Chapter 10
Kat
“Looks like it’s going to rain,” Paul says, his focus out the library’s ornate windows and not on our textbook at hand. We have only an hour to study up on the Major Arcana before our test with Professor Crane, and we’ve barely quizzed each other on the card’s meanings.
I glance up just in time to hear thunder rumble and see a mass of dark clouds above the row of maples outside, their quivering orange leaves a blazing contrast to the gloom. “It better not,” I say. “I have to ride back home later.”
Paul gives me a quizzical look. It was only two weeks ago he lent me that pencil and paper on the first day of class, and it already feels like a different lifetime.
“You ride to school?” he asks incredulously. He looks down at my dress, which is maroon and high-necked and better suited for the institute. “I would have thought you’d be carted around in your own private coach.”
“Nope. We have a buggy, and I suppose we’ll have to pull it out once the weather really turns sour, but I ride here.
Astride too, none of that sidesaddle business.
” I kick out the layers of my dress, showing how voluminous it is.
The fashion these days tends to lean toward a more narrow silhouette, but I never feel as connected to Snowdrop when I ride sidesaddle.
I don’t care how unladylike it is that I ride astride.
That’s for women in the cities to worry about.
“All alone in those woods,” he comments with a shake of his head, flipping a page in the textbook over and scanning the words.
“Actually, I have an escort,” I tell him. “A neighbor’s kid.”
“Then the kid has to ride all the way back alone in the woods.”
I chuckle. “That’s true. But the woods aren’t scary at all.
They’re actually beautiful this time of year with the leaves all turning and the smell of frost and woodsmoke in the air.
Darkly beautiful. You should go and take a walk.
Perhaps go into town, take a look around.
Sleepy Hollow gleams in autumn, like a shiny penny. ”
He gives me a steady look. “You know we can’t leave the school. We don’t have the same privilege as you.”
I ignore the frostiness on the last sentence, even though it was only recently that I learned just how imprisoned the students are. “Have you even tried?”
Paul glances around him warily. The library is fairly busy at the moment, students studying or pulling books off the shelves. The candles flicker at every desk despite there being no draft in the lofty stone building. I think the collective energy of the students agitates the flames.
“No,” he says, lowering his voice. “They were very adamant that we don’t leave the campus. Not until after Samhain, and even then, we would go together as a group.”
“Doesn’t it bother you that they treat you like children? You have to be at least twenty-five. You could be married with children of your own in another life.”
“I’m twenty-three, actually,” he says, giving me a bashful grin. “And yes, it’s peculiar. But who am I to argue or go against their rules? They give us free room and board, and all we need to do in exchange is learn magic.” He wiggles his fingers in the air.
“Sounds a little too good to be true,” I say under my breath as I dip my raven quill in the tiny vessel of blue ink. Crane is insistent that our handwriting needs polishing too, so he’s making us complete the exam in ink instead of pencil. I could use the practice.
“Still, it’s silly to keep you here,” I add, then groan inwardly when the side of my palm smudges the ink, creating a blue splotch on my skin. “Especially since you won’t remember anything of this place when you leave.” What are they so worried about?
Though I’ve been attending school for only two weeks, each day, there are more things and rules that don’t make any sense to me.
For example, I overheard my alchemy teacher, Ms. Peek, talking about how the linguistics teacher actually has a family back home in India, but he had to leave them behind in order to work here.
In general, the school leaders won’t accept those who have family since they don’t allow students and faculty to bring them, but I suppose he was the exception, maybe because his family is so far away.
Perhaps the school wants him to forget his family.
Paul is frowning at me. “I beg your pardon. I won’t remember anything of this place?”
My brows go up. Oh. He doesn’t know?
“You don’t know what happens when you leave?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “You won’t remember your time here. Or you won’t remember what you learn.” I leave out the part where I do remember what I learn with Professor Crane for some reason.
Paul rubs his lips together, blinking. “Madness,” he says after a moment, flipping another page of the book until we land on an entry about the Five of Cups, a drawing of a weeping figure beneath. “How can they do that? I don’t recall signing up for memory erasure.”
