by Laura Powell
He passed the fingerprint test and iris scan, and walked through the metal arch hung with iron bells. Arches like this were placed at all stages of the arrival and departure process, to give warning of witches who were trying to hex a bane. Glory was not far ahead, but once in the terminal, they were careful to keep out of each other’s way, even though their flight turned out to be delayed for over an hour.
It was only after Lucas had boarded the plane that he allowed himself to look for her. She was in her seat, chewing gum loudly, and absorbed in a stash of gossip magazines. A tinny beat rustled from her earphones. Her neighbour already had a long-suffering air.
Lucas settled into his seat and tried to relax. This proved impossible. Instead, he tried to collect his thoughts by going over the plans they’d made and the research they’d done. Names, faces and statistics scrolled through his head.
Wildings’ membership was a closely kept secret and MI6 had gone to considerable trouble to identify the five other students already enrolled. The eldest was Jenna White, aged seventeen, from California. Her father was an IT entrepreneur and dot-com millionaire. The photograph in the file had been taken at her school prom, and was a vision of tanned limbs, white teeth and big blue eyes. She’d joined Wildings three weeks ago, some time after the rumours of Endor infiltration emerged. Still, although a cheerleader-turned-terrorist was unlikely, it wasn’t impossible. Appearances were particularly deceptive when witchkind were involved.
Yuri Polzin certainly looked like trouble. According to his mugshot, the sixteen-year-old heir of a Russian oil tycoon had a scowling face, shaven head and stony glare. Yuri had joined Wildings at the same time as fourteen-year-old Anjuli Verma. Anjuli was an orphan, who had been brought up by her older sister, a successful Bollywood actress. The notes said she had previously been hospitalised with mental problems. The final girl was Mei-fen Zhou, the daughter of a senior official in China’s ruling party, who was the youngest student at thirteen.
It was Raphael Almagro, though, who had been the focal point of Lucas’s and Glory’s briefing. Aged sixteen, Raphael had been at Wildings for nearly eight months. His father was the Chief of Police in Cordoba, a small republic on the northern coast of South America. In the 1960s, a witchkind-backed revolutionary movement had overthrown a brutal dictatorship, and broken up the Cordoban Inquisition. The rebels were subsequently overthrown in turn by a military junta, but the Inquisition was never reinstated.
Times were changing, however. The upcoming presidential election was widely expected to be won by Senator Benito Vargas, who was riding high in the polls on an anti-witchkind, anti-corruption ticket. Vargas was on record for calling the police as criminal as the covens, and supported the use of private militias to hunt witches. No wonder Raphael’s family wanted him out of the way . . . or that WICA and its partners had marked him out as of special interest.
Wildings’ staff were almost as varied as its students. Three of them were ex-inquisitors: the head of security, the matron and the academy’s principal, Emil Lazovic. Lazovic was a Serbian national, but had worked all over the world in his former job in the diplomatic corps of the United Council of Inquisitors. Lucas found it hard to understand why former inquisitors would seek employment in such a place. Maybe they genuinely believed Wildings offered a necessary resource. Or maybe they were just unprincipled opportunists.
The curriculum followed the International Baccalaureate. In order to cater for the age range and abilities of the students, much of the teaching was one-on-one, though such a tiny school only required a handful of teachers. They were supported by a fitness instructor, a psychoanalyst and an assortment of housekeeping staff and security guards. The latter were all Swiss and mostly local. They too signed a confidentiality clause before joining the Wildings. They too were under suspicion. Once Lucas and Glory were at the academy, the only people they could trust were each other.
PART 2
Chapter 8
Compared to sky-leaping, flying in an aeroplane was no big deal, Glory thought dismissively. Where was the thrill? But she was still relieved to return to the solid ground of Zurich airport.
In the arrivals hall, a short muscular woman in a black trouser suit was holding up a sign with her name on it. A good distance apart, a man held up one for ‘L. Stearne’. Lucas was some way behind; he was still waiting for his bag to be unloaded when she left the collection point. Now it seemed they’d be driven to the academy separately. Wildings’ authorities didn’t want their witch-kids getting friendly without proper supervision.
