To whom did she owe the greatest loyalty?
During the crisis that struck her during the first week of school, Rachel had picked Gaius as the person to be loyal to, first and foremost. But that decision alone was not enough to sort out her troubles. What did she do with issues of conflict between her various friends and loved ones? Did she put Siggy before Sandra? Her father before the princess?
After some thought, she came to the decision that she had to weigh her loyalty to each person around her and form a strict hierarchy. She spent hours contemplating her loyalty chart and moving names up and down the rungs of its ladder. Gaius was always at the top. Currently, he was followed by Sigfried and Nastasia, both on the second rung. Then, the Raven. Then, her father, then everyone else.
Classes progressed apace. In Music, they finished reviewing the song for dispersing a low-hanging fog and moved on to the basic principles of songs of protection. Rachel had no trouble memorizing the notes. Convincing her fingers, however, to move in the right order against the holes of the flute was another matter entirely. She played so badly on one song that she made a desultory attempt at practicing her flute that night.
But her heart was not in it.
In Science, they read Aristotle’s On Magic. On Thursday, Mr. Fisher taught them the spider-cling elixir, which granted the drinker the power to climb walls like a spider. Rachel and Nastasia worked quietly and produced a decent elixir, while Zoë and Siggy kept snickering and addressing each other as “Parker.” Sigfried called the tutor over and asked him why alchemists with elixirs did not rule the world. Mr. Fisher demonstrated by having Siggy cling to a wall, just a foot up, and then using the Word of Ending. Sigfried instantly fell to the floor.
“As you see.” Fisher smiled and bowed to a scattering of applause.
In Geometry, they were still studying the first book of Euclid, working through Propositions 20 through 28. Mrs. MacDannan also covered the anti-magical properties of running water and its usefulness as a ward to stop ghosts, vampires, and other undead—along with the usefulness of a twig of a broom and salt. There were, however, some spirits so strong that even running water did not stop them. One of these, the tutor warned, was the Headless Horseman, who led the Wild Hunt up the Hudson from Sleepy Hollow at midnight every Halloween on his way to the Dead Men’s Ball—a gathering of the unquiet dead that took place that night at Bannerman’s Mansion, on Roanoke Island, just north of the school. Mrs. MacDannan warned them to stay safely inside the wards of the school on Halloween night.
The other issue that arose in math class was, as the year progressed and the terrors of the first week drew further away, the Thaumaturgy students from Drake Hall, who had all been geased by Dr. Mordeau, began to recover from the shell-shocked state in which they had spent the month of September. They began talking loudly again and returning to their previous arrogant behavior. Rachel had not yet come to their attention again. She felt certain that it was only a matter of time, however, before Cydney Graves would remember her grievances, and Rachel would again become the target of her malice.
Language was mainly grammar and reading Shakespeare—including the three plays lost to the Unwary, A Midwinter Day’s Folly, The Wylde Hunt, and Emrys Myrddin—Shakespeare’s take on King Arthur. They also learned two new cantrips: bey-athe, the basic shield Gaius had taught her, and muria—which technically meant “bringing into being”—the cantrip used by conjurers to manifest their creations.
In True History, they were still studying early humans and their relationship to the magical world. This included the origins of certain ancient ceremonies, and how Demeter, while she was mourning the loss of Persephone, taught agriculture to tribal hunter-gatherers. In art, the students continued their efforts to conjure a hoop. Mrs. Heelis excused Rachel from this project and let her spend the class delving into the books on drawing. She read book after book, learning the rudimentary steps and discovering which parts of the process her perfect recall aided and which it could not.
Drawing turned out to be exactly what she had been looking for—an activity she could do in class, while tutors reviewed material they had previously covered. Unless the tutors walked around the large central table and looked over her shoulder, they could not tell whether she was drawing or taking notes. This meant she had something she could do, other than listen to them recite again and again the same material she had already memorized, and still not appear rude.
