by Monica Sanz
“Dedication, I like that.”
“Mrs. York,” Mr. Delacort cut in mildly, as though addressing a child, “I believe we are here to talk about recent incidents. Surely I can supply you with any information you need regarding one of my seventhborn program beneficiaries, including Miss Dovetail.”
Mrs. York pressed her lips into a tight smile, yet the glare she cut Mr. Delacort betrayed her anger. “Ever so helpful, Mr. Delacort.”
He returned her smile, just as stiff and cold, and pressed a hand over his heart. “I live to serve the Aetherium, and all I do is with its well-being in mind.”
Sera eyed them both, the tension in the room now a sixth guest among them.
The chancellor reached a feeble hand over to his wife and squeezed hers. She broke from her scowl and leaned in to him, where he whispered faint words into her ear.
“My husband says he is terribly sorry to have to do this now, but it is best when the details are fresh in your mind, yes?” She motioned for the man by the door to approach. “You may begin, Inspector Lewis.”
Inspector Lewis drew a notepad and pencil from his inner cloak pocket. The sight blurred behind Sera’s eyes. As boorish as he could be sometimes, it would have been a comfort to have Barrington with her.
After a few basic questions ranging from her name and age to her field of study, the inspector asked, “What do you know about the men who attacked you? Mr. Timothy Delacort said they wanted you specifically. Did you know these men?”
Mr. Delacort, though staring out the window, tensed at this question.
“They were Purists—the Brotherhood, if I remember correctly. They wore plague masks, and there were ravens on their robes,” she answered. “I’ve heard of their history and how they persecuted seventhborns. It wasn’t a hard deduction that they wanted me dead.”
“Did they say anything?”
She shook her head. “They said my death would usher in a new era, and it was a great purpose, then they attempted to take me. Thankfully, Timothy Delacort arrived, and we were able to fight them off.”
The man tapped his chin. “Speaking of which, how exactly were you able to fight? We didn’t find you in possession of a wand.”
Sera dithered. Her mind worked at an answer, but there was no way around it. “They took my wand, and I…I panicked and was forced to use my magic to defend myself. Wandless.”
The inspector’s brows rose at this, and he glanced at Chancellor York. The chancellor, however, sat unaffected. His wife merely nodded for her to continue.
“I didn’t want to, but I knew I had to survive—to at least live long enough to say who did this. You have my word, I’ll never do it again.” Though Sera was unsure how she’d be able to keep this promise. She hadn’t the funds for a new wand…which reminded her, without a wand, she couldn’t take the Aetherium entrance exam. Her heart sank, but she swallowed her pain. There were more pressing matters to think about.
Mrs. York smiled, this time a genuine expression. “Never say never, Miss Dovetail. One shouldn’t ever tire of fighting for one’s life. There are things many of us are not supposed to do that we do in the best interest of our community and, sadly, of ourselves. Seventhborn or not.”
The chancellor touched his wife’s hand again. She leaned in and said, “The chancellor believes we do as we’ve been doing. Instruct the staff to keep quiet, and if anyone asks, we will say a blast of lightning set fire to the forest. Upon learning there may have been students out there, some professors ran to their aid. Nothing more.” She straightened. “I agree. These Purists will not get the pleasure of any publicity.”
Anger twisted Sera’s core. These monsters deserved the entire Aetherium searching for them, to eradicate and destroy them. She opened her mouth to voice this, but Mr. Delacort spoke first.
“Publicity is the least of our worries. While I am relieved my son and Miss Dovetail met no serious harm at the hands of those fanatics, I must remind you that the son of the last traitor to this Academy—to the Aetherium and every magician under its law—is employed by this school. Like father, like son. We may lie about what happened in the forest, but who’s to say it won’t happen again with Professor Barrington still walking these halls?”
Sera stiffened but forced her muscles to relax and any expression from her face. Her heart knew no such code of conduct. It beat wildly against her chest, offense for Barrington and longing to see him spurring it on.
