by A. L. Knorr
When I’d first met Basil and we’d shaken hands, my whole arm went smoking hot from my fingertips to my heart, just like it had with Gage. It was the first time I’d ever felt the mage-bond. I hoped Basil or one of the other instructors would cover the mage-bond in class because I was dying to understand what it meant. It definitely wasn’t fated mates—as Ryan had joked—or anything like that. I didn’t have any sexual attraction to the headmaster, only enormous respect for the mage who’d founded Arcturus. It was he above all I wanted to please during my first year as a student here.
Something unusual linked me to Basil, and me to Gage, something powerful.
Two
Provide, Prepare, Protect
“First, a few housekeeping items.” Mr. Chaplin referred to the notes in front of him as he adjusted his glasses. The headmaster’s electronically amplified voice came in through speakers in the corners of the pods. The sound was so crisp and clear we could even hear him swallow.
“While we endeavor to keep the Fire Fair as safe as possible, we are dealing with fire. Please remain in your seats and in the observation pods while the demonstrations are taking place. In case you missed it in the welcome pack—because even though this is the first time we’ve hosted a fair, I know that not everyone will have read it all—” he shot a knowing glance at the pods and a few people tittered, “this entire gym is fireproof, as are the Arcturus uniforms you’ll see on the instructors, graduates and volunteers. Before you go rushing out madly to order yours, every registered student will receive one complimentary uniform. Additional uniforms can be purchased in the academy’s shop. Students are not required to wear uniforms in the main building. But while using the gyms for practical exercises and training, the uniforms are mandatory. We hope you’ll agree that some loss of identity is worth not having your latest Selfridges purchase go up in flames.”
Gage leaned over to whisper, “What’s Selfridges?”
April answered before I could tell him I had no idea. She canted forward and looked across me. “Fancy British department store.”
“Arcturus Academy was founded in 1990. Our purpose is to provide, prepare, and protect.” Basil elaborated on each of these ‘P’s’ by counting off on his fingers. “We provide a safe place for young mages to hone their skills and explore their aptitudes. We prepare fire elementals for life in the real world, life among other supernaturals, and a life lived responsibly. We also protect from prying eyes and the outside world. Our network and relationships with both supernatural and temporal agencies—including but not limited to MI5 and 6 and the Arcturus Agency—introduce our students to opportunities to find meaningful work where their gifts and talents are not exploited, but facilitated and appreciated.”
Someone behind me whispered to a neighbor, “I heard the headmaster runs the Arcturus Agency, too.”
The muted response was laced with laughter. “No guff, Sherlock. What was your first clue? He has his pick of graduates. Why wouldn’t he? Now, shush.”
Surprise blossomed in me like a little flower. Basil had never mentioned the Agency to me or my dad during our private orientation. I guess it would have been a little premature but a spark of interest caught and sizzled in my chest. Maybe I could work for Mr. Chaplin when I finished at the academy.
“You’ll witness an array of skills and applications for your fire here today.” The headmaster shifted behind the podium as he took turns to address all three pods. “Some skills are subtle and utilitarian, others are glamorous and even spectacular. What I want students to take away from today, though, is not just a better idea of the abilities they can leave the academy with, but an understanding that all choices are honorable and acceptable. Not every mage who graduates desires to becomes an agent. We recognize that the personalities and proclivities of mages are diverse. There are broader choices open to you than you might realize. During your time at Arcturus, you’ll have aptitudes which quickly reveal themselves. Those leanings may point you in a direction of study that is different from the pursuit you had in mind when you enrolled. My advice is to work with your talent. In the words of a well-known life-coach, your highest natural capacity multiplied by time and intention equals exponential capacity growth.”
I blinked as I tried to unpack this statement.
“Meaning,” Basil raised a finger, “focus on the areas where you’re naturally competent and you’ll go from the middle fifty percent to the top one percent. This is infinitely more desirable than starting in the bottom one percent, working hard to double or triple your capacity only to end up staying in the bottom one percent. We’ve done studies on this. Don’t try to swim upstream.”
