The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1) (44 page)

In her imagination, Rachel reached over to the lever that turned the crank of obedience-to-adults and removed the screws fastening it in place. The lever turned, but no gears moved. For the first time in her life, she felt free from the constraints of grown-ups.

Rachel grabbed her broom. “I am going to warn everyone.”

“You can’t. The dean said to stay here,” Nastasia repeated firmly.

“And I am going after Chanson!” Sigfried called, running down the other hall again, the one that would bring him out on the far side of the battle between the dean and the dragon.

“No, Sigfried!” Nastasia ordered. “I order you not to go, Mr. Smith!”

Siggy did not pause.

From where she balanced on her toes at the corner, Rachel could see him crawling into the tunnel Chanson’s body had left behind. Lucky was draped around his shoulders. So far as she could tell, the evil snake’s bite was not slowing him down.

The body of the eared snake lay charred on the bricks.

Rachel raced back to the brick antechamber and jumped on her broom. “I’ll be back!”

“Alarm! Alarm! Alarm!” Rachel shot across the commons, shouting. “Beware! Alarm!”

Classes were in session, but the weather was beautiful, with a too-blue sky and a mild breeze that smelled of new autumn leaves. Many of those who had an open period, and perhaps a few who were supposed to be in class, had chosen to study on the lawn, frisk about with their familiars, or to fly bristlelesses up and down the paths.

Rachel rushed by them, pell-mell, shouting and hardly looking where she was going. She nearly flew headlong into a peacock, whether a pet of the school or someone’s familiar, she did not know. The creature screamed, an eerie, ear-splitting sound that reminded Rachel of a child yowling for help. This startled the other students and made them look in Rachel’s direction.

“Alarm! Mordeau’s gone crazy!” she shouted. “She is sending the thaumaturgy students to kill everyone! Alarm!”

Students gawked at her. A few started to laugh. Eunice Chase pulled out her fulgurator’s wand and fired a blast of greenish brown energy at Rachel. Her eyes were a milky white. The sizzling beam shot toward her head. Rachel locked her gaze on Eunice and whistled. Blue sparks rushed toward the older girl.

Rachel bent close over her handle and rotated, flipping underneath the broom and shooting up on other side again. The horrid-smelling spell burnt the air where her head would have been.

“Look at her fly!” Lola Spong exclaimed. “I couldn’t do that!”

A smile flickered across Rachel’s lips.

Serious again, she pointed a finger at Eunice, who stood frozen in the act of firing her wand, blue sparkles dancing around her body. “Look at her eyes! See how cloudy they are? Mordeau is possessing students and sending them to kill people! Anyone you see with eyes like that is possessed! Stop them!”

She sped through the trees, along the gravel paths that ran between the dorms on the western side of the campus. The pale pyramidal towers of Marlowe Hall flashed by. At her warning, the students playing croquet on the lawns of Spenser Hall scattered like startled doves. As she darted toward the spires of Dare, she shouted to those on the steps to retreat inside and block the doors against anyone with a wand. Then, she dodged white birches as she circled around to the back of Roanoke Hall.

The birches parted, revealing the grassy area filled with sprouting tree stumps behind Roanoke Hall. Sitting in the middle of this field, rubbing an angry red bump on his forehead, was the P.E. teacher. Rachel leapt from her broom, landing beside him at a stumbling run.

“Mr. Chanson! Are you okay? Can I help you to the infirmary?”

“No, no, child.” He smiled up at her, rubbing his forehead. “I will be fine in a few minutes. Got the wind knocked out of me.”

Rachel bent down and offered her hand, helping him to rise. “Sir…no offense, but you flew through fifty yards of earth. Are you sure you didn’t lose more than your wind?”

“Must have been a tunnel here all along,” he replied mildly. He started to stand, but paused on one knee, overcome by dizziness.

Laughter snorted out of her mouth in spite of her wish to restrain it. “Um. You left a Mr. Chanson-shaped hole in the
brick
wall, boss. Also, you move faster than I can see.” Rachel leaned forward, her dark eyes dancing. “I think the time for pretending everything is normal has passed.”

He tried again, rocking forward as he rose, clumps of dirt falling from his suit and half cape. Making it to his feet, Mr. Chanson ducked his head and gave her a sheepish smile. “Will you keep my secret?”

