The School of Nine

by Amanda Marin

  She nods slowly, sadly.

  Behind me, Sebastian steps forward, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Bianca, no! You can’t give up your gift—there must be another way.” He looks up at Clio himself. “You don’t understand—Bianca’s from a long line of Muses, and she’s one of your descendants. She’ll let her family down if she gives up her power.”

  “I understand who Bianca is, and I am afraid it is because of her lineage that this burden rests with her,” Clio tells him. “I, too, wish it did not need to be so, but it has been ordained by the stars since the beginning of time. The Well of Imagination is not infinite. It must be tended to, nurtured—or, much like any other well, it can go dry.”

  Sebastian lowers himself to the ground beside me. As the winds continue to turn around us, he looks into my face. “I’m so sorry, Bee,” he whispers, reaching for my hands. “If I could give up my powers instead, I would.”

  Tears stream down my cheeks. He’s right. All this time, I’ve been studying, working, trying to make my family proud—to carry out our legacy. It’s all I’ve thought about for years. Giving up my gift will break my family’s hearts. And mine. The last of the Harpers won’t just be a Brightling Academy dropout—I won’t even be a Muse at all. The ultimate failure.

  But if I don’t do this, the consequences will be worse. The prophecy will come true. Art will disappear from the world. Mundanes will turn from beauty and goodness, and disorder and selfishness will reign. Already, I’ve seen what the world will look like—the gloom, the ugliness, the cruelty. Sebastian’s right: once the prophecy is fulfilled, it will get even worse. Jupiter isn’t wrong to think the Mundanes will destroy themselves before long.

  And I can’t let that happen.

  I glance around me. Ashes or not, this is Brambleton. This is where my grandmother took me as a child, where she told me about Muses and explained our family’s heritage. It’s where she assured me that I’d do great things—that I’d be a strong enough Muse someday to inspire not just dancers or painters, not just poets or actors. I’d be strong enough to inspire them all.

  The task always seemed enormous to me, something too big to handle. It made me doubt myself and my abilities. I could never live up to those expectations, I thought. But maybe my grandma was right. Maybe, like Clio, she has a bit of a Seer inside herself, too. Maybe giving up my gift and replenishing the Well of Imagination is my path—my way of inspiring them all. Maybe this is what I’m meant to do.

  Drying my tears, I glance up at Clio. “I’ll do it.”

  “Bee?” Sebastian says my name questioningly, as if testing me, trying to make certain I mean what I’ve just said.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. I give his hands a reassuring squeeze. “I want to do this. I’m sure. I don’t want to live in a world without beauty.”

  Before he can say anything to convince me otherwise, I stand and face Clio. “I’m ready for whatever you must do.”

  “You have made the ancients—and me—very proud, Bianca,” she says, smiling kindly. “This will not hurt, my dear, and when it is finished, your name will be revered among the pantheon of our kind.”

  Clio raises her misty hands to my face, a feather’s kiss on either cheek, and as she does, the ghostlike ring of Muses swirls faster and faster, circling around us in a blur of light and color. The wind whips at my hair and tousles my skirt, so forcefully that it almost seems to make a humming sound. I close my eyes and listen carefully. I can almost hear my name murmured in the breeze.

  “Biiiiiaaaaannnnncaaaaa …”

  It’s as though the ancients are singing just for me. A lovely, single-noted lullaby.

  And then I hear something hideous.

  “No! I will not allow this to transpire!”

  Even before I jerk my eyes open again, I know who has spoken. Jupiter Raventhorne. He charges closer to the spot where Clio and I stand, fury unravelling the refined effect of his well-tailored clothes and good manners.

  “It’s time we stop sharing our gifts with the Mundane,” he hisses. “They are unworthy, just as your father was unworthy of your mother, Sebastian. His abandonment of you both only made my belief in this truth much stronger. We deserve to keep our powers to ourselves, to use them for our own benefit. Let the Mundane destroy themselves. We will inherit the earth in their stead, and we will use it to create a grand civilization—a pure, pristine world like the ancients enjoyed!”

