Ordinary Magic (12 page)

When she spoke, I realized it was the first time I’d heard her voice, because I wasn’t expecting that slow, seaside drawl. It sounded at odds with her cool-eyed stare and every-hair-in-place bun. “The life of an ord is hard,” she began, taking us in kid by kid, “and it starts here. I do not give out As in this class, or Bs or Cs. You are all old enough to know your alphabet by now. You either pass or you fail. If you fail”—and she somehow made
if
sound like
when
—“you will be required to repeat this class and this Year until you pass. Judging from this attempt”—she paged through our quizzes—“some of you have a lot of work ahead of you.”

History was the same, except with more names and fewer numbers. Ms. Macartney didn’t give her speech about the alphabet or our grades again, but it was understood.

As we left, I looked out into the courtyard again. Down on the grass, students were paired up and spaced out, sparring. It took me a second to realize they weren’t just attacking each other, they were taking turns, all moving the same way. Becky
let out a piercing whistle and they stopped. She pulled an older boy to the front where everyone could see and, moving like she was in a dance, tackled him to the ground.

The bell rang for lunch, but Becky held up three fingers and her students went at each other again. We plastered ourselves to the windows and watched until Ms. Macartney icily ordered us along.

“Finally, we’re getting to the good stuff,” Fred started. We were clustered around our table in the dining hall, leaning in like we’d discovered some big secret, and loading up on chunky vegetable soup and grilled cheese. I was hungry now that I knew what was coming. Or, at least, I knew that something was coming. Something ord. The dining hall was buzzing with kids shouting and stuffing their faces. I caught a couple of older students watching us and snickering. “Fighting I can do,” Fred continued with exaggerated casualness. For the first time that day he looked relaxed. “I’ve got—I had—I grew up with three brothers.”

“
I didn’t know we would have to fight.
” Fran was wringing her hands. Her face was so pale it looked like she was going to faint. “
I don’t know how to fight.
”

“That’s why we’re going to class,” I told her. “They’re going to teach us.”

“And if you stink at fighting I’m sure they’ll teach you the right way to stand on the auction block,” Peter added, eyes in his book.

One of the Maj girls snickered. I chucked a roll at Peter. He looked up, surprised, when it bounced off his head. “That’s mean. Don’t be mean.”

Peter glanced at Fran, and pointedly stuck his head back in his book, scraping his pencil against it with a vengeance.

“Oh, please, she needs to learn how to take it,” one of the Maj girls was saying—Naija, I think, though I couldn’t be sure. They liked to switch back and forth.

“Abby.” It was Nate, his thin mouth twisted into an irritated scowl. “You’re late.”

“I am?” I asked.

“Just come with me.” He turned and charged through the double doors. I shrugged at the table full of curious glances and hurried after him. Inside the kitchen it was as hot as I recelled but not quite as crazy as the night before.

Cook Bella was at the stove. “Is that Abigail?”

“Yes, Chef.” Nate shoved me over to her, then hurried to the sink.

I edged toward Cook Bella, feeling suddenly nervous. Her focus was on a large black skillet that was hissing with hot butter. “Last night you said you wanted to help.”

I glanced around, confused. All of the other kids were busy. “Yeah.”

“Did you think we only needed help the one night?”

“Uh, no?” I said, feeling like I was taking a test and failing.

“Do you think dishes only get dirty one meal out of the year?”

“No,” then I added, “Chef.”

“Has your offer of help been rescinded?”

“No.”

Finally Cook Bella looked over at me, like she was measuring me up for a recipe. Then she gave a brisk nod toward the sink. “Then go help. And tie back your hair.”

I jogged to the sink, braiding my hair as fast as I could. Nate tossed me the sponge, but I missed and it squashed wetly on my arm. He smirked. “Don’t be late for dinner.”

Becky was waiting for me in the empty dining hall after lunch. She took in my splattered skirt and pruney hands with one quick look. “You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry, I—”

She charged past me into the kitchen before I could finish. The door swung wide, and I caught a low, firm “I’ll thank you not to wear out my students before my class, Arabella.”

“The girl offered to help,” Cook Bella tossed back. “If she gets worn out washing a few dishes—”

But Becky was already striding back into the dining room. “And keep your eye on the clock next time!” She took my arm and steered me outside without missing a beat.

The rest of the class was out in the courtyard—Fred shifting back and forth on his feet, darting glances around at everyone, while Fran tucked into herself like a turtle again. I don’t think Peter was even paying attention. To the side stood Mrs. Murphy and Dimitrios. “Sorry about the delay,” said Becky. “I needed a minute to go over class schedules with our esteemed cook.”

“You really should be nicer to the woman who prepares your food,” Mrs. Murphy remarked.

“And she really should be more careful about when I need my students. Okay,” Becky announced, rubbing her hands together, “don’t you all look bored. Just like real students. We give you the regular stuff first on purpose; it’s supposed to give you ‘a sense of normalcy.’”She grinned at Mrs. Murphy. “You ready to wake them up a bit?”

Mrs. Murphy cracked her knuckles. Dimitrios rolled his shoulders back, stretching. Above us, classroom windows swung open and kids leaned out, shoving each other aside to get a good view. Becky ignored all of it. “Now, we won’t be getting to this for a while yet, but I find it helps with motivation if you get a preview of what you can do. Call it a practical demonstration. Boys and girls, you are all going to need to back up a bit.” We took a couple steps back; Becky waved at us and we took a couple more steps, until she gave a thumbs-up.

