Fallen Magic

Elsie, Elizabeth, Robin and I make an informal study group. It’s Elsie’s idea: she needs the commitment of working with others to help her get enough work done. I’m sceptical of the idea at first, since most of the study groups I’ve seen form before Genford exams have been groups of friends who spend longer chatting and distracting each other than actually studying, but it turns out to be pretty effective.

It's the people who make up the group that makes it work, I decide. All of us are committed to revising. Robin and I are naturally quiet and studious, Elsie is sufficiently determined to do well and rarely the one starting conversations, and Elizabeth being a few years older than the rest of us means she’s not going to distract us.

I invite Edward to join us. He refuses, saying it’s a waste of time for him: he isn’t going to revise, and it would be unfair to do more advanced work in the same place we’re struggling with the basics. It makes me wonder why Robin works with us: she must know everything we’re studying almost as well as Edward does, after all.

“You should come anyway,” I say. “At least once in a while. It’ll be good for you to make more friends.”

He shoots me a look filled with his disdain for that idea.

I try a different approach. “People aren’t going to be convinced that you’re not a monster like your father if you don’t spend time with them and prove them wrong.”

“I’m not – “

“No, you’re not,” I agree. “I know that, because I know you. The others don’t. Stars, Elsie is still scared of you sometimes. Is that what you want?”

He doesn’t respond. But he does come to our next study session.

I’m not sure his curling up in a chair and reading, ignoring the presence of everyone else, is going to make much of a difference. Still, it’s progress. Elsie and Elizabeth both give me quizzical looks, to which I reply with shrugs.

He glances up just often enough to make it clear he’s listening, though, so I decide to try and draw him into the group a bit more. The next time Elsie asks me for clarification about spell operators, I give a definition that contains multiple glaring errors.

“Oh, thank you,” Elsie says. “That makes sense.”

I hope my gambit will at least work; I don’t actually want to teach anyone incorrect things.

“Makes sense?” Edward repeats, looking up from his book. I smother a smile and allow him to point out in excruciating detail exactly what was wrong with my definition and why.

“You should know that by now, Tallulah,” he concludes, shooting me a suspicious look.

I wonder how long it took him to realise what I was doing, or whether he knew all along but still couldn’t bring himself to let my errors go uncorrected. “I must have got confused,” I say. “I don’t know how that happened. Thank you for clarifying.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, and returns to his book.

I don’t manage to get anything more out of him than that, and I’m not convinced that his lecturing everyone on the finer points of spell operators is going to endear him to the group, but it’s a start. In exchange, I give up an hour’s revision time to work on advanced enchantments with his help.

Once we’ve figured out how to use the detection kit, casting an enchantment that releases magic channelled through it into the ambience is considerably easier than I expected. In fact each individual part of the enchantment is straightforward.

It’s just putting it together that’s the hard part. And I’m tense enough already that I don’t deal well with the initial failure. I don’t slip into a Malaina episode, but I can feel myself becoming frustrated with my inability to cast the full enchantment.

Edward tells me things I already know. This is far beyond anything I can expect to be tested on; it’s normal for new types of casting to take a while to master; he’s confident I’ll get there, given enough time.

It helps, a little, but I don’t get there that evening; I give up and return to revising spells I know I can cast.

Elsie and I return to the City Library a week after our first visit. I’m not convinced I should be focusing on that when I’ve already handed in the essay and there’s so much else to do, but Elsie insists. I’m surprised by it.

“You need this, Tallulah. I know how much you care about understanding Malaina, about knowing all the facts. And I don’t want you to miss out on that because of these stupid tests.”

“They’re not stupid,” I mutter mechanically, but I give in. I didn’t need that much persuading, really.

I wonder once again whether it’s quite safe for me to leave the Academy and wander the city streets. Edward knows where I’ll be going, though, and I still have the emergency ring Lord Blackthorn gave me. Stars help me, when did something like that become reassuring?

But we make it safely to the library. The same receptionist is on duty when we arrive, and of course she remembers me. She still doesn’t know Elsie’s name, so I have to put up with the latter’s complaints again. This time I don’t bother reminding her that your name being known is not always a pleasant thing.

Elsie was right, I realise as I sink back into the world of research. I do need this. A reminder that there is far more to the world than tests and grades, that if I truly want to change the world then how many marks I get will not matter one bit.

I still want to do well, though. I need to prove to myself beyond reasonable doubt that I am a magician, that I am capable of not only surviving but thriving at the Academy. Edward would probably say something about how test results are not an accurate measure of something like that. He’d probably be right. But it still matters to me.

