Chapter Fourteen

Two Bats, One Spell

“Okay, I have a plan,” Sabbath whispers, hunching down over the table conspiratorially.

The banquet hall is bustling with breakfast chatter and the metallic clanking of silverware, the sun spilling in from the tall cathedral-like windows in patchy squares.

This morning’s light is bright and elegant, as though the day is sure to be full of promise instead of whatever it is far more likely to be full of.

“Yeah? What’s this plan?” I asked, munching on my toasted baguette. It’s smeared with a liberal amount of butter and jam to compensate for all the calories my hands may later prevent me from consuming. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

“Well, I was thinking about just asking some people, like,” Sabbath pauses, straightening her back so as to look her utmost professional, “‘Heeey, we have a class project where we have to do a spell with the supervision of an upperclassman...’”

“Yeah, great,” I agree. “And tell me how you plan on getting these older, cooler, smarter upperclassmen to actually do the traitorous soul magic?”

And then, like the streak of a shooting star on a dark and gloomy night, something frankly brilliant occurs to me. I shake my hands as if trying to quiet Sabbath, but she’s not speaking. “Wait!” I lower my voice. “Think about what exactly you agreed to.”

“Five people. A meeting.”

I nod enthusiastically. “That’s not hard. We don’t have to get anyone to do the spell. So forget highly qualified upperclassmen!” I point at her, then myself. “One, two.” I point between two shoulders, in the general direction of Soren. “Three. We only need two more.”

She frowns. “So, we trick Soren? Are we good witches or not, Mika?”

I don’t like it either, even if it does rip off Soren Cain. Whatever he needs, he needs it badly enough to come all the way to Spellfall and put his hope in the spawn of his family’s murderer.

Exasperated, I sigh. “If the goal is to be good witches all the time, then why did we make a bargain with Soren in the first place?”

“Because he can help you, Mika. He can fix what I did wrong... and he can tell you about your mom.” Oh, I think with a stab of gratitude. “Two bats with one spell,” she says. “Let’s just hope we don’t lose our souls for it.”

I reach for my glass of orange juice, but my hand sails right through it. “Omens!” I curse.

See? Good thing I’m eating such a high-calorie breakfast.

Man. I really wanted a nice swig of that freshly squeezed jus d’orange. Waving my hand around in the center of the juice, I wait for it to find physical form.

“Shaking usually does the trick,” I inform Sabbath, who opens her mouth to respond when suddenly my hand, after said vigorous shaking, finds solid form again. Unfortunately, it whacks my glass, toppling it over onto my plate.

I watch as the nectar of life floods the plains of my plate, soaking my eggs and coming to a runny halt against the Great Wall of Baguette.

“I was about to warn you to move your hand away from the solid objects,” Sab sighs.

My eyes wander despondently across the hall and I see Soren, sitting with Amandine. She may not agree with his uncle’s politics, but she had no disagreement with the dimples on Soren’s face, which he is giving her unreservedly.

“Do you see that? I want to barf. It’s too bad you’re a better necromancer than Amandine. Just imagine. This could’ve been her problem.”

“She would’ve loved it. She’s obsessed with Soren.”

“I mean—” I bite my tongue.

“He’s hot, Mika. You don’t have to pretend like he’s not.”

“He’s a bad boy. From Burnbright.”

“‘Bad, rich boys, from the wrong side of the tracks’ is, like, basically a seduction spell with circumstantial ingredients. You don’t need to deny it. People read romance books about this all the time.”

“Well,” I say, clearing my throat. “Not me.”

And it’s true. I don’t even like libraries.

* * *

I unload my books on a long slab in the conservatory, watching the hourglass on the professor’s work table slowly count down the minutes before the classroom fills. Exotic Plants and Fungi is held in the conservatories on the east side of the school, which look out on the dark sea of trees that make up Stillwood.

I spot the bobbing green head of Tuesday Jones chatting with Professor Spriggs in the morning light, the two of them carrying on a very lively conversation.

