The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1) (13 page)

Most of all, it made her feel hopeful. Father was an Agent of the Wisecraft; apparently he was the head of their super secret department. He must have answers as to what was going on—or at least know what the Wisecraft had learned about the new magic. If she reported everything to him, surely he would return the favor and share a little of what he knew.

She wanted so much to understand. The mysteries—a murder attempt, distant worlds, talking ravens and lions—were almost too intriguing to bear.

She had to know more!

She replayed her memory of the events again and again, writing down everything she had noticed. Then she dressed and headed outside to take the letter to the mail room. A long winding staircase led down from the first floor to the cellars below Roanoke Hall. Down here were the mail room, the talking glass room—for calling home, and the Storm King Café—a shop that sold sandwiches, drinks, and fancy desserts. Rachel marked the envelope with her post seal and slipped her letter in the outgoing mail slot and checked her mailbox.

Inside was a note that read:

Dear Miss Griffin,

Please report to the gymnasium at three-thirty on Wednesday to assume your new position as my instructional assistant.

Thank you,

Mr. Chanson.

Rachel smiled and tucked the note in her pocket. Her parents had arranged for her to assist the P.E. teacher, who was a friend of her mother’s. She was to help teach beginners to fly. It was not a paying position. Lady Rachel Griffin had no need of monetary gain. She did, however, look forward to sharing what she knew about flying with others and to learning more through the process.

When she arrived at breakfast, her new friends were already seated. So Rachel went by herself through the line to get her food. She was hungry, and the breakfast looked very tasty. She could find no kippers and no kimchi, but her mother had warned her not to expect them. She enjoyed picking out eggs and orange juice and toast, as she listened to the bacon sizzling behind the counter. It all smelled so appetizing.

As she moved to get her silverware, she saw Magdalene Chase ahead of her, carefully choosing a piece of fruit from a large bowl. The tiny girl’s left eye was black and swollen. It looked exactly the way her brother Peter’s eye had the time he came home from school after losing a particularly grueling duel with some obnoxious boy with whom Peter had an ongoing rivalry.

A feeling of outrage far greater than could be contained by her small stature began boiling inside Rachel. Somebody had hit Magdalene. No matter who it was, it had not been a fair fight. She was so distracted she did not pay attention to where she was going until after she bumped into another student. Unfortunately, that student turned out to be Cydney Graves.

“Hey, look where you are going, Midget!” Cydney shoved her.

Rachel lost her balance. Her tray fell. Food flew everywhere. Orange juice drenched her robes. The delicious-looking eggs splattered across the floor. Her toast fell butter-side down. It was then stepped on by a bigger boy who lumbered past.

Then the cold of the liquid sliding down her stomach reached her. Rachel gasped.

Cydney laughed loudly. Other students turned and looked. Some of them laughed, too. Rachel stood very still, her face showing no expression. Keeping her exterior calm was second nature, but she had no idea what to do next. What did one do when one was mocked? In stories, characters made amusing quips, but Rachel could think of nothing witty to say.

A group of bigger boys came around the edge of the serving counter. To her horror, Rachel realized that the tall athletic one with the unruly dark hair was John Darling. She looked at him hopefully, imagining him coming to her aid, telling off Cydney, or even removing the orange juice stain with a cantrip, as her mother would have. He had always been so charming when she had seen him at Christmas parties and Wisecraft functions.

It did not happen. He just snickered at her with the other boys and walked past.

Rachel’s world imploded.

She ran. She did not want to pass through the crowded dining hall, so she darted down one of the long hallways. There were only two people in the corridor, an older boy, who stood looking at a painting on the wall, and a blonde girl, who hung on his arm. The girl was very pretty, but it was a kind of pretty that reminded Rachel of Salome, only without Salome’s sweetness. She looked like the kind of girl boys liked, a lot, but not the kind of girl Rachel would have wanted her brother to date.

They were going to laugh at her, too, no doubt. Rachel put her head down and ran, determined to plow by without stopping.

“Rachel?”

The boy turned around. It was the same boy with the chestnut ponytail she had met upstairs the previous day. He glanced at her, as did the blonde, who smirked at the huge wet spot on Rachel’s robes.

Rachel froze, mortified.

