by S. W. Clarke
I tapped the paper beside Rescue. “What’s this one about?”
“Ah, well.” She steepled her hands. “Now we get into it. I’m sure you’ve noticed that the student body isn’t as robust as it ought to be.”
Thinking back to the dining hall, it occurred to me now I’d only seen about fifty students at once. I’d figured the rest were in classes or their dorms. “Sure, I’ve noticed.”
“You’re not just here to learn critical thought, Clementine… At the risk of sounding hyperbolic, you’re here to change the world. We need more students. We need more of the world’s mages doing good. These three classes—Flight, Combat, and Rescue—are fundamental to that.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t understand. So we’re rescuing people?”
“We are.”
“Who? From what?”
“Young magic users like you. Yesterday, I brought you from that river’s edge to this academy. That’s what you’re being trained to do for vulnerable mages around the world. We’re being hunted down, child. And if we don’t get to the world’s mages before the darkness consumes them, all of us will perish to it.”
Headmistress Umbra’s voice was so full of gravity it sent a deep resonance through my body, raising goosebumps on my arms. And though I maintained the same slouched posture, I found my ears pricked. My vision clarifying. My senses heightened. I only ever felt this way when I knew someone wasn’t bullshitting me.
She really meant what she’d said.
Which meant, of course, that I had to fall back to my default: taking things lightly. “So we’re basically living in a Marvel movie.”
The headmistress’s open, unguarded body language changed. She unsteepled her fingers, lowered them below the desk, sat back. “That’s your technique, isn’t it?”
“My technique?”
“For fending off what makes you feel uncomfortable.” She indicated my arms with a nod. “For dealing with what raises the hair on your skin.”
So she had noticed. I rubbed away the goosebumps. “I’m sarcastic all the time. This isn’t a special occasion.” But it was. And she had observed as much.
With Umbra, I’d begun to understand—even in a subconscious way—I needed to test her, to poke and prod around the edges until I raised her hackles. So I was playing the devil’s advocate, and it worked.
“I’m not overstating things, Clementine.” The headmistress took a sip from her cup. “You will understand—I promise you that.”
“Fine. Help me understand.”
The headmistress seemed surprised by my directness; she was probably used to deference. She fixed me with a stare before reaching over to grasp the book she’d been writing in when I entered. She passed it to me. “Open it to the ribbon.”
I did as she said. Inside, I found lines and lines of names and locations—New York, Boston, Paris, little towns in countries I’d never even heard of. And a great deal of the names were crossed out. As I flipped through the prior pages, the same was true: names upon names, many crossed out. I didn’t spot my name there, though.
I looked up at her, setting a finger on the page. “These crossed-out names…”
She nodded, understanding me at once. “They were taken. Like you almost were.”
“Where did you get all these names?”
“The Registry of Magic. Almost all of the world’s magic users are on the registry.”
Why not me? And my mom and sister? But it was too early in the conversation, so instead I asked, “So why don’t we rescue them all as soon as possible? Before the darkness gets to them?”
She exhaled. “Because then it would not be a rescue, would it? Every young person with potential receives an invitation to be trained in magic, but most do not come. The divide between the magical and non-magical worlds has grown wider, and not just physically. Magic is has been relegated to storybooks and pop culture.”
I tilted my head. “I didn’t receive an invitation.”
“Ah”—one finger went up—”because you were not on the registry.”
“Why?”
“You were hidden.”
By my mother. I sensed at once that my mom had done that. Who else would have?
“Because I’m a witch?”
“Because you’re the last witch. She sought to keep you unknown to the magic world at large—which she managed to do exceedingly well for a very long time.”
“Until two nights ago. Why?”
“The agents of darkness are everywhere. They trawl cities and towns, seeking out magic users among the regular folk.”
“And one of them found me.” My thoughts traveled back to the dark figure standing under the streetlamp, observing as Annabelle and I walked home. “They found me and tried to kill me.”
She nodded. “What changed that night, Clementine?”
So much had changed. I shook my head, searching my memories of that evening. The fight with Maury, quitting my job, Annabelle running after me…
I sucked air in, meeting Umbra’s eyes. “My pendant.” I reached into my shirt, lifting it out. “My mom told me never to take it off. And that night, I did. Briefly.”
Actually, Maury had ripped it off me, but the effect was the same.
Umbra’s eyes lowered to the pendant, an unreadable emotion crossing her face. “That explains it. Do you know what you wear around your neck, child?”
Clearly I didn’t. I ran my thumb over the gold circular surface of the pendant itself, understanding flowing in. “It kept me hidden from them, didn’t it?”
Umbra inclined her head. “What you wear is called a moonstone. They obscure magic, and they are as rare as witches these days.”
My hand closed over the pendant, warming it. I swallowed, a deep regret swelling in me that I’d ever lost it, even for a moment. And gratitude, too, to Annabelle.
That had been the second-worst night of my life. I would never forget it.
I lowered my eyes to the book, surveying the endless names. All my flippancy had dissolved away. “So we have to wait until an abduction occurs to rescue someone? How will we know?”
