Mr. Moriarty clasped his hands behind his back. “I’ve offended you. I apologize, Miss Krieger. Please don’t hold my error against the cause we both believe in. We could accomplish so much together.”
A pretty apology. “Perhaps.”
He fiddled with his cufflinks. “You are my best hope of reaching the ladies. Isca and the Metaphysical Society need you.”
“You support the Mage Reform Act, then?” As England’s foremost teacher of magic, Moriarty would have considerable influence on those debating the bill, if he chose to exercise it.
“The British Empire needs all its mages, if it is to survive. It’s past time the peers who want to hoard it for themselves understood that.” He grimaced. “The Americans are already far ahead of us and I hear the Russians are searching among the peasants for those with great potential. We must find and train all our mages, no matter their class, much as we educate all our citizens now.”
That was more radical than she expected from him. “And the women too?”
“One step at a time but, as I already indicated, we’re in agreement on that.”
“And the test?” she asked.
“That can be discussed at a later date, once I have your answer. I realize this is a momentous decision for you.” He finally smiled. “But also remember, there could be consequences if you choose to, well, go it alone. As I’m sure you’re aware.”
A direct threat. Finally. “I’m aware of a great deal more than you have supposed.”
She held his gaze for a moment. Then he cleared his throat.
“I see we understand each other.” He patted his brow with his handkerchief. “If you’ll wait a moment, I’ve arranged for Mr. Cooper, our dean, to give you a tour of our school, including one of our training sessions where young mages are evaluated. Perhaps it will ease your mind. And I suspect you’ll find Mr. Cooper more to your style than myself.” He smiled. “You see, I’m open to learning, even at my age.”
“John Moriarty can be, well, pompous, but he does well by the boys,” Samuel Cooper said as he escorted her around the outside grounds. “And there is no one with a better understanding of the mage gift.”
Joan smiled, despite Cooper’s brashness. He was everything Moriarty was not: open, friendly, and charming. She wondered how many women Cooper had charmed with the dimple on his chin, his shock of dark hair, and his striking gray eyes.
Moriarty, the perfect dignified headmaster. Cooper, the charming dean. A good one-two punch. She wondered if they’d planned that. Chances were good that they had.
Cooper gestured at the athletic grounds. Wind whipped at them but her hat held steady to her head, as it should, given the number of hairpins, though perhaps she should rethink the longer feathers. But they’d been so beautiful.
“Here’s where our students learn cricket and football.” He grinned, showcasing his dimple, and leaned on the fence that separated the athletic field from the great lawn. “One of the ways we get them used to using their magic is to allow magic during athletics.”
A team of boys smashing each other with blunt force? “Offensive magic?”
“Only on the ball,” he amended but she wondered if that were the truth. These elite boarding schools operated on the theory that the best way to produce upstanding citizens was to break boys down and build them up later. She wondered how many boys had been broken on these grounds and never recovered.
Too many, Gregor had told her. He’d flatly refused to attend one at all, despite the fact his two elder brothers had attended Isca. Luckily, his father had indulged him. Or maybe Gregor had out-stubborned him.
“I would love to see a game or, at least, a practice,” she said to Cooper.
“Alas, none scheduled today. I’ll have to take you inside, to see how we work with our students, if you’re ready for that? I understand you are particularly interested in how we put students in a trance to help them learn.”
“I am, but first, I’m curious: how do you keep the students’ magic under control in their dormitories, when they’re not under your direct supervision?”
She’d set Gregor’s chair on fire when he’d first shown her how to tap into her gift. That could not have been an isolated occurrence. Toss in a whole school of boys vying for position…
Cooper wagged a finger at her. “You get to the point, Miss Krieger. I love that.” He pointed to the corners of the roof of the gray stone dormitory, where the gargoyles sat in silent watch, forever judging.
“We’ve set up a dampening spell, using the gargoyles as a base. It keeps the boys from using their magic in the evenings when, as you so nicely put, they’re under less supervision.”
A dampening spell. Like the lotus pendant she kept under her clothing, but on a larger scale. But, no, the pendant only cloaked her gift from other mages, it did not shut it down. “Does this draw magic energy out of them, then?”
“Hmm…something to that effect. More like it acts as a baffle, to cushion the mage power that might be used. But it also stores that power for later use. Occasionally, we release it, to help us clear the grounds after a snowstorm.”
A baffle that absorbed and stored magic. Fascinating. “That must have required an impressive feat of the mage-gift.”
“Mr. Moriarty is largely responsible for it. Surely you’ve noticed he’s practically glowing with power.”
“Impossible to miss,” she agreed.
“Good. Now, time to show you what we do here. Follow me.” And he bowed like a knight for a lady. She smiled. Let him believe she was charmed.
“Lead the way,” she said.
He led her up the steps of the main building, white stone that ended at the top with three impressive granite pillars, and, above the massive pillars, an engraving of the school’s motto: “Knowledge Is Responsibility.”
She paused, taking it all in, pondering exactly what the cryptic motto meant. Perhaps it was simply meant to sound important. She frowned as shadows flitted near the entrance. No, perhaps she was imagining things. The darkness could not mean what she thought it did.
