Law and Disorder

by E Hall

  What will I tell my friends?

  What does a magically talented person’s life look like?

  I can’t ask Filbert. I can’t ask my mother. I can’t ask Chelsea.

  JJ’s image blazes like the bonfire into my mind.

  “Last night, I thought I saw my name in the stars,” I blurt.

  My mother smiles as though not surprised. “In the coming years, you’ll see many things that might amaze you given your ordinary upbringing.” My mother sits down next to me, wraps an arm around my shoulders, and gives me a side hug. “My sister was born with magical abilities. In other words, they knew for sure right away. With some magicals, it’s like that. With others, like you, we find out later, when they come of age. I suppose it has something to do with maturing and the type of magical gift involved.”

  My mother looks the same as she always has: high forehead edged by a scarf that holds back her long braids. Same proud cheekbones, kind eyes, and a grand smile. Her loose, purple cotton tank-dress reveals her strong shoulders and athlete’s body from years of running competitively.

  However, something is different, as though she’s introducing me to a part of herself she’s kept hidden all these years. “My sister was a wonderful little girl. We were best friends. She’d make the ordinary enchanted. Then when she got older, things changed. She realized she was different. Rather, that I was different from her and our mother. That’s when I started running. I was hoping I could run away from the changes.”

  I feel like doing just that. Instead, I ask, “Would you run away from me?”

  My mother’s dark brown eyes meet mine. “Never.” She holds me tight, and I inhale her sandalwood scent. “When we were told that you might have these abilities, we decided it would be best for you to know both sides: the non-magical and magical. That way, if and when the time came, you’d be able to have a greater understanding of the world.”

  “Understanding?”

  “Let’s not keep them waiting downstairs. You’ll need clothes. They provide a uniform, of course. But casual attire, pajamas… Let’s see…” She opens drawers and pulls out socks, shorts, and other items.

  I glance at the clock.

  My mom smooths my hair.

  “Even if I didn’t want to go, I’d have to?”

  “Yes, those with magical talent need to know how to keep themselves and others safe. It’s the law.”

  “Why so far away? I’ve never heard of Concordia.”

  “There used to be a magical academy in New York. That’s where my sister went. It was called Amsterdam Island Magical Academy. But it was closed. Turned into a jail.” She gazes away.

  “What if I get homesick?”

  “I imagine you will be. When I left Jamaica for Olympic training, I cried myself to sleep for a full week. I missed my family, of course, but also the sounds of the sea, the smells of curry and plantains, fried patties, and even the fish market. When I look back, I was thankful to have a home I loved so much to return to. If you don’t miss us, then we did something wrong.” She laughs as she exits to the bathroom to get my toiletries.

  I text Chelsea, telling her I don’t feel well and won’t be able to make it to school. Then I delete it because I’ve never lied to her. I tell her my parents surprised me and are sending me to boarding school, which is closer to the truth. I add that I won’t be able to talk until the weekend. Over the years, my parents have traveled a lot so she might assume that it’s for their convenience. I hope that she won’t wonder why they didn’t tell me sooner because if I think about that too long, I find myself wondering the same thing, even if they said it was what made the most sense.

  After I get dressed and shower, taking my time because I can’t muster up the enthusiasm to leave home and attend a school to cultivate my so-called magical abilities, I plod downstairs to my waiting parents and the two women from the Office of Magical Management.

  “Ready to go?” Dina asks.

  I don’t answer and instead, stare at my purple Converse sneakers.

  “We’ll miss you,” my dad says, pulling me in for a hug. “But remember, we’re only a flight away. We’ll send care packages and see you when you visit.”

  “And Family Fest,” Dina chimes in. “It’s an afternoon when parents and caregivers visit the campus, get a tour, and learn about what our students do each day. I think you’re going to like Riptivik if you give it a chance,” Dina says knowingly.

  I harrumph. How’d I go from Hamilton High School senior to a Riptivik Magic Academy witch in fewer than twenty-four hours?

  My mother takes my hands and squeezes. “Make sure you keep asking questions. Curiosity is everything.” Then she gives me quite possibly the longest hug ever.