Glory’s driver curtly introduced herself as Elga, then lapsed into a silence that lasted for most of the two-hour drive. The car was a gleaming hulk with blacked-out windows, and when Elga opened the boot, Glory noticed a telltale bulge in the woman’s jacket. Not just a chauffeur, then, but a member of Wildings’ armed security team – the so-called ‘school guardians’.
She decided not to waste energy on worrying what it would take for Elga to draw her gun. Here, finally, was Abroad, and she wanted to see as much of it as possible. Although the car’s tinted windows leached the colour from the view, she could tell the late-afternoon sky was as blue, the sun as golden, as the tourist information websites had promised. They sped past rolling green hills, silver lakes, snow-dusted mountains, toytown villages. Everything was like a child’s picture book, clean and bright.
As evening drew in, the mountains loomed larger, their lines more jagged. Signs appeared for Swiss National Park. Elga, though, turned off at a small unmarked road that wound up to a narrow valley.
There was a village at its head; a huddle of houses with high-pitched roofs, white walls and exposed beams. Every balcony was hung with flowers, every window twinkled with light. There were people strolling in the cobbled lanes. Just for a moment, Glory was able to imagine herself on holiday too. But the car sped swiftly through, leaving the lights and people behind, moving up the valley towards the mass of pine.
The countryside was as alien to Glory as Abroad. In the fading light, she saw how different this landscape was to the neat meadows and rolling hills they’d passed earlier; a true wilderness. Uneasily, she peered out of the back window, looking in vain for Lucas’s car.
The road became a track, leading to a high wire fence and a gate with a checkpoint. Private Property signs in English and several other languages were prominently displayed as well as Danger! warnings.
‘The locals don’t go in here. Nor do tourists,’ said Elga, after presenting her pass for inspection and exchanging a few clipped words with the sentry. ‘There are wild animals in this forest. Wolves, bears. And stories that the place is haunted too.’
Glory didn’t believe in ghosts. There’d been no mention of Swiss wolves or bears in her research. But anything could be hiding in those trees, so thick and dark and silent.
Elga looked at her in the mirror. ‘Don’t fear. The fence is electrified. There are patrols. You will be very safe.’
Her smile had an ironical slant. Glory understood. The fence was to keep her in, as well as danger out.
After a mile or so the trees began to thin and they reached a stretch of grassland, sloping up to a hill. It was crowned by a small castle in the Gothic style, its walls high and palely gleaming in the dusk. A place of dreams, and fae-tales. But in the fae-tales, the witches were mostly wicked, putting poor princesses under a bane until a prince came to the rescue.
The car came to a halt by the steps up to a wide stone terrace. Glory got out stiffly. For a moment, she had the sensation that the mountains, trees and sky were closing in on her. How ridiculous to feel claustrophobic in the countryside! Yet she had a homesick craving for concrete. For fumes and noise. Her nose twitched at the cool green smell of pines and earth.
‘Hello, my dear, and welcome to Wildings.’ A dumpy woman in twinset and pearls was coming down the steps. She had a round, cosy face, but Glory watched her warily. She remembered from the files that Mrs Heggie, the school matron, was an ex-inquisitor.
‘I do hope your journey wasn’t too tiring. Such a pretty drive, isn’t it? Now, I’m sure you’re longing to take a look around, but before you get settled, Principal Lazovic was hoping to have a quick word. You won’t mind, will you, popping in to say hello? Splendid. Don’t worry about your bags – we’ll have someone take them up to your room.’
The entrance hall was like the lobby of a posh hotel, with antique rugs over polished flagstones and flower displays so luxuriant they looked fake. The principal’s study was much the same. There were no school trophies, photos or certificates on display, just lots of tasteful watercolours of the local countryside.
The head of Wildings Academy came to shake Glory’s hand. He was a small man with an alert, pointed face and neat speckled beard. ‘Emil Lazovic. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’
‘Glory,’ she muttered.
‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes. Of course. Glory . . . for Gloriana. Such an evocative name. So many, er, interesting associations.’
He smiled at her engagingly. She knew that by ‘evocative’ he meant ‘provocative’ – Gloriana had been the informal title of Elizabeth I, the so-called Fae Queen. Glory wasn’t sure how to react. Her brief at Wildings was to be troublesome enough to attract attention, but not so obnoxious that she’d be thrown out. She settled on a sulky shrug, and put some gum in her mouth to soothe her nerves.
Principal Lazovic invited her to sit in one of the overstuffed armchairs and perched opposite. ‘Well, Glory, I’m pleased to say you’re not our only new arrival. One of your compatriots will be joining us shortly. Before then, I’d like to take the opportunity to have a little chat. Just the two of us.’ He gave another impish smile. ‘As you know, the students at Wildings are a very select, very specialist group –’
‘Right,’ said Glory with a snort. ‘Special Needs.’
The principal tutted in a way that was humorous as well as disapproving. He held up a copy of the school prospectus and began to read aloud. ‘By removing troubled young people from the pressures of their home environment and relationships, Wildings Academy provides a safe haven where they can explore the reckless and deviant behaviours arising from their condition. At Wildings, they will learn to accept their place in the wider community, and find positive solutions for the challenges ahead . . .’ He gave a neat little laugh. ‘This is the language of Wildings, you see. The vocabulary of your “condition”; the terms of your “trouble”. Do you understand?’
‘I understand why I gotta be here,’ Glory said grudgingly, ‘if that’s what you mean. Don’t mean I have to like it.’
‘Nobody at Wildings is held against their will. If we fail to meet your needs, you are free to leave.’
‘And go where? I ain’t exactly flavour of the month back home.’
‘Then I’m sure you’ll learn to make the most of your stay here.’ Principal Lazovic nodded and smiled. ‘It is true your background is somewhat . . . unconventional. This is not something that worries me, but some of your classmates might be a little less open-minded.’ His eyebrows waggled mischievously. ‘So it might be an idea to keep the details of your family, ahem, business to yourself.’
‘I know when to keep my gob shut, all right? I won’t cause no trouble as long as no one comes troubling me.’
‘In that case, I trust your time here will be a very peaceful one.’ There was a knock at the door. ‘Aha! Our other new arrival. Come in, come in.’
As Lucas entered the room, it was hard for Glory to conceal a rush of relief. Remembering the first time they met, Glory folded her arms protectively across her chest, chewing her gum loudly. Lucas winced, exactly like he had before.
‘Gloriana, meet Lucas,’ Principal Lazovic said.
‘Hello,’ Lucas said with frigid politeness.
Principal Lazovic invited him to take a seat. ‘I’ve been having a little chat with Glory, telling her something of what Wildings is about. Naturally, this is a difficult time for you both. We at Wildings will do everything in our power to help, but it’s important for you to appreciate the constraints we work under. Everything here is done within the law. All of us – staff and students – have a duty to uphold it. Any hint of deviancy and you’ll be out. There are no second chances.’
The principal’s tone was grave. Yet all the while, there was a glimmer of a twinkle in his eyes.
‘Your privacy and protection are of the utmost importance. That means, I’m afraid, a certain amount of isolation. Matron will inform your families of your safe arrival, but I must ask you to hand over your mobile phones and any other sources of communication you have brought with you. In the meantime, you can write and email, subject to supervision. Your families can also arrange to visit. Although most of your time will be spent on campus, you can apply for permission to visit the local village. One of our guardians will accompany you there.
‘While we take our academic programme very seriously, your personal well-being is our priority. For this reason, we have a trained counsellor on our staff. Your meetings with her will soon become a normal part of your school routine. When the time comes for you to leave the academy, you will be well prepared for the challenges ahead.’
There was a short pause. Then Principal Lazovic clapped his hands together with a comical sigh of relief. ‘I think that’s quite enough lecturing for one evening! You’ve had a tiring journey, and it’s getting late. Perhaps you would like to have supper in your rooms? Yes? The tour and assessments can wait until tomorrow – nothing to worry about, I promise.’ He twinkled merrily at them. ‘Especially after a good night’s sleep. Everyone sleeps well at Wildings. It’s the fresh mountain air, you see.’ He got up and shook their hands again. ‘Really, we are so very pleased to have you!’
