Graduation Day (Schooled in Magic Book 14)

by Christopher Nuttall

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  Cabiria nudged Emily as the professor inspected the damage. “What did you do?”

  Emily shook her head. She didn’t know. Maybe she’d overpowered one of the wards - or the hex behind it. Or maybe she’d messed up her calculations and the ward had drawn magic from Cabiria and expelled it as violently as possible. Or ... she rubbed her forehead, feeling a headache starting to pound behind her temples. It was going to be a very long - and tedious - day.

  “See me after class, too,” Professor Armstrong added. “We’ll go through the whole procedure in detail.”

  “Yes, sir,” Emily said.

  She tried to ignore Jacqui’s smirk as she swept up the remains of the wardstone. It wasn’t the first one she’d accidentally shattered, but it was the first time that someone else had been at risk. Cabiria could have been seriously hurt - or killed - if Professor Armstrong hadn’t warded the room thoroughly. Emily dreaded to think what would have happened if she’d made that mistake when warding her own home.

  And there are magicians who would probably consider an accidental explosion to be a feature, not a bug, she thought. Blowing up their home rather than letting someone rob from them ...

  “Class dismissed,” Professor Armstrong said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Emily sighed. She had to stay behind.

  Chapter Nine

  “YOU DO NOT LOOK TO BE calm,” Madame Samra said kindly, as Emily sat down in the comfortable armchair. “I suggest you calm yourself, now.”

  Emily sighed. She’d had two classes since Wardcrafting, both of which had been disastrous enough to make her wish to restart the entire year. Professor Thande had told her off for blowing up yet another cauldron in Alchemy, while Professor Lombardi had reprimanded her for messing up her spellwork so badly that even the most competent magician in the world couldn’t hope to cast the spell. Her hand was still smarting from where he’d struck it with a ruler, much to the amusement of her fellow students. It was rare for anyone in Fifth or Sixth Year to have their hands smacked in public.

  She looked at the older woman and sighed. “I don’t know how to calm myself,” she admitted. The admission cost her, but it had to be made. She couldn’t stop worrying about Frieda. “How would you do it?”

  Madame Samra gave her a considering look. “Perhaps by accepting the things I could not change,” she said. “Or perhaps by sitting back and clearing my mind.”

  “My thoughts won’t go away,” Emily said. “No matter what I do ...”

  “I know the problem,” Madame Samra said. She rose and walked over to the samovar by the door. When she returned, she was carrying two mugs of a translucent greenish liquid. “Sip this, carefully. It should do you a power of good.”

  Emily took the mug, tested it for magic and then took a dainty sip. It tasted vaguely of herbs, mingled with something she couldn’t identify. The flavor wasn’t pleasant, but ... there was something about it she liked. She just wasn’t sure what.

  “I have attempted to examine your friend,” Madame Samra said. “However, her mind is a jumbled mess. It may be quite some time before she settles down, if indeed she settles down at all. I don’t believe we can recover useful ... ah, actionable ... information from her mind.”

  “But she was manipulated,” Emily pointed out. “Wasn’t she?”

  “Yes, but most of the evidence was destroyed,” Madame Samra said. “Worse, your ham-fisted attempt to save her life ensured that the remaining evidence could easily point in your direction instead of his. It is simply not possible, working from what little I was able to recover, to assert that Daze warped Frieda’s mind.”

  Emily scowled. “I didn’t have a choice!”

  “No, you didn’t,” Madame Samra agreed. “If I thought otherwise, we would be having a very different conversation. But we have to deal with the consequences of your actions too, Emily. Proving that Frieda was manipulated may be impossible.”

  “By probing her mind,” Emily said. A nasty thought ran through her head. “What if you read my mind?”

  Madame Samra lifted her cup in a silent salute. “It would allow me to see what you saw, back then. And I could testify to that, if you wished. However ... it would be filtered through two sets of perceptions, yours and mine. The jurors might not be convinced.”

