Jacqui’s eyes narrowed. “Like what?”
“A girl with very bad cramps,” Emily said. She winced at the memory. She’d feared the poor girl had been hexed at first, something that would have landed the spellcaster in real trouble, but it had turned out to be just a bad reaction to the standard potion. “And a bullying cousin who needed to be taught a lesson.”
“Noted,” Jacqui said. “I was a mentor last year, remember?”
“Of course,” Emily said. “But here you will be mentoring the mentors, not the mentees.”
“True,” Jacqui agreed. She looked up as the dinner bell rang. “Are there any other issues that should be addressed?”
“Not really.” Emily nodded at the pile of notes. “I kept fairly good records of everything I did” - which wasted far too much time, she added silently - “and you can ask me if you have any questions.”
“Very good,” Jacqui said, shortly. She rose, resting her hands on her hips. “Two other points, then. You are no longer Head Girl and you are not to act like it. If someone comes to you for help, you are to send them to me ... even if it is something you can handle in a moment. Send them to me.”
Emily shrugged. “As you wish.”
Jacqui fixed her with a dark gaze. “And while I do hope your friend recovers,” she added, “make sure she knows that I will not tolerate her behavior. If she acts up again, she will be severely punished. I’ll tell her that myself when she is discharged from the infirmary.”
Emily bit down on a number of sharp remarks. “I’ll tell her what you said, when she’s better,” she said, instead. “But that may be quite some time.”
“I know,” Jacqui said, her face hard. “But Frieda has got away with too much for me to allow her any latitude now.”
“I know,” Emily said. She felt a stab of guilt, mingled with the bitter knowledge that there was nothing she could have done. Unless she’d taken the bracelet’s spellware apart piece by piece ... and even then, she might have missed it. “I’ll make sure she knows it.”
She glanced at the door as her stomach rumbled. “Can I go now?”
“You probably need something to eat,” Jacqui said, wryly. “I’ll be here until dinnertime, reading the files.”
Emily shrugged. “Like I said, good luck,” she said. “Goodbye.”
“One other thing,” Jacqui said, as Emily turned towards the door. Her voice was suddenly very hard. “Behave yourself, or else.”
“Or else what?” Emily had to bite down a laugh. Technically, Jacqui had the power to punish her; practically, Emily wasn’t so sure. “Do you know what I’ve gone through in the last five years?”
She opened the door and stepped through before Jacqui could say a word. Two girls were standing outside, clearly nerving themselves up to tap on the door. Emily glanced from one to the other - Third Years, if she was any judge - then nodded to the door. They took the hint and hurried inside. Emily wondered what they wanted before dismissing the thought. It was Jacqui’s problem now.
And may it bring her much joy, she thought, sourly. Jacqui had wanted to be Head Girl, after all. Emily certainly hadn’t wanted the job. And if it doesn’t ...
She fought down a wave of despondency as she walked down the stairs. Frieda was in a terrible state. Emily didn’t know what she was going to do about Frieda - or Fulvia. And Jacqui might well turn into a major problem, given time. Emily remembered what she’d said after Frieda had put Adana into the infirmary. She’d been trying to recruit Emily, but for what?
Two younger students ran past her, screaming in delight. Emily stepped aside to allow a third to pass, feeling a pang of envy. The younger students were carefree, enjoying all the wonders of the school without the responsibilities that came with age. She’d never had that, had she?
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, she told herself, firmly. Frieda has much worse problems than you right now.
And then she heard a yell from down the corridor.
She hesitated, unsure what she should do. She was no longer Head Girl. Technically, she should summon Jacqui - or a tutor. They would decide what to do. But if someone was in trouble ... she couldn’t look away.
Gritting her teeth, she strode towards the sound.
Chapter Seven
“THAT WILL TEACH YOU,” A BITTER voice - a male voice - said. “You’ll never take my stuff again.”
