You open the box. Inside are old photos, some letters and books, and a jewellery box. Amongst the pendants and rings and bracelets in the jewellery box is something wrapped in tissue paper.
You already know what it is.
You take it back to your room and place it under your pillow. You have no more dreams that night.
The next day, you unwrap the tissue paper and stare at the jewel. It’s like a diamond, but it’s red. You pick it up and it glows from within.
It sits neatly in the palm of your hand – warm and cosy, as if it were meant to be there. You know it’s important. But what does it do? Is it the source of your mysterious powers? Should you try to use it to perform magic? Or wait until you start Magic School?
If you decide to use the jewel, go here.
If you choose to wait for Magic School, go here.
You look from your Aunt Agnes to your parents’ pleading eyes. You know that they only want the best for you. You decide you need time to come to terms with things, time to think. You agree not to go to Magic School for now.
Your parents show your protesting Aunt Agnes out of the house. As she leaves she calls back, ‘Be careful! There are dangers out there.’
Your parents say they will organise another session with Mr Crumble for the following weekend.
On your way to school on Monday, you ride your bike along a busy road. Your chain dislodges, your bike wavers out into the traffic and you fall ahead of the cars. There is a screeching of tyres and a crashing sound as you lie on the road. You look up to see a stalled car, its engine steaming, centimetres from you.
Other cars are halting, drivers are getting out. Passers-by stop to help you up. In the confusion of voices and sounds you hear people saying:
‘What happened?’
‘How did that car stop?’
‘It was going too fast.’
‘I was sure that kid was a goner.’
Your magic saved your life! You stopped the car from hitting you.
Maybe you should go to Magic School after all. You thank the people who helped you, gather up your bike and wheel it the rest of the way to school.
You spend the day worrying about what happened. After the final class, you leave your broken bike in the shed and start walking home.
Go here.
You wrap your fist around the jewel and close your eyes. You concentrate really hard and think about magic.
You can feel the power emanating from the jewel and coursing through your body. You feel good. Like you could do anything in the world.
You want more!
As you focus on the jewel, ghostly faces appear in your mind – your parents when they were younger, your grandma Gwen and other people who look vaguely familiar.
It’s all too much. You’re getting hot. You can feel the sweat dripping from your forehead.
You try to open your eyes … but can’t!
You want to drop the jewel, but your hand won’t budge.
It’s as if the jewel is controlling you – consuming you.
Heat is searing through your body. You can hardly stand it!
Suddenly it all stops. You open your eyes.
Everything is red. Red nothingness.
You’ve been sucked into the jewel and trapped inside … forever!
You wrap the jewel back in the tissue paper and replace it under your pillow. You spend the day watching television and playing video games, then go to bed full of anticipation.
You wake early on Monday morning to discover that Aunt Agnes has already arrived. She hands you a scroll of parchment. You unroll it, but it’s blank.
‘It’s the Enchanted equivalent of an iPad,’ says Aunt Agnes. She runs a finger along the parchment and the page fills with writing, disappearing again as she lifts her finger. Cool!
Then she hands you your school uniform. You run up to your room and change, and check yourself out in the mirror. White shirt, grey pants and a black blazer – not so cool.
You slip the jewel into your blazer pocket.
Your aunt then takes you to school. It all seems so very ordinary. You walk through the front gates and look around at the kids in their uniforms. A boy with dark hair hanging down in front of his face stares at you from beneath his fringe.
‘Don’t look so disappointed,’ says Aunt Agnes. ‘I know it’s not Hogwarts, but the students here are Enchanted.’
She takes you to meet the principal. He is very tall, towering over you and your aunt. His skin is as dark as midnight, his head is bald and his eyes are sparkling.
‘Greetings,’ he says in a voice as deep as the ocean. ‘I’m Principal Uganaway. Welcome to the South District School for Enchanted Children, or Magic School, as I like to call it.’ He laughs. ‘I’m sure you’ll fit in just fine. But if you have any problems, please feel free to come and speak with me.’
Principal Uganaway hands you a timetable. You scan it with disappointment. It’s full of ordinary subjects like Maths and Literature. But then you see that your first class is Latin.
‘You may think it’s a dead language,’ he says, ‘but it is also the language of magic.’
You nod uncertainly, say goodbye to your aunt and head off to your class.
You follow the map on the back of your timetable into the main building and walk along the corridor. You look around and notice an alcove down which is a door labelled ‘Magical Experimentation’. You stop.
Are you curious enough to investigate? Go here.
But if you’re impatient to get to your first class, go here.
Arriving at the Latin classroom, you knock and enter.
Everyone else is already there, seated at their desks.
‘Come in,’ says the teacher, smiling at you. ‘I’m Ms Hawthorne. Please take a seat.’
The other kids stare at you as you make your way to an empty desk at the back of the classroom.
