by E Hall
Bells chime, breaking my trance and the early morning quiet. “Alright, alright, I’m getting up.”
No, Filbert, my cat isn’t here. I miss talking to him.
No, my roommate isn’t on her side of the room either.
Yes, I’m talking to myself.
That’s beside the point. My roommate Bree, a pixie, is never here. She’s elusive, secretive, tiny… I glance over at her empty desk, vacant bed, and dresser. Compared to the magical makeover Yassi gave my side of the room, it’s lonely-town over there.
I wonder if Bree misses home or her family and friends. I do, but we’re all stuck here together. Fact: magically talented beings are now required to get a magical education to learn how to manage aka suppress our magic. If I’d arrived here two years ago I’d be educated instead.
I cross the room to Bree’s side and sit down on her bed. Weeks ago, I discovered a faint dusting of sparkles on the mattress; it’s all but faded. I tap my finger on my chin, gazing at my side from what would be her perspective.
What she needs is to feel welcome. I dig my wand out of my school uniform and skim my notes from spellcasting. I know it won’t compare to the transformation Yassi gave my side, but anything is better than empty.
I get to my feet, take a deep breath, lift my wand, and incant the transformative spell.
I hold my breath and look away. When I open my eyes, it’s still a blank canvas, begging for at least a poster, some blankets, and pillows, anything to make it look more inviting.
Trying again, I visualize glitter, sparkles, happy colors, and confetti. I picture fluffy pillows, a cozy blanket, a desk lamp, and all the things that make a room cozy.
I lift my wand and try again.
Nothing.
Hmm. I pace back and forth, summoning what my spellcasting professor insisted I need to work on presence. She said it’s vital to be rooted to a place and not think about other things: apple pie (delicious), hot cocoa (yum!), and boys (also delicious, in that golden aura, I could gaze at Bobby all day and never need to eat again kind of way. Yassi gets that look in her eyes when Wyatt comes to the dining hall so she’d understand).
I try the spell again to no avail.
Presence. I’m in my dorm room: I smell the smells (crisp air—the windows are drafty), hear the sounds (a dozen girls getting ready for the day), see the sees (this isn’t hard since I’m right here), taste… I’m so not licking the wall. And feel the feels…
How do I want Bree to feel when she comes in here? Warm, welcome, and like this is her home despite it being a classed-up penitentiary.
I try the spell again and…her mattress catches fire. Oh my goodness, what do I do?
There’s a knock on the door.
I scramble around. Do I try to smother it with a blanket?
The knock sounds again.
Do I stop, drop, and roll?
The knocking becomes more insistent.
There must be a spell…
Just then, the door flies open. Yassi’s light brown eyes meet mine. Her mouth forms a little O, but then she raises her wand and incants.
The fire goes out, and I exhale.
“Should I ask?” she says.
I fan my hands nervously. “Bree is never here, and I thought I’d give her side a little makeover to give her a warm welcome—”
“Warm? By lighting her mattress on fire?”
“It was an accident.”
“Yeah, but—” Yassi’s mouth widens into a much larger O.
I turn.
Bree, red-faced and fuming—glitter puffing from her tiny body—flitters from the doorway.
I rush after her, calling, “It was an accident.”
She’s gone before I can explain. And boy, do I need to explain.
Chapter 14
★
I drag myself through the day, torn between trepidation about running into Bree—pixies are scary—and seeking her out because I want to apologize. As ever, I don’t see her. She has the opposite schedule as me and never goes to the dining hall. I wonder where the pixies eat. I wonder what they eat.
The cinnamon scent of apple pie lures me across campus after rumpus—that’s the official sport of the magical world. It’s like rugby, but magic is involved. Wands are allowed. No brooms though. There’s running, jumping, throwing, and spells—certain spells are allowed on the field; none of which I can do. At least the administration hasn’t canceled that.
It’s all action and everyone rotates teams. I used to be the soccer team captain at my old school—as a sophomore if that says anything. None of my speed, skills, or snappy moves matter in rumpus since I’m lousy with a wand.