  As he speaks, Jupiter raises his arms to his sides, extending his hands and exposing his wrists with a single turn. “Butler and Butler, take her!” he screeches.

  Beyond Clio, Kash still dances, keeping the circle of ancients spinning around us, but her power isn’t strong enough to maintain the immortals, keep both Butlers under her spell, and fend off Jupiter. The Butlers stumble forward, torn from her inspiration to stay still, and lunge toward me. In a heartbeat, they tug on my arms, trying to drag me away from Clio’s grasp. They yank and pull, ripping the seams of my Brightling blazer. I can barely hear the fabric tearing over the hum of the wind, but I feel it shredding, a cool breeze taking its place.

  “Help me!” I scream.

  Sebastian is already on his feet, joining in the fray. He throws a punch to one Butler’s face before wrestling him into a headlock. The Butler twists free and retaliates with a series of slugs and shoves.

  “Sebastian!” I whimper his name as I watch him fall to the ground.

  One Butler may be gone, distracted by Sebastian, but the second remains, still stubbornly pulling against my arm. So hard that I’m afraid it might break.

  “Please,” I beg Clio. “Help us.”

  Jupiter Raventhorne’s powers of inspiration may be strong—and his pair of Mundanes may be made of this earth, with skin and muscle—but Clio is still stronger. She keeps her palms pressed to my face and simply smiles serenely, anchoring me to her mist. No matter how hard Butler tries to drag me away, I don’t budge.

  “You shall not take her,” Clio tells Jupiter. “Beauty is meant to be shared. It is nothing without eyes to behold it, to take pleasure in it and declare its worth. She understands this, while your dark soul does not.”

  As she says this, the wind intensifies further.

  “Sisters, now!” Clio roars.

  Immediately, the swirl shifts and bends, assuming the shape of a dart instead of a circle. Like an arrow in an archer’s bow, it draws back behind Clio, taking aim on Jupiter. On the periphery, I watch him continue to stand stubbornly, his eyes skyward and arms still extended, trying to keep control over Butler and Butler.

  But his resistance is no use.

  The dart-wind springs forward, a blazing spear formed by the vague figures of eight of the original Nine. It soars, lightning-fast, toward Jupiter.

  “You can’t!” he cries out in a garbled shriek of disbelief, despair, and defiance. They’re his final words before the arrow strikes him, piercing him through the chest.

  The impact nearly blinds me with its brightness and almost deafens me with its volume. It steals the air from my lungs, and I gasp, struggling to breathe. I feel weak and lightheaded, about to faint. As the world goes hazy around me, though, Clio smiles again.

  “Sleep now, Bianca,” she whispers. “And don’t forget to dream.”

  Her misty lips brushing against my forehead is the last thing I feel before my eyes close and there’s nothing.

  15

  In my dreams, I see many things. Faint images. Flickers. All of them foggy around the edges.

  My grandmother holding my hand as we walk through the courtyard at Brambleton.

  The tutor my parents hired when I was small, reading to me about the ancients from an enormous book borrowed from my father’s library.

  Kash unpacking her suitcase with too many dance shoes our first day at Brightling.

  Sebastian reaching for me as I descended the steps in the foyer, my gown for Poise and Charm rustling against my ankles.

  And I see other things. I see the academy under siege.
Jupiter’s army scaling the gates and pounding at the door. They tear the shutters from the windows and shatter the glass beyond it.

  I see the Board of Nine standing in the turrets, eyes closed in concentration as they use their powers to inspire. They repel the ravens first, then start in on the Mundanes themselves.

  Next—last—is the future. Events yet to be. Citizens scrubbing away graffiti from the sides of buildings. City workers hauling off the fences around Brambleton and rebuilding it. And another little girl, one who looks a bit like me at that age, holding the hand of her grandmother as they wander among the new fountains and kiosks. They pause, admiring a chalk artist at work on the walkway, and when the grandmother stoops to whisper in the little girl’s ear, I already know what she’ll whisper.

  “Someday, you will be a great enough Muse to inspire all this—and more.”

  The girl smiles, eyes glistening, already eager to fulfill the mission passed down to her by the ancients.

  “Bee, can you hear me?”

