Seventh Born

by Monica Sanz

  Mary pouted. “Sera.”

  “Yes, yes, I promise. Now what is it?”

  “Hadden Whittaker is planning something—something bad as payback for the library incident, but Susan won’t tell me what. I’ve asked her a million different ways, but she says it will be a surprise. I don’t think he’d try anything too severe; his family is poor, you know? No offense, of course. His father has a small medical practice—nothing as grand as my father’s, but enough to pay for Hadden’s and Susan’s tuition here. But that is all the money they have. He would be a fool to sabotage his academic career on silly payback, not to mention his sister’s future.”

  Mary arched a brow. “Let’s face it, her chances at marriage are abysmal and her grades are lacking. Their best chance at success is Hadden working for the Aetherium and supporting his family. It’s why he befriended Timothy, I’m sure of it. Susan said Timothy will put in a good word with his father.” She sighed, pressing a hand against her heart. “Such a kind heart my Timothy has. Anyway, don’t worry. I’ll find out more soon.”

  “I’m not worried.” Sera stuffed the last piece of bread into her mouth and dusted her hands. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Exactly! You can’t afford to get into any more trouble, and that is why I made you promise. I’ll try to get more information, but I want you to stay out of it.”

  “That’s not fair. You made me promise before you told me what he means to do.”

  Mary cupped Sera’s cheek, stroking it gently. “That’s why. How will I survive this last year here without you? We’re a pair, remember? Now, I have to go. Maybe I will see you tonight if Nurse lets me go early enough…and if Mrs. Taylor is on her sixth dose of”—she cleared her throat—“tonic.”

  The girls shared a laugh; the overnight ladies’ matron kept a flask of brandy in her desk, just outside the girls tower. Most girls knew not to sneak out before ten—the woman might have been drunk and old, but she had peculiar intuition and often caught students the moment they set a foot on the floor with the intent to sneak out. All except for Sera, forgotten up in her tower room.

  “I may be sleeping; all this studying has me exhausted,” she lied. Any time before midnight and she might still be at Barrington’s.

  “Good night, dearest.” Squeezing Sera’s hand, Mary rushed from the room and closed the door behind her.

  When certain Mary would not return, Sera locked her door, rushed to the corner of the room, and prepared her transfer spell, her spirits much higher after Mary’s visit. Seconds later, she slammed onto Barrington’s floor, gripping the mantel as she toppled sideways. Practice was clearly not making this any easier.

  “If you use too much magic to power the transfer spell, it will affect your landing,” Barrington muttered. Sera spun to find him sitting at his desk, his glasses low on his nose and his eyes turned down to a notebook. Though his usual frown marked his lips, whatever sadness possessed him their previous night together was gone, of which Sera was glad, though she didn’t understand why. His moods were none of her business, especially his sorrow.

  “I’ll be sure to try it next time.” She approached his desk and sat down. There were two stacks of notebooks, one taller than the other. He shook his head and drew a line across the page. Closing the book, he set it on the shorter stack, then plucked another from the taller pile. “Are those for the case?”

  “Unfortunately, no.” Snatching a sheet out from beneath his mess of books and papers, he scribbled something quickly and handed it to Sera. There were symbols on the page and formulas she didn’t understand.

  “Those are the symbols for base metals. Anything that looks different from what I’ve drawn for you is incorrect.”

  Sera arched a brow over the notebooks. “I’m helping you grade schoolwork?”

  “Indeed.” Barrington plucked another notebook from his now smaller pile and flipped it open. “Are you not my assistant?”

  Sera grabbed the pen and the first notebook. “Yes, but I thought…”

  “Not everything is murder and mystery, Miss Dovetail.”

  Sera glanced down at the answers he’d scribbled for her and sighed. Not everything was a mystery, but his handwriting sure was. She opened the first notebook and immediately frowned. Hadden Whittaker. Sera struck a line through the page without a second glance. Whether it was right or wrong didn’t matter. It was Hadden Whittaker, and that was wrong enough.

