Patrick takes in my uniform. "What are you doing here?"
“I just enrolled,” I say, stomach twisting at the memory of ditching him two weeks prior.
“Oh,” says Patrick, stepping closer. “But I thought you were homeschooled?”
My face burns. “Um. Not anymore…”
“What happened to you the other day? I waited outside that pub, but you never came out.”
The fact that he seems more curious than accusatory makes me feel worse.
“Right, sorry about that,” I say, scratching the base of my neck. “That was because… well…” My identity no longer being a secret, I tell him the truth. My real name. How I was born outside of Aurelia. How the Registry Department almost deported me. How I’m not actually sure I should be at a magic school right now. Though Patrick makes several bewildered expressions—something I’m also doing a lot of these days—he doesn’t interrupt until I’ve finished.
“So that’s why you didn’t know about kelpies or the Hellhound Gang!” says Patrick. “I wondered—you were acting so odd and cagey and stuff, and, I mean, everyone knows that band. But I never would have guessed—wow…”
“Yeah… Sorry for leaving like that.”
“Why didn’t you just say you wanted to be alone?”
“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”
A wry smile. “So you thought ditching me was better?”
I suck in a breath. “In hindsight, no. I’m sorry. After you told me about the Birth Registry, I panicked.” A pause. “I met your aunt at the Registry Department by the way. Agnes, right? She tried to deport me.”
To my surprise, he says, “Frightening, isn’t she? Mom can’t stand her.” Just then, the haggard witch from the school entrances cackles, an unnerving, high-pitched sound that peals through the night. Patrick motions to the opening. “Class starts soon. Do you know where to go?”
“No. My cousin ditched me.” I give a crooked smile. “I suppose that’s karma.”
Patrick laughs. “I can show you around.”
I nod gratefully and follow him to the entrance, which he terms the Hag’s Mouth. It only now occurs to me how attractive Patrick is—tall, with smooth skin, angled features and dark hair framing his face like a crescent moon.
“What about that friend you were going to meet?” asks Patrick as we walk through the Hag’s Mouth. “Was that someone your parents knew?”
“Uh… that was a lie.”
Silence.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Um, sorry, but I sort of lied about—” I tug on my earlobe “—well, everything.”
“Oh.” A beat. His face screws up in thought. “So does that mean your favorite color isn’t really green?”
But my attention is drawn elsewhere as we enter a large clearing where a labyrinth of red mulch pathways intertwines, lit by flaming lights poking out of the ground. Storm-gray fog lingers around us like heavy smoke, making it impossible to discern our more distant surroundings.
“Why is everything so foggy?” I ask. Aurelia makes the Scottish Isles seem almost tropical by comparison.
“Oh. Well, the more magical energy buildup there is, the more it affects the weather,” says Patrick. “And with so many students casting and botching up spells every day, there’s more accumulation here than other areas.” He sweeps a hand around our surroundings. “Believe it or not, this is Grimlock on a good day. Term’s only just starting.”
Patrick leads me along a narrow river that snakes through the campus, its center illuminated by a row of flickering torches that alternate slowly between shades of purple, green, blue, and yellow—the colors of each order’s magic. We pass a group of chatting students, a few of whom have large, black, eagle-like wings jutting from their shoulder blades. Large, pointed ears flank their narrow faces, and their fingers resemble long claws. I make a conscious effort not to stare. Though I’ve heard about them, I had yet to see a harpy in Aurelia.
“It’s really strange, going to school at night,” I say, tripping over a tree root. “And in a forest.”
“Well, it’s not like they could build the school near an inhabited village.”
I look at him in question.
“Sometimes the magical buildup gets really out of hand,” says Patrick. “When that happens, it triggers all sorts of adverse events.” Reading my blank expression, he clarifies, “Magical disasters. It gets a bit dangerous when the energy balance goes out of whack—and it takes ages for it to sort itself out again.”
“What about monsters and stuff though?”
“Well, the only way in is through the Hag’s Mouth, and a long tongue comes roping out to swallow up anything nonhuman that tries to get on campus.” My eyes flare, and Patrick shrugs. “Sometimes she misses, and something gets through. But she’s usually pretty reliable.”
“Interesting security system,” I murmur.
We walk around a bend and come face to face with a giant black spider the size of a small car creeping along the edge of a white sea of gossamer, the web stretched between two trees. Startled, I jump back with a yelp—and land on Patrick’s foot. It’s several seconds before I realize that the spider isn’t real. “Is that supposed to be a Halloween decoration?” I ask, after apologizing to Patrick.
“Oh, no,” says Patrick. “That’s the Grimlock mascot.”
“A spider?” After a second, I nod appreciatively. I kind of like it.