“And that is why the essence of petrified Flammulina velutipes is an excellent ingredient to use as a repellant. Spirits certainly aren’t fond of it, and neither are mosquitoes!”

Professor Honor Spriggs is a spritely woman who looks like Spring personified. Her bushy black hair could very well be sprouting from her head, and her bright green eyes give the appearance of restlessness, growing things, despite skin that suggests age has taken root.

She beckons students into the conservatory hurriedly, pacing back and forth.

Tuesday comes to stand next to me. “Oh, hello, Mika,” she says brightly.

I offer a polite smile. “I didn’t know spellwriters needed to take Exotic Plants and Fungi,” I say.

“Oh, no, it’s not a requirement. I asked Professor Thorncaster if I could audit it since it wasn’t listed in my courses.”

“You can do that? Audit a class?”

“I suppose so, since I’m doing it.” She smiles, none of her sister’s menace in her.

It’s like someone has taken all of the anger that should’ve been split evenly between the two of them over a lifetime, and poured it all into Tomorrow, and then funneled all of the shiny, loose happiness and creative energy straight into Tuesday.

“I’m quite good with plants. I like things that grow.”

“Neat,” I reply.

Ever since Tuesday’s boyfriend accidentally killed himself in fourth year, she’s been quite far away, wandering the rooms of her own mind. People at Spellfall have said all kinds of things about her seeing ghosts and trying to summon Zach’s spirit back, but with a vicious rumor mill operating as the backbone of Spellfall’s social scene, I don’t put much stock in it.

Though—I’ve always wondered if it’s grief that does this sort of thing to a person... takes a chunk of them away, or numbs it. I wonder what kind of things it did to me, before I was even old enough to know the difference.

Spriggs claps her hands together loudly, calling everyone’s attention. “Welcome! I am just so thrilled to have you all,” she greets us enthusiastically. “I see many fresh Alchemists, and a few others—Tuesday.” She flaps her hand quickly, and Tuesday gives a little wave back.

Leaning in, Tuesday explains, “I help her in the garden sometimes.”

“I’m sure you’re all wondering, why would I be here? In a conservatory? Ah! Well, and I am happy to say that you have found your way into my classroom for Exotic Plants and Fungi. Some of you may have taken my Enchanted Herbs and Roots or Forbidden Flora and Fauna classes, or may very well take one of those next—nevertheless, welcome, welcome!”

I blink, wondering how in the unholy cauldron I’m going to keep up with Spriggs’ veering thoughts for an entire year. Turning toward Tuesday, I expect a glance that says we share this sentiment, but instead, I find her enraptured by Sprigg’s words, a pleasant smile spread across her face.

“Now, the grounds of Spellfall are one of the most exceptional places to study plants and animals. In fact, this conservatory holds more endangered, illegal, and previously-believed-to-be-extinct plants than all but two other places in the entire world. Do any of you know why?”

I shift from foot to foot uncomfortably, hoping Tuesday Jones’ emerald hair and general pleasantry won’t draw unnecessary attention to me. This is a futile hope, because when Tuesday raises her hand to answer, Spriggs’ eyes come to land on me instead.

“You there. What’s your name?”

“Mika Carrow,” I say, tossing a glance around to see who else is in the class with me. I spot Enzo in the back, whispering to Chiara Waters next to him. They both snicker.

“And Mika, do you know why Spellfall has access to such a rare variety of natural resources?”

Awkwardly clearing my throat, I think back to the history we all learned in first year. “Well, Spellfall is in a pocket dimension.”

“Which means?” she prompts, green eyes growing wide as if she’s spelling out the answers in them for me, waiting to celebrate my victory.

“It’s a pocket of space that exists adjacent to a full dimension. Or between dimensions.”

“Correct, Mika!” Spriggs claps her hands together again in triumph. “Miss Carrow is exactly right. The fact that Spellfall exists in a pocket dimension means that it had a fresh start in its creation for a magical ecosystem. The couple who created this place for us in the early seventeenth century decided to fund a magical institute for our young witches and wizards. They prioritized this as a place of conservation, introducing as many plants and animals as they could to our grounds.

