Law and Disorder

by E Hall

  “So my class is canceled then?”

  “Best to see someone in the administration office to answer that. They’ll have to find a replacement. It’s vital you cultivate your witch abilities.” Her cheeks turn rosy and she shifts as though suddenly uncomfortable.

  I scoff. “I can hardly cast a levitating spell. Popperwell isn’t pleased with me. I have to go in for extra help next week.”

  She fixes me with a sympathetic gaze. “You have to be the first to believe. Anyway, I’d bet my life on it.” She glances around. “Don’t tell anyone I said that. Things are changing and that’s not just from what I read in the Daily Vine. The Chancellor is doing what he can, but—”

  At her words, bumps creep over my arms.

  ☆

  As the next week passes on campus, the heat of summer sun gives way to cooler, dewy nights. The leaves begin to turn color, and at last, the cinnamon-scented rumor of the famous apple pie Yassi promised wafts from the dining hall.

  However, it takes a few days to make so many pies so we have to wait. Gossip spreads that they’re going to ban pie (on top of free time in the afternoon—we have study hall now—, Yassi’s choir group and other student activities were canceled, and prohibiting mail. No more care packages.) What’s worse, is my trip to the administration building to get my bonus class sorted.

  Ms. Storch wears a grimace and a maroon suit. I wait for ages until she addresses me. (Precious time I could be using in the library to research an essay on wand lore.)

  She opens my file and shuffles numerous papers before finding what she’s looking for. “Replacements for Professor Arrowsmith are being sought. In the meantime,” she pauses, reading something silently. “In the meantime, you’ll have Chancellor West for instruction.” Her tone suggests this is a surprise to her. She looks at me from over her glasses and then says, “Interesting.” She lifts her chin and seems to sniff the air.

  I shift uncomfortably, covertly sniffing in case I smell bad. “Where do I find Chancellor West?” I ask, eager to get out of here despite what he asked me to do. She scares me.

  Storch takes off her glasses as though they’d been obscuring her vision and continues to study me. Her eyes are amber and piercing, penetrating. Instead of round pupils. She has slits. She must be part dragon like Yassi and the others said. “He’ll find you.” She tsks. “Don’t get any ideas, Maija, I’m watching you.”

  A shiver ripples through me.

  So much for obtaining top-secret, confidential intel.

  I hurry to the exit, eager to get out of here now. As I grip the door handle, Storch calls, “Maija.”

  I stop and slowly turn.

  A muscle under her eye twitches. “We’ll be showcasing the inmate’s, I mean students’ special talents soon. What special witchery skills do you possess?”

  I shake my head slowly. “None, Ms. Storch. I’m a hopeless case. Can’t successfully cast a spell to save my life.”

  She snorts. “But someone else’s life? You’ll be working with West. Like I said, I’ll be watching.”

  I don’t know what she means and then it dawns on me. She thinks West is out to use my witchcraft for what? To turn this academy back into a school? You betcha and I’ll help him too. I bite my lip. “Ms. Storch, what kind of special skills do you have?” I hardly believe I asked such a bold question.

  Again, her eye twitches. Her cheeks burn red. “That, young lady, is none of your business.”

  I straighten. “My magic is none of yours.”

  She gets to her feet and strides over to me. Steam practically pours out of her ears. “I will make it my business. I’ll soon see to it you go to the Iron Tower. I know there’s something different about you and I will get to the bottom of it.” She growls.

  I swallow hard. “Good luck,” I say and exit.

  That evening, arguably the best apple pie I’ve eaten follows the usual dinner. It was the perfect blend of sweet and tart, cinnamon and butter and the crust was flaky perfection. With full bellies, Yassi, Wyatt, Dewey, and I walk back to Penny House, chatting about pie—everyone loves the apple, but the merits of pumpkin, chocolate cream, and key lime (my mother’s specialty) are also discussed. When we round a corner, shouting and commotion come from the other side of the hedge.

