Magic School Girl

It was a fine winter's morning in Magorum's Academy for the Magical Arts on that fateful February dawning. I remember it well. Ice trickled from the trees as the robins sang their mating songs for the season's turn. Spring crept around the corner as the world was waking once more to the green calling. Fleets of snow melted to puddles, the flower buds bid their blooming, and the girls of the Academy were in a bustle to pick out dance partners for the coming Spring Festival: a once-in-a-year's opportunity to take the hand of that special someone for a spin on the dance floor.
But for some – like me, this also means holding down one's status. A festival dance was not only an event – it was a statement. Whoever you took reflected your image. As a fine sword needs a fine sheath, a fine lady needs a fine gentleman. And I, like any noble girl attending, was of no exception to this rule. In fact, I dare say, my soul-binding beauty was the reason for this rule. Otherwise it'd be unfair to the lower girls who couldn’t be attractive without it. Pathetic, really.
Walking the hallways that morning started off with the same drab dribble of my lessers. I suppose the empress has to make an appearance every once in a while lest the peasants forget who rules over them, no? And rule I did.
‘Your skin is so smooth, Elvira! Where can I buy creams like yours!?’ those poor birds would ask; as if they could even tickle the fancy of affording Lathrian Blossoms from Giladice.
 ‘Wherever did you find such dresses of high embroidery?!’ the twits of the lesser noble houses would screech; as if they had familial connections to the best tailors and seamstresses that only Colovian royalty can muster.
‘Has there ever been a fairer beauty than thine?!’ those puppy, pouncing paupers would lick my shoes for complement; as if they ever held a sliver of divine magnificence matching those of the Vorgenian valkyries of myth.
Partners were never an academy tradition to a season’s festival dance – until I came along. And looking at the competition? It’s hardly a mystery why it is now...
A dawning like this is always aloof with activity; now that all the worthiest fellows have been taken, it was a rush to pick out the last nuggets of merit still available, lest one got stuck with coal - the more “normal” fellows: birches, pie munchers, dwarves, lowborns, and “sensitive” creepers. Luckily for me such petty pickings were never in my vocabulary. I am Elvira am I not? A Perrington to the core, fifth of the line, and the youngest (and fairest) of three sisters – the other two of whom were both unbearably ugly in comparison to myself - but I do not blame them, I do not blame anybody. I was always gifted by the Watcher, perfect since birth. My beauty shames princesses, my talents humble wizards, my wealth makes merchants slobber and drool out of their own pockets and I do not blame them. I cannot blame anybody for their imperfection. For everybody was born imperfect.
But just not me.
Unfortunately, not everyone appreciates such simple things. Some people like to complicate the obvious.  People like my sodding, idiot boyfriend, Devon, whom I had reasonable instinct to assume was holding an affair behind my back! Honestly, just because he’s the most gifted duellist in entire the Academy doesn’t give him right reason to betray me: the best darn thing that’s ever happened to that no-good, class-skipping, rule-breaking, fist-fighting, arm-flexing, lock-flowing, eye-melting - goodness where was I at again? Oh yes, betrayal! It was the first thing to that day’s rooster! I remember. It all started on a Monday; what should’ve been a peaceful reminiscent first day of my last year here at Magorum’s Academy for the Magical Arts, when I’d spout sappy drivel about “the good timers I had” or how “It stays with your heart forever” had become the head-turning down-spiral for the craziest four weeks of my life. And I guess it starts where all good stories out to start – with a boy and a girl.

I stroll out into the school courtyard at earliest light. I feel the morning breeze caress my face with an icy sharpness; I had forgotten that snow was late to leave for spring’s coming and it certainly didn’t get warmer on the way out. “Drats its cold!” my teeth chatter as I rub circles on my cheeks with the adorable pair of deerskin gloves my grandmother stitched last winter. They always seem to do the trick at keeping my tiny hands dry and fuzzy, the weathers be dammed.
The courtyard’s mini clock tower strikes six o'clock as a small chime began the new hour. Yet here I stand, like an idiot, freezing in the snow.
