Sourcewell Academy

by S T G Hill

  The bottom of her foot tingled for a moment and the sole was back on.

  Arabella leaned back and frowned down at both of Ellie’s feet. The shoes were so old looking. Ellie wanted to tuck them up under the bench so Arabella couldn’t see them anymore.

  “One more thing, then we can get over to your dorm,” Arabella said.

  She reached out and ran her hands down the tops of Ellie’s shoes.

  “Oh!” Ellie said. She jumped to her feet.

  The shoes looked brand new. The canvas sides, formerly a dull gray, were bright white. The heel in her right shoe, which had been slowly collapsing beneath her weight, now cushioned her foot again.

  And now they fit properly!

  She had never seen them new and clean. Mr. Fichtner had picked them up for her from the local Goodwill after her last pair had come apart.

  Arabella stood and dusted off her robe. “I know you didn’t want me doing any more magic to you, but I didn’t want you walking around in those old things—“

  Ellie threw her arms around Arabella’s waist and hugged her. She didn’t quite know why, only that she needed to.

  The sorceress’s robe was smooth against Ellie’s cheek, and smelled faintly of clean laundry.

  The heat in her cheeks dissipated, replaced by pressure behind her eyes.

  Arabella started to return the gesture, but then Ellie pulled away. She blinked hard a few times, pushing that pressure back.

  “So,” Ellie said, hoping Arabella didn’t want to talk about what just happened, “What was with that test? How can you and the other two say that I’m not strong enough? Didn’t I just move a star around?”

  Arabella smiled again, “No. The test isn’t real. The three teachers combine abilities to make you see all that, and to test your own natural aptitude.”

  “Which I apparently don’t have much of,” Ellie said.

  “Maybe,” Arabella replied.

  “What do you mean?” Ellie said, turning to her.

  “Come on, I’ll show you to your dorm.”

  Chapter 6

  It turned out that all students at Sourcewell got their own room. More a chamber, really. Arabella took Ellie to a stone-walled building practically crawling with ivy called Vine Hall.

  “Your room is on the third floor,” Arabella told her.

  They reached the staircase, but it ended in a blank wall after only three steps.

  “What now?” Ellie said.

  “Just hold third floor front and center in your mind. Then walk up the stairs. Go on, try it,” Arabella said.

  Ellie’s skin prickled. This felt like a trap or prank. She couldn’t quite shake that feeling. That one of being the poor girl the other kids mocked. The one who some rich or normal could would pretend to befriend only to reveal sometime later it was all part of some joke.

  But then Ellie caught sight of her shoes. Her old shoes that were new again. And she remembered the test. And the way that she and Aurelius had been at one end of the hall one moment and then at the end in the next.

  And she wanted to trust Arabella so much.

  She took a deep breath and sighed it all out, “Okay, here goes.”

  Third floor, third floor… she thought. She mounted the first step, then the next, then the third.

  Her heart beat fast. Her rational mind told her she was about to headbutt a stone wall.

  She closed her eyes even though Arabella hadn’t mentioned needing to do that. She took another step, every nerve in her body prickling and tingling with the anticipation of meeting something solid and unforgiving.

  She encountered what felt like a gentle wall of breezy air and passed right on through it.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw a hallway lined with doors on either side.

  “Wow,” Ellie said.

  She turned back and saw the wall behind her. It was framed like a door, but there was no door.

  A moment later Arabella stepped through that wall and stood beside her.

  “You can go to any floor in the building by holding the number in your mind. Many of the lecture halls and classrooms are similar, so don’t forget. Now… you’re in room 317. Down near the end on the left.”

  Most of the doors were closed on both sides of the hall. Ellie remembered Thorn talking about going to class and thought that most of the other students were probably in their classrooms, too.

  One was open, though. On the right, room 314.

  A girl sat hunched over a desk positioned by a tall window, an unmade bed to her right. Dark hair spilled in untamed locks down her back.

