Page 33 of Validus Vale Academy 1
That’s OK, I want my real guys, not their dream versions.
Over the next few days, I get into a routine. First, dream of the twins, then lie in bed with an aching heart. This is followed by a shower, eating breakfast with Willow and Duncan, and classes. Finally, I come back to my room and pore through emails, looking for clues that just aren’t there.
The mark on my neck is no longer visible, but I can feel it all the time. I’m just glad Cosmo hasn’t sent for me again. I’ve only seen him in the awful advanced classes where I’ve been keeping my head down, unresponsive to various taunts.
The remedial classes are OK, though. The other remedials are coming out of their shells, and Defectivum House is growing into a shy, battered family, headed up by Professor Bilderblast, who I really like.
This morning, in Beginning History of Magic, he’d given us the rundown between Arcane and Innate magic.
“Innate magic, as the term suggests, was inherent to a witch from birth. Unfortunately, this raw, untamed potential is no longer present in the witches of today. The last recorded witch with innate magic was a monk called Konstantine of Kormovia. He had the innate ability to change his appearance at will, no spells needed at all. Sadly, he was burned at the stake by villagers after using his power to appear as local men so that he could take advantage of their wives.”
There is giggling around the classroom, but I raise my hand. “How long ago was that, professor?”
“The early fourteenth century, Ms. Wilson. A pitiful ending to the innate magic line, don’t you think?” he replies. I can feel a frown creasing my forehead. “Something to add, Ms. Wilson?” Professor Bilderblast asks.
I don’t like drawing attention to myself over this subject, but I’ve never had the opportunity to learn about innate magic from anything other than the internet before. “How do we know there are no more witches with innate magic? Couldn’t they be hiding their ability?”
He hums. “Interesting. The answer to that is we can’t know for sure, because even though each birth is legally required to be registered and then the baby is gene-tested, there could be witches born that have never been recorded on the registry. Obviously, any baby that had innate magic in their DNA would be quite miraculous.”
Hmmm.
“Moving on,” the professor says. “Arcane magic is acquired through study and practice, and can only be wielded by witches. Witches, as we all know, are those with a magical inner spark. And this is why you are all here: to increase the power of your spark, to learn casting theory, spells, potions, and to become a master or mistress of witchcraft. So study, study, study!”
I’ve been studying harder than I ever did in high school. But what’s the point of learning spells if I can never use them?
By the end of each day, I’m exhausted, but naturally, not because of the time difference; the jet lag has finally passed, thank Gods. The evenings are when I do my investigating. Not that I’ve got much further—it’s much more that Pepe Silvia meme than Sherlock Holmes.
On my wall is a printed map that marks the route from Validus Vale to the airport. Next to it is a Post-it that reads, "Taxi?" “Friend?”
Wes and Donovan didn’t own cars, both preferring to ride motorbikes, so how did they get to the airport? And where are their bikes? The storage lock-up? I’d used Wes’s email address to contact the storage place, asking for a duplicate key to ‘my’ unit. I’d yet to hear back.
Poking through [email protected] has given me the email address for Wes and Donovan’s parents, along with an uncle, and three cousins. I made a fake email address and wrote to their mom, saying Donovan had won a load of money and I needed his details. She didn’t write back. On reflection, that email did come over decidedly scammy. Despite all my internet searches, I still haven’t found out where Dean Dartmouth retired to.
Investigating is not simple, let me tell you. There are no obvious clues or big arrows saying ‘answers this way’. I know my efforts are pitiful, but I’ll keep going. What else can I do?
“Is everything OK?” Willow asks as I join her in the line for breakfast. We are both dressed out in the Defectivum sports uniform. Brown joggers, a baggy beige tee shirt, and a zip-up nylon hoodie. “I’ve barely seen anything of you recently.” I can see a hint of hurt in her eyes.
My hand raises unconsciously to my neck. “Sorry, I’ve just been overwhelmed,” I reply. “But I’m not avoiding you on purpose—promise.”
Willow smiles back at me. “Well, good, because that would have sucked, after all, we are besties.” She tucks her arm through mine as we step up to the serving counter. Thankfully, we’ve made it while there are still options other than grits. I take a bagel and a fruit cup, while Willow chooses a buttery-looking chocolate croissant, then adds a side of bacon.
Hmm, good choice. I add bacon to my tray, then we take our seats in ‘dud corner’. I’ve just had my first delicious bite when a shadow falls over us. A boy in a Communis House uniform drops into the chair in front of me. There is nothing remarkable about his appearance, but just the fact that he approached us makes me nervous. Willow puts down her pastry and squares her shoulders. Bloomhowers never back down from a fight.
I give the boy a tentative smile. “Er, hi?”
“I’m Simon,” he replies. —She’s got cream cheese on her chin—
Quickly wiping my face, I smile warily. “Nice to meet you?”
Simon flaps a hand. “Whatever. I’ve a message for you.”
“Me?” Willow squeaks.
He rolls his eyes. “Not you—her; Theodora. Cosmo wants you at his suite directly after your last class today.”
Willow lets out another squeak. I just sigh. I knew the last few days of peace were too good to be true. Simon peers across the table. “Message received?” he asks.
“Received and understood,” I reply. He nods and leaves, and I push my plate to one side, my appetite turned to dust.
