by A. L. Knorr
“Is your dad spending the night here?” I skirted out of the way as Betty Boop and two other girls walked by, talking loudly and giggling. Ms. Boop threw an appreciative look at Gage, her gaze roving his face and form. I appreciated that Gage was either oblivious to her or pretending to be.
“No, Dad is meeting with Mr. Chaplin this afternoon then has to head back to London after dinner. But can I take a raincheck on that? I want to see your digs too.”
“Sure, just give me time to take down my Channing Tatum posters and hide my underwear.”
“Ha ha.” Gage squeezed my elbow and let it go. “Catch you at dinner.”
I nodded. “Dinner.”
I watched Gage join his twin and father before leaving the cafeteria and heading for my room. Truth was, my room was a shambles and I was looking forward to setting it up just the way I wanted it. I had a big year to prep for and I was planning to tackle it head on.
Part Two
Reluctant Promises
Nine
Statute of Limitation
I reached across the desk to open the gothic window in my room and let in some fresh air. The second floor of the academy was slightly warmer than the cafeteria on the ground floor had been. Tugging at the neck of my t-shirt to waft a draft over my torso, I took a deep inhale of the salt-laden breeze. I couldn’t see the English Channel from my room but I could hear the never-ending sighs as waves lapped over the pebbly shores of Dover, licking up against the chalk cliffs.
I was lucky. The view from the rear of Arcturus Academy was leagues more fetching than the one from the other side of the old manor. Students with rooms overlooking the front were limited to a short patch of lawn and an old cracked fountain. Beyond that, a steep and winding gravel road led down to the school’s front gates. The driveway arrowed beneath the arch of the covered walkway to the fire-gym to a small parking lot behind the building, which I could see from my window. The road made a teardrop shape, looping back on itself so vehicles could turn around without having to back up.
Footsteps on gravel drew my eye to where three male figures stood near the open door of a blue rental van. September’s evening light dusted the foliage and illuminated the farewell scene below.
Ryan and Gage were easy to identify as they hugged their father goodbye. Mr. Wendig grasped Gage’s neck and pulled him in for a rough but loving hug. Saying goodbye to Ryan took on a more serious tone as their father put both hands on his shoulders and shook him just a little as he delivered what looked like important fatherly wisdom. Frowning, I pushed my window open further and strained to catch what was being said.
Could their dad—who looked more like the member of a motorcycle gang than a responsible paternal figure—possibly be giving his unruly son orders to behave? I hoped so. From the moment I'd met Ryan, he had lifted my fur in the wrong direction. Today’s interactions hadn’t changed my opinion any, so I hoped he was being warned. But the wind tugged Mr. Wendig’s words away, throwing them out over the Channel.
Retreating from the window, I left the twins to their goodbyes to finish organizing my room. My clothes were already hung in my ultra-cool mid-century wardrobe or tucked into the far-less-cool dresser slash desk. Most of the school was outfitted with antique or antique-looking furniture but the occasional random monstrosity of modern origin marred the place like a pair of cheap plastic sneakers in a row of Pradas. My guess was that (based on a burn mark in the hardwood hidden under the rug) a prior occupant had accidentally-possibly-on-purpose lit the previous dresser on fire.
A head popped into my open doorway. “Ms. Cagney?”
A thirty-something woman with a wispy black pixie-cut and a keen light in her eyes leaned against the door jamb. She wore shiny black jeans (shredded at the knees) and a red blazer paired with a yellow plaid button-up shirt closed all the way to the neck. Most people would have looked like a clown, but this athletic woman oozed cool.
“That’s me. You’re Ms. Winkler, right?” I recognized her from the Fire Fair.
She waved a blunt-fingered hand, corded with tendons. “Ms. Winkler is my mum. Call me Wanda. Everyone else does.”
“Sure. Call me Saxony. You’re the Pyrotechnics Prof, am I right?”
“Sometimes.” She canted her head toward the hall. “The headmaster is asking for you.”