Gage looked over and whispered under his breath, “My godfather is a bit too cerebral, if you ask me.”
While Basil talked, two people in Arcturus uniforms wheeled out a table with a cloth draped over the top, covering several lumpy forms. Susan strolled out behind them, tying her hair back and rolling up her sleeves.
“This’ll be a cooking demonstration,” I predicted in Gage’s ear. “Susan teaches the Food & Fire class.”
“Mages actually go on to be chefs?” Gage sounded marginally horrified.
I faked a hurt look. “Hey. What if it’s my dream to be a baker?”
Gage’s eyes half-closed with amused disbelief. “Yeah right, but point taken: don’t judge.”
“To set expectations, the fair will continue until noon at which time you’re welcome to join us in the cafeteria for a wonderful buffet. We’ll have a Q&A session in the common room off the lobby starting at two. After that we’ll have you register for the classes which most interest you. If you wish to take an aptitude test to help you better decide, you may schedule one with Professor Winkler. Many of you will have considerable skill already, given that you’ve been living with the fire since birth. But we are aware of a group of our population who are tentative with their fire and shy away from experimenting with it for various reasons. For these students, an aptitude test may be just the ticket. We ask that you not leave the premises until after you’ve either made your class selections or scheduled your aptitude test. Once you’ve finished the forms, you’re free to explore Dover and the beautiful white cliffs with your classmates or your parents, before they return home.”
Susan stood behind the table now and was joined by a couple of twenty-something mages on either side. All of them sported academy uniforms. Susan gave Basil a nod, indicating she was ready.
Basil addressed the audience. “Let’s welcome our first presenter, Professor Palmer. Creator of our Food & Fire course. Susan is the chef here at Arcturus and you’ll agree her skill in the kitchen is not to be sneezed at.” He applauded and the audience joined in, if a little unenthusiastically.
Susan welcomed everyone and introduced the mages with her as graduates of her courses. Both had found employment utilizing their fire-skills. One worked for a supernatural multi-millionaire on a private yacht, the other ran the kitchen of a four-star restaurant in Paris and had plans to open his own. Susan explained that food cooked or baked with mage-fire takes on a unique taste and quality that even naturals could appreciate without knowing that it was made by a supernatural.
Susan removed the cloth over one section of the table to reveal three cake pans filled with raw batter. “While Milo and I are showing you flambé and grilling skills, Julia here will bake a delicious wedding cake in a quarter of the time taken by a conventional oven.”
Julia inserted the three pans into a box made of a clear material so we could see what she was doing. The front of the box was open until Julia placed another panel across it. She inserted her hands into the openings in this last panel and told us what she was doing while she worked. “I’m now administering the heat required to evenly bake all three cakes to perfection. This requires a precise internal thermometer, a thorough understanding of how the ingredients react to heat, and the patience and steadiness required to see them through to the finish without burning them, under baking them, or
drying them out.”
Heat rolled from Julia’s fingers, filling the clear box. She moved her hands slowly and rhythmically. Even from my place in the observation pod I could easily see the waves cascading over the food.
I felt Gage looking at me so I looked over. He leaned close to whisper in my ear. “This is as boring as watching a cake bake.”
Snorting, I covered my mouth and nose to cut off my laughter. Someone shushed us and I glanced back to see a startling spectrum of expressions from the crowd. Some of the guests looked as bored as Gage, a few looked downright disdainful, while others leaned forward on the edges of their seat, completely absorbed.
I faced front in time to catch Milo emit fire from his fingers beneath and above a raw steak which had been set on a grill. He touched the steak from time to time, prodding it, flipping it, as smoke unfurled to the ceiling to be swept away by powerful ventilation. We were so well insulated in the pods that I couldn’t smell anything. When the steak began to sizzle and drip juices, there was a satisfied sigh from the crowd.