  Barrington scoffed and thrust down his pen. “Cases I can solve, this, however, I cannot. You would think after two weeks on the same formula, they would have grasped it by now, especially with me as their professor.” He sat back and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

  Sera peered over the notebook she graded and shook her head. How someone so young could have such an enormous ego was beyond her, but noticing his hands trembled slightly and a light sweat dampened his forehead, though the room was rather cool, Sera set down her book. Perhaps she was wrong, and he wasn’t yet over his sadness.

  Barrington lowered his hands. Sera returned to grading and abandoned her musing, lest he find her staring.

  “This time of year is always difficult with everyone’s attention gone to that blasted dance. It’s all they seem to talk about, though it’s not for another month. It’s a nuisance,” Sera said, comparing the cipher on the page to Barrington’s.

  “I take it you don’t like dancing?”

  She set the book aside. “I’d rather sit through a week of Mrs. Norton’s lectures on the Persecution.”

  He smiled over his papers, a boyish grin that made him look more his age than his usual constant scowl did. It was a nice smile, and Sera was glad to see it.

  “Speaking of Mrs. Norton…” He settled back. “I thought we agreed you’d stay out of trouble.”

  Sera sighed. “We did, but Mrs. Norton insisted I use a crystal ball to see my future, and I started summoning by mistake, and so I stopped. She then sent me to Headmistress who thought I had a peculiar fire that needed to be quelled.”

  His brow gathered, and he set aside his work. “A summoning with a crystal ball? That’s not possible. Crystal balls are used for scrying and divination. What made you think you started summoning? Did you see our spirits again?”

  “Who I saw is someone I never wish to see again. And I know it was a summoning because he’s dead, so how could he possibly be in my future?”

  “Yes, yes, indeed.” Barrington stood. He removed his coat, draped it on the back of his chair, and turned to Sera. “I think we will practice basic forms of detainment.”

  Sera blinked at the sudden change in topic but was glad to finally move away from summonings, crystal balls, and the nightmares of her past. “Don’t we need to finish grading these papers?”

  He walked to the door. “They will be as hopeless tomorrow as they are today. There is promise in you, however. Come along.”

  Sera smiled and followed him to the training room.

  Once again there was a mannequin in the center of the room, this one with a cipher on its chest. Barrington lifted his wand.

  “There may come a time when we will encounter situations where we must detain a suspect or delay them so that we can get away. In those instances, you will do this.”

  Three dashes of white snapped from the end of his wand and wrapped around the dummy. The whips shone white, pulsing like a heartbeat. “These binds will respond to you, so the tighter you envision them”—his hand tightened around his wand and the binds responded, digging into the mannequin—“the snugger on your captive. That is why focus is so important. One slip of magic and you can kill your only suspect.”

  Sera pursed her lips. “Would that be such a terrible thing?”

  “Yes, especially if that suspect has information needed to solve a case. Now, let’s begin. In the real world, you will have no time to gather focus so you must master your magic. The world can come crashing down around you and you must remain calm, ready to take the appropriate action with the necessary force.”r />
  Again, his voice grew sharp as it tended to do when he started teaching. And like before, Sera was rapt by his intensity as he paced before her, his eyes steeled and every word passionate. She sensed teaching was more than work for him—a mission. No doubt being the youngest professor in an Academy wasn’t easy. Most other professors already had one foot in the grave. They probably thought him a child, and like her, Barrington had to prove himself worthy of his role. And surely being surrounded by peers and students who thought his father a murderer added to the burden on his shoulders. Yes, Sera realized, teaching her was as important to him as learning was for her.

  “The method of tapping into your magic is the same as with channeling and every other type of spell you wish to execute, but this time, you must shape and command it, and prepare for the kickback your magic will produce. If you grasp your wand too tightly, it will also affect aim. It’s a balance. You cannot be too stiff or too loose.” He reached for her arm but paused. “May I guide your arm into the appropriate form?”

  He met her eyes at this, as though to gauge her answer and any fear, but Sera found not one ounce of herself afraid. “Yes, Professor.”