“We’ve interviewed Professor Barrington repeatedly,” Inspector Lewis said, “and he has an alibi. He apprehended a couple in the library when he saw the flames through the window. Your son said he managed to kill one of the men and jumped into the flames to save Miss Dovetail without a thought.”
“A criminal’s remorse, surely.” Mr. Delacort chuckled.
“Having personally known both Professor Barrington and his father, the chancellor and I have no reason to suspect the professor. And give the man some credit. Even he would not be so foolish as to attack his place of employment,” Mrs. York said. “We must accept it as a stroke of bad luck. It is no secret the Solstice Dance was on that night. They knew the faculty’s attention would be elsewhere, and they took advantage.”
“This is unbelievable.” Mr. Delacort’s cool mask dropped, his jaw taut and eyes narrowed. “We have the son of a murderer roaming these halls, and you decide to overlook it? My son was in danger, and you claim it was bad luck? You’re blind, and if anything ever happens to my son because of your disregard, I swear on my family’s wand, York—”
“Ah, ah.” Mrs. York rose, graceful and calm, though the air swelled. “Consider your next words, Delacort. Perhaps threatening the chancellor’s wife in the presence of an Aetherium inspector is not the wisest of choices.”
Inspector Lewis drew close to Mrs. York’s side, though Sera doubted she needed him to defend her. The fire in her eyes told Sera she would cut him down in one stroke.
She smiled at Mr. Delacort. “For now, Miss Dovetail and my husband must rest. And while I don’t think more of these men will return,” she said to Sera, “perhaps it is best to remain close to the Academy.”
Sera blinked. Did she mean not to venture into the forest or…? No, it couldn’t be she knew of her adventures with Professor Barrington.
Mr. Delacort’s scowl deepened, and he stomped out the door. The tension in the room instantly lightened.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss Dovetail,” Mrs. York said. “I hope to soon have the pleasure again. Perhaps next time, I’ll be referring to you as Inspector?”
In spite of all the trouble and confusion, a real smile met Sera’s lips as Mrs. York helped her husband to his feet and ushered him to the door, followed by Inspector Lewis.
“And don’t forget about the little bud,” she said. “Sometimes even the smallest second chances can bloom into something beautiful. Good day, Miss Dovetail.”
They exited, and the door closed behind them. Sera relaxed, and then the door opened again. Mr. Delacort strode into the room, wintry eyes fixed on his gloves left on the table by the window. Seizing them, he spun on his heels and stopped.
A slow smile spread on his lips, sending a shiver down Sera’s spine. “It seems I’ve forgotten my gloves,” he said and approached the bed. “Something you must never forget is that if any harm comes to my son, I will destroy you, Miss Dovetail.”
She opened her mouth to speak—
“Don’t pretend I don’t know of his feelings for you,” he cut in. “But whatever proposals he’s made, put them out of your mind. You will stay away from my son if you ever wish to become an inspector. Good day.”
He stalked from the room and shut the door behind him.
She stared at the door, her brow knitted. She had been right; his warm smiles and concern had been nothing but an act. It seemed Mrs. York didn’t like him very much, and Sera found she didn’t, either.
Sera pushed aside her blankets. Her joints felt rusted, but a good stretch helped her regain some
movement. She padded across the cold floor to the window where the flowers were. And beyond them, the courtyard and the Wishing Tree.
Mr. Delacort’s words were disturbing, but more so was that her conversation with the Brotherhood was still unknown to Barrington. She had to get to him immediately and make good use of this second chance. She stared down at the flowers, lifted a finger to the bud that had yet to bloom, and spoke a quiet spell of life over it the way she’d learned in Botany. The stem twirled and stretched as if waking from a slumber. All the buds followed in a like dance, sprouting outward in a gorgeous vision of purple. When it fully bloomed, she saw a thin scroll was tucked within the stem.