‘I’d like to welcome our newest student,’ says Ms Hawthorne. She is middle-aged, with ash-brown hair tied into a bun and cool-blue eyes.
‘Take out your scrolls,’ she says, pacing at the head of the class, her grey skirt twirling around her and revealing her brightly striped leggings. ‘For the benefit of our new student, the activation words are lingua Latina, which translate as the “Latin language”.’
You and the other kids take out your scrolls. You watch what the others do and copy them, running your finger along the blank parchment and saying lingua Latina. Writing appears.
‘A bit of quiet reading, I think,’ says Ms Hawthorne, seating herself at her own desk. ‘Our new student can read the introduction while the rest of you can revise.’
You begin to read:
‘Latin is an ancient language and one that is inextricably tied to magic. It is the language of spells. If used properly, it can focus Enchanted power to increase the potency of a spell or direct it with pinpoint accuracy. A mastery of the language provides mastery of magic, which in turn –’
Someone giggles, distracting you. You place your finger on the text so as to not lose your place, and look up.
Two boys are huddled together at the desk beside you. One of them has a flame dancing on his outstretched palm. The other is cooking a marshmallow on a stick over the flame. You smile and return to your scroll.
Oh no! The text is moving under your finger. You snatch your hand away and stare at the list of unfamiliar words.
Life – vitam, vita, anima, statem, animula.
Do they all mean the same thing? Life? You try out the first word – vitam – whispering it to yourself.
Suddenly your pen sprouts little arms and legs and jumps from your blazer pocket. It starts running around on your desk.
You are so shocked you fall off your chair, the red jewel tumbling out of your pocket.
‘Is everything okay?’ calls Ms Hawthorne.
Do you tell Ms Hawthorne what you just did and ask for help? Go here.
But do you really want to admit to a mistake at the start of y
our first class? Maybe you should try to fix it yourself? Go here.
You go into the alcove and listen by the door. You hear a strange whooshing sound and raised voices. They sound panicky.
‘Oh no, it’s gone wrong!’
‘What do we do now?’
‘We need to get help.’
The whooshing noise gets louder, drowning out the voices. What should you do?
Should you open the door and try to help? Go here.
But what could you do? It’s only your first day and you don’t know how to use your magic yet. Perhaps you should continue on to class? Go here.
Along black car with dark tinted windows pulls up on the street you are walking along, parking not too far ahead of you. It’s a limousine. You wonder if there’s someone famous inside.
As you are passing the car, the door swings open and a large man in a black suit jumps out. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes. He grabs you and throws you into the back seat. He follows, slams the door shut and sits opposite you, arms folded across his chest.
You panic, trying to use your magic to open the door.
‘Relax,’ says a woman who is sitting calmly at the back.
You hadn’t noticed her at first, as she blends into the car interior. Like the man, she is wearing black, her eyes hidden behind wraparound shades despite the dimness inside. You notice she has an earpiece, visible beneath her short, neat dark hair.
As the car takes off, you jokingly ask if she is some sort of secret government agent.
‘Perceptive as well as magical,’ she says, studying you from behind her sun glasses. ‘Agent Mallory. Enchanted Espionage Division.’ She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, and continues talking as if following a script. ‘Please do not attempt anything stupid. My colleague is quite powerful, both physically and magically. I am in charge of recruitment and it has come to my attention that you have rather strong magical powers. Of course, we can’t let someone like you simply run around, so …’
She lowers her sunglasses and peers over them. Her eyes are small and intense, piercing you with their gaze.
‘We want to recruit you,’ she says. ‘We want you to come work for us. We want you to serve your country.’
You stare at her blankly.
‘Simple offer,’ she continues, ‘requiring a simple answer. Yes or no?’
Simple? You don’t think so.
If you want to join this agency and become a magical spy for the government, go here.
If you decide it sounds too dangerous and you’d rather stay an ordinary kid (well, as ordinary as you can be with magical powers), go here.
You quickly scoop up the jewel and put it back into your pocket as you stand. You explain to Ms Hawthorne what happened.
Your pen jumps down onto the floor and starts doing laps around the classroom. As it passes by Ms Hawthorne, she waves her hand and says, ‘Mortem.’ The pen’s arms and legs disappear as it skitters across the ground.
‘Latin is a powerful magical language,’ she says, picking up the pen. ‘Calamum fugit.’
The pen flies across the room and lands on your desk.
Ms Hawthorne then proceeds to give a very long lecture about not saying Latin words without first understanding their profound capacity.
After the class is over, you go out into the school grounds for recess. You stand in the middle of the quadrangle, alone, and look around. Everyone seems to be in their own little groups.
You hear laughter and see the two marshmallow boys from your class. They are sitting on a bench with a girl who is also in your class … and they are all staring in your direction.