Casually, Gaius Valiant raised his right hand and pointed two fingers at her, his left hand gesturing with each word.

“
Silu varenga. Taflu.
”

The orange juice rose off her garments, formed a ball, and sailed to the nearest trash can. Gaius winked at her and then turned back to the blonde.

“Thank you!” Rachel cried, extremely grateful.

The boy did not turn around. Shrugging, Rachel ran back to the dining hall.

The kitchens were already closed. Her stomach growled as she made her way to classes. Language was first again on Tuesdays, then Art, and a new class, Math. The classroom for Math had blue curtains. The sunlight shining through them dappled the table and books cerulean. The room would have been dim, but the tutor had added extra lights. As with the rest of the campus, domestic will-o-the-wisps provided the illumination. When they first opened the door, the tiny glowing flecks hung in the air like miniature stars. The moment a student entered a chamber, the will-o-the-wisps rushed together, forming shining balls.

Rachel loved this kind of lighting. She loved its gentle pearly glow. She loved the whispery sound the will-o-the-wisps made, almost like music. She loved the way they rushed together when she stepped into a room. As a child, she had spent many hours playing peek-a-boo with them, sneaking up on a room and flinging open the door, in hopes of catching a glimpse of the black expanse filled with teensy glittering stars before they swirled together.

The tutor was a cool, imposing woman named Dr. Mordeau. She was tall with dark hair, streaked with silver, that formed a formidable widow’s peak. Her robes were the black and blue of a thaumaturge. An ebony fulgurator’s wand with a ruby tip hung from a chain around her waist. Her familiar curled about her arms and shoulders. It was a large, black snake with strange feather-like ears.

Standing before them, she quieted the chatter with a forbidding frown. When they were silent, she began: “In this class, you will learn geometry, which you will need if you are to draw the circles and seven-pointed stars necessary for warding and thaumaturgy. This class is the gateway to both of those Arts. In later years, these two paths will diverge.”

She went on to introduce geometry, which Rachel found fascinating. She loved the regularity of mathematics. She also loved anything to do with space and three-dimensions. Geometry appealed to her exceedingly.

Rachel now knew her entire core group, the seven students with whom she shared every class. They were the princess, Siggy, Joy O’Keefe—the seventh-daughter of a seventh daughter; Rachel’s roommate, the shy, scholarly Astrid; Zoë Forrest, whose hair was a bright scarlet today; her friend, the bass playing Seth Peregrine; and Wulfgang Starkadder—rumor had it that the nobility of Transylvania could all transform into wolves. With his dark, brooding, good looks, Wulfgang certainly seemed quite wolf-like.

There was a second freshman core group from Dare Hall. They were in Language, Music, and Math, but not in Art or True History. (Rachel did not know about Science, as she would not have that class until the afternoon.) This second Dare core group included the lion’s owner, fierce little Kitten Fabian; the spirited cheerleader Brunhilda Winters; the lovely, gregarious Wendy Darling; tall somber Sakura Suzuki; and three boys: Wendy’s cousin, the loud and funny Irish Ian MacDannan; Enoch Smithwyck, an extremely British-looking boy with glasses and short sandy hair who, having grown up in Japan, spoke with a Japanese accent; and a dark-haired boy from New York City named David Jordan, whose familiar was a mouse with the odd name of Electronic Pointing Device.

To Rachel’s dismay, the other children in Math were from Drake Hall—the thaumaturgy students. This meant they would most likely be very good at this class, since it was the gateway class to their Art. Given a choice, she would rather have had the class she shared with the snootiest kids not be the one they would most excel at. Why couldn’t she have had the kids from Drake in Language or Music?

Rachel did not mind Salome, who immediately shimmied up next to Siggy, batting her eyelashes at both him and poor David Jordan, or tiny Magdalene Chase, whose bruised cheek was now a faint green. She must have visited the nurse. Bruises were easy to heal.

Cydney, Belladonna, and Charybdis, on the other hand, were another story. Cydney and her friends sat down together next to their friend the sneering boy, whose name had turned out to be Arcturus Steele. They giggled at her from behind their hands whenever the tutor turned her head. The other students from Drake included Zenobia Jones, a dark-skinned girl from Chicago; Colin Row, a quiet, round-faced boy; a French boy named Coren D’Avern; and Spanish-speaking Napoleon Powers, whose father represented the northern section of South America on the Parliament of the Wise.