Cooper waved his hand, and the ornate wooden doors, gilded with gold handles, opened without a sound.
“Magic?” she asked. But she’d felt little power from Cooper’s gesture.
“Not quite.” He winked. “I used a quick bolt of mage force to push a button which activated a steam-driven door mechanism.”
“Ah.”
He led her inside, down a corridor that was unexpectedly dark, the walls made of black marble veined with gray, rather than bricks or granite. She heard the murmurs of young voices, and the louder, clearer voices of their teachers coming from behind the closed doors, but it was only after two turns into this institutional maze that Cooper finally stopped. The door to the room before them was painted pure white, almost glowing against the gloomy marble. She glanced behind her. She’d expected the shadows she’d glimpsed had followed them in. But no sign of them now.
But that did not mean they weren’t there.
Cooper set a hand on the brass doorknob and closed his eyes. His eyelids flickered open several seconds later and the lock mechanism clicked.
“We’re in luck. A lesson is taking place.” He bowed again. “Ladies first.”
Inside was a square, utterly white room. No windows. The only furniture was a stool, currently occupied by a boy of about eight, blindfolded, wearing the traditional gray of the school’s younger students.
An adult stood behind the boy, his hands covering his pupil’s shoulders. The adult looked like he’d stepped out of a painting of a professor: balding, white mutton-chop sideburns, bushy white eyebrows, and a quiet, patient tone that he continued to use on the boy.
“Yes, Jamie, we have visitors. Pay them no mind. Concentrate on what you were doing. Think about pushing force out of your hands. Follow where I direct that force.”
Cooper set his back against the door. Joan did the same, since the danger in what the boy was doing was obvious.
“Nothing’s happening,” Jamie whispered.
“Because you doubt yourself,” the professor said. “But you should not. I know you accidentally set papers on fire. Mr. Johnson was most upset that you would lack such respect for your math homework.”
Jamie grinned. “It was geometry.”
Joan could not help smiling at the boy’s cheek.
“Then pretend this room has geometry equations on all the walls.” The professor’s tone was dry but not, Joan thought, without humor.
Jamie nodded. He set his jaw and took a deep breath. Joan held her breath, caught up in his struggle. But when it seemed nothing would happen, a white bolt of force erupted from the boy. The power struck the wall, bounced back, and knocked Jamie off the stool. The professor caught him before he could fall.
“Excellent, child!”
Another grin. “Thanks!”
“Next time, you’ll control it better, and then we will see what you can do on your own,” the professor assured him. “But that’s enough for today.”
“Whew. About time.” Jamie slipped his blindfold off and focused on her. “What’s she doing here?”
“Gathering knowledge, the same as you, young man.” Joan knelt and scooped up a tiny sliver of mage coal that had formed from the release of the boy’s energy. “I believe this is yours?”
Jamie snatched it up, practically dancing. “I made mage coal! Wait until Father hears about this!”
Cooper patted the boy on the shoulder. “You’ve done well, but I’ll have to take that sliver. We have a whole school to heat, you know.”
“Yes, sir.” But the boy’s gaze was downcast as he handed over the sliver.
Joan remembered the first time she’d created mage coal. She had instantly wanted more. And she had gotten more, an entire pile, the aftermath of the magical explosion that killed her mother.
Be careful what you wish for, Jamie, she thought.
Cooper slipped the sliver into his pocket. They took their leave of Jamie and his magical mentor. Joan said little as they walked back to the outside, pondering the lesson.
“The white is to prevent cracking the walls, Mr. Cooper?” she asked.
“Yes. Mr. Moriarty discovered that accidentally, when he was first teaching. Before that, we had to repair bricks constantly. I imagine it’s something to do with the fact that mage power comes from absorbing sunlight.”
“White reflects sunlight, dark colors absorb it,” she said.
“Good show, Miss Krieger, that’s it.” Cooper clearly wanted to make a good impression.
“Did you teach the students like that as well?” she asked.
He nodded. “We all do. It can be exhausting to keep raw power in check, so the load is divided among us all. Even Mr. Moriarty takes on a few students each semester.” He shrugged. “Mostly, the very highborn. Nothing but the headmaster will do for them.”
That was twice now he’d sounded a note of bitterness toward Moriarty. But Cooper could be pretending the bitterness, to encourage Joan to share her thoughts about the headmaster. Then Cooper would report her words back to his superior.
“How did you come to teach at Isca, Mr. Cooper?” she asked.
“Not many career prospects for the grandson of an earl, not with me long bypassed in the succession,” he said as he led her to the front gates of the school, where her steam carriage was parked.
“There’s America. And I hear people are making their fortunes in Australia and India,” she said.
“England is my home.” He grinned. “I was suited for it too. I have several younger brothers and sisters. I used to informally care for them, as neither of my parents were much interested in us, and there was little money for a governess. But then I nearly set the barn on fire and I was sent here, Mr. Moriarty noticed my leadership skills, and, well, here I am.”