  Barrington swept behind her, his chest touching her back with each breath. Though he was brooding and strict at times, Sera relaxed, feeling a sense of safety stemming from his person. They were in this together.

  He lifted her arm and bent it at the elbow, his touch delicate as though she might break if he tried any harder. “When you send magic through the wand at a fast speed, your arm will jerk back, and this will affect your aim.” His hand rested gently on her shoulder, the other beneath her elbow. “Now send out a flare of magic, and as it leaves you, shape it. Imagine it as binds wrapping around a felon.”

  Sera grasped her wand tighter. Heat rushed up her body to her fingertips, but remembering her manic flares and how she’d nearly burned down his training room, she stifled its force. A small cloud of magic fizzled at the tip of her wand.

  “Interesting. When I ask you to feed your magic out slowly, you nearly incinerate the room. Now I ask for a flare, and you give me a small stream.” Barrington hummed. “You truly are a mystery.”

  She turned her head over her shoulder, her lips pursed, but Barrington smiled.

  “Again, Miss Dovetail. With a little more intensity this time. You must feel it here.” He slid his hand from her shoulder and splayed it on her belly. Sera’s insides tightened, and a blast of magic dashed from her wand, knocking her back into him. Fire engulfed the mannequin.

  “Precisely,” he said, his breath warm on her ear. “Again.”

  …

  Again became the fuel powering her days in spite of her fatigue every morning. She worked readily and stayed out of trouble during the day, all for the chance to hear Barrington speak the word come night.

  Though, days later, she had yet to master forming her magic into detainment binds, Sera relished the opportunity to try and looked forward to her lessons. More so with each of Susan’s smirks and Whittaker’s stares in the library. Whatever they had planned, she would be ready.

  11

  fairmount

  Whereas once she relished the weekends, forty-eight glorious hours where she could pretend the world outside of her room didn’t exist, now the prospect of two days without training or investigating was downright depressing. Sera glanced at the clock and gritted her teeth. It was only five minutes later from the last time she’d looked, though it felt like hours.

  She thrust her Water-levels book on the bed, strode to the window, and sat. Below, students ambled along the gardens in spite of the cold, chaperones sprinkled throughout the field to monitor all contact. Sera rolled her eyes. If there was one thing she dreaded more than the Solstice Dance, it was the weeks leading up to the blasted celebration. The halls were aflame with the chatter of dresses, hairstyles, and escorts, and classes were no better.

  Sera turned away from her window, happy to leave their vanity and nonsense outside. She had more important things to think about, namely why Barrington couldn’t meet her on the weekends. What was he doing anyway? Maybe he was with Gummy, but wasn’t their case more important? He’d told her that in the time it took her to find something in those impressions, a witch could be dying. She was glad no other witches had died, but what of this source of his? Had they found something—anything from the names she’d gathered from the spirits? She gripped her hair as the questions multiplied in her mind. How on earth would she survive two whole days? Maybe a walk would do her good.

  She dropped her hands and stood, when she noticed a note at the door. Sera rushed across the room and picked up the letter. She bit her lower lip to stifle the smile that tugged at her mouth and tore open the seal.

  8:00 in the evening.

  Though only four words, her pulse quickened, faster than any boy or dance invitation could ever make it race.

  …

  Sera spun away from Barrington’s mantel just as the grandfather clock marked eight. She grinned. Right on time. The room was empty, and she strode to the chairs before his desk and sat. There were, as always, stacks of papers on every surface. Sera shook her head. Poor Rosie. The man was a tempest. She trailed her eyes along the many papers. Was his mind the same, a chaos of ideas clashing with mysteries, murders, and memories of his father and brother?

  After Timothy’s revelation, she was certain it was. She inched forward. Alchemical equations marked various sheets, some scribbled and tossed aside. A newspaper was folded in half, his wire spectacles beside it. News of Aetherium Chancellor York’s declining health dominated the headlines, but the rest of the story was shielded by a book. Sera tilted her head to read the spine: Clairvoyance. A sheet was stuffed within the book’s pages, his atrocious handwriting visible on the edge. She neared a finger to open the book. He’d called her a mystery—was he attempting to learn more about her abilities in hopes of solving her? She jerked her hand back. No, no. It was none of her business. Standing, she walked to the door. Heaven forbid she attempted to snoop as he walked in.

