Little Witches (Schooled In Magic Book 21)

by Christopher G. Nuttall

  Brier smiled. “We’ll keep a chair for you.”

  Emily nodded, turning around so they wouldn’t see her flush. She wasn’t sure what to make of Brier’s flirting. She wasn’t sure how serious it was... and she wasn’t interested in any case. She had a boyfriend... she pushed the thought aside as she started to walk down the streets, admiring the combination of thatched houses with stone buildings that could have stepped out of Dragon’s Den or Beneficence. The streets were cobbled, often so narrow one couldn’t hope to drive a wagon down them. She wondered if that had been deliberate and, if so, why? Pendle probably hadn’t been planned, any more than any of the other towns and cities she’d seen. It had grown up near the school...

  The sun beat down as she kept walking, eyes flickering from place to place. A dozen witches sat in a parlor, eating and drinking as they chatted loudly amongst themselves. Emily couldn’t help noticing that the waiters looked nervous, like waitresses and maids in aristocratic castles. The man behind the counter was carefully not looking at the witches, as if he didn’t want to notice what they were doing. She shivered, suddenly very aware that something was wrong. It wasn’t uncommon for mundanes to be nervous around magicians - she’d seen that herself, in Dragon’s Den - but this felt worse. It felt as if something terrible was about to happen.

  She forced herself to keep moving. A handful of witches were walking with their boyfriends... local lads, from the look of them. One wore magical robes... a student from Whitehall or Mountaintop? Or an apprentice...? Her eyes narrowed as the couple walked past her. The boy - man, really - was either masking very well or he had nothing to mask. A mundane in magical clothing? She hoped she was wrong. The poor boy would be in for a terrible shock if he were caught.

  At least he’s not on the wrong side of the Sumptuary Laws, she thought, morbidly. He could be hanged for wearing the wrong clothes in the wrong place.

  The day wore on as she reached the edge of the town and turned to walk back. It felt as if a shadow were hanging over the streets. It felt as if something were missing... she looked around, but it took her longer than she should to place it. There were no children on the streets and very few adults, save for shopkeepers and boyfriends. It was the weekend, but... she thought that was meaningless, outside the schools. A mundane couldn’t stop working just because it was the weekend.

  Emily shook her head. Pendle was charming, in a way. She would have liked it if she wasn’t all too aware of the growing fear. She saw people peek out from behind their windows, then hiding their faces as soon as they realized they’d been caught looking. A handful of wards drifted through the air, some clearly placed by amateurs. She scowled as she made her way back to the center of town, passing a pair of apothecaries. They seemed to be doing a roaring trade, with long lines of witches queuing outside. The girls were actually behaving themselves. Emily supposed that made sense. Apothecaries were often magicians themselves, with enough power to teach anyone who caused trouble a lesson. No one wanted to be banned from the store.

  She blinked as she saw a young man running from a bookseller as if the hounds of hell were after him. Magic crackled around the doorway... Emily’s eyes narrowed as she realized it was driving customers away. There was no way any shopkeeper would put such a ward in place, not unless he wanted to go broke. She walked forward, gritting her teeth as she pressed through the ward. It was powerful, but oddly unfocused. She had the nasty feeling it had been cast by a student.

  The door opened at her touch and she stepped inside. Dionne stood in front of the counter, surrounded by a crackling aura of magic. The bookseller was behind the counter, back pressed against the wall. His eyes flickered from side to side, as if he was trying to gauge which way to run. Emily felt sick as Dionne pressed closer, her magic taking on a stronger and nastier edge. It felt as if she was on the verge of breaking the man.

  “... I can’t give you the book,” the man was pleading. He sounded ashamed of his own weakness, a grown man reduced to nothing by a young girl. “I can’t...”

  “You shouldn’t have it,” Dionne said. “Give it to me or I’ll...”

  “Or what?” Emily raised her voice. “You’ll do what?”