“Of course!” Rachel straightened and saluted. As she hopped back on her broom, she added, “I have more people to warn. I’ll have to interrogate you about what you know about Metaplutonians later.”

“Meta…”

“Metaplutonians,” she called over her shoulder as she took to the air. “It’s Mr. Smith’s term for people who come from beyond Pluto…people from outside. Like Lucky and the Lion.”

Mr. Chanson gave her a very penetrating look. “You know a great deal for one so young.”

“I pay attention,” Rachel replied.

She shot off, barreling through the trees toward the dorms on the far side of Roanoke, rocketing past somber De Vere Hall. Ahead was Drake. How was the battle going there? Had the dean won yet?

And what would happen if Dean Moth lost?

Dark images rose up in her mind as she flew: Gaius lying on the floor, dead; herself dropping to her knees, clutching his limp body and rocking back and forth, wailing; herself dressed in the black crepe of mourning, going through the motions of her life as if in a dreary dream; herself as an aged spinster, explaining to her great grand-nephews and nieces how she had never married because, long ago, her true love had been slain.

Rachel blushed at that last thought. She had no evidence this boy was her true love; she was not even over John Darling. But the thought of Gaius dying, before she discovered whether he might be…

He was not going to die!

A group of students had gathered on the pathway leading to Drake. Even with her naked eye, Rachel could see black shadows around them. A shadow surrounded a tall blond boy holding a wand. He turned and raised his hands, calling out a cantrip she had not heard before. “
Tur lu!
”

Vroomie stalled in mid air. The steeplechaser entirely ceased moving, but Rachel did not. She flew from her seat, shooting forward. Her stomach tried to stay with the broom, but physics did not allow for that. The unfamiliar sensation of open air under her backside was disturbing. It was like that moment in a dream when one walked into a crowded room only to realize one was naked. Only, this was more like waking up to discover that you really were in a crowded room and you really were naked.

Gravel lay below her, promising a particularly painful landing. She could concentrate on saving herself, which was going to be uncomfortable, even if she succeeded. Or she could stop the kid who attacked her before he hurt anyone else. Or himself. She hated to imagine how it would feel to come out of a geas and discover that you had committed a murder. Even if others told you it was Dr. Mordeau’s fault, would you ever believe it?

No student would bear that burden on her watch, not even a gangly boy from Drake.

Rachel gave the ground no thought. She fixed her eyes on the young man and pursed her lips, whistling. The shrill notes of the petrify spell pierced the air. Amidst blue sparks and the scent of spruces, the boy froze. Then, she shouted, “
Varenga
, Vroomie!”

The gravel path, with all its sharp stony points, rushed toward her. Four feet. Two feet. A foot and a half. Rachel tucked her head and somersaulted. Sharp pebbles pricked her painfully.
Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.
Grateful for her gymnastics classes, she came up out of the roll onto her feet.

As she rose, her hand closed around the polished handle of her broom, which had shot toward her when called. Swinging onto the seat, she leaned forward and snatched the wand out of the petrified boy’s hand. Angling her broom toward the trees above, she shot upward.

Back in the air, Rachel slumped over her handlebars and rested her forehead on the handle. She had lived, and with only five or ten uncomfortable bruises. Thank goodness. The bruises, however, filled her heart with an unexpected sorrow. No girl with a cat familiar should have been hurt by that fall.

Beneath her, the other students clapped and cheered. Straightening, Rachel flashed them a split-second smile and waved.

Then, she sped onward, shouting, “Alarm! Alarm! Petrify all students with wands!”

Continuing her Paul Revering, she shot past the yellow walls of Raleigh and the stone scholars decorating Dee. In the distance, she could hear cries, shouts, and strains of music.

“Alarm! Alarm! Mad tutor alert! Students gone rogue,” she cried as she passed fellow students. “Shut the doors of your dorms and don’t let the thaumaturgy students in!”

Lively music swelled from the trees ahead of her. Abraham Van Helsing, Conan MacDannan, and the other vampire-hunting boys from Dare stood side by side, defending a group of students, mainly girls. A circle of white sparkles spread out from their instruments, driving back the shadows that had been part of Mordeau’s cloak. Rachel waved, and the boys grinned. Max Weatherby, the funny boy with the big chin, nodded over his flute and winked. Alex Romanov, the princess’s brother, called out to ask after his sister.

Rachel gave him a thumbs-up as she rocketed by.

