Page 21 of Validus Vale Academy 1
The Wilsons were killed in a car crash when Theodora was nine years old, so from there, she went to live with her Aunt. Theodora Wilson attended regular public schooling, earning average grades, then, last year, she won the WMO lottery. Thesix-week intensive confirmed her AUA status. She has a spark, but it remains unawoken.
So why the fuck was she here on the Guggenheimer Scholarship?
Paraphrasing Hamlet: Something’s rotten in the state of Validus Vale.
8
Well, day one at Validus Vale is going swimmingly.
First, I make my new friends late for breakfast, and then Willow and I get tossed around by bitchy bully girls. I discover my class schedule is all whack-a-doodle, I have Professor Feniks as my advisor, and now this.
It took a ludicrous amount of time to find the Dark Arts department; I’m panting for breath. The professor was joking about the donkey ears, right? Tiptoeing back and forth outside the fourth-floor Restricted Studies classroom, I try to build up the courage to enter. It’s just a class, some students, and a teacher. No big deal.
Just walk in.
Except, both my body and my brain don't want to becauseTHEYmight be in there. I’d rather be spelled with Donkey ears than face the twins right now.
OK, here I go. Or should I knock? No, you don't knock to enter a classroom, dummy. Unless... do you?
Shit on a stick. Taking one more calming breath, I slowly turn the handle. The professor stops mid-sentence and glares at me. “What?” she snaps. When I don’t immediately respond, she tuts loudly. “If you are here to empty the trash, we’ve already got the janitor in.”
Empty the trash? I glance at the back of the class. A tall figure in grey coveralls is indeed moving recycling into a large wheeled bin.
I shuffle nervously from foot to foot, clear my throat, and attempt to form words. "Sorry," I croak. "I'm... uh... new?"
The professor lowers her glasses and looks at me like I’m a complete idiot.
“I’m supposed to be in this class,” I mumble. “At least I think so? It’s on my new schedule.” I hold my tablet out like a shield, and the woman stalks towards me, plucking it out of my hand. “Ridiculous,” she mutters, scanning the screen. Then she repeats the word much louder. “Ridiculous. I’m sure this is an error, but take a seat anyway, and don’t cause any more disruption.”
I slink into the classroom with my head low, trying not to meet anyone’s eye.
Behind me, the door opens and closes once more. The professor's tone undergoes a startling transformation forthislatecomer. “Good morning, Mr. Drakeward,” she purrs. “So glad to have you in my class this term.”
Hair raises on the back of my neck, and my heart almost stalls. Twisting my head around, I meet the devastating glare coming from Cosmo Drakeward’s ice-blue eyes. Hatred pulses towards me, making a whimper involuntarily leave my throat.
Just perfect. Cosmo is in this class. Of course he is.
The person who hates me most in this school doesn’t move, just continues to pin me down with his gaze. His pale blonde hair is pushed back from his broad, tan forehead, and a pulse twitches in his perfect jawline. Yes, he’s beautiful. But, never, ever, judge a book by its cover. This man is no sweet read.
The professor looks at me and tuts again. “Wilson! Sit! Is everything alright, Mr. Drakeward?”
As I quickly shuffle onto a free seat, Cosmo's expression changes as he slides a smooth smile onto his face. “Absolutely. Terribly sorry for my tardiness, Professor Gimble, please continue.” He moves to a desk, and the student already sitting there quickly scrambles away to sit elsewhere.
“Very good, very good,” Gimble rubs her palms against her skirt. “Now, where were we?”
An Elite girl raises her hand. “Examples of restricted spells that need a government licence for use,” she answers. I think I remember her from last year—Kayla Cox. She was always hanging off the neck of her boyfriend. However, I don’t see him now.
“Ah, yes, very good. Now, excitingly, Validus Vale has a dispensation to allow for a teaching practicum of these spells. Obviously, students can’t use them outside my classroom, but here I will be looking for success. So let’s start with Projected Communication Artifice. Who can define that for me?”
Kayla leans forward, and now I see the boyfriend. He’s a short, stocky Elite who swaggers around trying to be the big man metaphorically, because he can’t be physically. Ugh. What’s his name? “Making someone say something they don’t want to,” he says.
“Correct, good, Klein."
Klein, that’s right. Klein Schweinsteiger, or something like that. He and Kayla are two witches to avoid.
“Projected Communication Artifice,” Professor Gimble continues, “is a dark art, but not illegal if used under an official license. Obviously, the World Magic Organization doesn't want just anybody using this; think of the chaos it could bring. But if you get a position in the WMO after graduation, having the ability to perform these spells will propel you into highergovernment positions. So, can anyone tell me the introductory steps to the spell?”
A few murmurs sound around the room, but no one volunteers any answers. I’m desperately trying to keep out of everyone’s brain, dissembling the word ‘restricted’.