Behind Becky, Mrs. Murphy suddenly burst into flame, so smooth and professional she had to be a Six at least—and a Six who’d obviously had a lot of schooling. Usually people had to call and cast; it took serious training to flick a spell on like a lamp. Red and orange waves of magic twisted around her like a torch, and she held her hands out, palms up, focusing the fire, feeding it until it grew too bright to look at.

“You all know by now that being an ord means you can’t do magic. That’s the easy answer, the one everybody knows. But it’s only half of it.” Becky stopped and smiled at us. “What’s the other half, you might ask.”

Mrs. Murphy blasted Becky.

Fran screamed. Fred cursed really, really loudly. Mrs. Murphy
tsk
ed. “Language, Mr. Randalls.” My first thought—other than it really does feel like your heart is leaping up into your throat—was to run over and shove Becky into a stop, drop, and roll, which is standard procedure for underage kids who can’t be extinguished. But Peter grabbed my arm and held me back. Her eyes bright with amusement, Mrs. Murphy kept blasting away at Becky until flames billowed up around her, almost reaching the third story. It took a second to realize the pounding in my ears was cheering from the students leaning out the windows.

Mrs. Murphy called the flames back and Becky stepped out. It took a few seconds for what she was saying to register through that instant, thrumming panic. “Ords can’t do magic. And magic can’t really do ords either.”

She was still on fire, except that she wasn’t. Her clothes were on fire—sleeves smoldering and ashing away—but Becky was fine. It was strange to see the flames twisting around her legs, lapping at her hair, and not having any effect. She combed a hand through her hair, sending fiery bits of magic showering to the ground, and stepped toward us. I was so close to the flames now, my damp skirt started to steam, but … I didn’t feel the heat. I could smell the singed fabric of Becky’s shirt, but I didn’t feel anything. Strange.

“Lesson number one,” Becky said. She was still on fire and Dimitrios was laughing at this point. “Invest in magical clothing. It’s expensive but durable, and as long as you have cash,
most stores don’t care who they sell to. I promise, it’ll save you money in the long run.”

“That’s lesson number one?” Mrs. Murphy remarked.

“Lesson number two,” Becky continued. “There’s a difference between magic not affecting you, and not affecting the things
around
you. Or on you, as the case may be.” She swatted at the flames still eating at her shirt. “There is a big difference between magic fire, which won’t affect us, and magic that starts a fire, which’ll burn you just the same as everything else. Between the magic that’ll choke the air out of your lungs and the kind that’ll suck the air out of a room.” Mrs. Murphy dismissed the fire, and there was a low, grumbling sound, like an ogre shifting, and the ground began to shake. “Part of this class”—Becky raised her voice to be heard over the rumbling as we struggled to stay upright—“is about learning to tell the difference.”

She nodded to Mrs. Murphy and the earth stilled.

“Why is that, you might ask,” Becky continued when Peter raised his hand. “Work. You are
all
going to grow up, and that means getting jobs and being responsible adults. Believe it or not, there are places out there that need people who don’t get messed up by magic. Museums, guilds—maybe even a private collector—looking for someone who won’t become sick sorting magic inventory. That line of work means being around a lot of artifacts, a lot of powerful magic in an enclosed space, which can make it really dangerous for normal folk.”

Dimitrios tossed her a towel, and Becky scrubbed the soot off her face and hands. “Thanks. There are also adventurers,
as I know all of you are aware. There are some out there—not a lot, but some—who are willing to hire an ord, give them a share. There’s money to be made in adventuring, if you’re willing to take the risk. So we’re going to be learning about the different types of magic and how to identify them. Things like, what’s the difference between charms and enchantments? Or, how do you identify a warding sequence so you know where to break through without sounding an alarm?

“Some adventurers, however, don’t want to pay anything for an ord. They don’t think they should have to invest in them, not when they used to be ‘free to a good home’ before King Steve took the throne. And they don’t take no for an answer. Many won’t even give you a choice in the matter.” (The kids hanging out the windows started shouting, “Get her, Dimitrios!” and “Five on Becky!”) “When that happens”—Dimitrios snorted and scraped his hooves against the ground—“well, you’re just going to have to know how to defend yourselves. Which leads me to the next part of our class—”

Dimitrios charged, but Becky was already moving, whipping her belt free as she leaped out of the way at the last second. Her wrist flicked, almost lazily, and her belt flashed out, spinning around Dimitrios’s ankle. Frost started climbing up from the black links wrapped around his leg, and his breath puffed out in cold white clouds. Mrs. Murphy appeared behind us and gathered us back a few steps just as Becky yanked
hard
—hard enough to jerk his foot out from under him but not quite hard enough to make him fall. Dimitrios winked at Becky and yanked his foot back. Laughing, she held on and let the momentum carry her
forward, rolling under his arms, out of his reach, and started running. Dimitrios tugged the chain off, ignored the icicles forming in his hair, and thundered after her. The ground shook under his hooves. He was fast, but Becky could run, her long legs eating up the ground, not even breathing hard. She charged flat out at the building, springing up at the last second to kick off of the wall, the force of it twirling her around in time to grab Dimitrios’s horns. She latched on to his back, but only for a second because he flailed, strong enough that I was surprised she didn’t go flying. She held on to his horns as he flung her, twisting his head to the side and bringing them both to the ground. She had counted on his trying to get rid of her, and she used it to bring him down.