As she drew, she imagined being a librarian for the Library of All Worlds. Just the name filled her with awe. What would such a library be like? To what strange and magical places might she travel in pursuit of it—far vistas, distant worlds, the gateway to an undiscovered country in which yet unknown secrets lurked? Inspired by this thought, she drew a sketch of a hand pushing aside the branches of a weeping willow to glimpse beyond a magnificent rushing waterfall. The completed picture looked nothing like what she imagined. It was all ink blots and wiggly lines, but now she had a goal, something she wished to portray with her new skill. She also drew a picture of the vision she had seen in the Elf’s garden, a forest growing atop the canopy of a second forest. That also looked nothing as it should.
She also drew pictures of the Raven, though she burned them afterwards. She did not want anyone to see them, even though her skill was still not so good that he was likely to be recognized—in either of his guises. As she drew, she daydreamed about a day when she might do something to repay him for his faith in her. Of course, she thought, with a tiny smile, he might be rather pleased with her for stopping Mortimer Egg from commanding the tenebrous mundi to tear down his Wall. Still, she wished she could do more for him, that he would ask something of her, some task she could perform, preferably something difficult and great.
The quiet activity of drawing had a disadvantage. With no disasters to occupy her, the shock, fear, and horror she had so cleverly cast aside in order to remain clear-headed during the emergencies came crashing back.
They struck with the force of a run-away wrecking ball.
She would be sitting in class drawing, or in the library with her friends, and suddenly she would discover that she was trembling, as she vividly relived the moment Moloch threw Sigfried through the wall of the keep tower; or Sigfried lying in the duck pond; or watching her father fly toward a head-on collision with the side of the same keep; or seeing Agent Carlson crash down atop the standing candelabra, its iron tip protruding from his chest; or the looks on the faces of the pilots of the runaway plane as it flew directly toward Roanoke Hall; or the sight of Mr. Fuentes lying on the gravel, bleeding after falling because she had paralyzed him to keep him from killing Valerie; or seeing Mr. Fisher, bloody and unconscious on the floor, his glasses splattered with his blood; or the vision Nastasia had showed them in the thinking glass where Gaius and Locke lay dead while Dr. Mordeau killed the defiant Von Dread; or Nastasia’s description of Juma O’Malley’s mother snapping the neck of Mrs. Egg.
These memories would crowd in on her until she felt as if there were a constant buzzing of voices at the edge of her consciousness, all clamoring to be heard. If she did not resist, the buzzing grew louder, and she felt as if she were falling.
Rachel never let herself find out what would have happened next.
Each time it started, she resisted. She would throw herself into actively studying or practicing. She was finding it harder and harder to concentrate, but if she kept herself supremely focused, she could keep what felt like the growing madness at bay. Practicing in the hallway was by far the most effective method. Or flying. She spent a great deal of her free time on her steeplechaser. So long as she kept her attention on something practical spells, the past terrors left her alone.
Yet she knew this was only postponing the issue, not solving it.
She recognized this buzzing, this feeling of falling, and the encroaching darkness that sometimes accompanied it. She had experienced it after her grandfather died. She tried drowning out the buzzing by socializing with her frie
nds, but this was as likely to backfire as to help. When they were open and inclusive, she could become swept up in their activities and good cheer. But every so often, they snipped at one another, or the girls chose her as the person to gang up against and tease that day. Their teasing was humorous, but it still made her feel excluded, which caused a gap, and into the gap rushed everything she was striving to avoid.
The trouble she had being among her friends did not extend to Sigfried. He did not ask anything of her. Spending time with him and Lucky was always immediate and fun. But spending time with Sigfried usually meant spending time with the others, and she was finding it harder and harder to get along with Nastasia.
Rachel wanted so much to please her friend the princess, but she also wanted to spend time with Gaius. She wished she could be getting to know his group of friends. Yet, even during the brief time she spent with him at the Knight’s meeting or after classes, she could feel disapproval radiating from Nastasia. The princess never hesitated to remind her of how unreliable Vladimir Von Dread was—how he had caused Nastasia to disobey her father, and how he had leaked the information that caused the death of Mrs. Egg. Additionally, anyone who worked for a scoundrel, such as Gaius, must in the long run prove himself unreliable. Rachel tried to explain to Nastasia her theory as to why she thought that Mrs. Egg’s death had not been caused by Von Dread, but Nastasia refused to consider the possibility that the Wisecraft could be at fault.