  At the opening, a giant, a fae, and an elf crouch in fighting stances. A female elf pounds the ground on the edge of the fray. Honey and her group crowd together nearby surveying, observing, and not doing anything other than watching with eager interest.

  The giant reaches his meaty fist back to pound the elf, but she’s too fast. A vampire lunges at the fae, misses, and crashes into the hedge.

  There’s yelling, although I can’t quite get the full story about why they’re fighting. However, it’s clear that it’s over their differences: something about space on the sidewalk, taking up too much room, and going back to where they came from.

  I rush forward without thinking, urging them to talk about it when a pair of cold hands grip my shoulders. It’s JJ. My chest heaves and I shout, “Why fight over it? Why not just?—” But I don’t know what. I don’t have a solution other than the obvious: sharing the space. Seems simple enough.

  Honey hisses, “Because we’re all too different. That’s why. We all shouldn’t be here together. It should go back to the way it was.”

  Maybe this is why we’re now deemed criminals. Magicals don’t know how to get along.

  Yassi turns to me. Her expression is faraway and her eyes sad. “Yes, in our world, unicorns are real, rainbows are magical, but there are also problems.”

  Honey shakes her head at me, “Witch.” It sounds like an insult.

  However, maybe I misheard her and the word she used starts with the letter B, rhymes with witch, and is unmistakably an insult.

  Before the fight can get worse, (there’s blood, flame, and bruises already) several guards appear. When the scene clears, JJ storms away, dark and brooding. His turns over his shoulder and his eyes land on me. Relief softens his sharp features.

  Yassi says something, pulling my attention away. Before I get a second glimpse, he’s gone.

  Uncertainty colors the days following the fight. The various groups of magical beings eye each other carefully, either giving each other plenty of room when passing or casting intimidating glares and shoving into personal space. Guards patrol the dining hall and the pathways between buildings.

  From what I’ve gathered, Chancellor West has fought for Riptivik to go back to being an academy, but the powers that be—mainly the Office of Magical Management together with the non-magical authorities—have mandated the crackdown on magicals.

  Our crime? Who we are.

  Like Yassi, I try to be friendly to everyone, but there’s a chill in the air and something dense and boiling simmers below the surface.

  On my way back from my last period, I get lost in the corridors of Hawthorne Hall. I was supposed to see Professor Popperwell about my extra credit assignment. I’m not failing, even though the system used here is a little different than I’m used to. However, at this point, if there were an equivalent to Hamilton High report cards, I don’t think I’d qualify to go to Princeton like my sister. I cannot get the hang of using my wand or magic at all. If the professor had hair, I would’ve caught it on fire.

  I reach a dead-end in an unfamiliar corridor with a massive stained glass window casting patches of colorful light on the statue of a witch, immortalized in marble, and reminding me of the rumors about Professor Arrowsmith having been turned to stone. The nameplate reads Imogen Hawkes. I gaze at her from top to bottom. There isn’t a physical likeness, but something in the eyes, I guess. One of her hands is firmly on her hip and the other is open, with her fingers curled slightly inward like perhaps she was once holding a wand. Instead, there’s a small piece of paper, rolled up. I pull it out from her stone grip. Like the note I received the morning I was sent here, a ribbon encircles it. I unroll it to find it’s for me. I glance around, but there’s n
o one down here.

  Maija,

  You’re still in danger. Do not give up your wish. What should you do? Watch your back...and your heart.

  It might be from Chancellor West since I’m supposed to see him, but that’s an odd way to connect with a student, even for a legendary wizard.

  I pause, waiting for an explanation, but when one doesn’t come, I roll the note up and put it in my pocket.

  With one glance over my shoulder at the statue of Imogen, I retrace my steps, nearly forgetting about going to see Professor Popperwell.

  Up ahead, Bobby Gold shines like a radiant sun from inside a classroom. There are a few others gathered around and they speak in low tones. I’m not a snoop, but I am a spy and this seems like a private meeting. I creep closer, lingering and overhear words like secret and recruit.