  Dionne spun around. She’d been so wrapped up in her magic that she hadn’t felt Emily break through the wards or heard her come into the shop. One hand raised, as if she intended to hurl a curse, but she dropped it again once she realized who it was. Emily held her eyes, challengingly. Bad behavior was par for the course when students headed to town, but there were limits. She knew what would have happened to any student, at Whitehall, if he’d gone too far. The school wouldn’t have challenged the town council if they’d wanted to make an example of him.

  “I...” Dionne collected herself and started again. “You have no right...”

  “I have every right,” Emily snapped. “What are you doing?”

  “I want a book,” Dionne said. The entitlement in her voice was shocking. “And he’s refusing to give it to me.”

  Emily sighed, inwardly. She was all too familiar with the nobility’s belief it had a right to anything it wanted. She was all too aware that noblemen often went into shops and demanded things for free, the shopkeepers having no choice but to hand them over. It was one of the first things she’d banned, when she’d revised the laws in Cockatrice. It had proven very popular with the merchants and peasants.

  “He has no right to the book,” Dionne insisted. “It’s mine!”

  “Really?” Emily looked at the bookseller. “Did you give it to her?”

  The bookseller looked from Emily to Dionne and back again. Emily thought she knew what he was thinking. If he backed the wrong person, he’d be made to suffer... but who was the right person? He didn’t know Emily, not personally. Emily was pretty sure it wasn’t the first time Dionne had intimidated shopkeepers into giving her whatever she wanted. She was surprised the school hadn’t cracked down on it by now.

  How can they, she asked herself, if the victims are too intimidated to complain?

  “I...” The bookseller was shaking. “Great Lady, I named a reasonable price...”

  “I have a right to the book,” Dionne insisted. “It’s mine!”

  “If you want it, then pay a reasonable price for it,” Emily said. “What is the book, anyway?”

  The bookseller picked up an old tome. Emily glanced at the title, half-expecting a book that would land Dionne in real trouble. Her eyes narrowed as she read the first words. The Tales of Pendle? It didn’t sound like a banned book. She picked the book up and flicked through a couple of pages, trying to sound out the Old Script words. It looked like it was exactly what it said on the tin.

  She looked at Dionne. “You want it?”

  “Yes,” Dionne said. “It’s mine!”

  “Then pay a reasonable price for it,” Emily repeated. She glanced at the bookseller. “How much do you want?”

  The bookseller swallowed. “Ten crowns, Great Lady.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. Ten crowns was a small fortune, by commoner standards, but it was pocket change to a magical family. Dionne’s family probably gave her a hundred crowns every month to spend as she saw fit. God knew Melissa had had plenty of money, at least until she’d angered her family by marrying the wrong man. She’d turned out well in the end, Emily reminded herself. Perhaps Dionne could do the same.

  “If you want the book, then pay for it,” Emily said. She was entirely sure Dionne could spend the money and never miss it. “Or leave it behind and go back to the castle.”

  Dionne reached into her belt, made a show of counting out ten crowns and threw them at the bookseller. He ducked, the coins rattling to the floor around him as Dionne grabbed the book. Emily glared at her, wondering if there was any point in handing out detention. The gym mistress would probably cancel it, again. No wonder the students were starting to act like - her lips quirked - little witches.

  The bookseller coughed. “Great Ladies, I have to write a receipt,” he said. “Please,
I beg of you, give me a moment.”

  He hurried into the backroom, the door closing behind him. It wouldn’t provide a second’s protection if Dionne - or someone - chose to put a fireball through the wood, and he knew it. Emily was sure of it. There were faint hints of wards in the air, none strong enough to stop a determined magician. She looked at the rows of books and frowned. Most of them looked like cheap trash hot off the printing presses, ranging from absurd stories of action and adventure to romance novels that were strikingly unrealistic. There didn’t seem to be any books on actual magic.

  She looked at Dionne. “What the hell were you thinking?”

  Dionne stared back at her, mulishly. “We are witches,” she said. “Why shouldn’t we take what we want?”

  Emily opened her mouth to respond, but Dionne spoke over her. “We’re the ones with the power,” she insisted. “We’re the ones who make the choices. He should be grateful I came to his store...”

  “And why should he invest his money in new books,” Emily asked, “if you and your friends just steal them?”

  “I wasn’t stealing the book,” Dionne insisted. “He was going to give it to me!”