“Six ‘clock? Six ‘clock and that idiot is still sleeping on me?! Ugh!” the words leap from my mouth like a toad to a fly. If there was something on my mind it took great restraint to keep it there. Waiting an hour for somebody else in the snow is not one of those times.
A gust of flakes tingle my head; just another reminder I was not inside sipping hot chocolate by the hearth of my room. For all I know I could get caught being out here and that would punch my prefect status a good bruising. School hours start at seven and don’t end till seven tonight, especially with all the new years we seniors have to introduce today. And won’t that be a bundle of joy?  So it was now or never. Devon has to show, or that’s it; the one-hour window is up, and we’ll have to wait till next week for the talk we could’ve have today. And I, especially I – don’t have that kind of time in my hands; festival preparations and all.
“Any century now.” I caught myself thumping the ground like a shy rabbit, the sleeves of my coat crossing my chest for warmth.  I suppose sneaking out of bed early for a lover's rendezvous wasn’t the best plan to talk about our relationship drama. Whenever is? But with the festival coming up it was imperative to try. Devon’s hair did match my cute spring dress after all; gold to contrast my auburn.  If Devon really is betraying me then it was best to confirm it now and release him from our relationship while I still got a month to the big day, and then find the next best blond to match me. And yes - taken or not – any one of them would release their partners for me. You’d have to be pretty blind (or stupid) not to. But as it is, I just need to keep Devon’s attention until then. Don’t really care what happens to him after; because for the summer season - I got my eyes on someone better: Brandon - the school’s head apothecary. “Oh potion master, my sweet - can thy brew love for me?” I thought in my head. I held my face in embarrassment trying not to shriek. Oh I am but a stupid giddy creature!
A rose bush suddenly rustles from across the yard.
“Watcher!” I squeal three feet from the ground, almost giving my unmentionables an egging in flight. “Ho! Who goes there!?” I say clearing my throat, spell hand outstretched.
Tufts of gold emerge from the brambles, followed closely by pupils of sapphire peeking from the cover of nature. A snigger of a familiar voice was trying its hardest not to burst out laughing.
“Devon?”  I say.
A pale snowy face pops out like a pimple from the green skin. Devon spills out trying his best not to make noise from his giggles. “Elvira! Hey Elvira!” he whispers struggling. “Hey! Is it clear yet?” His smug grin scratching my temper something fierce.
“Yes you dolt!”  I flail my arms asunder; I couldn’t care less. “Now get over here already!” Looking both ways, Devon lightly tip toes from the bushes, unaware that his fur boots made no sound to the tiled stone and was probably causing more suspicion than if he just walked normally. He wasn't the brightest caster in the coven after all but thank the Watcher he had looks to make up for it.
‘There's no one here, Dev!’ I groan. ‘Just you and me. Now let’s get out of here before someone really does come!’
‘Okay! Okay!’ He quickens his pace. I notice a curious silhouette pass one of the curtained windows above the courtyard’s buildings. We really have to get out of here – and quick. ‘Heya,’ he beams before me, trying not to chuckle. ‘I'm really liking that new haircu-’
I didn’t want to hear it. I clutch his hand and drag him as fast as my boots could carry me; past the gardens and to a little cornered wall by the school fountain. There lies a small hidden crevice big enough for a quaintly fourteen -year-old like myself to fit through, and isn’t that lucky?  Only a privileged few know about this secret exit, but nothing a few drakes can’t fix. Money talks after all; especially to the rebellious lowborns who’d rather be elsewhere during class hours.
‘It's - a statue?’ Devon rose brow at the iron figure of the knight, Sir Thornsby, standing at the corner blocking the hole. Breath escapes me; he’s too gorgeous to be this dumb. I raise a palm at the old warrior. ‘Movfer ducus’ I say through the language of mana: the ancient speak of magic that governs the elements around us. A surge of energy slithers through the veins of my arm and into my wrist. A golden glyph shines off the palms of my hand and twists a half circle glow, as if twisting a lock. The foundation beneath the figure makes a crack then shuffles itself to one side, leaving the small hole to peer us upfront; water dripping from its ceiling. Great, just what my coated need.
‘Wow’ says Devon. ‘Didn't know it could do that. How did you know?’
