by S. W. Clarke
I sat down, lifting the flap of my bag and gazing into it. “Convenience.”
He groaned, hopping up on the bed and curling up. “I’m far too nauseous to explain what should be obvious. You’ll figure it out.”
And before I could object, his eyes closed. In Loki’s world, that meant he wasn’t responding to anyone until he was good and ready.
I set the crumpled schedule on my desk, next to my uniform hung over the chair’s back. Tomorrow was the first day of my second year as a witch.
The first morning of classes, I woke up with the sound of the horn, blowing long and low over the grounds.
The guardians were needed.
It was the first day of school, and I imagined them already scrambling, dressing, the humans rushing toward the stables to saddle their horses. Twelve guardians—Jericho among them, I thought with a shameful flinch—and Umbra would send them somewhere in the world to save a life from the darkness.
Once, that life had been mine. And Umbra herself had come to save me.
As the sound died away, I sat up in bed. For my part, it was time to start work in the stables—which I knew would be empty of horses.
And to my shock, I found Eva’s bed empty, still made. She’d never even slept in it.
Maybe I really had made some of her dreams come true.
After I’d finished at the stables and came back to the dorm to shower and dress, I found it empty. Usually Eva and Loki would be around. And certainly Loki—he never woke before ten.
Was my familiar making friends? Out having his own life?
Or he was just in the kitchen with Vickery.
In any case, ever since I’d discovered he was probably more intelligent than me, I’d had to lay off trying to control him. He was basically a person in a cat’s body, and he could do what he pleased.
When I’d showered and left the dorm, I didn’t have time for breakfast; I’d be late to Tangible Manipulations. And after what Loki had said last night, there was no way I was missing any of that class.
I had long ago decided that being able to create black holes in bags was maybe the most important skill a mage could have—besides, of course, conjuring tropical fruit baskets. And I suspected there was another, greater reason why Umbra had put me in with the more advanced mages.
But I still hadn’t decided what that was.
When I came up the stairs and into the cozy classroom, I found a dozen students leaning against desks, and some sitting cross-legged atop them, all around a familiar, chubby face.
Professor Goodbarrel.
“Ah, Clementine!” He raised a small twist-tied baggie, waded through the group to extend it to me. “Welcome to Tangible Manipulations.”
So there was no scheduling error—I was part of this class.
I took it from his hand with two ginger fingers, unsure what I was accepting. “Thanks, Professor.” Around me, all the other students had similarly small bags. “Is this my party favor?”
He laughed. “I like your way of looking at things, Ms. Cole. Yes, let’s call it that.” He clapped his hands, came to stand in the center of us all. “What you hold, my little starlings, is a bag which will someday contain this.”
He stepped back to the corner of the classroom, hefted a large and unwieldy cloak hanger. It must have been six feet tall—bigger than him. Lengthwise, at least. (Sorry.)
When laughter ignited around the room, his red-gold eyebrows went up. “Oh, you think I’m joking. Well, maybe I am! If it so happens you aren’t able to manipulate your ‘party favor,’ you’ll never get to experience the wonder of shoving a cloak hanger into your very own itty bitty space.”
Around me, the students—all third- through fifth-years—wore the kind of expressions I rarely got to see in a classroom: the bright-eyed, chest-fizzing sense of possibility. And one guy who was holding back a snicker at the double entendre.
I’d be lying if I didn’t feel excited, too. And it had nothing to do with the bag, and everything to do with Goodbarrel himself. His enthusiasm was the bubbles in a glass of champagne.
“Now”—he tossed a bag in the air, snatched it—“you might be wondering why this elective course is important to your life as a mage. And perhaps, for some of you, as guardians.”
I leaned against a desk, folding my arms.
“Here’s the thing, chickadees,” he began. “It’s helpful indeed to fit an entire wardrobe into your little bag. No doubt, in a world brimming with excess, you’ll never regret having a small bag with enormous pockets. But!” He raised a finger. “What you’ll learn here has much more to do with your own understanding of the veil than any designer purse you want to resize. For it’s in manipulating the veil that you’ll begin to understand the connection of all parts of the world.”
I ventured a surveying glance around the room. I recognized all these faces, but I didn’t know any of them—
No, that wasn’t true.
There at the far corner stood Liara Youngblood, those black eyes hard and intense in their fixation on Goodbarrel. So either Umbra had signed her up, too, or she had an understanding of the veil far beyond your typical second-year.
She noticed me watching her. Her eyes narrowed, returning my stare.
I only gave a little wave, tilting my head. Her whole family had been killed by witches—nothing worse could happen to her, and there was nothing I had against her, even now.
Maybe I’d always be the fire witch to her. Maybe she’d always have a vendetta. But neither of us had any family to speak of, and in the time since I’d arrived at the academy, she was the only other orphan I’d met.
Which meant something. If not to her, then at least to me.
She rolled her eyes back to Goodbarrel, who had begun a sweeping explanation of the veil with his hands.
He really liked using his hands.