  Emily made a face. She’d heard that attitude before and it never failed to grate. “A person who is forced to surrender something to you has not given it to you,” she snapped. “You can’t tell yourself you were given it freely when you made sure they’d give it to you!”

  “I am his superior,” Dionne said. Sparks darted around her fingertips. “He should give it to me.”

  “You’re arguing that might makes right,” Emily pointed out. “Right?”

  “I am stronger,” Dionne insisted. “And if he gives it to me...”

  “Let’s explore that argument for a moment,” Emily said. “Your argument is that might makes right, and therefore you forcing him to give the book to you is right by definition. So tell me... I am stronger than you, so what is to stop me from forcing you to give me the book? What is to stop me forcing you to do anything for me? Or... what about your parents? They’re stronger than you, so they can make you do whatever they like. A wizard could come along and rape you... would you consider that perfectly all right, because he’s stronger than you?”

  Dionne flinched, then looked sullen. Emily forced herself to calm down. “You argue that might makes right because you’re stronger,” she said. “I think you’d change your mind if you met someone strong enough to impose their will on yours.”

  Dionne reddened. “That won’t happen.”

  “It already has,” Emily pointed out. “There are hundreds of magicians who are stronger than you, or more skilled than you, all of whom could turn you into their slave. Or worse. And how can you tell them they’re wrong, when you think might makes right?”

  “My family wouldn’t let them,” Dionne said.

  “Yes, your family,” Emily said. “You’re protected by their name, except... there are magicians strong enough not to have to care what your family thinks. You keep challenging me. What are you going to do when one of them decides to challenge you? And your family?”

  She allowed her voice to harden. “And when your family starts demanding that you pay for their protection? What will you do then?”

  “Pendle will return,” Dionne said. “And she will put us on top.”

  Emily raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “She will rise,” Dionne said. “And she will start a new age of witchcraft.”

  The rear door opened. The bookseller stepped back into the room, carrying a piece of paper. Emily took it, read it hastily and passed it to Dionne. The younger girl scowled at the bookseller - Emily heard him whimper - then turned and headed for the door. Emily gritted her teeth. Dionne was riding for a fall. Sooner or later, she’d run into someone who didn’t give a damn about her family and get smashed flat. Emily understood, now, why Damia had been insistent the staff weren’t allowed to kill their students. It wasn’t easy to swallow one’s rage at blatant misbehavior and disrespect.

  “Dionne,” she said, quietly. “There’s something you should bear in mind.”

  She took a breath as the younger girl stopped, without looking at her. “Might doesn’t make right. Might determines what happens. And you have no inherent right to become and remain the strongest person in the world. If you trample over everyone else because you’re strong, you don’t get to complain when someone else does it to you.”

  Dionne said nothing for a long moment. “I was born with magic,” she said. “That makes me strong.”

  “Perhaps,” Emily said. “But it doesn’t make you invincible.”

  “A mundane can never hurt me,” Dionne sneered. She started to push open the door. “And I’ll be as strong as you, one day.”

  “We shall see,” Emily said. She pointed to the distant castle. “Go back to the castle and report for detention. And I hope that book was worth it.”

  Dionne stepped outside. “I will find Pendle’s resting place,” she said. “And she will rise again.”

  Emily opened her mouth to point out that raising a long-dead sorceress might not be a good idea, assuming the story was more than a fairy tale, then stopped herself. Dionne wouldn’t listen. Emily made a mental note to ask Brier about the book, to make sure it was genuinely harmless. She hadn’t had time to examine all the pages. For all she knew, there was a rite to raise the dead on the very last page.

  And that never ends well, she reminded herself. Lady Barb - and Void, later - had cautioned her that attempting to resurrect the dead always unleashed nightmares. It was even more taboo than necromancy, with good reason. Death magics are dangerous.

  “Go,” she ordered.

  “I have to meet my friends,” Dionne protested, as she stowed the book in her bag. “I need to tell them...”

  “I’ll tell them you have detention, if I see them,” Emily said. She wondered why the other two girls hadn’t accompanied Dionne to the bookshop. They normally did everything together. Perhaps Dionne hadn’t wanted witnesses. “Now, go...”