She slipped out the paper and unwound it. Sloppy writing marked the parchment, and a wave of warmth seeped into her chest. She sat down on the nearest chair, her hands tight on Barrington’s letter.
Sometimes even the smallest second chances can bloom into something beautiful.
Her pulse warred to both quicken and slow. How much did Mrs. York know? And how did she know? More, why did she not care about her and Barrington’s relationship if she did know?
Perhaps it was just a coincidence, one that could be cleared up only by talking to Professor Barrington. But first, she turned her eyes to the letter.
Dear Miss Dovetail,
I hope in earnest that this letter finds you awake and healed, your fiery spirit still intact. Forgive my absence, but not only may it be deemed improper to those who do not know of our arrangement, but as I attempted to explain before, I am awful at expressing things other than anger, displeasure, or frustration.
With circumstances being what they are, my words may mean very little now, if anything at all, but please know that what I did in taking you on as my assistant was never meant to bring you harm.
My reasons for choosing you in specific lie far beyond the realms of your birth order and imminent graduation—though they were somewhat important, but not for the reasons you think. It is true, I knew Mr. Sinclair lived, but having you near me was the only way I could ensure your safety. I imagined that if you knew, you would have frightened and fled from where I could guard you. As such, I decided not to tell you, not until I could prove to you that you could trust me with your life. But I underestimated your strength and resolve, and my actions were the ones that brought about our downfall.
More than anything, I chose you because I hoped to show you that I, too, understand a blinding desire to right a wrong, to find answers that, while may not change our situations, may help us better understand them, and in turn, free us to make something of a life with what remains.
But it is too late, and I accept that some things simply cannot be, no matter how much I desire it or bind it to a wishing tree. With this truth, you are released of our agreement. Simply say “dissolved.” My referral is yours and will be sent to the Aetherium when the time comes. I sincerely hope that with it, you find what you seek. And should you need for anything, know that you can always call on me.
Sincerely yours with my utmost respect,
Professor Nikolai Barrington
The letter crackled, and like the very first note he had sent, it burst into a ball of white fire that didn’t burn her skin. But as the alabaster flames warmed her hands and licked the letter away, Sera blinked back tears, every hesitation and uncertainty untangling within her. Once again, anger had gotten the best of her. Once again anger had destroyed. If only she had listened, she would have learned these things, would have realized that they didn’t just need each other but that, in essence, they were the same: blinded by desire and burdened by hope. And, after all was said and done, they were mirror images of each other in pain and woe.
With cupped ashes before her, she stared down at her hands as though the phantom of his words lived in the smoke.
I accept that some things simply cannot be, no matter how much I desire it or bind it to a wishing tree.
She gazed out the window, down to the Wishing Tree that still stood in spite of the snow surrounding it. What on earth did he wish for, and what did it have to do with her?
Weary and achy, she dumped the ashes in a bin, stumbled out of the room and to the coat-tree, and slipped on someone’s cloak.
“Miss Dovetail! You haven’t been released yet,” Mrs. Timpton called behind her, but Sera walked on as fast as she could, through the empty halls, down the stairs, and to the garden doors.
Two Night Flaggers stood by the door, though the day was early.
“No one is allowed beyond the gardens,” one said. “The Aetherium forbids it.”
Sera nodded. “I wish only to see the tree. It’s just there.”
With a curt nod, one of the boys opened the door and let her through. Out in the courtyard, she lifted her hood over her head and walked the snowy path, her bare feet entombed in the thin layer of gathering snow. But regardless of the frigid cold that bit at her legs and toes, she pushed forward to the tree.
The flattened acorn was still there, and beside it, Barrington’s folded leaf. Without her wand, Sera hugged herself to hide her illicit use of magic. When a cool wind brushed past, sending a flurry of snowflakes across her face, she wriggled her fingers.
Professor Barrington’s leaf swung once, twice, and snapped from the tree. As it fluttered and floated down, she moved forward, her hands cupped before her. Lifting them, she caught the sliver of paper. She turned it over in her palm, and where she had thought him to write Filip, she read instead, Forgiveness.