  Emily took another sip of her drink. “It’s worth trying though, isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps.” Madame Samra put her cup down with a clatter. “On the other hand, you will not find it a pleasant experience. No one ever does. And while I will do my best to keep risks to a minimum, they do exist.”

  “And you’re oathsworn to keep what you see to yourself,” Emily finished. “Aren’t you?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Madame Samra said. Her lips quirked. “You do want me to testify, don’t you?”

  Emily swallowed, hard. The thought of sitting back and allowing her thoughts to be ransacked was horrifying. She didn’t want to do it. Her very soul rebelled against the thought of letting someone into her mind. And yet, if it helped prove Frieda’s innocence, it had to be done. She thought about the secrets she knew and winced. Madame Samra might be bound to keep what she saw to herself, save for anything relating to the trial, but that wouldn’t stop her making use of the secrets for herself. Who knew what she’d see in Emily’s mind?

  And anything I don’t want her to see will come bubbling to the surface, she thought, grimly. It will be hard to hide anything from Samra without drawing her attention to it.

  She looked down at the angry red mark on her palm. Melissa had been brave, very brave, to let Emily read her mind. The risks had been higher, perhaps, than anyone wanted to acknowledge. Samra, at least, was far more experienced. But she was probably also experienced in figuring out ways to exploit loopholes and evade the strict requirements of her oaths. Anything she saw in Emily’s mind might get out, sooner or later ...

  And yet, she would be able to testify that Frieda was manipulated, she told herself. We need her to be able to say that on the witness stand.

  “I ... very well,” she said. Her heart was suddenly beating like a drum. She hadn’t been so scared when she’d walked into Heart’s Eye, knowing a necromancer was waiting for her, or when she’d slept with Caleb for the first time. She cringed, knowing that Samra was going to be seeing those memories too. “When do we start?”

  “Finish your drink,” Madame Samra ordered. “We’ll start when we’re ready.”

  Emily forced herself to finish the odd-tasting liquid, even though it was hard to think straight. She just wanted to get it over with before she lost her nerve. Her thoughts ran in circles, pushing her to change her mind and then reminding her that Frieda needed someone to testify in her favor. She tried to think of ways to push Samra into swearing more powerful oaths, even though it would be a deadly insult. Healing oaths should be sufficient, surely? The magical community was desperate to keep soul magic under tight control.

  And yet, Daze mastered it without taking the oaths, Emily thought. And Aurelius was able to teach me some tricks.

  “This is your last chance to back out,” Madame Samra said. She rose, walking over to the door. “Come in five minutes, or don’t come at all.”

  Emily watched her step through the door, then stood. There was no point in putting it off. She followed Madame Samra into the inner office and looked around, trying to calm herself. The desk and chairs had been pushed against the wall, leaving room for a small bed and a stool, positioned neatly in the center of the room. Emily couldn’t help noticing that there were straps and arm restraints dangling from the bed, waiting for her. It was designed to hold the patient firmly in place.

  “You need to remain still,” Madame Samra said, as she pointed to the bed. “Can you do that for yourself or do you want to be tied down?”

  “I can do it for myself,” Emily said. There were a handful of runes carved into the bed. She knew a dozen spells to undo knots and free her hands, but she
was fairly sure the bed was charmed to make casting the spells impossible. “I know how to lie still.”

  Madame Samra snorted, then sat down on the stool. “This is somewhat disconcerting,” she said, as she dimmed the lights. “I’ll be as gentle as I can, but ...”

  Her fingers pressed down on Emily’s forehead. Emily had a sudden mental impression of Mr. Spock mind-melding with someone, a moment before she felt Samra’s presence intruding into her mind. She recoiled, instinctively. Samra was forcing her way into Emily’s personal space ... no, it was far worse than merely standing too close to her. Her skin crawled, unhappy thoughts and memories surfacing as the intrusion grew stronger. Samra was pushing down on her, pushing harder and harder ...

  Disconcerting, Emily thought. That’s the understatement of the year.