The only person with whom she felt entirely at ease was Gaius. When he was near, the buzzing fell silent, and she felt like an ordinary young woman. It was as if the tempest within her became calm and balmy when he approached. She wondered if this was because she had picked him as the center of her world, the one person she trusted above all others, or if that thought had cause and effect reversed, and she had picked him partially because he had this wonderful calming effect on her thoughts.
She loved him all the more for it.
Occasionally, as she stared out the window at the chaos of fall colors, having perhaps just finished a drawing with no new subject in mind, she could keep the fear and sorrow at bay by just thinking about Gaius. She recalled their time together in the fog-shrouded tower, reliving the highlights: hugging him for the first time in the misty herb garden; leaning against him in the bell tower, his arm around her shoulder; and, ah, the kisses.
She dwelt for a time on their private training sessions together, in the hallway and at the Knights meetings. From there, her thoughts slid to the moment when Von Dread winked at her. The memory of it made her feel a little giddy. She knew he must not wink at many girls. He could not maintain his imposing demeanor if he behaved thus toward everyone. She did not know what she had done to cause him to let his guard down slightly, but it delighted her.
But what else did one expect from a young man who managed to look commanding and magnetic even in his sweat pants—a young man who jumped onto oncoming jets about to crash? Her imagination drifted to her previous daydream, in which the looming prince had curtly informed her that he had chosen her to be his queen and planned to wed her as soon as she came of age. Previously, she had imagined that he had kissed her. (Her imagination skirted away from recalling the fantasized kiss itself. That would be disloyal.) What might come next?
In her new daydream, she imagined defying him, her eyes flashing as she vowed her eternal loyalty to his lieutenant, Mr. Valiant. She imagined him trying to kiss her again. She imagined stomping on his foot.
By the following week, her fantasies had altered. In her imagination, the tall, looming college boy had already kissed her, and now she daydreamed about how she dealt with the affront. She pictured various reactions. Sometimes, she was cool as an ice sculpture. Other times, she was frantic and panicky and behaved far more emotionally than she would ever act in real life. At first, she decided Gaius knew what Dread had done and would try to protect her—without offending his boss, if he could. This fantasy scenario often led to a second duel, only this time Gaius turned Dread into a sheep!
But Rachel was not the sort of girl who found it pleasant to have men fighting over her. So, by the end of the second week, she had switched to yet a new scenario where, in which, to protect the friendship between Dread and Gaius, she did not tell her boyfriend about the older boy’s advances. Thus, Gaius was puzzled as she continued to do increasingly dramatic things to avoid his grim boss. This storyline was filled with angst and heartbreak, and once she found her cheeks covered with tears.
Yet, this imaginary anguish was preferable to reliving the real horrors that threatened to overwhelm her. Overall, Rachel found her fantasy scenarios quite satisfying.
• • •
A week before Halloween, their music teacher, Miss Cyrene, called for a review—a practical, where the students were to demonstrate their command of the enchantments they had learned thus far. Rachel practiced with the other students in class, dutifully preparing to demonstrate her less than stellar control over breezes and will-o-wisps. She hesitated to show off her skill at whistling, partially because it was only useful for hexes. Defensive enchantments, as hexes were officially called, required short, crisp notes. This she found easy to reproduce. But summoning enchantments, such as that used to call domestic will-o-wisps, required more elaborate melodies.
Rachel knew that it was possible to whistle whole symphonies. She occasionally heard her parents whistling Bach or Brahms, as they walked the long hallways of Gryphon Park. However, she herself did not have the sustained breath control necessary to accomplish this. Even if she had, it was one thing to resist the tickling of the magic that rushed through her lips for a few short notes, it was another thing entirely to maintain control of her lips under the tingling onslaught of such magical forces for a sustained length of time.