It’s not the only thing that matters, though.

My dad writes to me. His letter is short, matter-of-fact, to the point. Louise and I have discussed matters in detail. Neither of us are willing to change our minds on the issue of your continued attendance of the Academy. She will not allow you to return for Holy Days if you go back to the Academy afterwards.

I told her that I would be spending Holy Days with my daughter, if that is what you want, and if that meant spending them without my wife then so be it.

I have secured temporary lodgings in Crelt for the two of us, and I hope very much you will join me there when term ends.

In other words: my mother declined my request for an apology. That’s not a surprise. And nor is her refusing to welcome me back for Holy Days after I’ve gone against what she wanted for me so blatantly and irreversibly. I’m more surprised by my father’s choice, but it’s a pleasant surprise.

It seems like he was forced to choose between the two of us after all, and he chose me.

It looks as if I do have a better place than Blackthorn Manor to stay, at least. I reply at once accepting the invitation. Edward is disappointed, I can tell, and I feel a little bad for abandoning him to his lonely home for a month.

I’m almost tempted to offer to stay with him for a week after the end of term. Almost.

It strikes me suddenly that I might never see my mother again. We won’t be living in the same house any more, even in the holidays, so we’d only meet if we agreed to. And after everything that’s happened between us, I don’t think either of us want that.

I don’t miss the woman who wrote that last letter, the woman who stormed out on me because of Edward. But I do miss the mother she used to be. The woman who tucked me in at night and told me stories and encouraged my love of reading and learning.

So there’s sadness mingled with the relief of my dad choosing me and of having somewhere to stay for the holidays that isn’t Blackthorn Manor. If coming to the Academy was a new beginning, this feels like an ending.

The sadness doesn’t linger for long, though. I’m busy enough that I can’t afford to let it. I work to distract myself, always filling time with that little piece of extra revision. Edward tells me not to work so hard, but I feel fine. Doing something to prepare for the tests helps me worry less about them, and if my mind is filled with spell formulations and alchemical recipes it can’t dwell on other recent events.

The last week of lessons is devoted to revision. Edward is not happy about this: it makes them a waste of his time, apparently, even more so than some of them already are. I feel like I should be annoyed at the arrogance of that, but it’s hard when I know so well that he’s actually smart enough to back it up.

He tries to negotiate with the teachers to let him skip classes, or at least sit and read or work independently. Some are more flexible than others about that, and the way they structure the lessons more generally. Humphrey allows us to work on anything we’ve covered in Enchantments thus far and ask for help when we need it. Sam is quite happy for me to read history books if I can argue that they’re relevant to his subject, which isn’t too hard if I choose the right books (though I only take advantage of his offer once.)

Others are stricter, though. Mary is understandable: it’s tricky enough for the Alchemy teacher to make sure none of us are injured in explosions when we’re all working on the same thing, and having half a dozen different potions and tinctures being brewed at once would be rather dangerous. Then there’s Felicity.

She calls us up one at a time and asks us to demonstrate whatever spell she tells us to. It would have been a lot worse with Mildred still in the class and given the opportunity to show off, but for now she contents herself with giving the hardest spells to the students she likes least.

And I, unfortunately, am among that number. I’m challenged to produce an illusory replica of the portrait of James the Wise that hangs in the dining hall. I’ve sat beneath it often enough that I have a clear mental image of said portrait, but replicating it in an illusion is far beyond my current level and she knows it.

I’m going to have to stand up in front of the class and produce an utter mess of an illusion that bears only the vaguest of resemblances to what it’s meant to be. I’m going to fail, and it’s not even my fault it’s because of Felicity favouring Mildred and taking a dislike to me because of all that and –

Charles First-King. Edwin the Just. No. If there’s one thing that’s worse than failing so publicly, it’s having a Malaina episode because of the mere threat of it. Simon the Drunkard. Thomas the Defender.

“Sometime this week, if you please,” Felicity says, an edge to her voice. Someone laughs; I can’t tell who.

Eleanor the Bold. I can’t do this without having time to calm myself and let the episode pass. Felicity is not going to give me that time, and I doubt asking for it would make anything better here.

Remove yourself from the situation. I stand up and grab my satchel. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I say.

“Surely you can wait a couple of minutes until your demonstration is complete?”

I shake my head. “It’s urgent,” I say, and then with a flash of inspiration “Women’s troubles.”

As I expected, she’s prim and proper enough that the mention of those things in her classroom shocks her for a second, and I take advantage of that second to make my escape.