None of the other lessons came close to surpassing Brikkens’ magic show.
Professor Grindlethorn—the short, hook-nosed teacher—took their next lesson. Grindlethorn had a brown beard cropped close to his face and serious, beady eyes that missed nothing. His classroom was narrow and dark, and he began the lesson by handing out an enormous textbook titled A Practical Guide to Magical Healing.
“Has anyone taken a lifeguarding class, or any other first aid course?” he asked in his deep, gravelly voice.
Mournful-looking Hayley and curly-haired Cailyn both raised their hands.
Grindlethorn grunted. “Very good. You should not forget what you learned in your first aid training. Magical healing is meant to complement standard medical treatments, not replace them.”
He spent the rest of the short lesson showing them around a tidy hospital set up in the room beside his classroom, explaining which of the supplies—bandages, medical tape, and benign herbal remedies—were for general use, and which of the many locked cabinets were only to be opened by the academy staff.
For homework, he assigned them to read the first three chapters of the textbook and come prepared with a list of questions regarding anything that confused them or appeared to contradict what they had learned in school.
As his fellow students stood to leave, Tristan glanced at the first page of the textbook, hoping its contents might give him a concrete reason to believe in magic.
Introduction—An Overview of Magical Healing Methods
Using a combination of magical plants and congealed power, the practiced healer can speed recovery processes, cure ailments typically requiring surgery, and treat all manner of symptoms, from fevers to joint pain.
“Are you coming?” Leila asked from the doorway.
Tristan snapped the textbook closed and hurried after her.
“You’re eager to start studying,” she said with a smirk. “Are you always this dedicated in your schoolwork?”
Tristan flushed. “No, I—” He hesitated; Leila was still skeptical about what the professors were teaching, and he did not want to admit how desperate he was to find proof that magic was real.
Leila punched him lightly in the shoulder. “I’m only teasing. If that book is actually going to teach us magic, I’ll gladly do any homework Professor Grindlethorn assigns. Something about adding magic makes homework a lot more exciting.”
“Yeah.” Though he had never been a dedicated student—he had always scraped by, but hated homework and tests—Tristan found he was looking forward to learning as much as possible about magic. Even if it required reading ponderous textbooks and writing formulaic essays.
Their next lesson was on the lowest level of the school, a flight of stairs below the bunkroom. The narrow passageway and classroom were much dimmer and less airy than the rest of the school, though they were carved from the same white stone.
A dark tunnel gaped directly across from the classroom door, and Tristan hugged his arms over his chest as he walked by—the tunnel seemed to exhale a stream of clammy, musty air. After what they had seen this morning, anything could be lurking down there. Goblins, demons, dragons, dwarves…
Professor Delair’s cheery greeting wrenched Tristan from his thoughts. Bald apart from a long white moustache, Delair looked hale and strong, despite his apparent age.
As he handed around copies of a purple textbook entitled Discrete Elementals, he said, “We will be studying the fundamentals of earth, air, fire, and water—the foundation of all magical processes.”
Tristan sat forward in anticipation. Maybe Delair would explain properly, would present the case for magic in a way that could not be disputed. Tristan itched to open his textbook, but he did not want to earn a reputation as a nerd on his first day of classes—especially since he wasn’t smart enough to uphold that title.
However, Delair said no more about his subject. “This class won’t meet every day, but if you fail to appear on the day of a lesson, you will earn no less than one hour of punishment.”
Tristan remembered the headmaster mentioning this at their welcome feast.
“And if we don’t work it off?” This was from Zeke.
Delair’s moustache twitched. “We thought of that. You have until each Friday at midnight to work off your weekly punishments. If you fail to do so, you will be banned from meals until you complete the hours.”
At that, Delair stood. “Homework—read the introduction of the textbook. There will be a quiz next time we meet.”
Oblivious to the groans from several students, he turned and trotted from the room, disappearing down the dark tunnel across the hall.
“I was hoping for more magic,” Rusty said as they retraced their path to the ballroom for lunch.
“I’m glad it’s over,” Leila said. “I still can’t decide if this is a mental asylum. Our professors are acting as though we’ll just accept magic without question—I want proof, or at least a better explanation than what Professor Brikkens gave!"