“Now, Iacques Arrode was Transfiguration Brood, and he was, of course, responsible for the lovely château. But the grounds were created and upheld by his wife, Antoinette, a spellwriter who altered the rules of nature to accommodate for so many of the magical world’s rarest plant discoveries...”

My gaze falls to Tuesday’s hands, which are covered in charcoal. She’s sketching on her notes and notices my attention. “You should come to the Comet tonight,” she says. “Tomorrow is working. North wing, fourth floor.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised by the invitation. “Thanks. Maybe I will. I think Sabbath’s working too.”

“She is,” Tuesday nods.

“For example, the hornwood fern, runevine, the man-eating orchid, and yes, yes, even the ascension drupe,” Spriggs continues from the front of the room. “Now, do any of you wise young alchemists know the scientific names for any of these plants?”

“Tomorrow would love to get her hands on a man-eating orchid,” Tuesday says cheerfully.

* * *

After a torturous three hours in Brewing and Stewing 101, I escape the sulfuric fumes with the strong promise of a pumpkin spice latté in my future. I’m just in time to the Enchanted Comet before word of its location gets out.

Following excessive amounts of traffic, irritated upperclassmen enchanted the Comet so that it would follow a roaming schedule. Administration thought this was an excellent way to cut back on the perils of a hundred over-caffeinated witchlings inhabiting a single space, and seating now comes on a first-found, first-serve basis. Luckily, Sabbath is my Comet insider.

“One sec, Meeks,” she says from behind the counter, dancing around Tomorrow, who’s looking like she’s about to give the most unexceptional customer service of all time. Three oversized, upside-down teacups have been turned into candles, and they rotate like their own solar system over Sabbath’s and Tomorrow’s heads. Leaning up against the counter, I get a good survey of the room.

The Enchanted Comet is one of my favorite places in the world—which makes me entirely unoriginal, as it is the favorite place of literally every student at Spellfall. With a variety of nooks and crannies clad in deep jewel tones, crystals nestled between thick candles, and windows made of shimmering stained-glass tarot cards, the Comet’s eclecticism is completely different from the rest of the château’s gothic-but-polished aesthetic.

A few familiar faces pepper the throng of students—Tuesday, the Potions Master, that new kid, Nik, who seems to have been corralled by Enzo. Enzo is conveniently accompanied by Amandine, and I’m almost shocked not to see Soren attached to her hip.

He’s probably busy in his room, throwing his abundance of knives at a picture of my face.

I’m oddly okay with this.

Dragging my eyes away from the suspicious interactions between Enzo and Aman-fiend, I spot a girl walk in... arm in arm with Callum.

Everything happens in slow motion.

I immediately whirl to Sabbath, not sure how I intend to warn her but certain I must. She turns, latté in hand, eyes wandering up as she raises it to me.

The entire thing bursts into flames.

“Oh!” Sabbath shouts, dropping the mug. The sound of fracturing glass draws the attention of everyone in the Comet, and heads swivel in her direction.

Tomorrow looks over slowly, then follows Sabbath’s blooming red stare toward the mess on the floor. Her expression sours even more. Giving Sabbath a solicitous pat on the back, Tomorrow sinks down to clean up the spill.

The usual cacophony of student chatter finally resumes.

“Sorry, Mika,” Sabbath squeaks. “I didn’t mean to light your pumpkin spice on fire.”

“It’s okay, Sabs,” I reassure her, arranging my features sympathetically. “Today my pumpkin spice did not come with everything nice.”

Tomorrow rises back up from behind the counter slowly and dramatically, like a phoenix from the ashes. She holds out her hands to me, the mug restored between her fingers. “We’ll have to remake the latté,” she says flatly. “I don’t know how to remerge liquid yet.”

Offering a tight smile, I take the empty mug, coffee still dripping from its sides, and watch Tomorrow stalk off to the back room. Spindling cracks thread down the sides of the glass like a spiderweb. A novice restoration at best.

“Sorry about her,” Sabbath says quietly. “She’s having a bad day.”