Toward the end of the class, Dr. Mordeau closed her textbook. “Before we end, today, I shall give you a brief tutorial on how to use your familiar to ward yourself. Wards made by familiars are not as powerful as those made with a proper athame—a ceremonial warding knife for the uninitiated among us—but they will protect you from some magical influences. Many types of Enchantment, for instance.

“Have you noted the change to your familiars? That their paws or feet or talons are now silver on the bottom?” Dr. Mordeau held out her hand.

Her snake had left her shoulders and curled up on a spot of sunny floor. It now slithered over to her and up her arm. She held the serpent up, so that everyone could see the silvery scales on its stomach.

“Now. Stand up and instruct your familiar to circle you three times widdershins. Does everyone know what widdershins is? Counter-clockwise?”

Rachel giggled. As the owner of a pony named Widdershins, she certainly knew what the word meant. But it was a nervous, almost hiccuppy giggle. She was, again, the only one without a familiar—she still had not been able to catch Mistletoe. She stood still, her head slightly down, and hoped no one would notice. It did not help that her stomach growled loudly.

From across the table, she heard Cydney Graves tell Zenobia, Arcturus, Coren and Napoleon, “See that tiny Asian girl? She’s so small she has to ride a training broom. It’s got this huge, fat fan in the back, probably to keep it from falling out of the air when she wobbles.”

The others laughed loudly.

“Training broom…to go with her training bra,” snickered Zenobia, who was quite shapely, though she had nothing on Salome Iscariot.

Rachel’s careful calm faltered. They were insulting Vroomie again. She felt the heat crawl into her cheeks.

Dr. Mordeau was erasing the chalkboard with a gesture of her wand. A ripple of breeze gathered the chalk back into the stick in her hand. As she turned, the blushing Rachel was directly in her sight. To Rachel’s surprise, the imposing teacher spoke kindly to her.

“There is no shame in being a beginner, child,” Dr. Mordeau stated. “I have never heard of a training broom. What is that?”

Rachel spoke in a small voice. “I am not a beginner, Ma’am. I ride a steeplechaser.”

The tutor’s eyebrows arched elegantly. “I did not know they still made those. Steeplechasers are said to be very difficult to master, having so many blades, and so many variations as to how the fan can be arranged. Can you control it?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Rachel drew herself up and lifted her chin. “I am Mr. Chanson’s assistant. My job is to help the beginners learn to fly.”

“Indeed?” If possible, her eyebrows went higher. “You must be very good.”

Rachel blushed from pleasure and curtsied. “Yes, Ma’am. Thank you.”

Across the table, Cydney’s face had frozen in an awkward mix of surprise and dismay. Realizing this, she changed her expression to a sneer. However, she had lost the attention of the other students, who were now regarding Rachel with some interest. Much as their scrutiny made her uncomfortable, Rachel could not help feeling pleased. She did not smirk at the other girl—that would be too much like gloating, an unladylike behavior—but her heart glowed like warm coals. This was her best moment since coming to school.

Dr. Mordeau put her chalk down. “Who are you, child?”

“Rachel Griffin.” It did not seem an appropriate time for her full title. The Drake kids would just use it to mock her.

“Griffin. Ambrose Griffin’s daughter?”

Rachel nodded.

Something flashed through the tutor’s eyes too quickly for Rachel to catch. The woman nodded and gave a wintry smile. “Welcome to my class, Rachel Griffin.”

As she and her new friends left the classroom and walked down the stairs to lunch, Rachel contemplated the tutor’s response to her father’s name. What was it that had flickered through her eyes? Had it been admiration? Had Dr. Mordeau been impressed? Was the woman fond of her father? Rachel was extremely interested in her parents and their lives before she knew them, especially her father. If this woman admired him, would she tell Rachel stories of his exploits? Anyone else would be stuck having to wonder, but Rachel Griffin was not anyone else.

She recalled her memory of the moment when she had confirmed who her father was, slowing it down. She had to replay it three times before she was sure. Once she identified the right moment, Dr. Mordeau’s reaction was unmistakable. The emotion that had burned in her Math tutor’s eyes at the mention of her father’s name was
hatred
.