  And then she heard the scream.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  EMILY WHIRLED AND RAN TOWARDS THE sound as the scream cut off abruptly. She was barely aware of Dionne running behind her, instead of carrying out her orders and heading back to the castle, but she didn’t have time to care. The scream sounded like someone was in real trouble. She pushed past a pair of witches as she reached the edge of the town and looked around. A young girl wearing a simple dress was standing in the street, frozen by magic. She couldn’t even move her eyes!

  Not a witch, Emily thought, as she performed the counterspell. The girl collapsed as the spell broke, landing on the ground in a heap. She doesn’t have any magic at all.

  “Weak,” Dionne observed, as the girl started to sob. “Weak and helpless and...”

  “Shut up,” Emily snarled. She helped the girl to sit up. “What happened?”

  “She picked a fight with a witch,” Dionne said. “And the witch put her in her place.”

  “I told you to shut up,” Emily said. It was hard, so hard, not to put Dionne in her place. She placed firm controls on her temper as she looked down at the girl. “What happened?”

  “Mitch,” the girl said. She was shaking, in fear and rage and bitter helplessness. “She charmed Mitch.”

  “Mitch,” Emily repeated. “Who’s Mitch?”

  “My fiancé,” the girl said. “We were walking out together and she charmed him and she froze me and...”

  Her voice trailed off as she looked at Dionne. The younger girl was smirking. Emily opened her mouth to demand to know what Dionne had done, then caught herself as she realized Dionne couldn’t be responsible for... for whatever had happened. She’d been in the bookseller’s, trying to intimidate him into giving her a book. It wasn’t a nice alibi, but she had it.

  “Mitch is the most handsome boy in the town,” Dionne said. “I guess someone got tired of waiting...”

  Emily felt her temper sn
ap. “Fly back to the school,” she ordered. “Inform the gym mistress that I am extremely displeased with you and that she is to take immediate corrective action.”

  She had the satisfaction of seeing a spark of fear cross Dionne’s face, even though she hated herself for it. The younger girl turned and flew into the air, heading straight back to the castle. Emily watched her go, making a mental note to follow up with the gym mistress later in the day, then turned back to the other girl. She was staring at Emily, clearly unsure what to make of her. Emily guessed the staff hadn’t been patrolling the town anywhere near as much as they should have been.

  It was hard to sound reassuring, but she tried. “What’s your name? And what happened?”

  “Maggie,” the girl said. She shuddered. “The witch put a love spell on Mitch. He... he wanted her. I tried to object and she froze me, then took him into the forest. I...”

  Emily cursed under her breath. Love spells and potions were banned at Whitehall. It was instant expulsion for someone - anyone - caught using them. She’d never disagreed with that particular rule. Love potions were really nothing more than date-rape drugs, overriding the victim’s free will... she shuddered, feeling sick. Mitch would never forgive himself, when the spell wore off. And Maggie might not forgive him either.

  “Go home,” she said, peering into the forest. “I’ll take care of him.”

  She gathered herself, then turned and walked into the forest. The witch couldn’t have gone very far... probably. She might have found it hard to fly if she’d had to carry Mitch in the bubble. If Emily was lucky, she could catch up with them before they went too far. It wasn’t uncommon for female rape victims to be regarded as defiled forever, even though it hadn’t been their fault. She wondered if that would be true for a man. Poor Mitch would probably have to move away, if word got out. People would point and laugh at him for the rest of his days.

  Maggie might know it wasn’t his fault, Emily thought. But she might not really believe it.

  Branches crashed against her face as she forced herself to walk on. She had to hurry. Love spells and potions were dangerously unpredictable, unless someone took the time to properly brew them. It was quite possible the witch, whoever she was, would wind up being raped when the victim was consumed with passion. Or that she’d wind up with a permanent slave. It had happened before, Emily recalled. Professor Thande had told the class that such potions couldn’t be countered, not completely. The victims needed to have their minds altered, just to keep them focused on something else. She couldn’t do that. She didn’t even know where to begin.