Emily rounded the corner, one hand ready to cast a spell. A young man stood, his back to her, one foot pressing a small yellow frog to the ground. Emily reached out with her senses and realized, not remotely to her surprise, that the frog had once been a student. She cleared her throat, loudly. The spellcaster jumped and spun around.
“I ... um ...” He swallowed and started again. “He kept stealing my stuff! Even when we were on the farm, he kept taking my stuff! And now ...”
“I’m sure you taught him a lesson,” Emily said, dryly. The boy was a Second Year, probably. He could have been a young-looking Third Year, but she doubted it. He was just a little too unpolished. His hands spoke of hard work, yet his build was oddly slight for a farmer. Perhaps he’d been as badly malnourished as Frieda. “Who are you, and who is he?”
The boy swallowed, again. “Manny, My Lady,” he said. “And this is Greg. He was my cousin ...”
“He still is your cousin,” Emily said. “Or do you think you turned him into a frog permanently?”
“The spell said he’d stay that way until I released him.” Manny eyed her, clearly torn between defiance and submission. “I’m not going to let him go until he’s learned his lesson!”
Emily reached out with her senses, probing the spell. If Manny had cast one that only he could release ... she breathed a sigh of relief when she realized that anyone could undo the spell, with a little effort. A Fourth Year could probably have broken it from the inside, if he had enough determination to cast the counterspell. Manny would have been in real trouble if he was the only one who could truly undo the spell.
“I’m sure he’s learned something now,” she said, casting the counterspell. “And so have you.”
There was a flash of light. The frog vanished, replaced by a tough-looking boy. His arms and legs were covered in muscles, but his entire body was shaking helplessly. Manny hadn’t cast the spell quite right, Emily noted absently. Greg had been shocked by the experience ... although, the cynical part of her mind considered, part of that might have come from finding himself small and helpless. Manny could have squashed him and he knew it.
“I told you I’d learned a few things,” Manny said, triumphantly. He leaned forward, savoring every moment. “I’m a year ahead of you. You’ll never catch up with me.”
And you just cast a spell on a younger student, Emily thought. She wasn’t sure if Manny had broken the rules or not - if Greg had been trying to pick a fight, no one would waste time feeling sorry for him - but it looked bad. I don’t have time for this.
And you’re not Head Girl any longer, her own thoughts mocked.
She brushed them aside. Normally, she knew she would have felt sorry for Manny - and taken a certain vindictive pride in watching him squash his childhood bully. But now ... now she was really too tired to care. Besides, she wasn’t Head Girl any longer. She didn’t have to involve herself.
“Greg, I suggest you take this as a lesson,” she said. “Raw strength will not get you anywhere at Whitehall. If you don’t learn from this, someone else will do a great deal worse.”
Greg eyed her, fearfully. He would have seen her when the firsties were welcomed to Whitehall, probably. She didn’t recall seeing him, but that meant nothing. It was more surprising that she hadn’t seen him at the dueling club. Maybe he simply hadn’t managed to cast a spell, let alone the bare minimum for entry. It was quite possible.
His eyes lingered on her chest. Emily felt a hot flash of anger, followed by the dull realization that he was looking for the badge. Jacqui had it now, didn’t she? Emily wondered, vaguely, why Jacqui hadn’t already told
the entire school. She wasn’t the type of person who’d let everyone think Emily was still in charge ...
“Go,” she ordered. “And don’t let me see you bullying again.”
She watched Greg scuttle off - the frog’s mind must have affected him a great deal - and then switched her attention to Manny. He still looked torn, although he wasn’t trying to hide his triumph. Emily didn’t really blame him. Teaching a childhood bully a lesson was worth any amount of trouble.
“You shouldn’t pick on a younger student,” she said, although there was no real force in her words. “Someone could get you in trouble for that.”
Manny’s face flickered, then froze into an expressionless mask. “He’s been picking on me since his family joined ours. He might be younger, but he’s stronger.”
Emily sighed, trying to fight down another flicker of sympathy. “I know the feeling. And now that you’ve taught him a lesson, are you going to do it again?”