  Panic bubbled at the back of Emily’s mind. It was easy to believe, all of a sudden, that Samra was on top of her, squashing her into pulp. She felt crushed, then strangled ... her magic rose up to defend her, only to be ruthlessly pushed aside. The panic grew stronger ... she gritted her teeth, trying not to fight. If she survived having her mind read, she’d never complain about the dentist again. This was far worse.

  This is for Frieda, she reminded herself, time and time again. It has to be done.

  Samra’s presence grew stronger and stronger, bearing down on Emily like an unstoppable tidal wave. Emily’s mind was assailed with a set of contradictory impressions, all seemingly true even though she knew they couldn’t be. She was hiding at the back of her own mind; she was pinned down, utterly helpless, unable to move. Her thoughts snapped and crackled, battering feebly at Samra’s presence. She knew she should lie still and let Samra read her thoughts, but she couldn’t. The presence was too strong.

  No wonder so many people are scared of soul magic. She was naked, to all intents and purposes. Her mind was an open book. She could do anything to me.

  Her life seemed to flash in front of her, a dazzling series of thoughts, impressions and memories that were bare to the world. She sensed a burst of surprise, followed by outright shock. Samra was far from stupid, or ignorant, but she couldn’t have guessed Emily’s true origins. Very few magicians even considered the possibility of alternate universes, let alone that it might be possible to travel between them. But Samra would have to come to terms with that on her own.

  The memories grew sharper as Samra zeroed in on the last few months. Emily felt as if she were watching her own memories through Samra’s eyes, feeling - once again - the raw taste of failure. Gordian had been right about one thing, if nothing else. She had failed in her duty as Head Girl. The fact that she hadn’t wanted the job was of no concern. Frieda had been getting out of hand and Emily had been incapable of putting on the brakes.

  But she wasn’t responsible for her own actions, Emily thought. I couldn’t have stopped her.

  Her mind spun as Samra watched the battle with Daze, then Emily’s desperate attempt to save Frieda. Time itself seemed to slow down, each memory flickering in front of Emily’s eyes time and time again. Bursts of pain flashed at the corner of Emily’s mind, each one stabbing into her thoughts. Other memories - Frieda’s and Melissa’s - rose up too. Emily winced, guiltily. Everything she’d seen in Frieda’s mind was now exposed to Samra’s cold gaze.

  The pressure grew stronger. Her vision started to blur. Emily tried to muster the strength to fight, but it was hopeless. Her mind was caught in a steam press, her thoughts steadily being crushed. She was moving and still, resisting and unresisting ... she couldn’t keep track of what was really happening. The world went black, just for a second. And then she snapped upright, one hand raised in a casting pose.

  “Lie still,” Samra said, sharply. “Do not try to move.”

  Emily lay back, an instant before her gorge rose and she dry-retched, helplessly. Pain flared through her head, a pain so bad she thought she was dying before it slowly started to fade. She felt naked, so naked that she had to look down to confirm that she still wore her robe. And yet, part of her refused to believe the evidence of her own eyes. She kept thinking she had to get dressed.

  “It is never easy, the first time,” Samra said. “Lie still until you think you can move safely.”

  “Thanks,” Emily managed. She touched her throat, expecting to feel bruises. But there was nothing. Her mind insisted that her body had been beaten black and blue, yet there were no aches and pains. She didn’t think there were any bruises either. “I ...”

  She looked at Samra, feeling her head spinning. It was hard to reconcile the elderly woman in front of her with the almighty presence she’d felt in her mind. She’d known that Samra was powerful, but ... she shook her head. Mental contact could be disorientating, if one wasn’t used to it. Thankfully, Samra hadn’t actually been trying to hurt her. If she had ... she could have made Emily say or do or believe anything she wanted. And Emily wouldn’t have had a clue that something was wrong.

  “I can testify that Frieda was influenced,” Samra said. Her voice was contemplative. “And I can also testify that Daze worked for Fulvia at one point. It isn’t proof of anything, but ... it is something. Frieda is very fortunate to have you as a friend.”