I take a seat at the usual table with Yassi, Audra, and Dewey Dunkle. I snap my fingers for his attention when I catch him gazing at Audra all moony-eyed.
“What were we talking about?” he asks, surfacing.
Yassi wags her finger between herself and her roommate. “We were talking about Family Fest. It was supposed to be tomorrow.”
Dewey hangs his head. “My dad wouldn’t have been able to make it anyway. Work.”
“What does your dad do?” I ask.
“He’s a miner and helps keep Snow White company,” he says around a bite of an egg sandwich.
“Wow, really?” I ask.
Dewey smiles and slaps the table in an I gotcha way. “Gregor’s Axe, he’s an accountant. I guess one of his clients had trouble with the IAS. Couldn’t step away.”
“IRS?” I ask.
“No, the Intermagical Accounting Service—non-magical currency gets tricky when it comes to business, exchange rates, tax schemes, and that kind of thing.”
Audra’s chin rests on her hand, staring quite unabashedly at Dewey; usually, it’s the other way around.
Yassi leans into me. “She has a thing for numbers, numerology mostly. If he continues to go on like that, Dewey Dunkle might find himself with a date to the Sweetheart Dance, after all.” She winks at me.
I understand the numbers thing and for the first time ever, miss calculus.
“Gregor’s Axe?” I belatedly ask, having heard the expression a few times.
“Great Gregor’s Mighty Axe,” Dewey corrects.
“It’s a collect-all term in the magical world to refer to anything outrageous or outstanding and can be used emphatically. I think there are words like that in the non-magical world called swears,” Yassi says.
I repeat the term.
“I hope they still host the Sweetheart Dance in February since they canceled Family Fest,” Yassi says. “I couldn’t go last year.”
“Gregor’s Axe, I hope they don’t cancel. Sounds fun,” I say.
Dewey smiles approvingly. “Perfect usage.”
Outside, elves, dwarves, nymphs—all of us gather as a gang of grisly guys are brought in through the gate. They’re all in shackles. Next, comes a group of vampires, werewolves, and then elves.
Several official (and intimidating) men and women gather at the tail of the group. They wear fitted brown uniforms under thick, leather overcoats. They each grip a sturdy wand and carefully survey the crowd.
Yassi comes up beside me and says, “That’s the Coven Constabulary.”
“The magic police?” I ask.
Dewey tucks his hands in his pockets. “My father follows all the IAS laws. I’d swear to it.”
“They’re probably here to keep the peace,” I say.
The vampires staring gimlet-eyed at us confirm that’s the case.
“Come on,” Yassi says. “We don’t want to be late for class.”
As we enter Hawthorne Hall, a new stone statue sits fixed by the entrance to the staircase leading to the second floor, disrupting the flow of traffic.
“That woman looks petrified.” Dewey squints. “Wait. That’s Professor Arrowsmith. Wasn’t she supposed to be your seminal seminar teacher?”
I nod slowly.
“She was turned to stone—petrifaction. It’s a Gorgon spell. Who did it?
Why? How’d she get here?” Yassi asks rapid-fire.
We pass the slightly more familiar statue of Imogen Hawkes.
Dewey cats his head from the statue to me and back again. “She reminds me of you. Do you see how her outstretched hand is curled? The story goes that she used to be holding her actual wand. It was made of a rare stone said to have come from a comet that crashed into the earth. A smooth, reddish crystal that almost looked like it contained fire. It was lost or stolen years ago. No one knows what happened to it.”
“Is it dangerous for another witch or wizard to have someone’s wand?” I ask.
“In most cases, since a wand is joined with a specific witch or wizard’s power, mostly it would be useless to anyone else, but who knows.”
The bells chime. We hurry to the classroom.
Later, we meet up and discuss how frustrating it is not to have serious magic lessons. For one thing, with all the fights breaking out, we’d all like to know how to better defend ourselves.