  “Sybil?” Arabella said.

  Sybil, the dark-haired girl, jerked at the sound of the voice. She jumped up from her dusk, slamming a book closed as she did. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and wouldn’t have looked out of place back at PS117 in Brooklyn.

  “Master Thrace!” Sybil said, big eyes getting even wider, “I’m just studying!”

  Ellie suppressed a little laugh by biting down on her bottom lip. Because before Sybil had managed to close the dusty old book, Ellie had caught a glimpse of a glossy magazine spread open on it.

  “Then I suggest you get back to it,” Arabella said.

  Sybil slumped visibly with relief.

  Ellie knew that Arabella had to have seen the magazine. She liked Arabella more and more.

  Sybil caught Ellie’s eye. She smiled and waved. Normally, Ellie would’ve maybe nodded and turned away. But this was all new. A whole new life. And Sybil looked nice.

  She smiled and waved back, then continued following Arabella.

  They turned and went down the hall again. Behind them, Ellie heard Sybil close her door.

  Then they stood in front of 317. It was just like all the other doors, save for the metal plaque set high and center with “317” etched into it. Just a massive slab of dark-stained wood with a brass handle and scratch plate.

  Except there was no visible lock, or place to insert a key.

  “Only you can open it. You and certain faculty members. Let’s go in,” Arabella said.

  Ellie reached for the handle. From the look, she’d expected it to be cold. And it was, for just an instant. But then it warmed against her palm. When she twisted the knob, the door opened smoothly inward.

  It looked just like Sybil’s room. A desk against the window, a bed to the right, a dresser to the left.

  The bed—a real bed!—was already made and turned down, a pale sheet showing below a thick duvet. It looked so inviting, Ellie just wanted to flop down onto it.

  But she thought that Arabella would think that was childish.

  “So what’s with the test, anyway? Does everyone get the same one?” Ellie asked.

  She went into the room and leaned forward on the desk. Her room overlooked a narrow courtyard with a fountain in the middle, with an identical building across the way.

  “Yes,” Arabella said, “Everyone gets the same test so we can judge them all equally.”

  “Their magic aptitude?”

  “Yes. Show me your hand,” Arabella said, coming closer.

  Ellie held out her right hand, knuckles up. Arabella took it and turned it over gently. “Magic ability is like a fingerprint, or DNA. Everyone and their innate talent is unique.

  “Magical energy moves through you and everything else. But it takes a different path through each person. The path it takes determines which school of magic you’re most attuned with.”

  Ellie kept thinking about the test and how real it felt. “So can some sorcerers actually move the stars?”

  Arabella released her hand, “Some, perhaps. Long ago. Not now.”

  “Why?”

  “I think there are a few things we should save for class, don’t you?”

  Ellie went and sat on the bed. It was just as comfy as she thought it would be, “Except I won’t be taking many classes because of that test, won’t I?”

  “The test is accurate. Usually, but Eleonora—“

  “Ellie
. I hate Eleonora,” Ellie said.

  Arabella smiled, “Ellie, there is so much to magic that even the oldest and most powerful sorcerers don’t know. The test is usually accurate, but I think that maybe it made a mistake with you.”

  “Oh,” Ellie said. A little thread of excitement worked its way up the front of her stomach. She didn’t want to let it take root, though. There were only so many times she could let her hopes get crushed.

  Better not to hope than to be disappointed, she had figured out long ago. She’d let that slip when she started the test, but the bad news after had reaffirmed it for her.

  She leaned back, resting her weight on her hands and arms stretched out behind her on the mattress.

  Chauncy would like this, she thought.

  Then it stabbed at her: the realization that she wasn’t in Brooklyn anymore. That she was at some strange school who knew where, and they wanted her to stay for who knew how long.

  Someone would report her missing. Probably not Mr. Fichtner. Maybe Mrs. Jessup or another teacher.

  Homesickness crept into her gut. It hadn’t been much of a home, or much of life. But they’d been hers. And she was used to them by now.