“Yeah,” says Patrick, examining its web thoughtfully. “I think it’s meant to be some odd metaphor about creativity and the value of hard work.”
We reach a rickety bridge with rope rails.
“Careful to avoid that spot,” says Patrick, pointing a ways up. “There’s a board or two missing. I found that out the hard way last year during Lotus term and fell into the river.”
I squint in the darkness, eventually seeing the shadowy spot. I step carefully over it. The last thing I need is to show up on my first day unable to do magic and sopping wet. On the other side of the river, Patrick nods to an old stained building with a dragon sculpture looming over the front wall, a cascading waterfall flowing from its mouth into a small pond. Thousands of glossy purple and black shingles mimic scales so that the roof strongly resembles a dragon’s skin.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“That’s the Witch’s Lodge,” says Patrick. “Each order has their own building on campus.”
I follow Patrick behind the waterfall and through an arched entrance. Flames crackle in my ears as we make our way down a drafty splintering corridor, either side lined with rusting torch brackets. Eventually we reach a door labeled Registrar where we join a line of students. Before long we’re standing before a bulky oaken desk, behind which sits a bespectacled woman.
“Names?” she asks.
“Patrick Goodwin.”
The woman thumbs through a stack of papers and hands him his course schedule. “Next?”
“Riley James.”
“Oh…” says the woman, awareness dawning on her face. Clearly they’ve been expecting me. “Just a moment, dear, the High Magistra wants to meet you.” The woman disappears through a door behind her.
I look at Patrick.
“The High Magistra’s head of the school,” says Patrick, reading the question on my face.
The woman reemerges with a tall, stocky woman whom I presume to be the High Magistra. Bouffant red hair frames her square, fleshy face.
“Miss James, is it?” she asks, her voice a booming drum that fills the room. “The Council informed us of your unique situation. Follow me, please.”
“I’ll wait for you,” says Patrick.
“Thanks,” I say, before adding with a wink, “I promise I’ll come back.”
I’m led into a cramped office with a heavy rectangular desk.
“My name is Winnie Thatcher,” she says, sitting down and motioning for me to do the same. “As High Magistra here at Grimlock, I wanted to personally welcome you to our school. Are you familiar at all with how things work here?”
“No.”
“Not to worry, dear, it’s all very straightforward,” says Magistra Thatcher. “Grimlock has three eight-week terms per year—Ibis in the fall, Mandala in the winter, and Lotus in the spring. Each term, you’ll take one module from each of four core disciplines—Demonology, Alchemy, Legends and Lore, and Applied Magicks. Modules within the first three are taken by all students, regardless of order. Applied Magicks, on the other hand, are order-specific modules. As a witch, you’ll take conjuration classes in this building alongside fellow witches. Keep in mind that familiars are not allowed at school.
“Now, it is my understanding that magic is still very new to you. However, the Council wants to accelerate your learning. They want you placed in age-appropriate modules. Therefore, you’ll start in Level II studies. They believe that, with the extra tutoring you’re receiving, you’ll catch on quickly enough.”
“Right,” I say, shifting my gaze downward.
She pushes a yellow notecard toward me. “Here is your course schedule. All of our teaching fellows have the title of master, owing to their magister degrees.”
I look at my schedule.
<table style="border-collapse: collapse; width: 64.2563%" border="1">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="width: 8.93246%">8pm</td>
<td style="width: 18.5185%">Conjuration</td>
<td style="width: 20.915%">Gary Loomis</td>
<td style="width: 51.634%">The Witch''s Lodge, room 14</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 8.93246%; text-align: left">9pm</td>
<td style="width: 18.5185%">Legends & Lore</td>
<td style="width: 20.915%">Dennis Fogarty</td>
<td style="width: 51.634%">The Ghoulery</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 8.93246%">10pm</td>
<td style="width: 18.5185%">Demonology</td>
<td style="width: 20.915%">Gladys Halleen</td>
<td style="width: 51.634%">Saraswati Tower, room 1411</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="width: 8.93246%">11pm</td>
<td style="width: 18.5185%">Alchemy</td>
<td style="width: 20.915%">Lugar Bancroft</td>
<td style="width: 51.634%">The Pit, lab 9</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
Back outside the registrar’s office, Patrick surveys my course schedule while the administrator goes to collect my textbooks. “Oh, excellent, we’ll have Conjuration and Alchemy together,” he says. “I’ve got reverse sections for Lore and Demonology, so we’ll just miss each other. You’ll want to be careful to speak up with Master Loomis, he’s going a bit senile. Oh, and Master Halleen—” He sucks in air between his teeth. “She can be a bit of a—well, she’s kind of spiteful. Sort of fitting that she teaches a class about demons and monsters. We all call her Master Halloween. Never be late for her class if you can help it.”
