The Unexpected Enlightenment of Rachel Griffin (Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 1) (6 page)

“Um…” The princess wet her perfect lips, taken aback by the barrage of questions. “I…don’t think people can turn into dragons. Not and still be intelligent, at any rate.”

“That’s not fair!” Siggy said crossly.

He stomped on the water in the little marble pool. Droplets of water sprayed up. A few struck Rachel’s cheek.

Rachel sighed and continued, “And this is Salome Iscariot.”

The two girls shook hands. Nastasia’s face went a bit pale. She withdrew from the other girl’s grasp. Rachel thought she looked slightly ill.

“Commoners?” cried Salome, perhaps recalling this particular offense due to Nastasia’s quick retreat. “I’ll have you know my parents run the second largest private enterprise in the world.”

“Nonetheless, you are a commoner,” the princess replied, not unkindly.

“I am much richer than you could ever dream of being, girl from a country I’ve never heard of!” Salome announced, her eyes flashing. She waved her fingers at the princess, as if shooing her away Her fingernails were elegantly painted in a blue and black paisley design.

“Undoubtedly true, Miss Iscariot. I never dream about mere money, and beyond the borders of my own kingdom I am a pauper, as no foreign nation recognizes the currency of Magical Australia. That fact is, however, irrelevant. Money cannot buy blue blood, nor does a lack of wealth diminish it.” The princess spoke graciously, unfazed by the other girl’s show of temper. “Royalty comes with duties and obligations not required of those of common birth. Though we enjoy many advantages, our lives are not our own, but belong first to our country and our subjects. No matter how much wealth your family gathers, it cannot make you royalty, nor even nobility.

“However, there is no shame in being common, no insult in the term, nor does being born to high station make me better than anyone else. Only our actions, how we measure up to the duties we were born to, determine our worth. If you allow yourself to be groomed to take over your parents’ financial empire, you will, perhaps, assume duties similar to those required of a royal princess and might one day rise to be the greatest and most worthy of commoners.”

Rachel donned the mask of calm she had learned from her mother. Underneath, she danced with mirth. Salome was so outraged. Most likely, she had never met anyone who did not treat the daughter of the Iscariot financial empire as royalty. Rachel’s sympathies were with the princess. She did believe in judging men on their merit, but, as the daughter of a duke, she also understood the obligations that came with rank, something that egalitarian Americans—despite their many other charming qualities—often failed to grasp.

Footsteps rang against stone. The man with the pony-tail strode into the private garden, his Inverness cloak billowing. He looked around, frowning. His gaze fell on Rachel.

“Sorry,” Rachel mumbled, her cheeks growing hot. “I thought she’d left.”

“Where is she now?” The man spoke in a pleasant baritone.

“She went to the loo,” Rachel lied.

“I have a package for her, a present. Can you give it to her?”

“Of course.” The princess held out her hand. The man’s pupils widened at the striking beauty of the picturesque young lady.

Recovering his aplomb quickly, he gave her a mild smile and handed her a small white box. “Please tell her that this is from her father.”

“Her father!” Salome exclaimed, shocked. When the man glanced her way, she managed a rather weak smile.

The false Agent left without another word. The children gathered around the box.

“Should…we open it?” Rachel asked.

“Certainly not. It is not ours,” the princess replied, mildly offended at the very idea. “We must always do what is right. No matter the cost. Virtue and honor requires this of us.”

“But…that man is evil!” Rachel insisted.

“Evil is a very strong word,” the princess said cautiously, “but I do agree that there was something less than straightforward about him. Even if he is as you say, that does not grant us the right to act wickedly.”

“I’ll open it.” Salome snatched the box from the princess, whose eyebrows arched in indignation, and opened it. Inside was an emerald and gold brooch shaped like a scarab. Rachel took a step back. The jeweled bug made her uneasy.

“Ooo, pretty!” Salome exclaimed.

Lucky the Dragon swooped over the wall and landed next to Sigfried, curling his tail around his human. “Okay, he’s leaving. I…” He looked at the startled faces of Salome and Nastasia. “Er…was I supposed to be pretending not to talk?”

Siggy rolled his eyes. “Yes.”

“Oops,” mumbled the dragon.

“Your dragon talks,” Salome murmured, her eyes larger and more luminescent than ever.

The princess opened her bag and spoke into it. “He is gone. You may come out.”