She flew back across the commons again. The young blond proctor, Mr. Scott, stood on the lawn, directing students into Roanoke Hall. As she flew closer, he waved her over, looking stern.

“Thank you, Miss Griffin. That is enough for now.” He gestured toward the wide double doors. “Please join the others in the dining hall.”

In her mind, she gave a swift kick to the geared contraption known as Obedience to Adults. It groaned and collapsed into a dusty pile of mental parts and fastenings, performing no function whatsoever.

“Yes, sir,” Rachel saluted.

Without even the minutest qualm, she flew in the entrance, through the dining hall, and out the back door, where she soared upward and over the wall. She saw the trees swaying and jumping before she heard the earth-rending crack. The ground in front of Drake Hall split open. The granite wall of the august dormitory cracked. The sleeping stone lion listed sideways. With a
whoosh
, the waters of the moat began to rush into the newly formed chasm.

Up through the gaping tear in the earth came the black dragon. It writhed its way from the dirt, shook itself off, and spread its huge purple-black bat wings. Opening its mouth, it breathed a huge gout of foul-smelling flames into the pit behind it.

Through the flame rose the dean, carried by her golden eagle familiar. She held her hands up in an unfamiliar cantrip. The flames bent to either side of her.

The dragon and the dean squared off. Drawing itself back on its hind legs, like a winged-serpent rampant on a heraldic crest, the dragon roared out words. Its voice was surprisingly shrill for such a huge creature. “My servants, hear me! Kill the other two primary targets! I will take care of Dean Moth!”

Across the campus, shadows flickered, rushing away from the students and off toward some new goal. Rachel spun her steeplechaser, but she could not tell where they were heading. Terror grappled her, making her limbs tremble. She had no idea who these primary targets were. Valerie Hunt? But Dr. Mordeau and her assistant, Jonah Strega, had had Valerie under their power. If they wanted her dead, why wouldn’t they have killed her then? Who else could it be? Mr. Chanson? Herself? John Darling, son of the other person who caught Mordeau’s father?

From this height, she could see two members of the White Hart Alliance, Marta Fisher and Ivan Romanov. Both had been fighting students who were under the influence of the geas. Both paused now and looked around, uncertain as to the threat. If they did not know what to do, how could she—a mere freshman who knew only a meager handful of spells—be of any help?

If only she knew more magic. If only she knew who the other two targets were. If only she knew anything useful. But who could discern Mordeau’s twisted mind?

Panic threatened to highjack her.

Then, in the midst of her frustration, she paused.

She was very smart—otherwise she would not have been invited here a year early—and she had a perfect memory. As she told Mr. Chanson, she had been paying attention.

What if she already knew the clues?

Rachel slowed her broom. She closed her eyes and calmed her thoughts. Prime targets…of what? Dr. Mordeau wanted to kill Rachel because of what her father had done. But Rachel was not a target. If she had been, Dr. Mordeau would spent more energy trying to kill her. Dean Moth was a target. Who else?

As rapidly as spells firing from a dueling wand, Rachel Griffin drew from her mental library every reference she had ever encountered related to Dean Jacinda Moth and Dr. Melusine Mordeau, the daughter of Eliaures Charles, the Serpent Master of the Morthbrood.

Come on, Information. Come find me! No one loves you as much as I do!

Puzzle pieces whirled through her mind faster than fan blades. What if Mordeau wanted to kill the people at Roanoke responsible for the fall of her father’s masters, the Terrible Five? Who would that be?

Who was still left at Roanoke from the Terrible years? Dean Moth, Maverick Badger, and Crispin Fisher. That was three. The dean was facing the dragon, and Rachel knew, though Mordeau probably did not, that Mr. Badger was not on campus. Dean Moth had mentioned that the head of the proctors had departed to pick up his wife. That left Mr. Fisher.

If she reached Mr. Fisher, and she was wrong, no harm done.

But if she were right…

Bending low over her steeplechaser, Rachel shot off across the campus. She dodged the spires and bell towers of Roanoke Hall diving into a large loop as soon as she cleared the building. Halfway through the loop, she flipped over, so that she was now upright, barreling directly toward the window of her alchemy classroom. Not all the windows of Roanoke Hall were the kind that opened. Thankfully, these did. Hurdling at the glass at high speed, Rachel let go of her handlebars and performed the Opening cantrip.