  I sit up quickly, heart racing, flailing against my blankets, when Sebastian’s voice finally reaches me. The crisp scent of antiseptic floods my nostrils as I open my eyes to see him sitting on the edge of the hospital bed next to me in Brightling’s modest infirmary. His clothes are torn and smeared with ash. Above his left brow, a small row of stitches has already been sewn, and he holds an ice pack to his bottom lip, which is red and raw—gifts from the first Butler, I assume.

  “What happened? The academy—is it safe?” I ask him.

  Sebastian abandons his ice pack and slides off his hospital bed, crossing toward mine. “Woah, calm down,” he says, sitting beside me. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay. The building’s a little smashed up, but the Board of Nine saved it from the worst of the damage—and you saved the rest of us. You replenished the Well of Imagination. It’s full again. Already, things are getting better. We passed about five Mundanes washing graffiti off the walls outside when we carried you here.”

  “The Well …” As I mutter the words, the memory comes back quickly, a flash flood in my mind. Jupiter Raventhorne, Brambleton, Clio, and Kash. I sigh and stare down at my hands in my lap. Then I give one of my wrists a halfhearted turn, hoping that maybe—somehow—Clio was wrong, and I’ll feel the familiar tingle of warmth across my skin. But I don’t. “It’s true. I’m not a Muse anymore …”

  Sebastian shakes his head. “No, you’re not,” he says quietly.

  A tear leaks from my eye. I don’t regret what I did at Brambleton—I would do it again and again, a thousand times over—but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel sad about it. It shouldn’t have happened to begin with. Beauty shouldn’t have needed saving, and Jupiter Raventhorne shouldn’t have needed stopping.

  Understanding this, Sebastian reaches over to brush the tear away. He leaves a small kiss behind on my cheek instead. “I know you think you’re a disappointment to your family now, but for what it’s worth, you could never be one to me.”

  I look at him warily, an eyebrow raised. “Really?”

  Sebastian takes a deep breath, like he’s a merman preparing for his next deep dive. “Look, I know I insulted you that day we met in Poise and Charm class, but I didn’t mean to. I was just nervous … It was my first day at a new school—one filled with girls—and I was trying so hard to act like I belonged. I didn’t want to go back to my uncle’s. And then you walked in, and you were different.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know, I was late and tripped into my chaise.”

  That bold half-grin of his lights up his face. “No … I mean, yes—yes, that’s all true. But that’s not everything. You have this spirit, Bianca. A brightness. You inspire me—and I don’t mean with the arts and good ideas. You inspire me as a person. You make me want to be better. When I’m around you, it feels like anything is possible. With or without your powers, you’ll always be my muse.”

  Sebastian stares into my face, earnest. His eyes are the ocean, everchanging, and right now, they remind me of the pieces of green sea glass I’d find at the beach as a kid—opaque and worn but endearing, nonetheless. I wonder if this is how he looked as a child—the gentle little boy from before things went wrong, from the days when his parents were happy and a butterscotch candy was just a butterscotch candy.

  “You really mean that, don’t you?” I whisper.

  He puts his arm around me, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “Are you implying that my glorious take-down of my uncle’s first Butler wasn’t enough to prove it?” he teases.

  I giggle. “I’m not so sure it was a take-down, but if you say so.”

  We’re interrupted by a rhythmic thumping making its way toward us. Crutches. I look up and see Kash’s heart-shaped, worry-creased face peering around the curtain that shields us from passersby.

  “Oh, Bee, I’m so sorry,” she bursts when our eyes meet. “I wanted to tell you everything, but I was so afraid.”

  As she steps closer, I see her ankle is hurt again, encased in a plastic, protective boot this time. After the way Jupiter forced her to dance, I’m not surprised.

  “It’s not your fault, Kash,” I reassure her, reaching out to take her hand. She balances her crutch beneath her armpit to meet me halfway. “Jupiter Raventhorne lied and manipulated you—and it doesn’t sound like you were his first. I’m sorry you had to go through that alone. I wish I’d been there for you.”

