Page 30 of Magical Academy for Delinquents
“Why, though?” one of the guys I recognized as Grayson’s lackey, a dude with a buzzed head and a septum piercing, asked. “I mean, what’s it to them if we’ve got magic?”
Wolfe sighed. “Norms are very particular about their confidence levels. Ever since the invention of the Unnatural Spell, one hundred seventy-two years ago, there’s been additional friction between our kind and theirs.”
“Why though?” A lazy looking guy with white-blond hair called out from the back of the room, waving his wand in the air. “We were their little bitches for centuries. Only fair that they take their turn.”
“Well, now, that is an interesting philosophy,” Wolfe didn’t just shoot the asshole down like he should have. He acted like the statement had some kind of twisted merit. Which is why the students here loved him. Wolfe cleared his throat before he continued, “Before the Institutes were created, the Unnatural Spell used to cause more than just heartache when it went wrong. One moment.” He left Zavier standing by the podium and went behind it. He grabbed his wand. He dipped it in the inkwell and tapped it against the podium in a quick staccato rhythm as he unrolled a parchment and wrote a quick spell. His hands weren’t what they used to be. Age was catching up with him. His left fingers got singed as the parchment burnt beneath him, the magic racing his writing ability. Wolfe finished just before the fire reached the tip of his wand. “There we are,” he said, before sucking on one of his burnt fingertips.
Above his head rose a circle, that shimmered like a mirror. Derby glanced up and then out at the class. “Those of you who know me, know that I’ve been one of the lucky ones able to slow my aging process down. And while it’s generally not polite to ask a Norm their age—particularly the women—I’ll let you in on a little secret. I am one-hundred-eighty-seven this year.”
I knew that already from researching the school. But clearly, based on the silence that sliced through the room, not everyone did. Gasps went around the room. Magicals had normal lifespans. Unnaturals had normal lifespans with the added hazard of getting eaten or run over or whatever while they were in animal form. Some magicals used spells to slow their aging. But the longest I’d ever heard of anyone lasting, before Professor Wolfe, was a hundred and thirty. His spell writing must have been incredibly badass.
I glanced over at Emelia. She was leaning forward in her seat, fascinated. While the other kids were impressed for a second, they’d already relaxed back into their arrogant, ‘don’t give a fuck’ poses. Yeah, this girl is not gonna fit in here, I thought as I turned back to Professor Wolfe.
Derby gave a small smile before gesturing up at the floating mirror. “I’ve had the luck, or misfortune, depending on your position, to witness the creation and change the Unnatural Spell has wrought.” The mirror above him flickered and came to life like a movie screen. A small town, in late evening, lit by twinkling lanterns, came into view. The shops were mostly closed and deserted as the view from the mirror gazed down a raised wooden sidewalk. A woman’s hand clutched a small one in front of us. Our view tilted up to look at her. The woman wore a long-sleeved white blouse and a full mauve skirt half-covered by an apron. She held a lantern aloft. Her resemblance to Derby made it clear that we were seeing his memories, and this was his mother.
“Just a bit further,” her British accent was musical and warm, though her eyes darted around. “Next time don’t wander so far when you’re catching frogs! You know that tonight your father and uncle wanted to try that new spell just in from Paris.” Her voice scolded but her arms pulled Derby closer into a hug, and for a moment all we got to see were her skirts. “Come on then,” she muttered, pulling away and setting a quick pace.
Derby and his mother passed a gentleman in a waistcoat and evening jacket, who stopped and tipped his hat.
Derby turned backward to stare at the man when his mother didn’t stop. “I want a hat like that when I grow up.”
His childish voice made me guess he was maybe four years old.
“Come on, we need to get home,” His mother’s voice was stern. The view jerked and then whirled as Derby was tugged along by his mother and swung back the other way.
A house came into focus. Though it looked just like all the other buildings on the street, Derby’s eyes focused on the little clapboard three-story stuffed between two taller row houses. Clearly, this was home. A metal gate and a small garden separated the house from the sidewalk. Derby’s mother dropped his hand to open the gate.
Derby dropped to a crouch to stare at a beetle crawling along the ground.
A girl’s scream lanced the darkness. The sound was so piercing that even some of the guys in my class jerked in surprise. I met Zavier’s wide eyes across the room. I glanced over to see Emelia still leaning forward, but now her fingers clenched around the desktop.
What kind of memory was Derby showing us? Dread filled my stomach.
Derby’s young voice called out, “Maggie!” He stood, eyes on the door of the house.
His mother yanked the gate open and started to run toward the house. Derby scrambled to follow his mother, our view bobbing up and down as he ran as fast as his little legs could take him.
His mother ran up the steps to the home, which was cast into shadow by a big tree in the front garden. She called out, “Alvin?”
A boom sounded inside the house, like heavy furniture toppling over. She tried the latch, but the door was locked. She pounded on the wood. “Alvin!”
Another crash sounded. And another scream.
Bile rose in my throat.
“Bugger,” the woman cursed and dug into her skirts. “Maggie?” she yelled as her fingers tried her pockets, then her apron. “Maggie are you alright? Alvin, come get the door!”
No one answered her calls.
But a strange slurping noise started.
And the screams stopped…
Derby backed slowly away from his mother, into the bushes on the side of the house as she frantically rechecked her pockets and called out. “I forgot my key!”
We watched as Derby’s small hands latched onto the white siding and wooden planks were all we could see. Each rough splinter came into focus as Derby climbed the wall of his house and grabbed precariously onto a window ledge.
My heart thrummed in my chest. My hand clenched onto the chair arm just as Derby’s little hands clutched at the wall.