Penniless nobility must be a hard place to be, she thought, keeping up appearances while worrying about being found out. It was hard to pretend to be something you were not, as well she knew. Crushing, even.
“You know about Mr. Moriarty’s plan to have me teach mage-gifted girls, Mr. Cooper?”
“Yes. I’m his second in the Metaphysical Society as well. He wanted my opinion.”
They stopped at her steam carriage. “And you’re in agreement about teaching girls?”
He set his jaw, almost angry. “It’s a waste to let such abilities lie fallow. No, more than that, it’s criminal.”
Such vehemence. “You sound as if you have personal experience with such talent, sir. A woman you know?”
“Perhaps I do.” He smiled, charming again. “Since you asked, since you have a close friendship with another mage, and since I rarely can ask this of a woman, can you tell me how one approaches a…friendship…with a mage of the opposite gender?”
Joan glanced at the shadows bunched near the hedges, certain now they’d been following her. Dammit. “With great difficulty,” she answered. “I believe such a union should be one of equals. And most men do not see women as equals.”
“Ah,” Cooper said, thoughtful. “I will remember that.”
“If you do, you would be few among men. Did you have a particular friendship in mind then, Mr. Cooper?”
“There is a young lady, yes, but I can say no more than that.”
Interesting. “And would you see this young lady trained?”
“This lady in particular has had training but my…acquaintance with her has shown me how competent female mages can be.” He smiled, but Joan knew that it wasn’t for her. It was for his lady, wherever she was. “And, of course, I support the Mage Reform Act. I might even be interested in a headmaster spot in one of the new schools, as we’ll need more than just Isca when it passes. With the Metaphysical Society’s blessing, of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed. All power flowed from the society or Moriarty, or perhaps they were one and the same. “And if one had a friendship…with a female mage that grew…into something more formal…a headmaster’s salary would be quite nice, yes?”
“I have thought of that.” Again, that impish smile. “We’ll have to wait and see. I hope you will accept Mr. Moriarty’s offer, Miss Krieger. We need you.”
“We’ll see.” Joan offered her hand to Cooper. He shook it as if she were a man, equal to equal. But, beneath the surface, she felt the hum of power in the man. She wondered if her lotus pendant kept him from reading hers. She hoped so.
With that, she took her leave of Cooper and the Isca School for Boys and stepped to her steam carriage. She waved a hand to magically crank the steam engine to start the motor, using only a miniscule portion of the mage energy stored within her. Once the engine started, she climbed behind the wheel and drove out of the gates without looking back.
On the seat beside her, the shadows that had been following all through the visit appeared on the passenger seat. Joan kept her eyes on the road, as the skill of drivers hadn’t kept up with the number of steam carriages on the road.
As she swerved to avoid a carriage going too fast, the shadows gained density. She gripped the wheel tighter, her anger threatening to burst forth. How dare he not trust her?
“Enough of this concealment, Gregor.”
“As you wish,” said the shadows.
The darkness peeled away, revealing a man clad all in black, only a few years older than her. A man possessed of delicate, almost angelic features, a small nose, high cheekbones, and a thin mouth, curled right now in a grimace. That same mouth could curl into a smile, and those lips often kissed hers, to an effect that still nearly made her swoon.
He ran his long, beautiful fingers through his thick shock of dark hair.
Gregor Sherringford. Her magical mentor. Her friend.
Her lover.
A sneak who did not trust her.
“You followed me.” She kept her voice even but her temper leaked through. “Against my express wishes.”
“Eyes front. Careful with the driving,” he said.
“It’s not me that needs to be careful.” She concentrated on the road, nonetheless. “So, am I a child who needs to be watched over at all times now?”
“I don’t trust Moriarty,” he snapped.
“And you don’t trust me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Yet, you followed me after I said I wanted to handle this interview on my own.” Gregor feared for her safety, yes, but he was also used to controlling those around him, either through his intelligence or charm or, as a last resort, his rank, when he decided to use it. It was, she admitted, almost a reflex with him.
He was used to doing as he pleased and answering to no one. But he expected her to answer to him.
He cleared his throat. “After due consideration, following you may have been an error.”
“I didn’t hear an apology in that sentence.”
“Can we have this discussion when not on a busy road?”
She shrugged. “As you wish. But we will have it.” She turned right, toward London, pleased none of the other carriages challenged her right of way. “Was it worth abusing my trust, then, Gregor? How was your visit to the Isca School for Boys? Discover any nefarious plots among the nine-year-olds?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “My visit was fine, though less comfortable than yours, I’m sure, given your charming guide.” Gregor relaxed in the seat, hands in a steeple.
Was he jealous? Perhaps. She’d liked Cooper. But he’d made himself likeable.
“He was charming but not exactly informative. Like yourself, apparently.” Interrogating Gregor was like threading the tiniest needle. The thread would not go through without great effort. It was exhausting.
“I discovered nothing untoward, no,” he drawled. “I did determine that the restrictions set on the gargoyles failed to stop my abilities and that, perhaps, I could have shrouded the entire dormitory into shadow by pulling on the spell’s power.”
“You have the ability to do that?”
A Hanging at Lotus Hall Page 2