Lucas and Glory were collected by two of Wildings’s black-clad guardians. Before being shown to their rooms their clothes were searched. They had already handed over their passports, wallets and phones. ‘It’s for your own security,’ Glory’s guardian – a taller, thinner version of Elga – told her blandly. Glory didn’t risk looking at Lucas as he was led away. The girls’ and boys’ accommodation were in opposite wings of the castle.
Glory was taken through a succession of long empty corridors and past ranks of closed doors, with iron bells set across every threshold. Thick stone walls kept the place cool and silent. It was easy to imagine being here in winter; banks of snow heaped against walls and windows, blocking out the world. Her footfall on the plush carpet hardly made a sound. Where was everyone? Bed already? It was only half past nine.
‘Yours is the only room in use on this corridor,’ the guardian told her, as she pushed through a heavy set of double doors. ‘One of the maids will bring you your supper. Lights go out at ten thirty. The wake-up bell is set for seven.’
‘Seven?’ Glory didn’t have to fake her outrage. ‘Bleeding hell. I thought the whole point of boarding school was being able to roll straight outta bed and into class.’
The guardian pursed her lips. ‘Principal Lazovic believes that early morning is the most productive part of the day.’
Glory’s bedroom was furnished in varying shades of beige. Like in a hotel, there was a kettle with tea and coffee supplies, and a miniature set of toiletries laid out in the gleaming ensuite bathroom. There was even a vase of white flowers on the bedside table. The bars over the window were the only discordant note. Then she discovered there was no lock on either the bedroom or bathroom door.
Her suitcase was nowhere to be seen. Someone had already unpacked for her and put everything neatly away. No doubt they’d taken the opportunity to search through her belongings for signs of witchwork and other deviancies. Pinned to the noticeboard was a long list of school rules. The timetable next to it was almost as depressing.
The big white-painted desk was equipped with stationery and a laptop. Glory knew that emails had to be sent from a special Wildings account, and then only to previously approved recipients. All correspondence was checked by academy staff. But thanks
to the MI6 geek-squad, Glory wasn’t without resources. Her favourite gadget was a lock-picking set: fourteen stainless-steel blades fitted into the barrel of a pen, whose pocket clip doubled as a tension tool. Then there was a tiny spy-cam disguised as a button and a bug-detecting device disguised as a lipstick. She also had a spare passport sewn into the lining of her washbag, together with a wad of Swiss francs and a debit card for a WICA-run account.
Witchwork was supposed to be a last resort. Glory frowned when she remembered the MI6 techie’s words. ‘Who needs to grub around with mud and spit and such, now that nanotechnology gets things done far better?’ He had given a cheery laugh. ‘You lot’ll be out of a job before long.’
Still, Glory had no intention of cutting off her nose to spite her face. She unscrewed the base of her ‘lipstick’ and switched on the bug detector. It was a tiny electronic scanner that swept the room for radio frequencies of the kind given off by hidden cameras and audio feeds. So far, so good.
There was a knock on the door and she put the device in her pocket in a guilty rush. A maid came in with a tray of food. ‘Please put it outside the room when you are finished,’ she said softly.
There was a chicken and rice casserole, fruit salad and a bottle of mineral water. Nothing too weird or foreign. Still, it was strange to eat in solitary silence, and Glory gulped her meal down without really tasting anything.
After taking a shower, she remembered she was supposed to leave the tray outside the door. The corridor was dark and lifeless; presumably the accommodation was designed to keep students in as solitary a confinement as possible. Back in her room, Glory pulled faces at herself in the wardrobe mirror. ‘I board, yah,’ she said aloud, making her voice rich and drawling, like Lucas’s. ‘This frightfly nice little place in the country. Going private keeps the scum out of the classrooms, don’t yew know. It’s super fun.’