“But aren’t you excited? I didn’t think it was gonna be like this. Aren’t you glad we’re not in Juvie?”
“I’ll be glad once I know we can believe what our professors tell us,” Leila said darkly.
Several teachers were already in the ballroom when the students arrived. Brikkens was tucking into an overflowing plate; to his left, Grindlethorn sipped coffee, his beady eyes surveying the students.
As the last students arrived, Merridy said, “Please take one book bag each.” She gestured to a basket piled with black messenger bags. “Your belongings have been brought up from the bunkroom. You may sort through them and each choose one item to keep.”
For the first time, Tristan noticed a series of small piles along the ballroom wall. He did not recognize his immediately, because the clothes he had worn the previous day had not belonged to him.
The other students hurried to collect their meager piles of belongings, some with muttered curses, while Tristan opened his messenger bag and found a silver watch at the bottom.
“I don’t have anything,” Tristan told Merridy.
Rusty joined Tristan at their table moments later, clutching a small woodcarving. “This is all I’m keeping.”
“Can I see that?” Tristan asked.
Rusty opened his fist and showed him what looked like a fairy girl kneeling in prayer. As Rusty ran his fingers along the tips of her tiny wings, his eyes grew sad. “A friend made it for me.” After a moment, he blinked and stuffed the carving into his pocket. “Well, this’ll be different.” Tristan couldn’t tell if his enthusiasm was faked.
When Leila joined them, she handed a book bag to Rusty. “You forgot this.”
“Thanks,” Rusty said.
Tristan tucked his two new textbooks into his own bag. “What did you keep?”
“Oh, just a book.” Leila patted her already-bulging bag.
As Quinsley came around with grilled cheese and tomato soup, Tristan watched the other students out of the corner of his eye, wondering what pieces of their former lives they had carried through into Juvie.
Evangeline, the pretty girl who had fallen asleep at their welcome feast, kept a fat sketchbook; Eli tucked a pack of well-worn playing cards into his pocket; haughty, red-haired Cassidy McKenna held onto what looked like a makeup kit. Tristan tried to imagine what secrets these seemingly insignificant objects held, what crimes had ripped their owners from an ordinary life and tossed them into the unforgiving world of fenced-in detention centers and security guards and court hearings.
If Tristan could have reclaimed anything from his former life, it would be the last puzzle he had finished with Marcus. The thought conjured up the cardboard-and-ink smell of the game store where he chose out the puzzle, running his fingers over the boxes as he searched for the perfect one; the aroma of hot apple cider he had shared with Marcus while they huddled over the pieces, Marcus wrapped in a blanket, recovering from his most recent hospital visit.
His throat tightening, Tristan grabbed his grilled cheese sandwich and took a huge bite.
“I thought you didn’t have anything valuable other than your knives,” Rusty was saying to Leila.
Leila snorted. “Slitting people’s throats isn’t the only thing I enjoy doing.”
Tristan hoped she was joking, but her expression made it hard to tell.
Professor Gracewright’s botany class immediately followed lunch. She led the students up the grand staircase to the clearing above the school; halfway up, they passed again through the insubstantial barrier. The sudden darkness and drop in temperature was just as unerring as it had been in reverse.
Outside, damp mist still shrouded the clearing. Tristan could barely see the outlines of the trees beyond the longhouses.
“This is my classroom.” Gracewright gestured around the clearing, her sunhat wobbling dangerously. “Our classes will deal with everything around us. However, for days like this, we have a greenhouse and an indoor garden to shelter in.”
The greenhouse materialized as they drew near; from afar, its glass walls had looked like wood panels. It had to be an illusion of some sort.
Instead of leading the class to the greenhouse, Gracewright turned left and pushed open the door to one of the longhouses. When she vanished the moment she stepped through the doorway, Tristan realized it was guarded by another of the strange barriers.
He held his breath as he stepped over the dark threshold.
Past the barrier, brilliant white light flooded the room, as though he had stepped through a portal into a sunny field. The light came from lamps on the wood ceiling—they were still inside, despite the soft grass covering the dirt floor and the flowers, vines, and small trees that lined the walls.
Four large purple blankets covered a portion of the grass—following Gracewright’s example, the students settled onto these and looked around.