“Isn’t she always?” As I ask, Sab’s eyes dart up, her body stiffening. Callum and his new girl must be line right behind me.

Stalking back out, Tomorrow takes over for Sabbath just in time. “Today we have fresh brews of our famous spidermint and pixiemoss syrups, perfect for flavoring your average latté,” she growls. “We also have a new flavor. It’s called moosenuts. It debuted today, just now.”

“Moosenuts?” I look to Sabbath for explanation.

“Yeah, we don’t serve that,” she whispers.

“Oh, cheer up,” Callum taunts Tomorrow Jones. “The sun’ll come out, Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow considers him for a moment—or maybe just stares angrily into the depths of his soul, to be debated—and then lifts a finger, drawing in the air. Instantly, Callum doubles over with a gasp.

“What’d you do?” Sabbath asks, eyes zeroed in on her ex.

“I twisted his balls in that un-fun kind of way,” she answers passively. “That okay with you?”

“Totally,” Sabbath breathes, with what I think is the sound of awe.

I frown. “There’s a rune for that?” Cause I could really use a rune for that.

“There’s a perfect rune for anyone creative enough to invent it. It’s risky though,” Tomorrow warns. “One pollex to the left, and I would’ve cut his balls off instead. It’s a subtle art.”

Something suddenly gets viciously stuck in Sabbath’s throat.

“This is student-on-student assault!” Callum grunts from where he’s squatting in pain near the register.

“Not if it’s a duel, wenchtits. Stand up. I hereby challenge you.”

Taking one look at Tomorrow’s kohl-rimmed eyes, Callum's lips curl in disgust—and subsequently, defeat. Her eyes narrow infinitesimally in an I-thought-so kind of way.

“Do you have any other questions about today’s specials?” Tomorrow asks the girl, snapping back to her blank demeanor and smacking her gum like she’s bored. The girl gives her a fleeting, terrified glance before hurrying off to attend to Callum.

Unholiest of cauldrons. “I want her,” I hiss at Sab.

Sabbath’s mouth drops open a little as she nods. For the first time in our lives, we aren’t scared of Tomorrow Jones. We are in total awe of her.

“Hey, Tomorrow,” I call, “have you done, like, high-level black magic before?”

“I’ve been summoning demons since I was fourteen,” she answers, clearly unimpressed with my question.

“How do you feel about soul magic?”

“Sounds skeevy.”

“What does that me—”

“Whatever it is, I’m in.” Tomorrow looks up, just as an emerald shape materializes in my periphery. “You wanna do some shady soul magic with these two, Tu?”

Tuesday comes to stand next to me at the tall counter, setting her chin on her fist. Her keen eyes assess the three of us, and for a minute, I’m sure we’re going to have to find another spellwriter. A smile slowly curves on her lips. “Of course. So generous of you to invite me!”

Gaze maneuvering between us, Sabbath takes us in. “I can open up shop tonight around midnight?” she suggests.

“Witching hour is fine for us,” Tomorrow agrees. Her eyes flicker to me briefly before she leaves to pull shots of espresso for a fifth-year.

“Recovery is nigh!” I whisper to Sab. She winks, the grin stretched wide on her face.

Now, I just have to inform Soren, and hope he doesn’t re-kill me when he realizes our scheme. Returning with a steaming mug, Tomorrow finishes the drink off with some latté art in the shape of a mysterious rune. Peering down at her drink suspiciously, the fifth-year takes it with no small measure of reluctance.

“It’s textbook stuff, protection for your first week,” Tomorrow assures her.

“Why would I need protection?” the girl asks, eying the glittering lip ring on the twin’s face.

“Because sometimes I accidentally add cyanide when I’m feeling extra witchy. Take care.”

Yep. Soren is definitely going to kill me, if Tomorrow Jones doesn’t do it first.

Between growing up on Star Wars and the Chronicles of Narnia, I was bound to write my magic with portals and a slight sci-fi slant... there may be a few more scifi-esque things ahead in this Spellfall journey;) Would love to know what you think of the world building so far!

xx Jessa

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