Page 21 of Spelling Disaster

“This is your dorm.” Amy holds her arms out wide to the single-story saltbox with moss covered shingles. It stands out among the other buildings because it looks more old-Salem than Gothic. The misfit students in the misfit house, I think to myself, staring at the shutters on the windows to the left of the door, swaying slightly in the wind.

The place is longer than it is wide, too. A walk around the side shows the building being added on to repeatedly, to accommodate more people if I have to guess.

I wonder if it’s a choice the school made or if this building was the first one built on campus. It certainly looks its age.

Creaking hinges included.

A large elm tree shades the entrance and moss grows on the shingles, all of the plants in the front garden adapted to the lack of sunlight. Under the right circumstances it might even be cute.

Amy stares appraisingly at the house with her hands on her hips. “Don’t let X House worry you too much. The houses and their classifications aren’t really important right now. Trust me.”

She sounds assuring.

I have to wonder if it’s all an act or if she really feels this optimistic about everything. She’s obviously been chosen for her position for a reason.

From where I’m standing, this is the house for outcasts and the people who even a school for witches can’t seem to place. The ones who don’t belong in any boxes.

The house doesn’t have the same lovely trappings as the other buildings on campus and not because it’s a bit rundown. Everything about it is unique. Which is a nice word for unkempt.

They’ve placed me with the people who don’t belong and a part of me knows they’re right.

ChapterSeven

“XHouse,” I say out loud.

Amy flashes me a huge white smile. “I think once you settle in you’ll find it more than adequate. At least, until you get your magic tested.”

“And what if I test and I’m still in X House?” I ask. The way she makes it sound is that I’ll surely be moved soon.

I’ve never felt more confused.

I might have missed her slight twitch. “It will all work itself out,” she replies as a non-answer.

The other part of me, the one who has always struggled to feel comfortable with my place in life, wonders what other talents I might have that haven’t been tapped into yet. Mental fingers crossed I have more talents than I’ve managed to manifest in my Cleric training. I’m good for books and for short blasts of magic, good for ascending to the next level, but what if those things aren’t enough to keep me here?

Why do I even want to stay?

I’m curious why Mom doesn’t want me to reveal we’re Clerics.

Since Amy seems to have settled in for more of our introductory conversation, I decide to ask her. As cautiously as possible, of course.

“What about Clerics?” I want to know. “Like, in general.”

Amy shoots me some serious side eye. “What do you mean?” she asks with equal caution.

“I mean, what house do Clerics fit into? Shouldn’t they have their own place on campus?”

She shakes her head, the confusion seeping from her expression to be replaced with her usual bright cheer. “I get why you’d be curious because of the founders of this place.”

The what?

“Yasmine, Clerics haven’t been around for over one hundred and fifty years. You’re crazy!” She breaks off in a giggle. “The last Cleric was executed at the stake for treason. The whole subject is a bit taboo, if you know what I mean.”

My blood runs cold and my jaw drops open. “You’re kidding me,” I hear myself say from a distance.

“Looks like you’re going to have a bit of history to catch up on. Don’t worry, it’s not a bad thing. A lot of students who come here for their first semester aren’t reallyupon our history, if you know what I mean. They’ve heard their fair share of gossip, but they don’t know the real story. Oh! Here.” Amy digs around in her pocket. “Hold out your hand.”

Stiffly, obediently, I do as she says.

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