“Now you see,” he said, “the veil isn’t like paper. I know it’s described this way when you’re learning to cut it, but simple rules are given for simple processes. Now that you’re in the business of manipulations, you need a better analogy.” He pointed to one upraised arm, flexing the bicep. “Imagine instead that the veil is a muscle. When the veil is untouched—cold—it’s easy to break, or to cut. But once you’ve warmed it up, it’s far easier to manipulate, to reshape.”
“I thought you could only interact with the veil at a point of power,” I said.
Goodbarrel’s eyes lit on me. “Good on you, Ms. Cole, for being the first to ask a question. I love nothing more than questions.” He pointed at me. “You’re right, of course—if you’re planning to cut the veil. But it exists in all places, in all things. It’s the fabric of space around us, even inside the baggie you hold in your hand. And cutting it is an enormously magic-intensive task, which is why we need points of power to aid us. But manipulating it? While a far more delicate, involved job, it’s easier to bend the veil than to cut it.”
“How do you warm it up?” another student asked.
Goodbarrel broke into a smile. “More good questions. Can anyone guess at the answer to this one?”
“With your magic,” Liara said at once, her voice deadpan. “You warm it up with your magic.”
I had no question in my mind: Liara Youngblood was one smart—if hateful—cookie.
Chapter Twelve
I left Tangible Manipulations with two conclusions.
One, this was bound to be my favorite class of the year.
Two, I still had no idea why I was in it.
When I got back to the dorm, I found Eva just getting out of the shower. Her eyes widened on seeing me—and my smirk.
I swung my satchel onto the bed. “Why hello there.”
She cleared her throat, busying herself with gathering her uniform as she held her towel close to her body. “Don’t be creepy.”
I dropped onto my duvet, crossed my legs, and set my hands atop one knee. “That’s one finely made bed you have. Did you enjoy not sleeping in it last night?”
She spun, fixing me with an alarmed look as pink crept up her neck. “Don’t you have a class to be at?”
My eyes flicked to the clock on the wall, back to her. “Not for another ten minutes. More than enough time to drive my lovely roommate crazy with innuendo if she refuses to fess up.”
“I have nothing to ‘fess.’” She dressed in the least elegant way I’d ever seen, strictly keeping her back to me.
My smirk grew. “Is that pink you’re wearing, or is that just the color of your forsaken propriety on your neck?”
She slapped a hand to her neck, mouth opening. “Clem!”
“I have more for a sweet, innocent fae like you. So many more. Try me.”
She sighed, dropped onto her bed. Then a small smile appeared. “I didn’t come back after the Summer-End Feast.”
“No kidding.”
“Torsten invited me for a walk.” Her smile widened. “I mean, who could resist a full moon? And that breeze…”
“The fae-made breeze?”
She waved a hand. “A breeze is a breeze is a breeze.”
“You said it, sister.” Then, “So where did you walk?”
“Around the meadow.” She paused, leaning closer. “Five times.”
“That’s very romantic.”
“And then,” she went on, “he took me to a secret spot I didn’t even know existed at the academy. It’s this little pond, and the moonlight was shimmering on the water, and…”
“You went skinny-dipping?”
She blew her cheeks out.
“You did go skinny-dipping,” I said, actually surprised. “Well, I bet that made Torsten’s life.”
She lay back on her bed, arms flopping out. “We kissed, too.”
“Given you’ve gone horizontal, it must have been pretty excellent.”
She lifted her head. “It was perfect.” A shadow crossed her face, and she rose to her elbows. “But, Clem.”
“Yeah?”
“Be honest with me.”
“About…?”
“Is he too good-looking for me?”
I picked up a pillow, chucked it at her. “Don’t even go there. You’re a goddess. If you ever begin to doubt that, I’ll write it in permanent marker on your forehead.”
She caught the pillow, and though she smiled, the shadow didn’t leave. “Anyway, you have to get to class.”
I shot up, began searching for my satchel. “I’m going to be late.”
Eva pointed. “Bag’s right there. What class is it?”
“Mounted Combat.” I grabbed the satchel, began rushing out.
“You need your riding clothes,” she said, glancing up and down at my uniform. “Not that.”
I stopped. “Why would I need those?”
“Because it’s mounted combat. Why do you think it’s called that?”
“I hadn’t even considered it,” I said. Amidst everything else in my life, I’d barely given any thought to my classes. “Do you mean to say I’m going to learn to fight on Noir?”
“If you and the quartermistress think he’s ready for it. Otherwise, you’ll ride another of the stable horses for the class.”
I was already changing into my riding clothes. I covertly slid the key from my skirt to my pants pocket. “Oh, I’m not riding another horse. It’s Noir or bust.”
“You’re going to have to run to make it on time, by the way.”
I threw my hair into a ponytail, yanked the door open. “Got it.”
“And Clem?” Eva called as I was halfway out the door.
“Yeah?” I said back.
“Thank you,” she said. “And Loki. Thank you both.”
I peeked back in, and as I did, I thought of Aidan and the promise I’d made about telling Eva about the key. Which I still hadn’t done. I would do it later today, I told myself. “Always,” I said.
I ran to the stables, but I was late anyway.
