Fallen Magic

Stars. I don’t know how – I can’t –

Thomas the Defender. Eleanor the Bold. I’m using precious seconds. Electra is holding the birds aloft with a spell; the most efficient way to break an ongoing spell is to break the caster’s concentration, but I get the sense that making Electra lose concentration will not be easy.

Other methods, then. There’s the General Counterspell; despite its name it is not a true counterspell. It instead absorbs large amounts of magical energy in a short period and releases it into the ambience; it’s often used as a combat spell to shut down an enemy’s attacks. Could I use it here? It would be much more effective if the spell were still being cast; now the spell is activated maintaining it takes negligible amounts of magic.

If I could touch the birds, I could purge the magic from them or destroy them, but they’re flying in tight horizontal loops close to the ceiling. How am I supposed to – oh.

I get to my feet, pull off my cardigan and check there’s nothing in my pockets, then cast a General Animation Spell and send it directly upwards until it’s in the path of the birds. The first of them to reach it tries to swerve out of the way, but with a thought I twist the fabric to block its path and wrap around it, then bring the cardigan back down.

The bird tries to escape as soon as I unwrap the fabric, but I snatch it before it can fly and cast a quick purging-spell. One down, four to go.

I get three more birds the same way, but the last one is harder, I think because Electra can give more of her concentration to it now that the others are gone. I’d laugh at the absurdity of trying to pin a paper bird against the ceiling with a flying cardigan contorted into increasingly weird shapes if I weren’t so intent on just getting the stupid thing down.

But by the time I finally have it entangled, there’s no time to summon the cardigan back down and purge the last of the spell. Well, four out of five isn’t that bad, I suppose; at least it’s better than the previous test.

Electra doesn’t give me time to smooth out my cardigan and wriggle back into it before announcing the next task. “I am going to cast spells at you. Your task is to counter them until I say you may stop. Begin.”

She’s casting straight away. I don’t know what to expect, so I try a General Counterspell. But I’m too slow: before I can get out the incantation, I feel a surge of dizziness and have to cling to the table to stay upright. It passes as swiftly as it came. So that’s the trick, then: each missed spell makes it harder for you to get the next one.

And by the time I’ve had that realisation, the next dizziness-spell hits me. This time I grit my teeth and focus on Electra, beginning to cast the second I’m able to let go of the table. Nothing happens, which means I must have succeeded.

I’m so pleasantly surprised by that that I completely forget to keep casting and another wave of dizziness attacks me. The effects are starting to build up, but I push through it and manage another counterspell, and another, and another, and – as I’m in the middle of casting the fourth counterspell, the dizziness hits me again. She must have switched up her timing, cast just as my third counterspell was fading and before I had time to replace it.

Is there a better method, then? Something that will consistently block spells rather than rely on me having to second-guess Electra to time my counterspells correctly? If I could cast faster it would be doable, but I haven’t drilled myself to the extent you’d need to for magical combat and thus to have a chance against Electra.

There isn’t time to analyse strategy, though. I keep casting counterspells, watching Electra as I do so. Does she have a tell of some sort, something that lets me predict her timing before it’s too late? Almost certainly not anything I’d be capable of spotting, but better to try than to just resign myself to the occasional attack of dizziness.

“You may stop,” says Electra finally. I cast another counterspell anyway, partly out of reflex and partly because Electra would definitely attack again after saying that for her own amusement. She isn’t casting, though, just watching me with one of her cryptic smiles. “That is the end of the assessment. Please don’t talk to any of your classmates who have yet to take it.”

“Thank you,” I say. I turn to leave, slinging my somewhat battered cardigan over one shoulder, and discover that enough of the dizziness-spells have lingered that I struggle to walk in a straight line. Stars help me. No wonder Aisha wouldn’t talk to me after her own test; she was too focused on just walking normally.

I make it out of the classroom with more effort than should have been necessary, give Daniel a sympathetic smile as I pass him, and collapse against the wall outside.

Why did I ever decide that Electra wasn’t as bad as she seems, when she inflicts that on her students? I have no sense of how well I did, whether I disappointed her, whether any of the three tasks were even supposed to be possible. I’m used to tests where you generally have at least some sense of how it went, where there’s a right answer that you’re expected to reach.

I drag myself to my feet; I don’t want Daniel to see me lying helplessly here. I’m still wondering where to go when Edward intercepts me at the main staircase. “Well,” he says, “how did you find it?”

I give him a look.

“Sounds about right. If it’s any consolation, she definitely tailored the difficulty according to our abilities.”

From which I deduce that he struggled with her tasks.

“So I was supposed to find it hard,” I say instead of pointing that out.

Edward nods. “I’d be more concerned if you found it easy. That would mean she thought you weren’t worth the effort of challenging you.”