  They wish me luck, and I lug my stuff out to a car that doesn’t seem magical. I almost laugh because part of me was expecting a few brooms parked in the driveway. I get into the nondescript sedan. As Dina pulls away, I wave goodbye as tears gather at the corners of my eyes.

  We drive exactly thirty-nine minutes to the airport in relative silence. Dina concentrates as though operating an ordinary car requires the full employment of her non-magical abilities. In other words, she goes as slow as I did when I first got my driver’s permit.

  Margaret glares as though the non-magical world is subject to suspicion.

  My mind races between sulking at this turn of events and being ever so slightly intrigued—at the last moment, I was half expecting everyone to say just kidding, this was a joke. I already miss Filbert. I recall the strange note he carried and my insides ice over slightly. That must have been a joke. From Reilly maybe?

  We don’t pass the usual loop that surrounds the airport for departures and drive to a private hanger nearby. I get out after Dina and Margaret. Two brooms appear. The trunk of the car pops open. Wands are lifted. I can hardly believe my eyes as my belongings shrink and fill a pair of saddlebags on the end of a broom outfitted for two passengers. Dina gets on the front and signals I get on the back.

  I shake my head slowly and feel a thrust of wind like I was shoved forward. Shimmer fills the air. I grip the broom handle to steady myself. Margaret lowers her wand as threads of light dissolve.

  “We can’t be late,” Margaret says.

  Dina smiles apologetically. They’re not police officers, but I get the dynamic. Dina plays good cop and Margaret plays bad cop.

  I mount the broom, hang on, and in one swift motion, we take to the air. I want to ask about what I saw last night and my name in the stars but the forward motion and rush of the wind are too great. My stomach lurches.

  As everything on the ground gets smaller and I’m forced to assess whether I have a fear of heights, it’s suddenly like we’re in a bubble. The rushing wind disappears even as we streak out over the ocean, going impossibly fast. However, now I don’t want to break Dina’s concentration by asking questions. About a million of them flood my mind.

  Margaret flies nearby...then she’s gone. Disappeared. There is just the sky and darkness.

  “Dina, um, we seem to have lost Margaret.”

  She grunts.

  I’m guessing that although they’re coworkers, they’re not exactly friends.

  In Dina’s silence, my mind continues to spin as we travel and doesn’t calm until an island twinkling with lights appears in the distance. “That must be Concordia,” I say.

  While I expect a bit of information about the country or introduction to the school, Dina keeps quiet. Must be focusing.

  From above, regal homes come into view that reminds me of the manors in some of my favorite historical romance novels.

  But we fly on until we reach a barren plane that gives way to bogs. In the center is a black, stone tower like a blade slicing the gray sky. A broad wall with piercing iron stakes encloses it. We land in front of a stone guard shack and blue-black light shimmers in a sort of magical wall, barring us from going any farther.

  Bumps work their way across my skin and the hair on the back of my ne
ck lifts.

  Dina dismounts from the broom, reaches into her caftan and extracts a wooden wand. She taps the air while whispering something, and the mild-looking woman turns into a pale, bald...creature with thin, boney limbs.

  I gasp.

  He? She? Grabs me roughly by the arm and thrusts me toward the gate next to the stone structure.

  A guard meets us. “Djinn, did you bring us a new prisoner?”

  “Djinn?” I mutter, recalling the comment in my living room. Then follow up with, “Prisoner? No, I’m a student. I’m supposed to go to Riptivik Magical Academy.” I eye the guard and then the figure who was Dina.

  She hisses, revealing pointed teeth.

  The guard assesses me by hovering a wand over my face, chest, and arms. “Maija Wessels. Witch.” Given that use of magic, I’m surprised when he consults a list on a clipboard. “Says here that she’s to go to RIP.”

  “Riptivik?” My voice trembles.

  The glare I get from all the guards and the djinn silences me.

  “Consider yourself lucky that you’re not going through this gate,” the guard says. “No one who enters ever leaves.” His grin is grim. “Lucky for now anyway.”