“Now?” It was after dinner the evening before the first day of school, an unusual time to meet.
Wanda nodded and tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “That’s what the man said. Best not keep him waiting. I’m headed past his office, I’ll walk with you.”
“Okay.” I grabbed my room key from the pocket of my rain-jacket. Wanda didn’t say anything as she watched me lock the door of my room but I thought I knew what she was thinking. “Just until I get to know the students better,” I explained.
She put up a dismissive hand. “I’m not judging, but Headmaster Chaplin takes a dim view of kids who steal.”
“How dim?” I asked as we headed down the corridor toward Basil’s office.
“He expels thieves on the spot, cheaters too come to think of it, but do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”
I fell in step beside her and we dodged students carrying boxes and bags. Music ranging from classical to rap ebbed from open doorways we passed, speaking volumes about the diversity of students registered here. From what I’d overheard, magi came from all over North America and Europe to attend Arcturus.
We took the long, carpeted hallway toward the main staircase. The hall divided a dozen rooms that made up the first-year ladies’ block. Each door was numbered the way it had been when the manor was a hotel. Mine was number twelve. I still couldn’t wrap my head around it ever having been a family home, no matter how many servants they had.
The hall spilled us onto a landing where curved steps dropped us into the lobby. The front foyer was the best room in the building, in my opinion. Gothic arches outlined a big square space complete with a fireplace at either end and plenty of plush furniture. Turkish rugs marked out the seating areas, but they weren’t nearly large enough to cover all of the dove-gray marble floors which reflected the warm yellow light of antique sconces.
The light fixtures weren’t the only antique features of the foyer. An actual phone-box with its own door had been installed sometime early last century when the Chaplins still lived here. It boasted an antique wall-mounted oak phone that had been retrofitted with a copper rotary dial sometime decades later. The thing actually worked, though why Basil bothered to keep it functioning when all the students and staff had cell phones was beyond me. I’d heard it had been a favorite feature of his father’s when he was a boy, so I supposed it was sentimental.
The ceiling towered three and a half stories overhead. Each level had its own ornate banister. A ceramic chandelier hung over the space like a giant clock’s pendulum. Beyond the lobby were lounges for students to do homework or hang out, and beyond those was another foyer and the short staircase leading up to the headmaster’s office. Although one could reach it from the second floor, it was actually faster to follow this route across the lobby.
A little thread of excitement tightened my gut like a silk purse. My earlier visit had left me eager for a more relaxed tour.
We passed Tyson Hupelo heading to the stairs and he gave Wanda a nod, but didn’t seem to notice me.
“Winkler,” Tyson said in a semi-teasing tone.
“Hupelo,” Wanda returned in an identical manner.
Professor Hupelo’s mouth twitched as he passed by and I wondered if there was something going on between them. I didn’t have long to wonder before we reached the headmaster’s closed door. Wanda knocked then opened it without waiting for a response.
“Ms. Cagney, sir.” Wanda held the door open and waved me inside.
He was sitting behind the heavy wooden desk where it sat in front of a bookshelf, but got up immediately. “Thank you, Wanda. All set for tomorrow?”
She gave a little salute,
blue eyes sparkling. “Can’t wait. First day of school is always the most amusing.”
Headmaster Chaplin smiled but I thought it seemed tense. “You’re not starting with snapping on the first day, I hope? Last year... well, it wasn’t pretty.”
Wanda deflated. “They are second-years...” but her words dwindled at his stern expression. “No, sir.”
“Thank you, now go on. Ms. Cagney and I have a lot to cover.”
Wanda backed out of the room and shut the door.
“I’m not in trouble already, am I Headmaster?” I asked as my gaze wandered around the room.
“Call me Basil,” he replied.
At my raised eyebrows, he explained: “I think of Arcturus as a college. The students here are either adults or on the cusp of it. Most college professors are on a first name basis with their students. When we are in private, please call me Basil, and I will call you Saxony. In public, unless an instructor has requested their given name be used, as I know Wanda prefers, please use appropriate decorum in your address.”