“There are three types of plants we will study in my class,” Gracewright explained. “First, the ordinary plants that are useful in healing remedies; second, plants with an unusually strong aura which can be harvested for raw power; and third, enchanted plants that can be used on their own for magic purposes. We will begin the semester with the first variety.”
They began right away, naming as many of the bushes, trees, vines, and flowers in the room as they could before Gracewright supplied the remainder.
At the end of the lesson, Gracewright handed out two new textbooks, which Tristan added to his now-bulging book bag. The first appeared to be a standard textbook entitled Encyclopedia of Botany, while the other was called Beyond the Basics: Magical and Medicinal Herbs.
When Gracewright dismissed the class, she handed each student a drawstring bag filled with clippings to identify before the next day’s lesson.
Their next lesson was taught by the vampire-like Professor Alldusk, who greeted the students in a tall, echoing chamber two stories below the ballroom. Here the walls were hewn from icy gray stone, at odds with the marble floor. Four long tables were arranged in a square, partially enclosing what looked like a fire pit in the center of the room. As there were no seats, the students clustered around the tall tables with some confusion.
“Good afternoon,” Alldusk said once the muttering had subsided. “My name is Brinley Alldusk, and as you might remember, I’ll be teaching chemistry.”
When he smiled, Tristan was almost surprised he lacked fangs.
“First of all, I want to make it clear that ‘chemistry’ is a bit of a misnomer for this class.”
Tristan’s chest tightened in anticipation—would Alldusk give him a reason to believe, at long last?
“More magic, I bet,” Leila grumbled to Tristan.
Alldusk heard, and his smile widened. “You’ve got that right.” His features softened, and he suddenly looked very friendly. “Leila, is it?”
Turning back to the rest of the class, he said, “I believe Professor Brikkens showed you the gold orbs?”
Rusty nodded eagerly.
“Good. This class will involve the creation of those orbs; in other words, we will be collecting magic and condensing it into a functional form.”
As Alldusk strode to the center of the room, Tristan leaned forward. The gold marbles had fascinated him from the start.
“In order to capture this free-floating magic, we must destroy something and collect the vapors released in conjunction with the destruction.”
“Professor?” Hayley Christiansen said. “I don’t think I understand…”
“The fire pit,” Leila whispered, nodding toward the ground. “We’re going to burn things.”
She was right.
While he explained, Alldusk bent and unfastened a rusty grate that had covered the fire pit. The hollow was filled with glowing coals, which Alldusk scooped into a metal bowl.
“Unlike your other teachers,” Alldusk said, “I believe you deserve to know exactly how the collection of magic is made possible.”
He brought the metal bowl over and set it on the table before Eli.
“To release the magic vapor, we burn various materials, and the vapor is given off along with the smoke.”
Reaching beneath the table, Alldusk produced a leather pouch and an empty glass jar.
“The volume of magic emitted depends on what is being destroyed. This is where chemistry comes into play.” Holding up the pouch, he tipped a small pile of brown powder into his palm. “Certain combinations of plants and minerals create more magic than others when incinerated, and a greater magnitude of destruction produces more magic. Watch carefully—the vapor is subtle, and most of you won’t be able to see it yet.”
At this, Alldusk dropped the powder onto the coals. The powder sparked as it hit the embers; Tristan squinted at the air directly above the bowl, waiting for something to happen. After a moment, he thought he saw a wisp of pale gold vapor drifting up from the bowl.
Once the gold cloud had floated away from the trail of smoke, Alldusk scooped it into the waiting jar and screwed on the top.
All was silent, aside from the faint crackling of embers. Then—
“You didn’t catch all of it,” Amber said faintly.
Tristan turned and stared at her. He wasn’t the only one; many of the students wore confused frowns, as though they had never seen her before.
Leila shifted impatiently on his left. “What are we supposed to see?” She was still peering at the jar. “You didn’t even catch the smoke.”
Rusty and several others nodded, while Eli continued to stare at Amber, toying with his oddly dyed hair.
“You mean you can’t see that gold stuff?” Tristan asked, surprised. Now that it was in the jar, the vapor was growing brighter and more substantial than before.
Alldusk smiled. “As I said, it is rare for a student to spot the vapor immediately. Raise your hands if you can see it.”
