” I said.

  “Can you make that decision the moment we open that door?”