“Done and done.” I strolled the perimeter as I scanned the space. The books and bookshelves alone made the room intriguing, but there was so much more going on than a library. The wall opposite his desk was loaded with curiosities. Drawn to the columns of sparkly rocks trapped under individual glass domes, I crossed over to them.
“Your office is even cooler than I remember”
“Thank you,” the headmaster said. “How are you settling in?”
“Oh fine.” I bent for a closer look, reading off a label fixed to one of the wooden bases. “Calcite Geode,” I read aloud, reaching for the handle on the top of the dome covering the rock.
Basil was beside me, fingers gently pressing on the lid, guiding it back into place.
“I’m excited for school tomorrow,” I said as I moved to the next shelf. A small, glass bell with what looked like a measuring tape painted on its side enclosed a silver sphere with a delicate red needle swiveling on its top. I picked it up for a closer look, fascinated. “What’s this?”
“It’s an antique bi-metal bell thermometer.” Basil took it and put it back on the shelf. “I’m a collector.”
“Cool. Is this a thermometer too?” I touched an elaborate golden arm extending from two side-by-side clock faces. The clocks—if that’s what they were—had been encased together in a striking gilded box. A clear tube with mercury puddled in the bottom of it divided the two dials.
“Not quite.” The headmaster let out a slow exhale. “It’s a compendium carriage with a clock and barometer pairing which happens also to include a thermometer. Would you mind taking a seat?”
“Sure.” I headed for a chair when my eye caught on a strange apparatus; two gong-like instruments with decorative faces hanging on small golden pivots. Curious to see if they swung, I reached out.
Basil’s hand touched mine and our mage-bond fired up my arm. With it came an emotion. I’d never felt emotion through our bond before. I looked up into a perplexed face.
“Saxony, please stop touching things and focus,” Basil said, his nostrils giving a little flare.
“Of course. Sorry.” I zoomed to one of the chairs in front of his desk and plopped into it. “It’s just, you have so many cool gadgets.”
“How about sitting here?” The headmaster gestured to a couch in front of the low coffee table in the center of the room.
He gathered the books spread across the table and set them on the floor where I couldn’t see them. A wise decision because one of them was open and the diagram of a person with fire spiraling from the top of their head begged for further study.
Moving from the chair to the couch I sat down and commanded my eyeballs to fix themselves on the headmaster. It was difficult to keep my attention from wandering to the wall with all the goodies on it. Maybe he’d let me poke around on his shelves when we were done.
“I need you to listen to me carefully.” He sank onto the couch and angled toward me, adjusting his glasses.
“Okay.” I mirrored his angle. Was it just me, or was he nervous?
“Do any of the other students know that you’re Burned?” His gaze drilled into mine... all the way to back of my skull.
A nerve frayed in my tummy as my defenses came up. “If they do, it’s not because I’ve told them.” I held two fingers by my ear. “Scouts honor.”
He visibly relaxed, but only a little. “Good. It’s even more imperative now that you to keep it that way.”
I blinked at him. “Why?” Basil hadn’t mentioned having to keep my status under strict lock and key when I’d visited over the summer. I’d been looking forward to showing up the cockier kids like Betty Boop, but mostly Ryan. Hiding the fact that I was more powerful than the average mage meant I would have to temper my abilities in class.
When Basil hesitated, the answer came to me anyway, going off in my brain like a tiny, angry firework.
“This is what Mr. Wendig flew all the way over here to talk to you about, isn’t it?” I crossed my arms over my chest with a scowl. Why else would Mr. Wendig need an in-person audience with the headmaster? It hadn’t just been two old friends catching up over a beer.
The headmaster rubbed his temples like he was fighting a headache. “I’m not going to ask how you know about our private meeting.”
“I’m friends with Gage,” I replied as I slouched against the back of the couch. “Does he know why Mr. Wendig met with you?”
Gage had told me he didn’t, but maybe he’d been lying.