She clutched tight at the leaf, cursing him doubly and once more. How could she not grant him a second chance after his letter, after he wished for forgiveness? Her forgiveness?
“Sera?” Mary’s voice came from behind.
Sera spun. The sight of her friend—hair disheveled, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes—was her undoing, and the tears that threatened finally spilled. They rushed to each other, and Mary threw her arms around her.
After some minutes, she pulled away and cupped Sera’s face. “Oh, I was so worried. The nurse said you ran out here and…”
Sera shook her head, pressing a hand to her friend’s cheek, regardless of who saw them. “After all I did, and you worry for me still.”
“Of course. I’ve been worried sick; these holidays have been torture. I’ve been sneaking away and transferring in from the house so Mother doesn’t know I’ve come to see you. She’s being fitted for new gowns now, so I have some time. Talk to me. Tell me how you are.”
“How I am?” Sera echoed. “I am so sorry, Mary, about everything.”
Rosy cheeked, Mary bit her lip and tears filled her eyes. “We mustn’t speak of it now. What matters is that you’re better.”
“We must talk about it. You didn’t deserve what we did. I should have told you about Timothy from the second he approached me, but I betrayed your trust. The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt you.”
“Oh shush, you.” She clasped Sera’s hands in hers as her first tear fell. “He told me what he could, and knowing you, I deduced the rest. He cares for you, Sera, and yet you gave him up because you didn’t want to hurt me. How could I be angry at you for that? And I’m the cause of what happened to you. I was foolish for running out into the forest, but I couldn’t bear the heartache. When you followed, I circled back and went to my room. I should have been brave and faced you, but I wasn’t, and you nearly lost your life because of it. How dare you apologize to me? You want to be an inspector so that you can find your family, but you’re like a sister to me, and I never would’ve forgiven myself had anything happened to you.” She sobbed. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I beg for your forgiveness.”
Sera hugged her friend, embracing this added second chance. “Of course I forgive you, silly girl.”
The girls held each other, and Sera winced but stifled the ache in her ribs. She would hold Mary in spite of the pain, their relationship mended. She squeezed the leaf tightly in her hand, determined to mend them all.
20
quick to
anger, slow to speak
The silence in the halls was heavy, many students yet to return from winter holiday. With each step along the fourth-floor corridor, Sera relished this stillness before the unknown that awaited once she rounded the corner. Professor Barrington had dissolved their agreement, and after hours of attempting to transfer to his home, she found the spell no longer worked. No doubt he had relinquished her access, believing she’d never want to see him again.
Passing closed door after closed door, she prayed he was in his office. If not, she would be left waiting until the following week, once classes resumed. Sadly, patience was most definitely not one of her virtues. And from the moment she had read his letter and his wish, it had vanished altogether.
She turned the corner, and her eyes caught on the engraved B at the door. Her hands rattled, doubt finding a home in her heart. What if he didn’t accept her conditions and chose not to work with her again? Yes, the referral was hers, but she needed to help these girls, those already dead and those whose lives hung in the balance.
And Professor Barrington. She wouldn’t accept his charity. She would work for her referral and help him avenge his family. Oath or no oath, it was not only fair. It was right.
Nodding once to herself, she forced one foot before the other and set off down the hall.
She raised a hand to knock just as she heard the thud of tumbling books followed by a slew of curses from inside. Nerves twisted at her core at the sound of the now-familiar voice.
With a sharp exhale, she rapped at the door.
“Come in,” he barked from the other side, curses audible in his next murmurs. Sera pushed the door open and, entering quickly, shut it behind her. He knelt on the floor surrounded by scattered papers and books, his back toward her. “How may I help you?”
She lowered her hood and pressed trembling fingers together at her back. She had thought over every word—rehearsed what she intended to tell him until it was branded in her mind. Now, with him no longer a phantom before her, she couldn’t remember a bit.