“Clementine,” Quartermistress Farrow grunted as I emerged into the aisleway, where six other horses were already being saddled up and a few students were leading theirs into the ring. “It’s an honor to have you grace us with your presence.”
“I know,” I said, approaching Noir’s door. “I’m late. But did you happen to notice how lovely the stalls looked this morning?”
She shot me a look. “They were immaculate. It’s the only reason I don’t penalize your tardiness.” She raised a hand as I went to unlatch Noir’s stall. “Listen, maybe it’s better if you rode Siren for this class.”
“Siren’s not my horse.”
“I know that. But Noir is a hothead. He doesn’t do well with the others.”
I pointed a finger at Noir, who had slung his face over the stall door. “No nipping at the other horses. No naughtiness. At least for the next hour. Deal?”
He shook out his head in a decidedly noncommittal gesture.
When I looked at Farrow, her mouth was perfectly linear.
“Quartermistress,” I said, “just give him one chance. You know what I’ve gone through for this horse.”
“I know,” she said. “And I know what he’s capable of.”
“So do I.” I fixed her with a half-smile. “He’s the best goddamn horse at this academy. Don’t tell Siren.”
She sighed, turned away to hide the flicker of amusement on her face. “Bring him out, then. I don’t have any more time to spend negotiating over that horse. And be quick—we’re already past time.”
One upside of my horse: he didn’t need to be saddled. All I had to do was let him out of his stall, lead him down the aisleway, and bring him out into the large training ring with the other six horses.
I kept him well away from the others; we stood at the far side, in our own corner.
“All right,” Farrow said as she strode to the center of the ring. “You seven are here for mounted combat. So first step: mount your horse.”
The second upside of my horse: I could mount him without a block or stirrups. When I reached up, grabbed his mane and swung myself up onto his back on my first try, I pretended not to notice everyone looking.
For once, I didn’t just feel like a witch. I felt like a badass witch.
“Good,” Farrow said. “Now dismount as fast as you can. Without hurting yourselves, please.”
We all dismounted; confused glances were exchanged. As we stood by our horses, Farrow turned a slow circle at the center of the ring.
“You seven are in Mounted Combat,” she said. “Do you have any idea what that entails?”
“Fighting on your horse?” someone offered.
“Yes,” Farrow said. “And why do we do that? Think back to your primary school studies.”
“Because our horses aren’t your typical horse,” another student recited. “A mage’s horse, on account of our connection to magic, runs faster, farther, and jumps higher than a regular horse.”
“Well done, Mr. Briarwood.” Farrow nodded at the palomino standing next to the student. “And why a horse over a car?”
“A horse can go places a car can’t,” Briarwood said.
“And a car can’t absorb our magic,” another student added. “Only living creatures can do that.”
“So I have a well-educated class, or at least students with good memories for textbooks.” Farrow managed a tight smile. “These are the principles we ride by: First, that our horses are our companions in our journeys, whether rescues or travel from one place to another. And as our companions, we must protect them as they protect us. Second, that you are safer atop your horse than on your feet. Fae have wings and the air—you have your horse. If you encounter danger in any form, your horse provides the high ground. Understood?”
She waited, turning in a circle, until we’d all said we understood.
“Wonderful. Now, you’ll wonder why I’ve asked you to dismount. The reason is this: mounted combat just as often involves the process of mounting. For this reason, I’ve watched each of you mount your stationary horse. Well and good. But what of n
on-stationary?”
I knew where this was going. And I knew it was going to involve bruises—lots of them. Beside me, Noir nickered, tossing his head.
“We’ll start at a walk,” Farrow said. “And as a small incentive, the first student who can mount their horse at a walk will be absolved of having to unsaddle and wipe down their horse after the lesson’s over. I’ll do it personally.”
Grins appeared—on my face, too. Farrow care for Noir? She might lose a finger, if she was lucky.
“Except for you, Clementine,” Farrow added. “You’re at a distinct advantage, riding bareback as you do.”
Hmph.
“Now,” Farrow said, “start your horse at a walk. Students, mount as best you’re able. They’re almost all quite bombproof”—she glanced at Noir, the one exception— “so you only need to get them going and they’ll fall in line with one another.”
She wasn’t giving us a demonstration of how to do it. If I knew one thing about Farrow, it was that she believed in figuring things out for yourself. After all, we had a nurse who could heal a broken bone to new in an hour.
As the students started around the ring, I was about to speak up when Farrow crossed toward me. “Clementine, keep Noir well away from the others. They’ll naturally clump, and you can stick to the other edge of the ring.”
I wasn’t about to object; a biting, kicking horse wouldn’t make for fewer bruises. And so we all started off, with me at a distinct disadvantage: where the other horses had stirrups and pommels to grab, Noir was, as always, without a saddle or bridle.
Which meant I had to swing myself up onto an enormous horse entirely with my own strength while he was in motion.
Already, a couple students had a foot in one of their horse’s stirrups, and they hop-hop-hopped along beside the horse with one foot, trying to find the stability to leverage up before they lost their balance.
In both cases, they failed.
“Careful, now!” Farrow said. “Much as I want you to figure this out without my hand-holding, I don’t want any twisted or broken ankles because of overeagerness.”