Tristan put his hand up slowly, and was amazed when Amber was the only other student to raise her hand. Meeting her eyes, he shrugged.
Though her mouth did not move, her eyes seemed to smile back at him.
“Excellent,” Alldusk said. “Both of you appear to have an affinity for magic. And well spotted, Miss…”
Amber did not supply her name, so Alldusk cleared his throat and continued.
“You’re quite right that some of the vapor slipped away. Unfortunately, we don’t have a more efficient way of collecting the vapors. We could use larger jars, of course, but they are impractical, especially since many of us will never gain the ability to see the outer reaches of the magic vapor.”
“What are you talking about?” Rusty asked. “What happened?”
Alldusk moved over to the next table and held the jar up for Rusty to have a closer look. “It should begin appearing to the rest of you as it grows thicker,” he said. “Watch carefully.”
The gold was deeper in color now—more concentrated, Tristan realized—and swirled toward the bottom of the jar in a lazy spiral.
While Alldusk made his way around the room to give the others a closer look, Rusty continued to frown at the jar, eyes screwed up in concentration. When the jar came back around, Eli jumped and drew back.
“I see it!” Eyebrows arching, he gave the jar a look of wary scrutiny. “There’s something spinning in there.”
Across the room, Cassidy leaned against the desk in a bored pose, though her eyes kept flicking back to the jar. Meanwhile, Zeke followed the circling vapor with the lazy unconcern of a cat tracking a distant string. Damian and most of the other students continued to frown in confusion.
When the gold was so dense it almost looked solid, glowing brighter than ever, Rusty let out his breath.
“Oh, there it is.” He rocked back on his heels. “There’s definitely something in there.”
“What is it?” Leila hissed in Tristan’s ear. “Why can’t I see anything?”
“Look near the bottom,” Tristan said quietly. “Right in the middle—if you squint at it, can you see anything moving?”
Leila shook her head.
Holding the jar by its lid, Alldusk crossed to their desk and held it in front of Leila.
“There’s a bright gold streak there,” Tristan said. Leaning over Leila’s shoulder, he put his finger on the jar. “Right…there.”
Leila breathed a sigh of relief. “There it is! Thank goodness.”
“Not to worry,” Alldusk said. “No one knows why some people have an easier time spotting the vapor than others; when I was learning, it took weeks before I was able to see anything. Good work, everyone.”
He set the jar on a dark wood shelf, where it joined a similar line of jars.
“For those of you who are able to see the orb beginning to form, the vapor will continue spinning for many more hours. By our next lesson, a golden ball of pure magic will sit at the base of the jar.
“For homework, practice observing. Everything has an aura, and learning to recognize these requires the same mode of concentration necessary to see the vapor given off by destruction. You will be unable to progress in my class or remain at the Underground Academy if you cannot eventually see both auras and magic vapor.”
Gathering his books, Tristan made to follow Leila from the room, but Alldusk said, “Tristan. Would you and the young lady stay a moment?” He nodded to Amber.
When Tristan touched Amber’s shoulder to catch her attention, she gave him a startled look.
“This is Amber, Professor.”
Alldusk smiled. “Good to meet you, Amber.” He waited until the last of the students had cleared the room before saying, “I will be speaking to the headmaster about you two. Professor Drakewell was interested to learn who had a special talent with magic.”
Alldusk looked from Tristan to Amber, his expression becoming grave.
“There is a special…job at this school that one of you may be asked to fill someday. Professor Drakewell will discuss this with you when he sees fit.”
At this they were dismissed.
Tristan fell into step beside Amber as they made their way to the next class. “Can you see auras around everything?” he asked.
She glanced at him. “Yours is pale green, like new aspen leaves.”
Though he did not know what to say to this, Tristan smiled, excitement humming through his veins.
There was no possible way he could explain away that gold mist, the way it escaped the fire and congealed to become a solid orb, and at last it began to make sense—from destruction came power.
At last he believed.
And if he truly had an affinity for magic, he wanted to make the most of this new world, this miraculous escape from a future that had terrified him. He didn’t care if the others thought he was a dork—he was determined to succeed. He would prove to his professors that the Underground Academy had made the right choice in recruiting him.
He would never return to Juvie.