Chapter 7 #2
My heart sinks at the mention of his name. I feel like no one really talks about him anymore. Sometimes it’s like he only ever existed in my head. But my body remembers, and so does my heart.
“Besides,” she goes on, dipping her bread into her soup, “the school is for students of all ages. There is no getting a head start. It’s not a competition.”
She is right about that. Some of the students I saw were my age or younger, but all were at least eighteen. Some looked to even be in their thirties.
“But if I can’t remember what I was taught when I leave the grounds…,” I begin, “how can I learn anything?”
“Katrina,” she says, her voice lacking patience.
She never calls me Kat. “Think about that for a moment. Where are you doing your tests? At the school, the same school you’ll go to tomorrow, and all the information will come flooding back.
” She fiddles with the napkin in her nap.
“There are spells, wards in place, put there by your aunts many years ago. There had been a few accidents where students had left the school and started talking about what they were learning. Cast a shroud of suspicion on us from the state. Took a very long time to convince the government that our school was fairly run and we were paying taxes.”
“What happened to the students who blabbed?” I ask.
“They were punished,” she says in a clipped voice, enough that it makes me wonder how they were punished. “So your aunts took action. It’s much easier this way.”
“Surely the students know that they are studying magic, though, when they leave,” I point out. “How do they replicate their magic out there in the real world if they can’t remember how to conjure it?”
“That’s not for you to worry about.”
“But it doesn’t make sense.”
“Look, by the time they graduate and move on, the magic will be so innate, so ingrained, they won’t have to remember it. You’ll understand all of it when you get there.” Though she sounds wistful at that last part. I guess because it means I’ll be leaving her, probably for good.
We both eat in silence for a bit before my curiosity gets the better of me. “What was your favorite class?”
She gives me a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember.”
“I only remember one of mine,” I admit. “Well, two.”
Her eyes go wide, her spoon clattering against the bowl. “You remember two of your classes?”
“Yes. Both of them with Professor Crane.”
Her eyes blink fast, trying to process. “I don’t know who that is at all. What does he look like?”
“Tall, dark, and handsome,” I say, trying not to smile. “Strict, invasive, and infuriating. Thinks of himself like a god. But actually quite nice, when he wants to be.”
“And you remember the actual lessons?”
“Yes. We did energy manipulation and mimicry.”
“Hmmm,” she says, her brow furrowed. “I’m not sure I like that.”
I frown. “Why not?”
Silence. I hear the tick of the clock in the living room, Famke puttering around in the kitchen, and somewhere, far off in the distance, a faint rumble of the season’s first thunderstorm.
“It’s dangerous to carry that knowledge outside of the school,” she finally says.
“Why?”
“Because you’re a witch,” she hisses, leaning in. “And any chance of you practicing here and getting stronger means you’re more of a target for the outside world. I’m not losing you like I lost your father.”
“But he died of heart failure, not because he was a witch,” I say, feeling my hands go clammy at the memory.
“I know.” She clears her throat. “I’m just afraid of losing you, period. I suppose there isn’t much you can do about what you remember. Perhaps it’s the professor who’s doing this with his own magic. What did you say his name was again? Maybe I’ll bring this up with Leona.”
“I don’t want to get him in trouble,” I say quickly. “But if you’re so worried about other people finding out I’m a witch, even in Sleepy Hollow, where I think half the population is magically inclined, then I have a solution.”
“What?” she asks warily.
“Let me live on campus. That would solve everything. I would remember and—”
“No!” she suddenly yells at me, slamming her fist down on the table, the soup and wine sloshing over the edges. “No, you are not going to live there! I will not share you with them! They have no claim to you!”
I stare at her wide-eyed, and she puts her hand on her chest, her wild gaze dropping to the mess she made on the table.
“No,” she adds quietly, calming down. “They always get what they want, and I’m tired of it. And I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be alone, Katrina.”
“All right,” I tell her reluctantly, just as Famke hurries into the room. “I won’t go. I’ll stay.”
“Oh dear,” Famke says, eyeing the mess and wiping her hands on her apron. “I’ll get something to clean that up.”
After that, I don’t dare say anything more about the school, and my mother doesn’t ask me any more questions.
We finish our meals and separate for the rest of the evening.
But as I lie in bed later, I hear thunder rumbling in the distance.
The storm never quite made it here tonight, but I know it’s only a matter of time before one does.
I can’t help but think about what I learned with Crane in my mimicry class.
That I could take something, like lightning, and harness it for myself.
The next time there’s a storm, I could practice. I could try to use it.
I could do the very thing the school doesn’t want me to do.