Chapter 29
Sunday morning, I wake from even more intense dreams about the twins, but amazingly, no sore muscles.
Standing under the pounding hot water of my Ludo-installed shower, I think about the day ahead. Last week was nuts, and I’m going to get behind in classwork if I’m not careful. I can’t risk losing my scholarship. Not now, I know the twins are missing, last seen here.
After zipping up my purple cut-off jean shorts (with black sparkly tights underneath), I'm pulling on an acid-yellow cropped hoodie when Willow knocks on the basement door.
“Nice fit!” she exclaims. Willow herself is wearing high-waisted vintage Levi's, a slightly oversized, pale gray cashmere sweater, and chunky loafers that probably cost more than every item I’ve ever thrifted. “Want to get food?” she asks.
“Sure, where’s Dunc?” I reply, slipping my feet into battered, star-pattern high tops.
“Hanging out with Scott.”
“Who’s Scott?” I wrack my brain and come up blank.
“The kid who has the Bieber-at-age-fourteen haircut, you know?”
“Oh, right.”
“Anyway, they are doing some online tournament, Mayhem and Magecraft. Don’t ask Duncan about it unless you want several hours of explanation.” She rolls her eyes, but it’s with affection. We love our little nerd-bro.
“Duly noted,” I say, grabbing my tablet and bag. “Food, and then I’ve got to hit the library. I haven’t even started Professor Bilderblast’s assignment.” We also have a potions quiz coming up, as well as a history of combat paper.
“Gods. Me neither,” she groans. “I’ll be your study buddy.”
Willow and I take our breakfast to-go and find a sheltered table in a sunny corner of the quad. “So,” she says, through a mouthful of bacon sandwich, “Any updates on the investigation? You know Duncan can hack shit, right? We can always pull him in…”
I love this girl; she’s so fully on board.
“I don’t want to drag either of you into something illegal,” I mumble through a bite of scone.
“But I’ll admit, there’s no new news.” Apart from Maximus disappearing as well, but not my story to share.
Instead, I redirect the conversation. “What about your weekend? Was that film club thing any good? You were watching Grave of the Fireflies, right?”
She nods. “That film makes me cry so hard, it should have sob-titles, not subtitles.”
“I can’t decide if that’s a you-pun or a Duncan-pun,” I laugh. “You’re as bad as each other. Dunc’s also doing film club, right?”
Willow, to my amazement, turns bright red. “Something to tell me, Ms. Bloomhower?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
She groans and lets her head fall forward onto the table with a soft thump. “Oh Gods, Theo,” Willow whispers. “I think I’m in love.”
Not what I was expecting to hear. “Willow Bloomhower, you’re in love, Dunc?”
She slaps my arm. “No dummy…”
“Then who?”
—will she judge me?/I’m embarrassed/no I’m not/eek—
I make a ‘please continue’ gesture several times until Willow relents.
“Naomi Watson,” she breathes out at last.
Ahh…I see.
“It’s bad,” she murmurs. “I’ve got it bad, Theo”.
—Gods, Naomi’s legs in those ankle boots— “The only reason I joined the movie club is because I overheard her saying she’d be there.
” Willow is blushing bright red. “I was walking behind her and her friend group, and overheard them talking about it.”
“Stalker much?” I grin, “because I can’t condone that.”
“Just a tiny smidge of stalkerness,” she replies, holding up her thumb and forefinger a fraction apart. “I promise. But, Gods, she’s really got me. I’m a mess. Can’t sleep, can’t eat…”
“Uh-huh,” I say, my eyes pointedly settling on the pile of half-eaten donuts in front of her. “So I can see.”
“Oh, shut it,” she grins, throwing a corner of an apple cruller at me as I laugh.
“Sorry, Wills, I’ll take your yearning seriously. Talk to me about Naomi.” I’m teasing, but I’ll support my friend. Gods knows she’s had to put up with me banging on about the twins for hours.
She groans. “It’s just unrequited love. I had to tell you, but now can we change the topic? I realize I’m ridiculous.”
“Are you kidding? Naomi would be lucky to have a second of your attention.”
“Theo....”
“Alright, topic change. What’s your history paper on?” I ask.
She makes a face. “The prompt is so loose, I have no clue.”
Professor Bilderblast has us doing a research project in the library.
It’s one of the papers that teachers set to ensure you are familiar with all the research tools at your disposal.
He’d somehow spelled our assignment so that he’d know if we used any technology, so we had to go old-school.
“Yeah, research a question you don’t know the answer to.
That covers just about everything in the universe. ”
“Maybe I’ll get inspiration from my donut,” Willow grumbles. “Why is a donut called a donut when it doesn’t contain any nuts? Hey! That’s not bad—subject sorted.”
We head off to the library with Willow bouncing around as she comes up with more foods with incongruous names. “Rocky Road, no road in it. Or, Devil’s Food Cake—never once have I had a bite of devil in my cake. Hot dogs? Hmm, no. It’s all too possible pooches may be in that mystery meat.”
“Ugh, terrible. What about Spotted Dick?” I suggest.
She cracks up. “Not a real thing.”
I tell her to Google it.
The Validus Vale library, on the far side of the main school buildings, looks like a small mansion.
The stone steps are flanked by Roman pillars, and gargoyles perch along the roof’s edge.
Inside, shelves packed with books tower over students working at the long tables.
There’s a section of cozy armchairs filled with Elite and Ordinarii.
I don’t imagine Defectivum students would be welcome to use them.
We, no doubt, would be directed to the hard wooden benches in the far corner.
I’d read that the library housed the most extensive collection of magical writings in the world.
Books and studies about all elements of magic and witchcraft.