You quickly turn around. You spot the strange boy you saw when you first arrived at school this morning – the one with the fringe hanging down over his face. Fringe Boy makes eye contact and then quickly dashes away. You wonder what he’s up to.
You glance over your shoulder to see the other kids are still eyeing you.
Do you confront them? Or maybe you should follow the strange boy?
If you decide to face the kids from your class, go here.
If your curiosity about Fringe Boy gets the better of you, follow him. Go here.
‘No!’
You decide that you really don’t want to be a spy.
‘Pity,’ says the woman, pulling a syringe from inside her jacket.
Before you have a chance to react, she sinks the needle into your skin. Immediately, your vision fogs, your mind spins and you black out.
As you regain consciousness, you hear voices.
‘Subject is prepped.’
‘Ready to begin.’
You realise that you can’t move. Some thing is holding you down.
You open your eyes and squint as you are assaulted by bright lights. Figures come in and out of sight. You blink, trying to clear your vision.
You see people in white lab coats and surgical masks. You move your head from side to side, trying to get a look at your surroundings.
You are in a hospital operating theatre.
You are strapped down to a table.
Your heart begins to race as panic sets in. What are they going to do to you?
You struggle against the restraints that are pinning you down. You want to call out, but all you can manage is a grunt.
‘Subject is conscious,’ says a worried voice.
‘Anaesthetic, stat,’ orders another voice.
Someone clamps a mask over your nose and mouth, and strong hands hold your head. Your senses start to swim and your vision blurs.
‘Okay, people. Let’s see what makes this subject tick.’
You desperately want to fight, to escape, to …
But numbness is setting in. Blackness is coming from all sides. You pass out …
For the last time.
You pick up the jewel and return to your chair, telling Ms Hawthorne that everything’s fine.
The two boys who were cooking the marshmallow are now staring at your dancing pen.
‘What did you do?’ one of them whispers.
You tell them that all you did was say the word vitam. But as the word is repeated, the jewel glows bright red in your hand.
The next thing you know, objects all over the classroom are growing arms and legs. Desks begin running around. Chairs throw their occupants to the floor. Books jump down from shelves, cartwheeling across the room.
Ms Hawthorne gestures at passing furniture, mumbling Latin words. Individual desks and chairs are returned to normal, but pandemonium still reigns.
‘Get the principal!’ Ms Hawthorne shouts at one of the students, who runs from the classroom.
The principal! Now you’re really going to be in trouble.
You hold up the jewel and stare into its red depths. You can feel it calling to you. Perhaps you can use it to fix this mess?
Do you try to use the jewel to reverse the spell? Go here.
Perhaps it would be best to let Ms Hawthorne and the principal handle this? Go here.
You can’t ignore the calls for help. You take a deep breath, and open the door.
There is a blaze of super-bright white-hot light. You are caught in it. You feel your body twist and change. And your perspective alters. Everything seems enormous. You try to call out but all you can manage is a hoarse croak.
Suddenly, there are two gigantic pimply-faced teenagers staring down at you.
‘Oh no,’ says the first. ‘We’ve turned this kid into a toad!’
A toad?
You try to jump, but the second teenager grabs you. ‘We can’t let anyone find out,’ he says. ‘We’ll get expelled!’ He shoves you into a glass jar and clamps on the lid.
‘No one needs to know,’ says the first teenager. He takes the jar and places it up on a high shelf.
You peer out through the glass as the two teenagers leave, shutting the door behind them.
Looks like you’ll spend the rest of your life in a jar as a toad.
Maybe Magic School wasn’t such a
great idea after all?
You follow Fringe Boy around the back of the main building. You watch from behind a shrub as he sits under a tree. He takes a book and a metal flask from his bag. He starts to read.
You wonder how he can see with that fringe of dark hair flopping in front of his eyes.
Do you leave him to his reading and return to the quadrangle? Go here.
Do you approach him and say hello in the hope of making a friend? Go here.
You march over to the kids on the bench and demand to know why they’re staring at you.
‘We’re impressed with what you did in class,’ says the girl.
‘Yeah,’ agrees the first boy. ‘It was kind of cool.’
‘And we were thinking of asking you to join our magic club,’ continues the girl.
‘We meet every lunchtime,’ adds the first boy.
‘And we do magic,’ says the second boy. ‘Spells an’ stuff.’
‘You can come along today if you want,’ says the girl.
You say you’ll think about it.
As the end-of-recess bell rings, you ask them their names.
‘Hermione,’ says the girl.
‘Ronald,’ says the first boy.
‘Harry,’ says the second boy.
Then the two boys burst into gales of laughter.
‘Just kiddin’,’ says the second boy. ‘I’m Reggie and he’s Dougie.’
The girl is not laughing. ‘My name really is Hermione and I’ll punch you in the nose if you laugh at it.’
Mayhem at Magic School Page 2