“If I have to,” Manny said. He kicked the wall, artlessly. “People like him won’t be stopped with sweet words and honeyed talk, My Lady. They need a punch in the nose to convince them to go away.”
“I know,” Emily admitted. Fulvia needed a punch in the nose, didn’t she? But it would have to be a very strong punch to get her to pay attention. “You should be careful.”
Manny shot her a sidelong glance. “Why?”
“Because it’s very easy to turn into a bully yourself,” Emily said, flatly. She still cringed when she remembered some of the things she’d done with Alassa, back when they’d been feuding with Melissa. They’d crossed a line, even though the consequences had been minimal. It could easily have been a great deal worse. “How long will it be before you’re hexing him just to amuse yourself?”
“I won’t,” Manny said. He looked at her again. “Why are you defending him? He’s a mean bastard who can’t count to eleven without taking off his shoes and twenty-one without lowering his ...”
“That will do,” Emily said.
He looked away, embarrassed. Emily was embarrassed too. She understood, all right. She understood all too well. If she’d gone to Hogwarts or Cackles instead of Whitehall, if she’d had to go back to her stepfather every summer ... how long would it have been before she’d found a way to hex him? Her stepfather was on the other side of the dimensional barrier, forever out of reach. Manny’s enemies had followed him to his school.
I would have risked getting my wand snapped just to put him out of my life, she thought. And how can I blame Manny for doing the same?
“I’m not defending him,” Emily said. “I’m trying to help you. Anger and hate lead to the dark side. The more you lash out at him, the more you risk yourself.”
Manny scowled. “Does that mean I shouldn’t defend myself?”
“No,” Emily said. “But you should be careful that you are defending yourself - and not picking on him.”
She nodded to him, curtly, then walked off. As Head Girl, she should have given him detention at the very least ... but that was Jacqui’s problem now. Besides, she didn’t really blame him for hexing his cousin. The overgrown lout had probably needed a lesson before he picked on someone much bigger and nastier than himself.
The dining room was crowded, mainly with students going to the dueling club in the afternoon. Emily took a tray of food, then sat at the back and tried to remain unnoticed while Cirroc read the scores and promised another set of rounds - some for the contest, some for fun - later in the day. She half-hoped to run into the Gorgon or Cabiria, but there was no sign of either of them. They’d probably gone down to Dragon’s Den for the day. The only other Sixth Year in sight was Pandora, eying Cirroc as if she intended to eat him. Emily wondered if she planned to take Jacqui’s place in the dueling club.
Someone will have to, she thought as she finished her dinner. But that’s no longer my problem.
She felt people watching her as she returned the tray to the staff, then started to walk back to her room. Word was spreading, clearly. Whispers followed her, some scrambled by makeshift privacy wards; she wondered, absently, just what the rumors had mutated into by now. There was no point in worrying about it too much. Most students knew better than to pay attention to rumors. They grew in the telling until they were unrecognizable.
Particularly the one about the sorceress who gave birth to twin goblins, she thought. The story had flashed through the school, leaving jaws dropping in its wake. No one had really cared that it was already unrecognizable by the time it reached Whitehall. The truth was buried under a mountain of nonsense.
Jacqui had been busy, she noticed as she stepped into the dorms. There was a large timetable pinned to the wall, informing the older students that they would be patrolling the corridors after Lights Out, as well as a multitude of other duties. Emily checked, just to make sure her name wasn’t on the timetable, then shrugged. Jacqui would have to deal with the avalanche of complaints herself. Students who were already struggling to manage their time wouldn’t be pleased when they were told they were also expected to give up their beauty sleep.
And they might run afoul of a hex from a younger student, she thought. Someone had zapped Alassa while she’d been Dorm Monitor, someone who had never been identified. Alassa had been furious, unsurprisingly. Being caught by surprise by a younger student had been a blow to her reputation. But who’d throw a hex at a Sixth Year?
Frieda, her own thoughts answered.