  “Can I go back home? Back to Brooklyn?”

  Arabella’s smile became conciliatory, “You’ve been admitted based on your test results. Once that happens, you stay at Sourcewell until you’re able to control the magic. Once it starts to manifest in you, it can be dangerous. Even just a little. I hope you understand.”

  “I think so,” Ellie said. She didn’t like it, but she understood.

  Who was going to keep Chauncy company? And what about Mrs. Jessup? Ellie didn’t want her to worry.

  “But what about my old life? People will notice I’m gone,” Ellie said. She didn’t add, maybe, eventually.

  “Part of Thorn’s duties included scrubbing the memories of your life from everyone who knew you… Don’t worry, when you go back they’ll be returned. It’s like someone hit a pause button on your life.

  “Now, you’re going to find class schedules and textbooks in the desk drawers. I have to go, but we’ll talk again soon. Is there anything before I go?” Arabella said.

  Ellie got the impression that if Thorn was supposed to do all that, he hadn’t. She doubt he’d taken the time after the fight in the alley to sort all that out before whisking her away to Sourcewell.

  “No…” Ellie said. She looked down at her feet and those new shoes. “Wait!”

  Arabella, already halfway out the door, turned back.

  Ellie swallowed hard, afraid to ask. “Can you fix this, too?”

  Slowly, and with far more effort than she anticipated, she held her left hand up with the fingers splayed out so that Arabella couldn’t miss the too-short pinky.

  For once, Arabella’s smile slipped. She came back into the room and took Ellie’s outstretched hand with both of hers.

  Ellie’s stomach roiled. She usually tried so hard to hide her finger, having it displayed and examined like that drove her crazy.

  “How did this happen?” Arabella said.

  “I…” Then Ellie stopped. She remembered what Thorn told her. Warned her, more like.

  Say it was an accident, he’d said.

  “Can you fix it?” Ellie said again.

  That hadn’t answered Arabella’s question, and they both knew it. Ellie wanted to tell her the truth, but Thorn’s warning seemed so serious. And he never told her why.

  Arabella wrapped the fingers of her right hand around Ellie’s pinky. A moment later, it got warm. Then hot.

  Arabella frowned. Her lips moved. Her grip tightened. Her hand glowed so bright Ellie couldn’t look at it.

  Then the heat turned painful. Ellie sucked a sharp breath in through her teeth and yanked her hand back.

  The rainbow blobs of light left by the brightness faded from Ellie’s eyes. She looked at her hand.

  Her heart dropped.

  Nothing had changed about her hand. The pinky still ended at the last joint. It tingled for a little, then that sensation dissolved.

  “I’m sorry,” Arabella said, “The magic won’t let me.”

  “Why?” Ellie said.

  What good was magic if it couldn’t do that? Why could it do some things, like fix a shoe, but not others, like fix her hand? It made no sense.

  “We don’t know everything about magic,” Arabella said, then, “How did it happen?”

  “I…” was born this way, she meant to finish that sentence. Instead, she said, “I lost it when I was a baby. I don’t really remember exactly, I was too young. Something to do with a car door.”

  Arabella didn’t speak at first. She knows I’m lying.

  She also thought that if Arabella insisted, she might tell her the real truth. The one Thorn didn’t want her sharing.

  But Thorn was a jerk, so why did it matter what he wanted?

  Arabella didn’t press. “I’ll see you in class. Get comfortable, explore around a little more. You’ll be expected tomorrow.”

  She left.

  Once more, Ellie was alone.

  Chapter 7

  “Hey, ab,” Matilda Thurgood said.

  Ellie did her best not to look over at the group of upperclassmen when she walked by their table in the cafeteria.

  Because even though it was a school for sorcery, in some ways it was exactly the same as every other normal school she’d ever been to.

  This she’d found out over the last two months of classes.