Valerie climbed out, holding her camera. The lens cap was off. “Shoot! I should have had one of you take a picture of him.”

Salome showed her the box. “He left you this. He said it was from your father.”

“M-my father.” Valerie’s face went pale. “But I haven’t seen him in…”

She reached for the box. The princess put a hand out to halt her. Valerie stopped.

“I recommend we bring this directly to the proctors,” the princess stated. “It might be booby-trapped or cursed.”

“Proctors?” asked Valerie.

“Hall monitors,” explained Rachel. “Campus security.”

“I think that choice should be up to Valerie,” Salome objected tartly.

The box trembled. The scarab darted into the air and straight at Valerie. Darkness spread from it. Shouting, Siggy leapt in front of Miss Hunt. It struck him in the chest. He shouted in pain and staggered. The scarab tried to dart around him. Sigfried dodged in its way.

Rachel wanted to help, but her limbs refused to obey her. She had no magic yet, no flute, no familiar. What could she do?

With a deafening roar, Lucky the Dragon lunged at the sooty cloud containing the scarab. A plume of fire shot out of his mouth. Darting forward, he scooped the burning brooch into his mouth. The children cheered.

“Mot it, M-Boss,” Lucky muttered. His eyes went kind of funny. “Oh, mo!”

“It’s hurting Lucky,” Sigfried cried. “Lucky! Spit it out!”

“Mot to mget it out of here mirst.” The dragon slithered up into the air and over the wall.

“Quick! After him!” Siggy shouted, his voice rough with desperation. His face was pale and slightly greenish. “We have to help Lucky!”

The dragon was the orphan boy’s only family, Rachel realized suddenly. Freed from her paralysis, she grabbed her broom. Sigfried swung up behind her.

Ahead, Lucky flew in a zig-zag motion, engaged in an internal struggle. Across the commons, students looked up, startled. Rachel scanned the lawns. Everyone was gawking fearfully. None of them came forward to help.

Out of the forest strode a college student. He was extremely tall. His cold, discerning gaze took in everything, as if he were surveying the campus with an eye to its defensibility and finding it wanting.

Rachel nearly lost control of her broom. If the princess was the most beautiful girl Rachel had ever seen, this was the most exquisite specimen of a male. He was startlingly handsome and perfectly built. The sunlight glinted off the red highlights in his dark hair. He wore full black robes and black leather gloves so thick they practically looked like gauntlets. Upon his chest blazed a golden royal crest.

He strode across the lawns toward them. Other students scurried out of his way like mice before a tiger.

Lucky the Dragon somersaulted onto the green lawns, twisting and bucking. Opening his mouth, he regurgitated the jeweled scarab. Darkness still billowed from it. In a single fluid motion, the prince pulled out a black and gold fulgurator’s wand and shot the flying brooch. Crackling white fire burnished with a golden tinge leapt from the sapphire at the wand’s tip.

Rachel leaned forward. She knew about Eternal Flame, but she had never seen it. Tended by the Vestal Virgins, it burned the wicked but did not harm the innocent.

The blast struck the scarab. The metallic insect twitched and became rigid. Rachel waited with bated breath. The prince shot it a second time, a bolt of lightning leaping from the sapphire tip. The scarab brooch lay charred upon the grass. Kneeling, he poked it with his wand. As the last of the darkness dispersed, he ran a finger through it, brought it to his nose, and sniffed.

Raising his wand, he gazed speculatively toward Lucky. Rachel shouted and waved her hands. The prince glanced up at her, frowning. Their gazes met. Something Rachel had never felt before, akin to a shiver but both more wonderful and more terrible, passed through her. He nodded and turned away, lowering his wand.

“Wow! Who is that?” Siggy asked, his voice aglow with hero worship.

Even without seeing the details of the crest on his chest, Rachel knew the answer. There was only one person he could be.

“Vladimir Von Dread,” she replied. “The Prince of Bavaria.”

“Really! I’m fine!” Sigfried protested for the tenth time.

Rachel watched with concern from the side of the bed upon which the nurse had insisted Siggy rest. On the far side of the bed, the princess perched gracefully upon a chair, her lovely brow furrowed with concern. When he arrived, Siggy had been looking unnaturally pale and somewhat green. The nurse had immediately played enchanted healing music on her long silver flute. He now looked considerably better.