She shook her head as she walked past her former quarters and down the long corridor to Room 101. Someone had been opening the unused rooms and clearing them out; a pair of maids were hard at work, stripping the linens from the mattresses and replacing them with clean sheets. Emily frowned as she walked past, thinking hard. It was unlikely that Whitehall would be taking in more students, certainly not this late in the year. And yet, Gordian clearly expected guests ...
He’ll be providing living space for the jurors, Emily thought, sourly. And everyone else who wants to say they watched the inquest.
She gritted her teeth as she reached Room 101, undid the wards and stepped inside. It still felt cramped, even though - objectively - it was larger than the room she’d shared with Cabiria. She’d grown far too used to the Head Pupil’s chambers. She put the kettle on the stove, lit it with a spell and then sat back on the bed. She needed to think, then start writing letters.
Put together a list, she told herself, as the kettle started to boil. She dropped a spoonful of Kava powder into a cup, then poured water on top. Everyone you know who might be able to help.
Sitting down at the desk, she thought as fast as she could. Void and Lady Barb, of course. Lady Barb, in particular, would make a good Defender. Who else? King Randor was out, probably. The treaties between the magical and mundane communities would probably preclude his involvement. Alassa would have the same problem. Jade ... Jade might have the same problem, or he might not. Emily made a mental note to look into that, then added him to the maybe list. If nothing else, she was sure he could offer help and advice.
Caleb might be right, she told herself. Sienna would be a good choice too.
She took a sip of the foul brew and grimaced at the taste, then kept running through lists of names. Zed definitely owed her a favor, although his role as MageMaster might keep him from intervening too openly. It was a shame Frieda would never want to go back to Mountaintop, as Zed could easily have taken her if she’d been expelled from Whitehall. And he would be a good choice ...
Reaching for her stash of cheap paper, she started to draft out a letter. The Nameless World hadn’t invented proper typewriters yet, let alone word processors and computers. Emily knew, from bitter experience, that it was better to write out a draft of anything, from an essay to a letter, and then write out the final version on expensive parchment once she knew what she was going to say. The parchment could be charmed in a way paper couldn’t be, to ensure only the intended recipient could read it. She would have preferred to use a chat parchment, but th
at wasn’t an option. Only Jade and Lady Barb owned parchments linked to ones in her possession.
At least we managed to charm a new set to replace the ones lost in Beneficence, she thought, as she wrote out the first letter. I don’t have to write a letter to Jade.
She finished the letter to Zed, then checked it carefully before casting the privacy charms and slotting it into a parchment envelope. The postal service would get it to Mountaintop in less than a day, if she was lucky. Getting letters to Void would be harder. She had no idea how often he checked the mailing box in the White City. In truth, he very rarely wrote back to her. The last she’d heard, he’d been heading further into the Blighted Lands. He might have no idea that something had gone wrong at Whitehall.
Her fingers traced the golden ring on her finger, the ring he’d given her over a year ago. He’d practically adopted her, to all intents and purposes; he’d welcomed her into his family ... she wondered, suddenly, just what that meant. Lady Barb had declined to talk about it, the few times she’d asked. Void was the only one with the answers, she’d said, and they wouldn’t be forthcoming until she took up the apprenticeship. Beyond that ...
She wrote the next letter, then the next. Her wrist started aching as she finished the seventh letter, even though they were relatively short. It had taken far too long to get used to using quill pens and ink, rather than ball point pens and pencils. The latter were surprisingly expensive, while the former were non-existent. She made a mental note to push typewriters as hard as possible, then sighed as she rubbed her wrists. She’d have to get some salve for them too.
And then start planning other options, she told herself. I have to find a way to take the offensive.
She closed her eyes for a long moment, considering. Manny had been right about one thing: some bullies just needed a punch in the nose to make them sit up, take notice - and stop. And Fulvia was definitely a bully. Emily had known that even before she’d seen Melissa’s memories. If she couldn’t prove Frieda’s innocence, she needed to do something to make Fulvia back off. And yet ...
Graduation Day (Schooled in Magic Book 14) Page 7