  The others laugh.

  “Sorry, djinn. You don’t get the bounty this time.” The guard goes back to the building.

  Prisoner? Bounty?

  The djinn hisses again and angles the wand at me, indicating I get on the broom.

  In minutes, we alight outside another iron gate. This one is laced with ivy. It’s flanked by two brick pillars. Stone walls, also covered in ivy, extend in both directions. It’s a bit more of what I had in mind. Given the fact that there’s an Office of Magical Management, it should be no surprise there are officers and a jail. There must have been a mistake.

  Another guard meets us, assesses me, consults a list, and this time we’re allowed entrance to Riptivik Magic Academy. At least that’s what it says on the sign.

  The djinn shoves me roughly forward.

  This morning I was planning on starting my senior year of high school. Instead, I learned that I’m a witch, left my family, flew overseas on a broom, arrived at a jail, and now a magic academy. I can’t claim that I’m all too pleased. Irritation builds inside and I feel like I’m going to snap.

  The djinn keeps the wand fixed on me and I’d like to snap it, and snap myself back to reality.

  As though sensing my intention, an eerie chill works its way over my skin as jagged threads of magic emerge from the wand.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, suddenly feeling helpless.

  The djinn merely hisses, urging me forward to the gate.

  I’d be crazy to appreciate this turn of events even though this place looks slightly more welcoming than that tower prison. But why am I being treated like a felon? I dig in my heels and turn. “Tell me what is going on.”

  The djinn remains impassive.

  Standing at attention, the guards wearing gold and deep red uniforms intimidate as they march toward me. One removes a wand from his belt and uses it to scan me. He grunts as though I’m no threat.

  “Exactly,” I say.

  He ignores me.

  My hands turn into fists and anger at being dismissed rises inside. My parents always said I was a spirited, willful child—always curious and asking questions. They said it would serve me well when I was older. I figured they meant leading teams in my professional career but a surge fills me and I feel like I could explode.

  But the djinn’s magic works over me, suppressing my rising power.

  “Student, delinquent, whatever, move along now,” calls the guard at my back.

  The command is clear. The djinn’s magic strengthens. Without an understanding of how or what would happen if I resisted, I obey.

  When the gate clangs shut, the first guard’s words echo in my mind.

  Maybe this is what the note meant by danger, run.

  Too late now.

  I stand alone with my luggage on either side of me at one end of a long a stone path lined with willow trees. I glance back to see guards lining the gate and on this side, instead of ivy, barbed wire glows and pulses menacingly like it’s been magicked—how is that even a thing? It wasn’t visible from the other side. What is going on?

  A formidable brick building comes into view, draped in ivy. Maybe this is a big misunderstanding. The guard said prisoner and I saw the barbed wire, but this looks like a normal campus, though quiet. No one hurries here and there like when we visited Princeton with Lila. If this is a school and not a magical jail like that other place, I wonder how many students there are here. What they’re like, classes, the cafeteria—everything my parents and Lila evaluated when deciding which school she was going to attend.

  As the trees thin, several more brick and stone buildings come into view. It’s beautiful, rivaling Princeton’s campus. It’s like an Ivy League or private prep school times two. Unlike the student tour guide from Princeton, the djinn doesn’t sweep her arm grandly and say Welcome to Riptivik Magic Academy. She’s gone.

  Apple blossoms perfume the air, and it’s charged with something.

  Potential?

  Possibility?

  Pie? I’m not sure, but a strange sensation comes over me. The resentment at being sent here vanishes. There’s a part of me that feels a little bit excited and another part, though I know it’s not sensible, at least not yet, feels like I belong. Like I’ve come home. However, as I glance back at the magicked barbed wire, there’s a third part that’s terrified.

  Chapter 6

  ★

  I turn in a circle, take a deep breath, and walk in the direction of the nearest building—Lindholm Auditorium. I follow a path lined with pruned hedges and past a squat fieldstone structure. In the distance is another building with columns and several houses so overgrown with ivy they practically blend in with the forest bordering the campus. I’m starting to wonder if there are any other students here when a dull clamor issues from somewhere near a sidewalk covered by a stone archway, leading toward the auditorium.