“We should form a club,” I suggest off-handedly.
“Storch outlawed those.” Yassi scowls. She loved choir.
“A secret club.” Dewey lowers his voice.
“Not a bad idea,” Audra says.
He beams.
My thoughts flash to Bobby and his friends meeting in the room. That didn’t seem secret, but he did joke that they’re plotting...and asked me to help him. I understand how Dewey feels getting that stamp of approval from someone he likes. But do I like Bobby or is it something else? Something otherworldly. I don’t know.
As everyone discusses ideas for our secret practice club, I think about the mysterious note I found recently in Imogen’s wandless marble hand.
Chapter 15
★
Three giants join my language arts class. Partway through, glass shatters. Two of them clobber the other.
I gasp and shift away as they fight.
Dewey whispers, “The Constabulary will be on them in five, four, three—”
Sure enough, the intimidating figures in their leather coats swoop in—literally. They don’t ride brooms so much as glide through the air.
No one can tear their eyes from the spectacle. The professor requests, and then demands, our attention. “Now that our little diversion is over, let’s have a student volunteer come up and demonstrate some of our recent lessons.”
No one makes a peep. No one offers to go up. So of course, she calls on me.
I remain in my seat. “Professor, my wand, uh,—” I’ve been hesitant to tell her it’s broken, mostly because I’m afraid she’ll think I misused it or wasn’t careful.
“Miss Wessels,” she says. “If you please, you’re going to lift this piece of paper from my desk and deliver it to someone in the back row.”
I extend my arm and speak the incantation. Nothing happens.
The professor’s laugh is dry. “Try again.”
Nope.
“With intention, presence,” she says.
I obey. The paper bursts into flames. “I didn’t mean it. I promise.”
With a stern lift of her eyebrow, she sends me back to my seat. I consider going to Ms. Storch and telling her about the djinn, how the OMMs made a mistake. I don’t think I have these so-called magical talents. I have yet to do anything other than set stuff on fire. But then her comment about how she’s watching me and my last visit keeps me in my seat.
Later, the dining hall is chaos. A bunch of cyclops occupies the usual spot where I sit with Yassi, Dewey, Wyatt, Audra, and the others.
Bobby waves me over to join his table with his big group of friends. My cheeks warm and go rosy. I blink a few times, feeling like a marshmallow on fire.
Just then, I spot a dark-clad figure across the room also staring at me.
However, my cheeks don’t flare. I go icy inside.
My brain doesn’t turn soft. I think of all the reasons I do not like JJ Thorne.
A glare, as sharp as a knife cuts across my features. Then I notice he’s not sitting with anyone.
“Maija?” Bobby says, appearing in front of me. “Come on. You belong over here.” He doesn’t have to drag me to his table, but I glance back at JJ—a black and white snapshot of loneliness...at least I would be if I always had to sit alone.
“She reminds me so much of Imogen,” Bobby says, pointing at me and addressing his friends who all have the same golden glow he does. I assume they’re all mages—alchemists whose specialty is tempering gold and other fine metals.
Another says, “It’s not so much her face more in her expression.”
Bobby smirks. “The set of her lips. Determination. Strength. Confidence.”
Bobby beams at me as though that settles something. “The greatest witch in history and the subject of the last great prophecy.”
Yassi tugs me away and whispers, “I know he’s hot, but it’s best not to bother yourself with them.” She gives me a look like she read into their thoughts. I’m supposed to be spying and gleaning information but get swept into Bobby’s smile. I scold myself.
Nonetheless, I smile and laugh it off, giving Bobby an apologetic smile of my own then settle with my friends. I want to ask what kind of magic they have, but I feel dumb for not knowing and it seems rude to ask the other students questions like that so I keep my mouth shut.
A high-pitched shout comes from across the room. A girl with dark curly hair spins wildly with her limbs flailing before smacking into the ceiling. I look around for someone with a wand, holding her there.
A crowd gathers below. “Get her down,” someone shouts. “Don’t let her fall,” another yells. But no one is doing anything.