  She reached for the doorknob but paused. He’d invited her back to his home, but did he mean for her to wait here in his study? She dropped her hand. Damn. She couldn’t once again travel his home uninvited. And then there were other things one simply couldn’t unsee. Remembering Gummy’s breasts and disheveled state—and not to mention the rouge on his collar—Sera scoffed and rolled her eyes. No need to see that again.

  She strode to the chair and sat back down. She would remain where she was, even if she had to bind herself to the chair.

  A while later, the door slammed open. Sera’s head jerked up, startled. She rubbed her eyes and turned to Barrington at the door—black top hat, black cloak, and hard-set expression.

  He set down his walking stick with a tap. “You’re late.”

  Sera glanced at the clock.

  9:30 p.m.

  She had fallen asleep. Still, her eyes widened. “Late? I have been here since eight, as you instructed.”

  “If that was the case,” he said, crossing the room to his desk, “why didn’t you come downstairs?”

  “Because I thought it improper to roam about the house uninvited.”

  He pulled open a drawer and retrieved a velvet maroon bag. The contents clinked and jangled as he secured it in his inner coat pocket. “When has that stopped you before?”

  She fisted her skirt. Normally it took long minutes to test her patience, but it seemed Barrington had it down to an art.

  “I imagined there was a chance you were otherwise engaged,” she said through clenched teeth. “And what does it matter? Clearly you were out anyway.”

  “No, Miss Dovetail, I was not out. I was in, downstairs, waiting for you.” He slammed the drawer shut, his foul mood more than palpable.

  Sera glowered. He was an ocean, indeed. One day he was a raging sea, the next calm waters. She shook her head. How Rosie kept up with his moods was beyond her. She made to argue more, when Rosie entered the
room, rosy cheeked and out of breath. Silver hairs slipped from beneath her cap and framed her round face. She smiled at Sera, a weary smile.

  “Miss Dovetail, so lovely to see you,” she said through labored breaths, her voice whispery. “How are you, dear?”

  “Did you find what I asked for?” Barrington interrupted.

  Rosie sighed. “Yes, sir. I’ve set it all out in the guest chamber.”

  “Perfect. We leave immediately. Help Miss Dovetail change, please, and escort her to the workroom when she’s ready.”

  “Ready?” Sera surveyed Barrington and Rosie. “Ready for what?”

  “We’re going to Preston, in the Fairmount province.” He grabbed a small notebook and pencil from his desk and slipped it within his cloak.

  “Fairmount? But that’s a no-magic province.”

  “Indeed, and that is where our investigation leads us. And had you been here earlier, we could have had more time to meet the transporter who will get us in.”

  Get us in…

  Ever since no-magic provinces were established for those who grew weary of the feuds between Purists and Pragmatics, strict rules were decreed for travel in and out of these jurisdictions. It took days to get the proper paperwork to travel to no-magic provinces. How could Barrington have secured them without a special appointment and surrendering of their wands unless…

  She swallowed. “We’re being smuggled in?”

  “It is not smuggling; we are merely visiting…after hours.”

  Visiting, of course. “And who exactly are we visiting?”

  “Portia Rees,” he said plainly, adjusting his cuffs and picking up his walking stick.

  “Portia Rees is dead. The spirits spoke her name.”

  “Not exactly. After you heard the names, I passed them along to my source, who promised to contact the families once the case has been solved. In searching for their families, he discovered a Portia Rees requested a transfer to Fairmount three weeks ago, just after the last body had been found. She’d also filed a report that she had been kidnapped, but officers failed to corroborate her story. I do not think this is a coincidence. If the dead witches mentioned her name, she must be of importance, and tonight we will find out why. Rosie will help you prepare,” he said from the door and walked out. “Hurry, then. We haven’t much time.”