Nurse Moth was from the French branch of the far-flung Moth family. She was a nervous, quick, bird-like woman with a large nose. She wore a nun’s habit and a wimple. Rachel recognized the white-on-white outfit as belonging to the Order of Asclepius.

The infirmary had green marble floors. Arcane healing symbols had been traced in silver on the pale blue tile walls. Overhead, painted puffy white clouds decorated a domed ceiling of periwinkle blue. An orrery hung there, the clockwork sun and planets able to rotate independently, so that the date and time could be adjusted for the room, to alter the celestial influences for healing purposes.

Flame-colored curtains separated the cots. Purple and green dragon-vein agate set into the beds were imbued with healing enchantments. Above each headboard hovered a glass ball burning with green health-giving fire. Chimes hung by the open windows, ringing in the breeze. In the center, a fountain gurgled.

Nurse Moth held up her scrutiny sticks, two rounded lengths of wood that were carved with runes and set with gems of various colors. As the nurse ran the sticks up and down Siggy’s body, a few of the gems flashed brightly.

“It is always wise to check. With the black magic, one never knows,” Nurse Moth said in her French accent. She pronounced
the
like
zee
. “Just be still. It will be over soon.”

“Soon by glacier years,” Siggy muttered through clenched teeth.

The nurse
tsked
and continued her examination.

Finally, an ice age later, she straightened, rubbing her back. “I find nothing. Sit. I will get you a drink.”

“That…wasn’t so bad.” Siggy looked faintly surprised and rather pleased.

The nurse continued, “In fifteen minutes, if you still feel fine, you may go to the Familiar Bonding Ceremony. But if you feel ill today, so much as an itch or a cough or a sniffle, come see me immediately,
non
?”

Siggy nodded. “No…er…I mean, yes.”

The nurse bustled off to her office.

Sigfried leaned forward and spoke in a hushed voice. “Do you think we’ll get in trouble?”

“For saving Valerie?” Rachel’s brows arched in surprised. “Why would we get in trouble for
saving
someone?”

“With adults, you never know.” Siggy looked around suspiciously, as if expecting accusing adults to spring out of the walls and come for them.

The princess laid a comforting hand on his arm. “Fear not, young man. If anything should go amiss, I will go speak with the dean. She and the Grand Inquisitor of the Wisecraft are friends of my family.”

“Wow,” Rachel murmured, impressed. “Your family has some very highly placed friends! The Grand Inquisitor is my father’s boss!”

At the far end of the room, Valerie Hunt and Salome Iscariot were being questioned by two proctors, whom Rachel recognized, as she had met them the previous day. Mr. Fuentes was a rather good-looking young man of Spanish descent with a big friendly smile. Mr. Scott was shorter and blond with a more serious cast of features.

“I wish I knew what they were saying,” Rachel mused. She hated being left out of the loop, especially from things that were happening right in front of her.

“Do you really?” Siggy’s eyes gleamed. “We…are friends, right?”

“Right!” Rachel turned to Nastasia. “Would you like to be our friend, too?”

Nastasia tilted her head and gave the proposition due consideration. “A well-born girl and a hero? Both appropriate friends for a young woman of my station.” She gave a little nod, blushing slightly. “I believe our being friends would be most agreeable indeed.”

“We are all friends, then,” Rachel raised her eyebrows in hopeful inquiry.

“Right!” Siggy spat in his palm and held it out toward the girls.

Ah. Another flick of a flame decision. How was her friendship with Sigfried to be? Was she going to let her new friend daunt her? Or was she going to prove her mettle? Taking a deep breath, she grabbed his goopy hand and shook.

Siggy looked impressed. “Now you are one of the boys.”

Rachel grinned. Surreptitiously, she wiped her wet hand on her robes.

“
Noblesse oblige
,” Nastasia murmured. Her blue, blue eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and revulsion. With the resolve of a martyr refusing to show weakness in front of a firing squad, she shook Siggy’s still-moist hand.

“Very good. We’re all friends!” Rachel grinned, relieved that making friends had not proved as hard as she had first feared. “Now we can do important things together, like figure out why someone was trying to hurt Valerie! About the proctors over there…” She glanced in the direction of the door. The two proctors had stepped aside and were speaking privately to each other. Or so they thought. “Siggy, you were saying?”