Luckily, at least half the class was not significantly better than she was. The canticle students from Spencer were not particularly skilled musicians, except for Sebastian Powers—whose father was a Member of the Parliament of the Wise and whose grandfather had been the previous Grand Inquisitor before Cain March. Sebastian had been playing since he was a small child and was a superb musician.
The majority of the Dare students, on the other hand, had played instruments before they arrived at Roanoke. Some of them, like the princess and Sakura Suzuki, played amazingly. Brunhilda Winters had played the French horn in her junior high marching band, and Kitten Fabian had performed at piano recitals since she was a child. Then there were others, like Seth Peregrine and Zoë, who claimed they were good musicians, but Rachel wasn’t entirely certain the ruckus they played could properly be called music.
From their dainty tutor’s expression, Miss Cyrene agreed.
All over the classroom, her classmates began tuning their instruments, preparing for the practical. Banjo and accordion warred with shamisen and shakuhachi. Ian MacDannan had bagpipes of a red and black tartan, a cornet, and a lap harp. He kept switching back and forth among the three. Seth and David Jordan had lost interest in the assignment entirely. With their bass guitar and guitar, they broke into a song about a hound dog.
It was because of moments like these that students almost never brought their familiars to music class. Too many ended up either howling or scampering away in fear.
As more students tuned-up and began playing, the will-o-wisps zipped to and fro, responding to competing summonings. Soon, the poor, little, glowing lights seemed to be listing to the side, as if they had become punch drunk. A few students managed to keep their small group of will-o-wisps nearby. Princess Nastasia had coaxed her will-o-wisps into circling her head, like a Swedish candle crown; while Sigfried kept altering the summoning song, trying to get his wisps to dive-bomb one another.
Miss Cyrene finally gently insisted that Ian pick a single instrument for the demonstration. She called some wisps to her, using her voice alone. The sound was so glorious that everyone in the room paused. Listening to the beautiful singing, Rachel titled her head slightly and peered at their bird-
like tutor. Tilting her head the other way, Rachel was reminded of a woodcut illustration in an ancient bestiary. It came from the same book as the hidden page with description of an Angel that she had recalled only after the Elf gave her the memory-protecting Rune.
“Psst,” she whispered to Nastasia and Joy, “doesn’t our tutor look a lot like a siren?”
“Very likely,” Nastasia replied graciously, from where she sat strumming the red, blue, and transparent strings of her harp. “Members of the Wise are all descended from some kind of supernatural creature or another. That is how we acquire our talents for sorcery.”
“It’s why everyone here is so beautiful,” chirped Joy. Then she blushed and pulled on her mouse brown hair. “Except for me. I’m plain as a pancake.”
Rachel felt a moment of sympathy for the other girl. She, too, had noticed that a great deal of the students seemed to be prettier or handsomer than she was. In their class, no one else was as gorgeous as Sigfried and the princess, in face, in the entire school, only Von Dread and Rory Wednesday compared. Still, a great many of the other students were strikingly attractive, and Rachel often found herself feeling plain in comparison.
“Unusually beautiful or unusually ugly,” said Wendy Darling, who had been practicing nearby with Brunhilda Winters. She spoke sincerely and without the brashness that many of the other American girls displayed. She placed her trombone on the table beside Joy, her dark hair floating around her face like a lovely thundercloud. Her blue eyes were startling, both intelligent and intense. “Some of us are descended from the beautiful ones. The Plant Danu. Other gods. Noble fey. Others are descended from the Unseelie, or other entities from the less pleasant side of the fey.”
Rachel was a bit in awe of Wendy, though she seldom interacted with the other girl. The daughter of Six Musketeers James Darling and Ellyllon MacDannan Darling, Wendy had inherited her famous mother’s love of dance. She spent her free time at a ballet studio in the gym and wore dusty rose leg warmers that peeked out beneath her robes.
Rachel and the Many-Splendored Dreamland (The Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 3) Page 23