  Suddenly Bobby fills the doorway. “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi,” I croak, clearing the cobwebs from my throat.

  “We were having a meeting. Want to join?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

  His golden gaze transfixes me. You’re a spy, Maija I tell myself, regaining my senses. “What’s it about?”

  He smirks and says, “You.”

  “Huh?” I stagger back slightly.

  “Girls like you. Guys like me. Social inequity. Law and disorder.” Bobby chuckles his golden chuckle.

  I brighten because I’ve wanted to do something to ease the tension on campus but don’t know how I can help and maybe I can find out some info for West. “Sounds interesting. I’m on my way to Professor Popperwell’s office but can stop in for a minute.”

  Bobby grips my arm, sending pleasant warmth through me. My vision goes fuzzy for a moment. “Come on in,” he says.

  I land in the room with the others who’re so laid back and cool they’d be bordering on menacing if it weren’t for their golden auras.

  Bobby closes the door. “We’re plotting.” But he’s still smiling so I imagine he’s showboating in front of his friends a bit for me. For me.

  I laugh. “Senior pranks?” I recall the big plans to fill Hamilton with sudsy bubbles. But then remember Riptivik is more like college since I’m a primary student and the youngest one here, unlike non-magical schools.

  “Maybe you could help us.” Bobby smirks.

  The lights go out. A jolt of nervous energy runs through me. Or maybe it’s the tension diffusing from my recent encounter with Storch. A flash of light issues from my hands at the same time the several candles held by Bobby and the others flare to life.

  He blinks a few times and gives me an odd look before putting one of the candles in my now dark hands. Our fingers brush and that warmth reaches a fever pitch.

  I blink a few times myself. What just happened? It was almost like the kind of magic that sporadically comes through my wand came through me then just as quickly disappeared as soon as the other candles were lit. Did Bobby do it or did I imagine it?

  I fight the urge to back away slowly, but this is Bobby Gold. He can’t possibly be involved in anything sketchy. West is paranoid. If anyone is up to no good, it would be JJ Thorne.

  “Maija, when the candles go out, will you make a wish?” Bobby asks in a smooth tone.

  “Like on a birthday cake? Now?” I laugh and then remember my own wish.

  “Something like that.” He chuckles. “Soon, you’ll have the opportunity to do something that can change the world. Will you help us?”

  “What’s the wish?” I’m still relatively clueless about my wish witchery and have to keep it secret, but the notes I received flash in my mind.

  “Riptivik Academy used to be prestigious, amazing—our version of university. Now, we’re treated like misfits. We want to make things right. We need your help.”

  To be honest, I like the idea, but I’m not too keen on a half-dragon administrator’s wrath or being sent to the Iron Tower. Then again, despite what Yassi said, here, I feel like an outsider. I want to fit in. To accomplish something. To make things right. I’ve always lived in the shadow of my parents’ many accomplishments and prestige. For once, I want to belong. I’m willing to do almost anything to achieve that.

  “What do I have to do?” I ask.

  Bobby whispers in my ear, telling me a spell in a language that sounds like Gibberish. He leaves me with shivers that fight with the swoony kind.

  “You’ll know when the time is right,” he says, winking.

  My cheeks flare. My stomach dips. The whole thing seems harmless enough—probably the equivalent to regular student pranks. What do I do with this information? Tell West and potentially get Bobby in trouble or keep it to myself because it probably doesn’t matter?

  When I get to Popperwell’s, before I can even ask for help with my assignment, he goes on about various other things including but not limited to: his preference of candles in the classroom to electric lighting, his recent holiday to Macau, China—a golden city—both reminding me of Bobby—and the search for the first print run of a favorite book of his. He seems completely unaffected by the magic academy becoming a reform school and for him, it’s business as usual.

  Typically, his stories have a fascinating quality because they seem so unlikely, but I can’t stop thinking about Bobby and his request.

  When I finally leave, JJ stands outside the classroom. We haven’t spoken since the fight on the sidewalk, but sometimes when I spot him from across a room, in class, or passing on the paths around campus, it’s as though we’re communicating.