But Basil shook his head. “No, the whole point is that no one knows. The majority of students wouldn’t be a problem, but Ryan is. His father has explicitly asked that your status as Burned be guarded like a crown jewel.”
“Does Ryan actually suspect I’m Burned?”
The headmaster’s tone was firm. “I certainly hope not, and under no circumstances are you to give him reason to suspect you. Chad was nearly splenetic with worry.”
That was a new one for the vocabulary.
“But how does Mr. Wendig know I’m Burned?”
“He guessed based on what Ryan said about the night the two of you met. Ryan told him about your encounter and that you would be joining us at the academy this year.”
I straightened. “So, Ryan told him I could run faster than him and from that alone, Mr. Wendig had suspicions?”
The headmaster nodded.
“But... any first-degree mage with some level of control can use the fire to run. That shouldn’t have been enough to make him suspicious.”
“It wouldn’t have under normal circumstances, but when it comes to Ryan, Chad isn’t taking chances.” Basil’s expression softened. “You already know we don’t discuss the Burned here at Arcturus, but I’m sure you were looking forward to showing off some of your abilities. You’ll have to hide the true extent of your power when other students are about.”
Annoyance sizzled at the edges of my thoughts. I’d known I would have to be careful, but my competitive side had been aching to dominate. “Mind telling me what Chad is so afraid of?”
“He’s concerned that if Ryan finds out what happened to you that it will resurrect an obsession that Chad has only just managed to stomp out. Ryan has invested hours trying to discover how the Burning process works, in defiance of Chad’s orders. You can imagine how invested he is in his son not making such a foolish attempt.”
“Sure. He doesn’t want Ryan to come down with a case of the deads.”
Basil’s mouth twitched. “I’m glad you understand.”
If the headmaster’s estimates were correct, 98% of magi did not survive the agonizing ritual that torched a mage’s insides, turning them into a form of volcanic rock, and—if survived—leveled up that mage’s powers by a factor of ten, at least. Further benefits included not having to deal with the daily, low-level pain which plagued Unburned magi. I remembered that pain well.
I’d never forget the torturous experience I had barely survived, locked in a c
ell in the basement of a villa in Venice. It felt like a lifetime ago, but it had only been a little over a month. I was alive today because I’d been rescued and given water at the right moment, hydrating my cells and changing them forever. My increased power was a byproduct of being kidnapped and dehydrated by an enemy whose aim had been to take my fire for himself.
It didn’t take a psych evaluation to know that Ryan was enterprising and power-hungry. It was written all over his face and posture. Even the way he swaggered around proclaimed that he yearned for power the way other people craved hot, salted fries, just like Dante had. The thought of Ryan inheriting the capacity I now enjoyed? It just couldn’t happen.
“You know what? I totally agree.” I mimed locking my lips and throwing away the key. “If Ryan finds out, it won’t be from me. I don’t care that I’ll have to pull my punches even more. My secret is safe. I promise.”
The headmaster’s shoulders relaxed and the wrinkles in his brow eased. “I’m relieved you see the seriousness of my request. It’s unexpected, I know. I’m sorry, and thank you.”
“No worries.” I folded my hands between my knees. “It does present problems though.”
The headmaster was already there. “Not the least of which is that you’re a year younger than any other student we’ve had at Arcturus. Does Gage know your age?”
“I’ve never explicitly said but he knows I was going into my senior year. I’m sure he’ll ask and when he does, I shouldn’t lie. That would only work against us.”
He nodded, looking thoughtful. “This could work for us. Just because you’re my youngest student ever doesn’t mean you’ve survived a Burning. Even reducing your abilities, the kids will see that you’re highly competent.” He got up and began to pace, rubbing his jaw and muttering. “I can stick with the truth in this. You’re a young but talented mage worthy of a place at Arcturus for training, just a clever kid who skipped a grade.” His gaze met mine. “Your mage-mark is hidden between your toes, so fortunately it’s easy to conceal. Make sure you don’t wander around barefoot, please.”