  Emily closed her eyes for a long moment. “Would that be enough to win?”

  “I don’t know,” Samra said, patiently. “Like I said, what I saw came through two sets of perceptions. Your perceptions may be wrong, not to put too fine a point on it.”

  “It’s a start.” Emily forced herself to sit upright, even though the room seemed to be spinning around her. “Thank you, I think.”

  “Be prepared for someone arguing that you lied to me,” Samra added. “It is possible to lie mind-to-mind, although it is very difficult. The Prosecutor has a vested interest in trying to convince the jury that you managed it.”

  Emily scowled. She hadn’t been able to muster the strength to push Samra out of her mind, let alone lie mind-to-mind. She wasn’t even sure that was possible. Samra hadn’t been gentle. She’d done the mental equivalent of beating Emily to a pulp, then holding her down while Samra had her way with her. There had been no room for misdirection, let alone outright lies. Emily shuddered, helplessly. Samra had come far too close to raping her mind.

  “I don’t think I could do that,” she managed. She felt sick, again. “Can you do that?”

  “With an effort,” Samra said. “You would have to convince yourself that something is true, at least long enough to fool the mind-reader. And then you would have to leave yourself clues so you could unlock the truth, after the mind-reading was over. It would be easier to have someone else hide your memories for you, but that would leave traces a mind-probe might find.”

  “And then you’d be at the mercy of whoever hid your memories,” Emily said. The room had stopped spinning, but her legs still felt weak. “Why would anyone take the risk?”

  “To hide the truth, I imagine,” Samra said. She smiled, suddenly. “There was an alchemist who was spying on his employers for someone else. Every day, he would pack away his memories as he walked through the wards, then release them once he was inside the building and he could move freely. He’d give oaths and pass tests freely, because he didn’t know - when he took the tests - that he was lying. It took five years for his employers to work out the truth. They just couldn’t wrap their heads around someone altering their own memories on a daily basis.”

  She shrugged. “By then, his mind was already on the brink of collapse,” she added. “I believe he was moved to the Halfway House last year.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Emily said. “If he hadn’t been able to unlock his memories ... what then?”

  “I don’t know,” Samra said. “A smart man would set up a few back-up plans, perhaps a handful of subliminal prompts to awaken his memories at some point. Or they might surface suddenly, unexpectedly. The human mind is a very complex thing, Emily. Nothing is ever truly wiped from our minds.”

  “I know,” Emily said. She’d used memor
y charms to recover information she’d buried at the back of her mind. “The truth might have surfaced at the worst possible time.”

  She stood on wobbly legs and peered at herself in the mirror. There was no doubt that she was wearing her robe, yet ... she shook her head, banishing the thought. She wasn’t really naked and that was all that mattered. She’d have to meditate when she got back to her room, just to try to put her thoughts back in some semblance of order. And then ... she meant to meet her friends in the library. She didn’t know if she’d be able to go for dinner, let alone anything else.

  I might have to ask them to wait, she thought, sourly.

  “I would like to discuss your past at some point,” Samra added. “Your memories were ... odd.”

  “Yeah,” Emily said. Earth had to seem like a bizarre wonderland to her. “We can talk about it later.”

  “You also need to work on your techniques,” Samra told her. “Melissa can help you next time.”

  “No more mind reading,” Emily said, flatly. Reading Melissa’s mind had been bad. Having her own mind read was worse. “I won’t do that to anyone.”

  “Even when you may need the technique?” Samra asked. “Having the ability to do something doesn’t mean that you’ll do it.”

  “True,” Emily agreed. She’d learned - and studied - countless spells she knew she’d never use. “But I can’t imagine needing it.”

  She looked at the clock. There was another hour until dinner. She could go back to her room and have a nap, then go eat. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten much for lunch either. Being hungry hadn’t made her afternoon classes any better. But at least her hand had stopped throbbing.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I hope you will be convincing when you testify.”

  “I didn’t recognize Daze,” Samra said. “He certainly wasn’t one of my students. Where do you think he was taught?”