Meanwhile Susan, who seemed to know she had only a few minutes before the audience got bored, applied bellows of fire from her hands deftly to meringue, an alcohol based flambé, and finally a cheese fondue.
By the time Susan and Milo were finished, students were grumbling about how hungry they were feeling. Some debated the finer points of what the three chefs were doing, the skills and precision required to achieve such perfect results. I guessed some first-years would be interested in learning how to cook after all, which made me happy for Susan.
In the end, Julia removed her hands from the box, then moved aside the box itself. As she turned the cakes out of their pans, they steamed attractively, looking perfectly baked. Next, she stacked them, erecting a triple-layer.
“The real test is how that cake tastes.” Someone said behind us. “How are we supposed to be impressed if we don’t even know if it’s cooked properly?”
“Baked,” someone else corrected. “Not cooked.”
“Whatever.”
As if in answer, Julia took a knife and sliced the cake into pieces, distributing bite-sized squares onto platters. Two volunteers—including Krispy—carried the platters up to the observation boxes for us to try.
When the platter came our way, Gage and I each took a piece, though April declined.
“Don’t like cake?” I asked her just before I took my bite.
“I do. I just can’t eat when I’m nervous.” April watched me eat with longing in her eyes. “Is it good?”
“So good.” The pod was filled with the sounds of chewing and smacking lips. The cake did have a unique flavor, a kind of burnt sweetness like toasted caramel.
“Thank you for your attention.” Susan and her team dismissed themselves, rolling their demonstration table through a set of double doors and out of sight.
Mr. Chaplin returned to the podium, clapping. “A round of applause for Ms. Palmer, Milo, and Julia. Remarkable, the skills they’ve mastered to become professionals in their chosen fields. Now, please welcome Professor Tyson Hupelo, our Fire Science & Safety instructor.”
The audience clapped as a brawny thirty-something chap with close-cropped blond hair strode to the center of the gym. Rather than the Arcturus uniform, he wore a pair of yellow fireman’s pants paired with a plain black t-shirt. His muscles stretched the fabric across his chest and arms. More than one scar crisscrossed his visible skin and disappeared up his shirt sleeves.
“Do we get to sample him next?” some girl muttered to a friend. “Wanna bet most of his students are female?”
“Sick. Don’t be so immature,” her friend whispered back, but with a smile in her voice.
Distantly, somewhere outside the gym but not far away, there came a succession of sharp metallic thuds. Tyson was introducing himself when he stopped mid-sentence.
“What was that?” Gage whispered as we shared a look.
I shook my head, still listening. The gym grew quiet. The metallic thuds stopped and the gym lights turned off. Someone gave a nervous laugh as darkness filled the cavernous space. A moment later, emergency lighting came on. Small, bright blue lights glimmered from the corners and the ceiling, casting the pods and the gymnasium in a cold, eerie light.
A new sound filtered in from outside. An alarm.
Basil’s even voice came in to the pod. “Please, remain calm. It appears there has been a security breach somewhere on academy property.” He sounded unruffled, which went a long way toward easing the anxiety in my gut. “Give us a moment to assess the situation. We have specific alarms and this one means no evacuation is necessary. I’ll be back to address you as soon as I can. Just stay seated.”
With that, the shapes of Basil, Tyson, and others I couldn’t identify in the dimness, came together in the middle of the gym floor. They spoke before breaking off into smaller groups. A few exited the gym through a set of emergency doors while Basil and Susan left through the main doors. Silence descended, but it didn’t take long for the hushed speculations to begin. Soon the pod was filled with soft, tense murmurs.
“Why are you whispering?” said the brunette Betty Boop in a loud voice. Even if I hadn’t seen her mouth move in the dim blue glow, I’d have recognized her by the distinct English accent. “It’s probably just a drill. A test to see which students can handle stress and which ones can’t.”
Someone tittered, there were more hushed exchanges.