“I have a feeling it happened when we took our tests,” I say. “Though I still can’t remember much of mine. Can you?”
“No. But they had said that was normal. They never said that would extend into other areas of our education.” He studies my face for a moment. “You must know why they’re doing this. You’re a Van Tassel.”
“Well, don’t let that fool you. My mother is very selective with what she tells me. But from what she said, it has to do with the school not trusting the students enough to keep their studies to themselves. They want to keep everything here as secret as possible.”
“And when we graduate? Then what?”
“She said the magic is ingrained. All you’ve learned will come naturally to you.”
He gives me a disbelieving look.
“Hey,” I go on. “I’m only repeating what she said. I don’t agree with it.”
“And yet here you are.”
“And here you are,” I counter politely. I tap my quill on the edge of the vessel to get the excess ink off. “Now, back to studying. You know Professor Crane is going to ask the hard questions.”
Paul sits back in his seat briefly, tugging at the ends of his gray suit jacket before straightening up again, newly focused on the book. “All right. Write down five things the Five of Cups represents.”
This one’s easy, I think as I write down the word grief.
—
I wasn’t wrong when I said Professor Crane was going to make his test hard.
The moment class started, Crane handed out the test paper and silently pointed to the chalkboard, which had the questions scribbled on it as well as the words: You may leave when you’re done.
At least, that’s what I think it said. For a teacher, his penmanship is far worse than mine.
Regardless, I took my time with the test. I still feel like I have to prove I should be here, so the last thing I want is to rush through something and fail because I got too confident or lazy.
I have been playing with tarot cards since I was young, but the little booklet that came with the stack (which I had stolen from a box in my mother’s closet) didn’t go into much detail.
Some of the cards I had been interpreting the wrong way completely, not knowing all the nuances.
The Death card didn’t always mean death? That was news to me.
By the time I finish, having taken extra care not to smudge the ink as I am prone to do, I look up and realize that I’m the last one in the classroom.
I look over at Crane, expecting him to admonish me for taking so long, but his head is in his hands, and his eyes are closed. His black hair is a mess, as if he’s been pulling on it, and I notice his socks don’t match. He’s usually so refined and put together.
I get up and walk over to his desk, delicately placing the test on top of the pile of others.
“Everyone’s done,” I tell him.
I expect him to jump like he didn’t know I was standing there, but instead, he slowly lowers his hands from his face and gives me a tired look.
“Thank you, Kat,” he says. Usually his voice is smooth, low, and strong, but now, it sounds faint. Strained. Worried.
I’m about to walk away, but I can’t seem to leave him. “Are you okay?” I ask, peering at him.
He sighs heavily and sits back, running a hand through his thick hair. “Is it that obvious that I’m not?”
I give him a tiny smile. “You’ve looked better. Are we students not shaping up to be the witches you want us to be?”
He gives me an equally small smile in return. “It’s not that. It’s…Actually, I don’t even know where to start.” He looks away, and I notice the purple hollows under his dark eyes.
“Would you like to go for a walk with me and talk?” I blurt out. I don’t know where that came from, but it seems getting him out of this room and talking might help him.
He brings his attention back to me, his eyes raking over my face. “Right now?”
I shrug with one shoulder, trying to appear nonchalant, as if I hadn’t come across too bold and eager.
“I have a couple of hours before my next class. I usually peruse the library or visit with Snowdrop. That’s my horse,” I add when he looks confused, “but perhaps some fresh air will do you good. Do us both some good. Sometimes this place can be a little too gloomy.” I gesture to the room with its stone walls and narrow windows, the empty cages in the back.
He continues to watch me for a few moments, and I have no idea what he’s thinking. Then he gets to his feet. “All right,” he says with a conceding nod, patting the stack of tests. “I can always grade these later.” His gaze narrows at me. “Just don’t think I’ll be giving you an A because of this.”
“I’m sure I’ll earn that A on my own,” I say with a confident smile.
He doesn’t need to know that I’m bluffing.
“That remains to be seen,” he says under his breath as he grabs his coat from the hook and slips it on. He holds the door open wide for me, and we walk down the hall together, our footsteps echoing in the silence until we’re through the main doors and outside.