Without thinking, I draw my wand, managing to hold the spell to slowly lower her. Then I have a frightful thought. Given my record, I might incinerate her like a marshmallow. I panic, breaking my concentration. She bumps to the floor. It’s a girl from my futurism class.
I stow my wand, extend my hand, and help her to her feet. “Are you okay?”
She glares across the room. “Thanks for helping me, but your friends are wicked.” She brushes herself off and storms away.
I glance over my shoulder to my table, watching innocently and then to Bobby and his crew. They were the subject of her glare. They’re so golden and glowy it’s hard to tell if they’re concerned or upset.
I take a deep breath, not having realized I was holding it.
Yassi comes over and bumps me with her hip. “At least you didn’t set her on fire.”
“How’d you know it was me that helped?”
Yassi shrugs. “Magic leaves messages. Some magicals can see it, like mist in the air. “Even if you had set her on fire, witches don’t burn, if she’s a witch.” Her expression is grim.
“That’s news to me.” I wonder what else I don’t know—namely if Bobby and his friends actually did that and if so, why?
We return to our table and the mood is boisterous, bombastic, and chaotic. Three conversations happen at once: the giants fighting (there’s talk of a lawsuit), five vamps that went missing (apparently, a transportate spell went wrong). Then someone asks about the girl on the ceiling.
“I’m pretty sure that’s Bobby’s little sister,” Dewey says.
“He’s never mentioned a sister,” Winnie counters.
This is news to me too.
“Do you talk to him a lot?” Audra questions with a wink.
Winnie’s cheeks turn rosy. “No, I just listen. She doesn’t have that glow though.”
Thinking of the way Bobby looked at me earlier, warms me through right up to my cheeks just like Winnie. He and his friends couldn’t have been behind that awful prank. Why would they do such a thing anyway especially if she’s his sister?
I glance at the window and the glass reflects my image. Over my shoulder, my gaze falls onto a pair of gray eyes that smolder like ashes after a fire. JJ doesn’t look away. An icy jolt works through me and I swallow hard but I can’t break my gaze away either. Why does he se
em to hate me?
The talk around my table turns back to the giants and the vamps that went missing. I’m not sure what’s worse, getting lost in a labyrinthine realm after a wonky transportate spell or being the subject of JJ’s hatred.
Chapter 16
★
The weekend consists of piles of homework and spellwork. But the bell rings me into Monday with the certainty that the new week won’t delay for anyone.
The only highlight is the promise of apple pie at dinner. The line is long and a giant and cyclops elbow each other out of the way, vying for a spot.
Ahead of me in line, Honey’s silky sheet of hair ripples while she talks in hushed tones with one of her minions. I don’t mean one of those cute little yellow guys from the movies. Honey has two student minions as Yassi likes to call them. Their real names are Elisha and Polly.
Elisha keeps glancing over her shoulder at the girl who was magicked up to the ceiling, behind me in line, also waiting for pie. Honey and Elisha laugh, not in a mirthful we just told a hilarious joke chuckle, but a we’re trying to make someone uncomfortable titter.
Could they be any more annoying? Could this line move any slower?
I shouldn’t even ask those questions.
The girl with dark curly hair hunches into her shoulders as if she knows she’s the subject of their whispering and staring.
“Hi,” I say, turning so my back isn’t to her.
In reply, her smile bunches onto her lips and then vanishes.
“Waiting for pie?” I ask as if this isn’t obvious. “This will be my third piece in as many days. I can’t get enough. It’s the only thing edible here.”
The laughter from the girls are like little darts aimed right at the girl.
I catch one and I say, “Isn’t waiting in a ridiculously slow-moving line hilarious? Doesn’t it make you want to laugh and stare at people, prompting them to feel uncomfortable and ask themselves questions like do I have something on my face? Do I have bed head, a pimple, or a horrible mutation caused by a spell that went wrong that wasn’t there last time I looked in the mirror?”