He understands how Electra thinks better than I do. Not a surprise, really.

“Ten minutes until Magical Theory,” he says.

“Lucky you, not having to sit that one.”

The Advanced Magical Theory class he’s taking doesn’t have a test this term; Edward’s grade in that will be determined solely by the final exam in late spring. He shrugs. “It’s not too hard.”

“Not too hard for you, or for the rest of us?”

“For me, but you should be fine if you can recover in the next ten minutes.”

I feel another stab of pity for Robin, who will have barely any time between stumbling dizzy and confused out of Electra’s test and the start of the next one. Taking Edward out of the equation, though, she’s easily the best in the class at Magical Theory.

Ten minutes is an awkward chunk of time: long enough that I can’t go straight to the Magical Theory classroom and wait outside, but short enough that there isn’t time to do anything else first. I reach into my pocket for the enchanted bead and then stop myself. I’m not anywhere near a Malaina episode at the moment; my success against the paper birds saved me from the episode during the test.

I’m just longing for the comfort of losing myself in the flow of magic.

And I know just enough about magic to know that that is a very dangerous longing to have. One of our early Magical Theory lessons discussed the dangers of drawing too deep in much detail. Humans are imperfect vessels for magic, and acting as a vessel too much can cause irreparable damage. Edward told me a few horror stories to reinforce that message.

I remove my hand from my pocket and let it fall awkwardly by my side. So that’s not how I’ll be spending my ten minutes.

“Charles First-King.”

I blink. I’m not the one saying that; I’m fine right now, I don’t need –

“Edwin the Just,” recites Edward, smiling. “Simon the Drunkard.”

“I’m okay,” I say. “And since when – “

“Since I realised it was important to you,” Edward says. “I’ve memorised the first five centuries so far. It’ll probably only take me a day more to learn the whole thing.”

It took me a lot longer than that to memorise the list, even if I was nine years old at the time. “Thank you,” I say. “Really. Does this mean I need to learn a list of spell classifications or something?”

Edward laughs. “No. Lists don’t work so well for me, I’ve realised. I think because for me, it’s more external threats that cause episodes, most of the time.”

So he needs to take action, or feel that he’s taking action, to mitigate those threats. Hence the ten minutes yesterday.

I hear footsteps in the corridor, and realise suddenly that Edward and I are standing close together, closer than would be natural for two people who aren’t completely content with the other’s company.

“Tallulah,” says Daniel as he approaches. “How was – oh. Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” I say. “No, you’re not.”

But it’s too late; he passes us and sets off upstairs.

“Sorry,” says Edward.

“It’s not your fault,” I say reflexively. It kind of is, though. If Edward was prepared to tell Robin why he’s never going to be interested in her, then I wouldn’t have to half-pretend we’re dating, and moments like this would be far less awkward.

He knows that too.

“We should go,” I say after a pause. “Or I should, anyway.”

“I’ll walk with you to the classroom,” says Edward.

I don’t need him to, but I appreciate it anyway.

The Magical Theory test is considerably more normal than the previous one, which is a relief. That doesn’t make it easy, of course: I’m not in the right frame of mind for calculation, and I make far too many careless mistakes. There’s enough time allowed that I’m able to track down and fix all but a couple of them, at least. And I do understand how to do every question.

“It could have been a lot worse,” is how I summarise it to Elsie, Elizabeth and Robin as we set off for the café to enjoy a short break before the next test begins. Well, I say “enjoy”, but the next test is the Spells practical. And if Electra tailored the difficulty of her test to each student, Felicity could very well change the difficulty of hers.

So it doesn’t matter how well-prepared I am. I’m not sure I can figure out new casting techniques on the spot like I did in her lesson again. And while Edward has assured me that we can report her if she asks anything not on the Academy’s syllabus, there’s plenty of ways to set questions that are technically legal but beyond what would be expected of most students.

He’ll be fine, of course, because he’s Edward Blackthorn. I have no such luck. There is a very real risk that I will fail this test. I’m honestly more worried about the possibility of having a Malaina episode during it.

By unspoken agreement, the four of us discuss the test we just completed rather than the upcoming one.

“I did a lot better than I expected,” says Elsie. “Still not great, but I’m fairly sure I passed at least. Thanks, Tallulah.”

I’m not sure I deserve that much credit for her success and improvement; she earnt it herself through hard work and dedication.

Elizabeth shrugs. “I couldn’t work out the enchantment formulation in question six, but everything else was okay. I think so, anyway.”

“It was fine,” says Robin. Which I think means she’s confident she got a perfect score. She doesn’t see the need to show everyone how good at magic she is. I like that; it’s a refreshing change from Edward’s casual brilliance sometimes. “I still remember the formulation if you want it, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth shakes her head. “It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me that much, I’ll find out when we get the tests back.”