“When they use their magic to abduct someone, the surge of darkness will ripple across the world. When I feel a ripple, I initiate a rescue.”
My hand fell over the page, tracing the outlines of the names written there. “And when will I be sent on one of these rescues?”
“Once you’ve passed your qualifiers. We need to feel certain you can defend yourself before venturing again into the world.”
“Qualifiers?”
“Tests of mettle.” She sipped her tea. “They are held at the end of each year. The next will occur in May.”
“And anyone can take them?”
She nodded. “Anyone—first-years through fifth. If you can pass, you will become a guardian.”
“How many guardians are there in the academy?”
“Twelve,” she said simply.
That seemed awfully low. “If things are so dire, it seems to me you ought to be sending more than twelve people out.”
A muscle in her jaw twitched. “I will not be responsible for the deaths of unprepared young men and women. Perhaps you would like to be?”
Her words whipped out, stung so hard I nearly flinched. I stared back with pursed lips. “No.”
“So then”—she took another sip of tea—“have you any other questions?”
I closed the book with a softness and reverence I hadn’t expected from myself. “I’m supposed to be sorted into a house. People think I’ll end up in Whisper.”
“That will come in time, when you are sorted.”
In time. I’d heard that phrase my whole life, and it always rankled me, particularly when I’d entered the foster system. I’d been promised families, adoptions, futures that never happened.
I quickly developed a philosophy: the future was the future, and now was now. We didn’t have the future—we only had now. I didn’t believe in promises, no matter who was delivering them
.
I sat upright, my back leaving the chair. Now was the time to ask. “You told me my mother put out a call for Loki ten years ago. What do you know about her and my sister?”
Umbra set her tea down with a small clink, her breath leaving through her nostrils. When she opened her mouth, the atmosphere had shifted entirely. “There is much more to say than we have time for at present.”
I shook my head. “No. I need to know.”
She met my eyes, and a knock came at the door. “I’ll be just a minute,” she called. “I’m meeting with a student.”
“As you will, Maeve,” an unfamiliar voice returned.
I glanced over my shoulder at the door, then sat farther forward. “You can’t do me like this, Umbra.”
In an unexpected gesture, one of Umbra’s hands reached out across the desk, the palm open. I hesitated, staring down at it. I knew she wanted to clasp my hand.
The gesture felt too intimate; I didn’t move.
“Clementine,” she said after a moment, “your mother and sister have not been seen in over a decade. Trust me, there will be time to talk about the past.”
Her open palm remained on the desk, unmet by my hand. And I was glad for it in this moment. She was avoiding me.
I fixed her with hard eyes. “All right,” I said, sitting back. “Do you have any questions for me?”
Her eyes gleamed with feeling. “Not at present, child.”
I stood, lifting a sleepy Loki. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
As I started out, the headmistress called my name. When I turned, she offered the ghost of a smile. “Do you know where you’re going?”
I cleared my throat. I hadn’t the faintest idea. “Of course.”
She nodded. “Off you go, then. Professor Fernwhirl will be most glad to meet you in the meadow.”
Chapter Ten
I came onto the landing outside Headmistress Umbra’s office. Before me stood a woman with a horsewhip braid and piercing eyes. Before she or I could speak, I descended the stairs to the double doors, my head a swarm of thoughts.
Foremost among them were Mom and Tamzin. Not seen in a decade. But that doesn’t mean they’re dead. And I’ll be damned if that wasn’t the first piece of good news I’d heard about them in ten years.
And as I came outside, realization hit me with the sunlight.
I’d never given up on them being alive.
Somehow I sensed they were still out there.
And maybe, just maybe, I could find them again.
Next to mind came the Shade—the horsewoman. She was immortal, or at least, very long-lived. And she led the denizens of darkness here on Earth, whom I had encountered two nights ago.
If it weren’t for the headmistress, I would have been lost to them.
And now Umbra wanted me to do the same—rescue young people.
And as my eyes fell on the grounds before me, all at once the academy which had seemed so ridiculous to me looked different. If what she was saying was true, this place wasn’t just a school.
It mattered.
For the first time, hope of finding Mom and Tamzin eked its way past the thick layer of bitterness in my chest.
And then, as I came into the clearing, two more thoughts arose:
Professor Fernwhirl. The meadow.
Where the hell was the meadow?
I turned a full circle, uncertain even which direction to strike off in, as I struggled to hold Loki up. All at once he felt like a lead weight.
Finally, I let him down. “My man, how much did you eat? You feel like you’re smuggling a softball.”
He opened sleepy eyes to the light. “A pound of fish, to be precise. That chef is a magic worker. I mean, not just literally. She conjured me the most delectable strip of salmon I’ve ever tasted.”
I laughed, and not just at his comment. A brief and rare airiness had entered my chest. Mom and Tamzin could be alive. “I guess I know where you’ll be most of the day.”
He started grooming his face. “If we ever leave this place, we’re taking Chef Vickery with us.”
“I can’t promise that. It may be canned cat food again for you.”
He groaned. “Gods no.”