I swung him a grin. ‘I know people – who know people – who know people.’

We sprint through the Brywood like elks on the run, winds of the north blowing on our fur coated backs, whips of thin branches scraping our faces with a prickly pain too smooth to scar. But what’s to worry for? In this moment we are free as free can be!
‘Last one there's a dumb gobbie!’ Devon echoes through the pine hollows. The southern sun rising from the slits of the trees, painting bars of gold on the forest floor.
‘Ha!’ I scoff. ‘Compared to you – that’d be smart for a change!’ I laugh my way down the white trail, snow puddles splashing from the crash of my boots.
 Arriving on the banks of Lake Byorn gave us reason enough to catch breath. We built a good sweat to warm our bodies for the morning, though a cold like this is always persistent, at least till noon. But for the time being the chitters and chatters won’t be a plague on our speech, and that was breath enough to catch.
We sat by the water's edge. The lake was as clear as a mirror; the sky eyeing through; and if you jumped in – you’d be floating on the clouds.  Grey sand laced with bark and stone followed the along the ever-stretching Geledine river, which travelled from the north via the Byorn Falls across the lake then trickled three miles southward to the Gull Coast just a shave past the Academy. Devon dug a few pebbles from the soggy dirt and passed me a couple. ‘Thanks.’ I smile and throw the first stone - It sunk, pathetically, on the first bounce and so did my confidence.
Devon tries not to giggle. ‘Could do better.’
‘Oh!’ I gasp, ‘like you could?!’
Devon smirks me something fierce with those cocky eyes of his then skims a smooth pebble on the fourth bounce.
‘You had a good rock,’ I say, ‘that's cheating.’
Devon threw a bigger stone; it skims five pretty bounces.
‘Big rock, small rock – doesn’t matter. It's all in the skill.’ He huffs his chest proudly.  I’ll say one thing with Devon, he may struggle with basic numerals but he never found a reason to be disappointed with himself; always laughing at life. And whoever said ignorance isn’t bliss?
‘“A man can craft a sword but a sword can't craft a man” My father always used to say.’ He smiles.
I giggle. ‘What's that supposed to mean?’
‘It's like a me-meta-methap-’
‘Metaphor?’ I grin.
‘Whatever.’
We threw a few more stones into the water, the silence passing us by. The longer Devon stayed his tongue the more I started to bubble. Why is he so quiet for a moment? Does he know? Does he know what I know? Does he know that I know what he knows? It’s rather suspicious of him not saying anything…
‘Heya,’ his lip quivers as if he was holding it in for some time. ‘Why - Why did we come here? Something going on?’
‘Depends on who you're asking,’ I say, ‘or who you're talking about.’ I hide behind my shoulders.
He stares at me funny. ‘Huh?’
‘Do you take me for a fool?’ I say peeking. My eyes lock his, though his was shakier, as if confused, but maybe that’s just what he wants me to think! “Don't think I don't know what's going on.” I cross arms.
“What are ya talking about?” he says.
‘Yester eve, during the Winter's Feast I had noticed you had a nice little chat with prissy, missy miss Tuffet.’ My hands found my hips. ‘You know, Mary - the girl from class ten?’
‘Yeah, and-?’
‘Shared a pheasant or two I imagine? You looked rather happy for a man who had his mouth stuffed by a chicken leg.” He grins at the memory.
‘She was just kidding around, Elvira. She meant nothing by it.’
‘What were you guys talking about, then?” I shuffle myself closer to him.
‘What? Nothing.” He backs a little, head shaking. “Nothing at all. Just - life, I suppose. She talked about her class, I talked about my class, she talked about her folks, I talked about my folks. You know, just – life – stuff.’
‘Well you two looked awfully warm doing it.” My voice came out raspy.
Devon crosses his arms. “If there's something you want to say – just say it.’
‘What? Me?!” I exaggerate, and then snort out a laugh. ‘What ever could I possibly hold against you - I mean the past three months have been great: you've been nice, you’ve been truthful, you’ve been honest, you’ve been faithfu-’
‘You think I'm cheating on you, don’t you?’
“Well, yeah.” I purse a lip.