I pulled the door shut behind me and sprinted down the corridor, up the rotating spiral staircase outside the witches’ quarters—but there wasn’t time to try and run to class. If I wanted to be anything resembling “on time,” I’d need a shortcut.
I went up another staircase and sprinted down a hallway. I grabbed the carved bauble at the handrail’s edge, swinging myself around the corner and up a final staircase that led nowhere. As in, it literally led into a wall. The staircases became increasingly more confusing the tardier a student was and, in this case, they were pretty damn confusing.
There was a giant mahogany cuckoo clock that had been at the academy since Elmington manor was first built, something like four hundred years ago. Supposedly, it was built by the witches who had perished in Salem in the late 1600s—regardless, Elmington was protected by magic. Protected in as much as humans couldn’t see it.
The cuckoo clock changed locations at random—random to the students, at least. Today, it was perched on the wall above the staircase leading nowhere, covering six square feet of the floral wallpaper.
It struck seven.
Three loud, strident chimes. I walked up the stairs with my head turned down. Maybe Patricia wouldn’t recognize me.
A robin burst out of the clock’s cottage doors.
Dammit.
“Seven O’clock, b’caw!” Patricia squawked. “Seven O’clock! Emma Balfour should be in class by now! B’caw! Emma Balfour is late to class! B’caw! B’caw!”
“Oh, stick a worm in it, Patricia,” I said.
The stairs were carpeted emerald. Good for traction. I took them two, three at a time.
“B’caw! Gotta go faster than that! B’caw!”
“I get it, Patricia!”
I stopped at the top stair, dropping to one knee and slung my satchel to the ground. I rifled through it. A few pens rolled out and fell off the staircase’s edge. I abstractly hoped my supplies didn’t hit someone several floors below, but I wasn’t that concerned. Most students were already in class.
I pulled out a vial of something purple and bubbling. I forgot what Jupiter had called it, not that its name mattered. All that did matter was the magic inside. I sighed in relief and slung the bag back over my shoulder.
Jupiter was generous, sharing this with me. Magic, her magic, distilled in a little purple bottle. Witches trade and share magic all the time: necromancers trading pre-brewed spells with alchemists and weather mages. Like coders sharing programs.
Usually, though, magic isn’t a gift, it’s a trade. Except I didn’t have anything I could give her. Yeah, I’m not exactly… magically inclined. In fact, this quarter I’m pretty much just scraping by.
I clinked the test-tube of magic against an imaginary cup. “To the queen.” I uncorked the vial and took it like a shot.
It was cool and silky. It bubbled on my tongue, a buzzing that got steadily stronger—like carbonation on crack. There was a light lavender aftertaste. Jupiter was getting better at creating flavorings.
I corked the vial and put it away. The buzzing on my tongue became a tingling in the tips of my fingers. I waggled them experimentally in front of my face, feeling an undeniable shift in the energy around them.
The large mahogany door at the end of the floating staircase had an ornate golden handle. I gripped it firmly and stood back up to my full height of five-foot-six. My frizzy whitish-blond hair fell into my face and I realized I’d forgotten to brush it.
I took a deep breath.
One spell. Just one. Simple. Rudi-fucking-mentary.
You can do this.
“Here and there, one and the same, to where I go, from whence I came. Spirits above, spirits below, take me now where I need to go.”
I swung the door open. A strong wind pulled me through the doorway with the force of an industrial vacuum. For a moment, everything was pitch black.
Then the heavy door slammed shut behind me.
I blinked. When I opened my eyes, I found myself standing in a stuffy closet—not that there’s any other kind of closet, I guess. Chalk particles hung in the air and tickled my lungs. I spun around toward the tall, narrow door. It led to the hallway just outside my morning lecture.
Perfect.
I hurried down the hallway, reached my classroom and threw open the door. Then I sped into the back of the classroom without bothering to check if the coast was clear.
The lecture hall was huge. The linoleum floor was tiered, each tier with a row of desks. The room was shaped like a shallow, upside down cake. I spotted Jupiter and Kevin sitting against the back wall. I slid into the empty seat beside Jupiter. Quiet as a church mouse.
They hadn’t noticed me. Thank God.
Allegra, Ellenora, and Trixie sat in the next row down. When I bent down to get my books out of my bag, my chair squeaked slightly. Allegra flipped her hair, cherry red, out of her eyes and turned back to glare at me.
“Look who it is,” Ellenora whispered to Allegra. “I guess when your father’s on the school board, you get to make your own schedule. That’s just neat, isn’t it?”
Dammit. I guess they had noticed me. They being the three bitches of Elmington—Ellenora, Allegra and Trixie—all who were determined to make my life here miserable. Thank God for Jupiter and Kevin.
Allegra snickered. She wound her narrow finger in her stringy blond hair and nodded. Ellenora was brilliant, and nothing you could say would convince Allegra otherwise.
“Totally,” Allegra said.
Trixie leaned toward Ellenora and glanced back at me—tardy to the party and trying really hard to think of something awful and funny to say to me.
Kevin looked up. His immaculate auburn eyebrows lifted nearly to the top of his tall forehead. Jupiter swept her short, purple hair out of her pale face, her dark brows knitting in concern.
“Don’t you three hens have anything else to cluck about?” Jupiter asked, glaring at each of them in turn.
But they didn’t take their eyes off me.
“I wish my daddy could buy my way into school,” Trixie said. “I don’t feel like waking up at 6 a.m. anymore either.”
They laughed. Really made a show of it, too. Building a wall between us with bricks made out of rolling eyes and fake giggles.
“Just ignore them,” Jupiter whispered.
“Assholes,” Kevin chimed. Never started his own conversations, Kevin; always with the chiming. “They’re just jealous you don’t have to wake up an hour early to look like a total goddess.”
“Thanks,” I said, face flat. But I hardly looked like a goddess. Unless said goddess was Medusa.
“No, seriously,” Jupiter said as she looked at my hair. “Your volume is literally giving me life right now.”
“Jupe, I’m fine. I cannot express to you how little I care what any of them thinks of me.” And that was mostly true. As a rule, I was a friendly person who liked getting along with people.
“Well, it’s not fun to hear that stuff.”
“Fucking up your hand on a dresser isn’t fun either, but that doesn’t mean I want to set my dresser on fire.”
“That’s very specific,” said Jupiter.
“Me and the dresser had a disagreement.”
“That did not involve fire?” Jupiter asked, eyebrow drawn. “Or did involve fire?”