I was still scanning the grounds. “I have to get to my first class. Which direction do you think ‘the meadow’ would be in?”
He continued pressing one paw over his whiskers to clean himself. “I’m a cat. What do you expect from me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Periodic pleas for food and constant judgment of everything I do.”
“And nothing more. Unless bribery is involved.”
A high-pitched yelp echoed through the clearing. I turned toward it. “Did you hear that?”
Loki’s ears had swiveled that direction, though he didn’t move. “Like I said: I’m a cat. Of course I did.”
I started off that way. With a grumble, Loki fell into a trot behind me. Whatever that noise was, it hadn’t sounded like a happy yelp.
We passed through the clearing, cutting into the forest beyond the immediate grounds. I discovered a small, narrow path I hadn’t noticed before, and I followed it through the taller grass and cut-away brush. A minute later, the path ended at an enormous opening in the forest—at least twice the size of the clearing at the center of the academy.
And thirty feet off, their backs to me, stood six fae. Five of them made a semi-circle around the sixth—clearly the elder—who gestured with wide arms and spoke in a loud voice.
When she glimpsed me, the elder fae leaned to the side to meet my eyes. “Is that you, Clementine Cole?”
I stepped into the bright late-fall sunlight—the first I’d experienced since leaving my home—and tracked across the grass. “That’s me.”
All the other fae had turned toward me. Among them was my roommate, Eva, who was wiping dirt from her hands. So she’d been the one who had let out that yelp.
“Perfect timing,” the elder fae called back. “Come over and join us.”
As Loki and I arrived amongst the throng, I wondered if I was in the wrong class. Was this fae-only?
“Welcome, Clementine, to Introduction to Flight. I’m Professor Fernwhirl, and these are your classmates for the rest of the semester. Fae, please introduce yourselves.”
One by one, the faefolk stated their names—including Eva, who grinned at me. These were, I realized, the only first-year students in Whisper, the house of flight. And if there were only thirteen in total, that meant the house was very small indeed.
Three of them were male, two female. And all were just as stunning as Eva, their wings iridescent, each a slightly different shade. If I were to stare through the wings of the one next to me, I would see the world in a soft blue. The wings of the next fae over would make the world look orange.
Even Professor Fernwhirl, who appeared three times the age of the rest, was still more striking than any human I’d met. Her blue hair, streaked with silver, was woven into an elaborate braid hanging over one shoulder. Her eyes were the color of mint, and her teacher’s robes outlined a slender, hollow-boned figure.
After the five students had spoken, she turned to me. “Can you please introduce yourself, Clementine?”
I raised a hand. “I’m Clementine Cole—a human. And a witch.”
That was the first time I had introduced myself that way. It felt awkward, unnatural. All the same, it sent a thrill through my body. I liked introducing myself that way.
The others gazed at me intensely, their eyes wide with curiosity. I sensed my reputation preceded me. I was, after all, the witch. Would it have been too much for me to wiggle my fingers and cackle? Probably, but such things weren’t beneath me.
“Excellent.” Professor Fernwhirl clapped her hands together. “Soon we’ll have you flying on your very own broom. For today, you’ll be observing the others.”
I stepped forward. “I’d like to join the class today.” Where did that come from? I was never that kind of student.
Her eyebro
ws rose. “Oh, but you will. Observation can be just as effective as participation.”
“It won’t do me any good to watch fae—I don’t have wings. I fly on a broom, don’t I?”
The others were watching me closely, and I got the feeling this kind of bluntness with the professors wasn’t typical.
But then, these were atypical times. That was what Headmistress Umbra had told me—we were losing this war, and badly—and I let that course through me as I stood before Professor Fernwhirl.
“How about it?” I said.
Her eyes narrowed, considering me. “Very well,” she said finally. “I believe we have a broom tucked away somewhere. Though you may end up using it for sweeping.”
I nodded once, my eyes flashing. Challenge accepted.
Five minutes later, Professor Fernwhirl had retrieved a broom for me from God knows where. Probably a storage closet, because it didn’t look like any witch’s broom I’d ever seen in the movies. It looked like a broom you’d keep in the pantry; the bristles were dusty.
She passed it to me. “There you are, Clementine.”
I tried not to make a face. Be gracious on your first day, Clem. “Thanks. So do I just...shove it between my legs?”
The other fae gasped, giggled. Eva’s eyes went wide, and I winked at her.
Fernwhirl’s chest rose with an insuck of air. When she’d regained herself, she shook her head. “We haven’t had a witch at the academy in decades. My understanding is that you must sit sidelong, with thighs closed.”
“Like side-saddle?”
The term seemed unfamiliar to her. “Yes, I suppose so.”
And then, before I could respond, she turned to the five fae and began listing off drills. She instructed them to make five laps around the edges of the meadow as fast as they could fly. During each lap, they had to veer in amongst the trees like an obstacle course.
“And,” she added with an upraised finger, “I’ll be pursuing you this time.”
Eva looked alarmed, like this was a new development in their class. “What happens if you catch one of us?”