Judging by his expression, I get the impression he’s recounting from personal experience.
“Master Fogarty can be a bit theatrical at times when he’s teaching a legend he’s particularly fond of,” continues Patrick. “It’s entertaining though. He’s my favorite. And Master Bancroft—well, he’s a bit of a drunk. We all forget he’s there sometimes, and I think he does too.”
The woman returns, dumping four thick books in my arms: Handbook for Witches, Lost Legends of Aurelia, Hell’s Spawn, and A Beginner’s Guide to Alchemy.
Patrick glances at his watch. “We’d better hurry. Class starts in two minutes.” I follow Patrick up a flight of stairs to room 14. At least thirty students are already seated in several rows of desks.
“We’ll have to split up,” says Patrick.
I feel grateful when he takes the empty seat at the front of the classroom. But then my gaze lands on the last open desk, right next to…
Mikhail.
Groaning, I force my feet to move.
“—less than two weeks away now,” Mikhail’s smug voice grates in my ears as he boasts about something to the girl in front of him.
The girl’s mouth forms a wide O. “Are the dreams as strange as everyone says?”
“Oh.” Mikhail’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yes… yes, very much so…. They’re exhausting, but it’s part of the burden I’ve been chosen to bear—" He breaks off and cocks an eyebrow as I sit down—clearly surprised I found my way to the Witch’s Lodge in time for class.
“Glad you made it, cuz,” says Mikhail. “Must have missed you at the telehub.”
“This is your cousin?” asks the girl, giving me a once-over. She’s pale, with a heart-shaped face and a curtain of long brown hair bunched in tight, corkscrew curls. “The one who can’t do magic?”
Mikhail nods, and the girl snickers. I ignore them, glancing longingly at the clock. A few minutes past eight. Class should have started by now…
As if he heard my silent prayer, a bald man with a spindly neck and large ears saunters into the room. Master Loomis gives us a lipless, apologetic smile and says in a nasally voice, “So sorry—forgot what room we were in.” He walks to the front table and opens a book. “We’ll start off with a review of summoning spells. That is, summoning objects through the air. Summoning is recognized as a secondary, simpler form of conjuring, because it involves working with a preexisting object…” Master Loomis drones on for the better part of the hour, reading almost word for word from the textbook and pausing several times to readjust his glasses.
I struggle to stay focused, blinking every time my eyelids threaten to shutter, afraid to miss anything that might help me.
“Now, as one might expect, the larger or more complex the item, the harder it is to conjure,” says Master Loomis. “The same is true with summoning, although one must also consider distance. The farther away or less visible the item, the greater the magical energy required. The base term for summoning is Revoco. Go on and say it.”
The class repeats Revoco in unison.
“Very good. Now, to summon a book, the spell becomes Revoco liber,” says Master Loomis. He places a book on the desk. “Would anyone like to demonstrate?”
The class is silent for several moments until—
“Riley said she would, sir,” says Mikhail loudly. I inhale a horrified breath. The girl in front of Mikhail snorts. At the front of the class, Patrick stiffens.
“Ah, wonderful. Apologies, I must not have heard—I’m deaf in one ear, see.” Master Loomis points to one of his large ears. “If you would stand and—”
“Um. I didn’t actually volunteer, sir,” I say, shooting a death glare at my cousin. “I don’t think I can—”
“What’s that? Just a bit louder, dear,” says Master Loomis, hand cupping his good ear.
“I said, I don’t think I can—” I repeat loudly, my face on fire.
“Nonsense, it’s not so difficult. Go on, give it a try,” encourages Master Loomis.
Everyone looks at me, and I draw myself up on shaking legs. I try to swallow, but my mouth has turned to sandpaper. I lock my eyes on the book at the front and raise a trembling hand. Peeling my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I manage, “Revoco liber!” It comes out like a strained gasp.
Nothing happens. Master Loomis has me repeat the words slowly, then try a second and third time, while Mikhail stifles laughter behind his fist.
“Not to worry, dear, some spells take a bit longer to get down pat,” says Master Loomis.
I sink low in my chair. If there was any magic I wish I could perform in this precise moment, it would be to make myself invisible.
“Would anyone else like to try?” asks Master Loomis, looking around.
“I would, sir,” says Mikhail, standing up. He raises a hand and, pointing expertly toward the book, says, “Revoco liber.” A bright flash of purple. The book rises in a smooth motion, before speeding obediently into his outstretched hand.
“Well done, Mr. James,” says Master Loomis, with a lipless smile. “Very well done.”