  Vine Hall and the building across from it, Bramble Hall, were both dormitories. They shared one large, multilevel basement. The dining hall was on the first level, and all the students from the two dormitories ate there.

  It resembled a cafeteria you might find in any school in the country: five rows of long tables with bench seats, filled to the gills with teenagers laughing and chatting and eating.

  Of course, it differed in that at normal schools the students wouldn’t be walking around with their trays of food floating along behind them and winked out of existence rather than being emptied into the trash.

  Textbooks and paper airplanes fought in wild dogfights near the high ceiling.

  A greasy fireball erupted from the end of one table at the end of the cafeteria, followed by a chorus of laughter at someone who’d just managed to singe their eyebrows off.

  Nothing out of the ordinary for the students there.

  Matilda lived in Bramble, along with most of the people she sat with. They were all a year or two older than Ellie, and much more accomplished.

  Matilda, as she’d told Ellie herself the first time they’d met, had been a student at Sourcewell since she was eight.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you!” Matilda said.

  What felt like a huge, warm hand wrapped itself around Ellie, pressing her arms to her sides. The tome on channeling, her text for the class she’d just left, pressed hard against her ribs and she sucked in a sharp breath at the pain.

  Matilda, a strong channeler, lifted Ellie right up off the shiny floor and floated her over so that she hovered just in front of them.

  “Too good to say hello?” Matilda said.

  A tall, thin guy named John Farthing laughed at her as he leaned back against the long table.

  Ellie didn’t know all their names, but she knew who they were. Or rather, the sort of people they were.

  The invisible fist shook her. The corner of her channeling text dug into her ribs.

  “No,” Ellie said.

  Two guys she didn’t know kept a lookout for the cafeteria monitor, who today was an elderly kinesist named Master Turnbull.

  His red robe hung down narrow shoulders, and the hem of it flowed quickly around his feet when he rushed down to the fireball table.

  He was a nice man and not a bad teacher, but the years had softened him up quite a bit and he lacked the teeth the sort of students like Matilda needed to keep them on track.

  Ellie closed her eyes and concentrated on the fe
eling of Matilda’s spell against her hands.

  She whispered to herself, “Release me, release me,” and let the magic flow down her arms and out her fingers.

  The fist of power that held her relaxed for an instant, then tightened up twice as hard as before.

  All the air in Ellie’s lungs rushed out. The sensation of power flowing through her clicked off like someone had thrown her switch.

  “Thought I’d let her think she was winning for a second there,” Matilda said.

  But already her voice sounded far away, and Ellie’s vision tunneled. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Let her go,” Sybil said.

  The fist relaxed a little. Ellie managed to get a thin thread of air down into her lungs. Just enough so that she didn’t pass out.

  “Or you’ll what?” Matilda replied. All her cronies laughed.

  “Or I’ll scream loud enough that Master Turnbull will turn around and see what you’re doing too fast for you to pretend you had nothing to do with it,” Sybil said, flicking one long lock of glossy black hair back over her shoulder. “I hear you only need one more strike before detention.”

  “Fine,” Matilda said after taking a moment to gauge her options.

  Turnbull was still in the process of restoring the student’s eyebrows down at the other end of the room. The first time they came back all crooked, like a pair of hairy lightning bolts running across the kid’s face.

  All the students nearby laughed.

  “Quiet!” Turnbull said.

  Sybil made a show of gulping in a bunch of air.

  “Okay, okay!” Matilda said.

  The fist relaxed. Ellie dropped to the floor between two of the tables, her book falling open. Her ribs hurt, and she coughed a couple times getting some air back into her body.

  “Watch yourself,” Matilda told Sybil. John Farthing gave her a wink and a half-cocked smile filled with sadistic promise.

  Sybil helped Ellie to her feet.

  “Thanks,” Ellie croaked.

  “No problem,” Sybil said with a smile, then continued away. Her food tray, loaded down with a big steaming slice of lasagna and a sloshing mug of tea, followed her.