“Do you think that’s true?” Gage’s face was washed out in the gloom, his eyes glimmered beneath the dark shadows of his orbital bones.
“I don’t think Ba—, Headmaster Chaplin would test students with a false alarm. Give him a minute,” I told Gage. “My guess is someone went poking around the manor where they’re not welcome.”
Three
The Ill-Fitting Shirt
We stayed in our seats as directed, but before long students were chatting and laughing and making jokes. Someone threw a paper airplane and another someone lit it on fire, triggering an adult to snap at the kids. There were murmurs that if they couldn’t light fires in a fireproofed gymnasium, where could they? Hadn’t they come to Arcturus precisely so they could play with fire? The adult disagreed.
A voice came over the intercom and the debate fell silent as the headmaster addressed us.
“The Fire Fair must unfortunately be cancelled. All guests please report to the cafeteria and adjacent common room. There’s no need to rush or to panic. We need everyone in one place until the situation resolved. Thank you.”
There was some grumbling but mostly silent acceptance of the turn of events. We gathered our things and exited the pods in single file, following a volunteer who’d come to lead the way. Metal footsteps echoed around the gym as the kids and guardians made their way down the steps and back to the front door.
“If you’ve never been to the cafeteria, it’s easy to find.” Krispy braced the door open with her back, leaning with a relaxed posture. “Main floor, halfway down on the left-hand side. Follow the smell of fish and chips. Take the covered walkway connecting the gym to the main building, not the front door.”
The group was directed past the lobby to the glass walkway and arch linking the gym to the main building. The driveway ran beneath this walkway from the front of the building to the parking lot in the rear. The arch was draped over with ivy and flowering clematis. It felt like a greenhouse. A single door led to a set of steps. We trailed through a mudroom where stands of umbrellas stood in the corners and a lineup of gumboots in rainbow colors were tucked underneath the bench seating. The mudroom had a glass pyramid for a ceiling allowing sunlight to leak in through a tangle of vines.
Stepping from the mudroom into the main hall which ran to the main lobby, we were swallowed by the bluish gloom.
“Why does emergency lighting have to be so creepy?” Gage touched my shoulder blade as if to make sure I was still in front of him. “Surely someone could have turned on the lights by now.”
“Don’t like the dark?” I teased. “At least they’ve turned off the alarm.”
“I hate the dark,” he muttered in a tone that made me feel a little guilty for teasing him. “I’ve always hated it, for as long as I can remember.”
I reached back and gave his hand a comforting squeeze, enjoying the heat that flared between us.
Passing an open door, I glanced inside. One of the common rooms—stuffed with plush couches and coffee tables—had transformed into a cave crammed with bulky shapes and strange silhouettes.
“The windows are covered.” I pitched my voice low but the students around heard and stopped to see for themselves, craning over one another.
“Looks like that metal sheeting you see at the mall after hours,” someone with an American accent said.
“Security shutters. They come down automatically when the alarm goes off,” I guessed.
Another student muttered: “That’s why they had us take the covered walkway. No one is allowed to go in or out.”
“Does that mean someone broke in while we were all in the gym?”
“Of course it does. The headmaster probably has all kinds of valuable stuff hidden away in the school. He’s a spy in his other life, right?” The voice was half joking, half serious.
“I want to be Basil when I grow up,” said a slender boy with beautiful doe-eyes. They looked huge and black in the gloom.
“This is serious,” another girl snapped. “Don’t you realize that those shutters mean that we’re locked in with the intruder? We don’t know who they are or what they want. We could have a hostage situation on our hands.”
There were unsettled murmurs from the group.
“Hey, now.” Krispy, following the last of the guests, caught the end of the discussion. “Quit with the speculation. No one is a hostage. The headmaster has everything under control.”
The grumbling dwindled as we continued toward the cafeteria. Every open door we passed—and there were many—revealed rooms with open drapes but blocked windows.