  I pull open a heavy door as another closes on the opposite side of the atrium. It suddenly goes quiet.

  A woman dressed in crimson sits behind a table and shuffles a few papers. When she looks up at me, her glasses slide down her nose. “You must be Maija Wessels.”

  I nod.

  “This is Riptivik Reform School, home of supernatural misfits of all sorts—fae, vampires, shifters, and you must be a witch.” She looks at me sternly as if this is a federal offense.

  Thinking back to the conversation about the Coven Constabulary earlier, my attendance is required at this school—in the magical world not showing up is a violation.

  “Did you say reform? I’m supposed to go to the magical academy.”

  “I’m Ms. Storch, recently appointed head of administration. You answer to me. If you want to stay out of jail, don’t ask questions. That’s my job. Yours is to behave. I see your sentence to serve at the Iron Tower was suspended so you’re with us as long as you follow the rules.” She passes me a red card but doesn’t let it go. “Here, you’ll find your dormitory assignment: Fiona Pennylegion House. Classes, including the seminal seminar. Hmm.” She glances at me above her glasses and releases her grip on the schedule. “The chancellor was able to sneak through the commencement ceremony, but don’t expect it to be indicative of how things work around here moving forward.” Ms. Storch’s low tone makes everything sound foreboding.

  I go through a wide set of double doors. The floor of the old building creaks. The room is relatively dark except for bands of tiny lights running in arcs along the domed ceiling. I can make out a lot of polished wood. The silhouettes of the tops of students’ heads fill rows and rows of seats. I glance to my left but don’t see one available. To my right, there’s a single open spot, but it’s halfway in, meaning I have to squeeze past everyone.

  What sounds like the low peeling of a bell comes from somewhere high above in the buildi
ng. Without another thought, I hurry past the row of students and scramble to the open seat. I whisper apologies as the bell’s ringing continues.

  I plop down, slightly out of breath and with my cheeks flushed even though no one can see them in the relative darkness. The bell stops and it’s even quieter than before.

  A single light comes up on the stage, illuminating a podium. A woman with features as sharp as a blade appears from the shadows. Her tight bun accentuates her height. Without any preamble, she says, “For those of you who are new, I’m Professor Derrington, co-head teacher at Riptivik Reform School.” Her eyes narrow at the word co-head before she continues.

  “A few items for you to know before we get on with the program. Students must abide by the three Cs: cooperation, communication, and commitment. First, to cooperate means you’ll review the rules of conduct and will not disrespect members of our community or school property. You will not bully or otherwise misuse your magic. We are strict about that at Riptivik. Infractions are met with severe recourse.

  Second, communicate. Should you have a problem, communicate with your fellow students, your teachers, or any of the pertinent faculty or staff about your issue.

  Finally, commit. We’re here to instruct you in restraining and retraining your magic. You will restrict your magical skills. Each of your teachers and heads of dorm will discuss the three Cs at greater length. But given the enormity of our endeavor this year,” she clears her throat as though making an invisible point, “I imagine repeated review will be required. With that, I turn the podium over to co-head teacher, Professor Popperwell.”

  The entire auditorium is as silent as the grave until the roundest man I’ve ever seen takes Professor Derrington’s place. He wears a tweed suit and the buttons on the jacket threaten to burst.

  A polite round of applause rises when he waves at the student body. His face is ruddy and his smile bounces between cheerful good nature and amusement. “What a warm welcome from Professor Derrington about our new changes. Thank you.” Or perhaps the expression he wears indicates sarcasm and amusement.

  “Welcome, students, faculty, and staff. As noted, I’m the co-head teacher here at Riptivik Magic Academy. New students will take primary classes with us. Return students, secondary classes. Depending on your schedule, you’ll also have arithmetic, language arts, alchemy, futurism, the arts, and for some of you lucky individuals, a bonus class.” He clears his throat. “No, I suppose none of you are lucky this year. I deeply regret that things have changed, but we will do our best—”