  Me: give me answers.

  Him: no.

  Me: yes.

  Him: no.

  If you can call that communication.

  “Sorry. He has a habit of droning on,” I mutter, thumbing the office behind me.

  “I was waiting for you.” JJ rolls his shoulders back.

  “Oh?”

  Then he says, “Bobby Gold.”

  “What about him?”

  “What did he say to you earlier?”

  “How do you know he said anything to me?”

  “What kind of group does he have?”

  “Are you following me?” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Why should I answer your questions if you won’t answer mine?”

  “No. I’m not following you—” He pauses as though he wants to add something, but instead exhales. “What did he want?”

  “You answer my questions first.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Fine. Until you do, I’m not telling you anything,” I say, not hiding the irritation in my voice.

  “If you’re not going to tell me, then know this: stay away from him.”

  “What?” I ask, stunned. “West told me the opposite. Tell me why.”

  “No.” His tone is commanding.

  “No? I can use that word too. Stay away from him? No, no I won’t,” I say, storming off.

  JJ calls after me, but I keep walking, passing the sculpture of Imogen Hawkes. Just then, I feel something warm in my pocket. I pull out the scroll of paper with the note to find it little more than ash. As best I can, I recall the message:

  You’re still in danger. Do not give up your wish. What should you do? Watch your back...and your heart.

  My back? Definitely. My heart? Whatever.

  But a more important task is at hand. Who am I? That’s a question I can’t answer yet. But I’m no longer just Maija Marie Wessels, an eighteen-year-old junior at Hamilton High School, soccer team captain, straight-A student, collector of sea glass and knitter of scarves. Best friend of Chelsea, secret crusher of Carter, stargazer, speedy swimmer, book lover, ice cream and confetti enthusiast…

  I’m a witch, and I’m going to find out exactly what that note means, why JJ Thorne won’t answer my questions, and why I’m here.

  ★ October ★

  Chapter 13

  ★

  Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and for one foggy moment forget where I am. However, when my eyes pop open in the morning, today and every other day since I
arrived at Riptivik aka RIP, I vividly recall where I am. But not why.

  It’s shocking not only because I thought witches, wizards, unicorns, and other magical beings were the stuff of fairy tales, but because I have yet to display even the slightest magical ability.

  Okay, that’s not entirely true. In spellcasting, I did manage to levitate a book about an inch off the desk—and promptly incinerated it. I also seem to be talented at roasting things: socks, wads of tissues, and other items that don’t react well to heat. A bag of marshmallows would come in handy. Instead, I just set things on fire that shouldn’t be set aflame.

  Each day more and more restrictions are placed. Yassi tried to magic her room clean before dorm inspections and couldn’t access the spells so it’s not only me.

  I sit up and gaze out the window at the sprawling campus bound by razor wire and magic. In the morning sunlight, the leaves of the maple sparkle golden with dew like earthbound stars. This reminds me of the fateful night I saw my name in the sky, bringing to mind JJ Thorne—the maddening guy who’s as mysterious as he is cute. But don’t tell anyone I said that. We’re kind of enemies at this point.

  I flop onto my pillow and drape my arm over my eyes.

  It’s not that I want any of this magic to go away. Actually, after the initial confusion, anger, and nervousness, it’s pretty cool being a witch. Sure, I miss my friends and my family, but everyone here is great. Well, except JJ.

  In two words, he’s moody and mean. He says he’s misunderstood. I say he’s a big jerk. And mysterious. And handsome. Ugh. I wish he’d get out of my head.

  Maybe there’s a spell for that. I’ll have to ask Yassi.

  Then Bobby Gold drifts into my thoughts. He’s dreamy and golden. Kind of literally. I mean, not like painted gold, but there’s this golden aura surrounding him.

  His smile…

  His eyes…

  Sigh. Also, he’s not a jerk like JJ. Maybe that’s what his initials stand for. Jerky Jerk.