  She nods and tries to smile. “Thanks, Bee …”

  “So, do I even want to know what happened there?” I ask, pointing down at her boot. It’s hard to miss, a sort of elephant in the room.

  “I aggravated the sprain and broke a couple of toes, but it’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll be fine.” Kash sighs then and looks down at her damaged foot. “Although it does seem like I’ll be out of the dance recital for sure now—and will be wearing the finest in orthopedic footwear to graduation.”

  “Graduation,” I groan. I wash my hand over my face as if I could wipe away the terrible reminder. “I’m not a Muse anymore. I won’t be graduating now. I don’t know what I’m going to tell my grandma …”

  “You don’t have to tell her anything …”

  It’s my grandmother, crowding into the tiny space. I knew there was a possibility she’d show up here to help the Board of Nine, and it seems she has. For a moment, I gape, staring at the face I know so well. Her wavy hair may be cut shorter than mine—not to mention dyed lighter, to hide her grays—but our eyes are the same, and so are our hearts. Like Jupiter Raventhorne said, she and I are alike.

  “Oh, Bianca, my darling girl,” she murmurs, crossing toward me.

  Sebastian stands to let her take his place beside me. She immediately wraps her arms around me. I close my eyes and breathe in her gardenia perfume, imagining we’re someplace else—that we’re home.

  “Your parents are on the train from Westchester as we speak,” my grandma tells me. “They’ll be here as soon as they can, too … Are you hurt? They told me you aren’t hurt. Is that true?”

  “No, I’m not hurt,” I whisper. I pull away, putting distance between us before she can. After everything that’s happened, I don’t think I can bear to feel her body tense and cringe when I tell her the truth. “But I’m not a Muse anymore. Clio drained my powers to reverse the prediction in her Lost Scroll. She said the stars ordained it … I let the family down.”

  There is no tension or cringing, though. My grandmother just reaches for my hands and squeezes. “I already know about your lost powers, Bianca, and you haven’t disappointed me. You never have—and never could.”

  I look down at the tops of her hands. They’re more spotted and wrinkled than they used to be, but they’re just as warm and twice as soft. “But I’m the last Harper, and I’m not a Muse. Everyone expected so much from me.”

  She shakes her head and chuckles, dismissing my fears like they’re nothing—trifling concerns, the same as picking out a color to wear or what to have for lunch. “And you’ve surpassed all our exp
ectations, Bee. You always have, trust me. You’re a fine young woman—kind and smart and caring. An excellent granddaughter, daughter, and—I suspect—friend.” She pauses at that last part and glances up at Sebastian and Kash, urging them to nod to prove her point.

  “It’s true, Bee,” Kash says.

  “There, see?” my grandma tells me. “All you’ve ever had to be is yourself. We’re so proud of you, Muse or not. You don’t need a Brightling diploma for me to know you’re special.”

  The warmth of her hands seems to spread up my arms, across my chest, and into my heart, melting away the icy knot of fear pounding beneath my ribs. Finally, I can smile. Finally, I can breathe.

  “That reminds me,” I say as I look up at Sebastian. “You said Mundanes are already scrubbing graffiti off the buildings, right?”

  He nods.

  My pulse quickens. Clio told me to dream … Was that a hint? Is it possible she could have …?

  “Gram, when the Mundanes attacked the academy, where was the Board of Nine?” I ask her quickly, practically shaking her hand in my building excitement.

  She seems taken aback, unsure what to make of my question. “Well, they stood among the turrets. They had to scatter Jupiter’s ravens before they could inspire the Mundanes to stop attacking.”

  I gasp and choke on a laugh. I knew it. I felt it. It’s true. And the other scenes I saw—those, too, will come to pass someday. While I marvel to myself, Kash, Sebastian, and my grandmother exchange confused glances.

  “Bianca, darling, maybe you should lie down,” my grandma says, patting the mattress behind my back. “You’ve been through a great trauma—maybe the stress has been too much.”

  But I shake my head. “You don’t understand … I Saw it—I know what happened,” I tell her, my words gushing forth like the fountains that will someday be rebuilt at Brambleton. “Clio took one power away from me, but she gave me something else. I think … I think I’m a Seer now.”