Page 3 of Validus Vale Academy 1
Finding a scrunchie on the floor, I tie my hair back into a low ponytail, grab my phone, and scurry down the stairs two treads at a time.
“Double-shift again, sweetheart?” Nancy’s voice calls. “Well done, you.” Nancy always praises me for holding down my minimum-wage job. She doesn’t think I’m capable of much else. Especially after I’d blown the (Nancy quote hands) One Big Chance You’ll Ever Get, (end Nancy quote hands).
“Yep, double shift. See you later.”
As I head down the hallway, the framed photos of my cousins stare down from the green-striped wallpaper. The one of Neilgraduating from the prestigious Edinburgh Academy of Magic always seems to be super-judgey. Then there’s the portrait of Nicola and her fiancé. Nicola’s betrothed is one oftheManchester Elites, which is abig deal. It’s one of the reasons Aunt Nancy needs me out asap so she can start planning the wedding without my presence lowering the tone. She hasn’t said that out loud, but I 100% know it’s in her head. I bring shame to her manageable house.
Nancy may have mentioned (once or twice) that it was a pity neither ofherchildren had been given the same ‘incredible’ and ‘unwarranted’ opportunity as me. There’s no way Nicola or Neil would have bombed.
She’s not wrong; I’m quite sure they’d have aced the six-week program I’d been on.
Every year, a handful of lucky high school witches were sent to a fully-funded intensive at a magic academy. Last year’s WMO lottery winner had been little ol’ me.
Aunt Nancy was disappointed my experience had all been a waste of time, but not surprised, oh no, not surprised at all. If anyone was ever going to be an AUA, it was me.
“She’s a sweet girl,” I’d overheard her say to a friend. “But not terribly bright, and certainly not talented.”
“Such a shame the girl got nothing out of it,” her friend replied, patting Nancy’s arm in commiseration. “Going all the way to Havengard and everything.”
The flight to the United States of Havengard had taken sixteen hours. Not surprising, given that the country is almost on the other side of the globe. It’s the only place on the planet entirely governed by the Magical Elite. The rest of the world splits governance between humans and witches.
However, it’s not entirely true that I gotnothingout of the intensive; but Nancy doesn’t know about my extracurricularactivities. Still, as for awakening? I’d gotten a big fat F. The magic classes hadn’t engendered even the merest flicker of my internal spark. And without your magic spark igniting, the witchcraft of Arcane Magic was impossible—no spells for Theo.
So, it was back to England with no placement at the local state academy for me—just a job alongside humans, making and delivering sandwiches.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Theo. You have a roof over your head (well, for the next fourteen days), and you have steady employment. Lots of people have it worse.
Internal-Theo gives me the talking-to I need. I can’t sink into the trap of self-pity. I’ve gone there before, and it’snota good look. The trouble is, a lot of my life has been hard. It’s almost like I’m cursed or something. If anything can go wrong for Theo, then it will.
Case in point, when I get outside, gross humidity instantly soaks my shirt,andI’ve got a flat. With a sigh, I unchain my bike from the iron railings and grab the patch kit from the saddle bag. Old Mrs. Turnbull at number 3 waves and calls out, “It’s gonna be another scorcher, Theo.”
“I think you’re right, Mrs. T,” I reply, giving her a one-handed wave as I use the quick-release to free the back wheel. I’m really going to be late now.
“Bike giving you troubles?” Mr. Turnbull shouts, joining his wife on the stoop.
—Probably should offer to help, but it’s too hot—
And here we go—shields up, Mr. Sulu.
TROUBLES = Tube, route, blot, belt, ooh rouble! Roubles is even better—seven letters.
I’ve been trying to dampen the voices for as long as I can remember. Distracting my brain helps. My current tactic is playing mental games of Boggle to divert myself. It works topress voices down into a vague white noise—most of the time. The ever-present buzz of other people’s thoughts is like having a dozen browsers open, each playing a different video at the same time. Exhausting.
There are always. So. Many. Voices.
It’s a wonder I’m not completely barking.
As soon as my parents figured out why I was such a weirdo-of-a-toddler, they immediately moved us out of the city and into a remote hillside village in Wales. I was five or six before I understood what they were telling me. I was telepathic. It was the only thing that explained my being able to hear other people's thoughts.
Mum and Dad were terrified that the World Magic Organization would find out about my weird ability and take me away. “People who go to the WMO labs never return,” Mom had whispered. “Keep away from the authorities.”
“OK,” I nodded, not really sure what I was agreeing to.
Dad had clutched my hand. “And promise us you’ll try to stop hearing the voices, it’s so important, Theo. Keep a low profile,nevertellanyone.”
Not the words a kid really wants to hear every night before bedtime.
Their fear was based on the fact that telepathy was an innate magic. And innate magic had been extinct for millennia. Shit, it really didn’t make any sense. Literally any witch in the whole world would be more likely to have innate magic than me.
