The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1)

Even among the Wise, animals did not talk.

These two were talking.

Rachel Griffin awoke in her bunk bed in prestigious Dare Hall. It was her first night at Roanoke Academy, her first night in America, her first night away from home. The other girls in her dormitory room were asleep. She could hear their rhythmic breathing. Yet she distinctly heard voices. She opened her eyes and sat up.

The tall, arched window was open. A chill blew in through it. On the windowsill sat an enormous raven, jet black with blood red eyes. The raven addressed the familiar that belonged to one of Rachel’s roommates. The girl must have been a fan of the new fad of shrinking wild animals and turning them into cute playthings. Her pet was a tiny lion the size of a house cat.

The raven croaked harshly, “You are not supposed to be here.”

The lion sat regally beside his human, who lay sleeping across the room, on the bottom bed of the other set of bunk beds. “I was called. Where I am called, I come.”

“None of my people called you.”

“You called one of my daughters. I am always in her heart.”

“You need to depart.”

The lion yawned. It turned in a circle three times and settled down to sleep.

The raven cawed raucously and flew away.

Rachel replayed the conversation in her head. She did not know what the phrases meant, but she felt certain that she had just overhead something crucial, something not meant for her, something not meant for any human ears. It was like hearing a door swing open to another world. She would never forget a word of it.

But then, Rachel Griffin never forgot
anything
.

Rachel opened her eyes and stretched. The peach-colored dawn light peeked through the purple curtains. A cold breeze blew in from outside. Rising, she padded across the room, the stone slabs cold beneath her bare feet. She pushed back the curtains, closed the window, and pressed her nose against the pane. Her breath made little puffs of mist against the cool glass.

Gazing about, she took in her surroundings: the paper birches with their curling parchment-like bark; the gravel paths leading toward the green lawns of the campus commons that ran between the many dormitories and buildings; the myriad towers and spires of Roanoke Hall rising above the trees in the distance. A few early risers glided down the path that led to the main hall. They flew on bristleless brooms—flying devices that had about as much in common with a sweeping implement as a mundane automobile had with a horse-drawn carriage.

Her roommates were still asleep. Normally, Rachel would have gone back to bed at this hour. But not today. Today, she was so excited, she could hardly keep her feet from dancing. She could no more have gone back to sleep than she could have walked to the moon.

All her life, she had waited to come here. All her life, she had gazed at photographs of her parents at Roanoke Academy for the Sorcerous Arts—the best arcane school in the world. All her life, she had wanted to be part of this world, wanted it so badly that she would lie awake at night, her mind afire with hopes and plans.

She had imagined the friends she might make, the adventures she would have, the secrets she might learn. She wanted to study every Art the school had to teach. She wanted to entrap storm imps with her flute playing. She wanted to conjure roses and to walk with dragons. She wanted to do daring deeds and accomplish marvels never before known to human kind.

In her dreams, she had imagined accomplishing all these things.

All her life, she had waited to come.

Now she was here.

Rachel was done dreaming. She could not bear waiting even another instant.

She dressed quickly, fumbling with the buttons in her eagerness. Her academic robes and square, black scholar’s cap were crisp and new. Flipping the cap’s tassel out of her eyes, she grabbed Vroomie the Broom from under her bed and slipped out of the room.

She pelted down two flights of stairs before becoming impatient. Jumping on her broom, she leaned close over the handlebars and flew down the rest of the staircase. The windy wake of her broom scattered papers across the black and white checkered floor of the great foyer. Dismounting to open the huge oak doors, she stepped outside. Mounting up again, she gasped at the chill of the early September air as she shot upward, high into the sky.

Rachel loved to fly. Every morning, she spent her first waking hour in the air. Every day, she saw the same thing: the forests, moors, rolling hills, and tenant farms of her family’s estate, Gryphon Park, and the accompanying town Gryphon-on-Dart in Devon, England. Today, for the first time, there were new things to see—her first real glimpse of the place that was to be her home for the next eight years. Flying as high as she could, she drank in every sight.

The dawn colors still flamed in the east, gold and dusky rose. From up here, she could see the brown waters of the Hudson River, where they ran to either side of the once-floating Island of Roanoke. Storm King Mountain loomed on her left. She could see the path of the railway cut into its slope.

Looking toward the north, on the island, she could see the rocky tor in which the evil spirit, the Heer of Dunderberg, was imprisoned with his storm imps. Farther upriver to the north, beyond the Newburgh-Beacon Bridge, lay the Shawangunks, their green rounded peaks rolling off to the west. To the east lay the green heights of the Hudson Highlands. To the south, she could see the spires of the Lower School, for elementary students, the campus of which was separated from that of the upper school and the college. Beyond that lay West Point and civilization.

Everything was so beautiful in the soft glow of the early morning light, as if not only the subjects taught here but also the very school itself was magical. Up this high, the air was surprisingly still. A flock of geese passed by, getting a head start on their journey south. They flew in a V, honking loudly, their cheerful cries echoing off the side of Storm King.

As Rachel gazed down at the place that she now called home, her heart swelled with an unfamiliar longing. She yearned for something to which she could not give a name, something just outside her grasp, something she could not bear to live without.

Something wonderful was about to happen.

Or something terrible.

Or both.

From the sky, it all looked intriguing and yet alien. Yesterday morning, everything had been familiar. She had been home, at Gryphon Park. Now she was part way around the world. It had not been a hard trip. Her parents had taken her to London, along with Peter and Laurel, her older brother and sister, and the three children had stepped through a travel glass—which turned out to be a really big version of the walking glasses they used to get around town.

The travel glass led to New York City. Her parents had taken them through the busy city to see a few sights: the Statue of Liberty, the Empire State Building, the gilded Temple of Apollo on Fifth Avenue, the Shrine of the Goddess Amaterasu. All five of these landmarks had been crowded with mundane folk. Rachel had seldom mixed with the Unwary, those who were ignorant of the magical World of the Wise. She had kept her shadowcloak tucked around her and stayed close to her family.