Even papers from fully human scholars. Maybe if my spark never awoke, I could get a job as a librarian?
That would be a tempting alternative to a life of delivering sandwiches.
I do love books.
Though organizing and filing? Nope, sadly not my forte. Still, I do need to think about my future at some point, but looking around the neatly organized stacks, I know this potential career is a non-starter. The Dewey Decimal System will be safe from the haphazard hands of Theodora Wilson.
Willow wanders off, already tucking various books under her arm. I’m still waiting to be inspired, so perch on a stool and stare at the beautifully painted ceiling. Hmm, what’s my topic?
I like Willow’s whole absurd foods thing, but I think I want to do something more focused on magical history. There is so much I don't know about the world. I barely even know anything about Validus Vale.
Validus Vale.
Ooh, like, how did the school get its name?
I gaze around the library, as if it will instantly give me direction. Where to begin? There’s the geography section…do I even know what a vale is? Hmm, I know what a ‘veil’ is, but V A L E?
OK, so I’m dumb. The thrillingly titled ‘Glossary of Geomorphological Terms’ (a massive brown leather thing that weighs a ton) tells me it’s another name for a valley. I move next to the Latin dictionary, also the size of a baby elephant, and find the definition of Validus is ‘a place of strength’.
Validus Vale = Strong Valley.
But actually, that brings up more questions than answers. Validus Vale, the school, is not down in a valley, but actually on top of a small rise. I head towards the help desk, feeling pretty pleased with myself.
The librarian, a thin man with glasses perched on the end of his nose, looks up as I approach. I give him a smile. “Hi, I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of records that detail the school’s origins?” I ask.
He peers at me. “The school’s origins, you say? The student handbook already has a section covering that.” The librarian dismisses me and goes back to his work, which involves white cotton gloves and a battered manuscript.
I don’t feel like he wants to be pestered, but this research paper is going nowhere fast. “Um, sorry to be a pain, but I’m looking for deeper details. Like, what the topography of the land was like before the school was built. I’m interested because of the name, you see.”
This time, the man looks up at me with more interest. “The name?”
I nod, pleased to have his attention. “Yes, you know, Validus Vale. It’s kinda contradictory, seeing as we are on a hill, not down in a valley, right?”
A genteel eyebrow is arched. “Well, I never, you’re quite correct. What’s your name, child?”
“Theo Wilson,” I answer. He looks me over and doesn’t sneer at my fashion choices, which is nice.
“I’m Archibald Quinlin, head librarian. It’s been a long time since a student piqued my interest with a question. Congratulations to you. Which class are you doing research for?”
I give him a grin, feeling flattered by his praise. “Professor Bilderblast’s Beginning History of Magic.”
“Oh, good. Bilderblast is a decent fellow. Now, my dear, here’s an important question: can I trust you in the restricted-access stacks? No eating or drinking in there, and white gloves at all times.”
I give him the most sincere and convincing face possible. “Absolutely.”
Mr. Quinlin opens his desk drawer and takes a large bunch of keys from inside. “In that case, step this way.”
Leading me through a door marked ‘Controlled Access Only’, we enter a completely separate library space.
The air is immediately cooler. Blackout drapes are drawn across the windows, and the room is lit by bulbs that give off only a low level of light.
Somewhere, a machine is buzzing, possibly circulating the air.
Many of the books are not on shelves, but instead are laid out on tables, with a brand-new pair of white gloves next to each of them.
Archibald Quinlin stops before a section of leather-bound volumes, running a gentle, gloved hand along the spines.
“Here are land surveys from the last few hundred years. They may be helpful.” He moves on to one of the tables.
“And these are archives that pertain to Validus Vale's founding. These documents are quite fragile, Theo,” he says, giving me a stern look. “Handle them with the utmost care."
Finally, he moves to another document at the end of the room. This," he says with a quiver of reverence in his voice, "is the original charter for the academy. It details the rather controversial land acquisition, the initial architectural plans, and the like."
Mr. Quinlin looks down at the document for a moment more, then sighs. “I wish I could stay and research with you, but alas.”
“I’ll tell you everything I find,” I answer.
“Oh, please do, dear. Happy hunting.”
◆◆◆
The language of the old tomes makes my brain hurt.
“Article III: Acquisition of Lands and Consecration Thereof,” I mutter to myself.
The Trustees, acting in accordance with the expressed wishes of the Founders…blah, blah, blah.
Reading between the lines, my understanding is that the World Magical Organization didn’t exactly buy the valley, but more commandeered it in 1452.
The valley—originally called Claw’s Cradle—was a nexus of ancient ley lines, so builders leveled the land and hired an earth-whisperer to reorganize the flow of energy within the academy building.
I note down the term ‘earth whisperer’ as the sound of a door opening makes me sit up, and I realize how stiff I’ve become.
“Still at it, Miss Theo?” Mr. Quinlin asks with a smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to send you on your way. It’s nine pm.”
I can’t believe it’s so late. I quickly gather my things. “I haven’t made you stay late, have I?”
“Not at all, dear. I’m a night owl, so I usually take the later shifts. If you want my help, don’t come first thing in the morning.”
“Noted.” I thank him again profusely, and stuff all the notes into my bag. “I think I may have many questions for you over the next few days.”
“It will be my pleasure to hunt the answers with you,” Mr Quinlin smiles, like he really can’t think of anything more delightful. “Goodnight.”
Pulling out my phone, I read my texts while heading back to Defectivum.
Willow had messaged hours ago, saying she was going back to the dorms. Alexis had also texted, asking to meet at the gymnasium at six in the morning for more training.
The message makes my heart do a traitorous hitch. I like him far too much.
Not even the prospect of yet another earlier start dampens my enthusiasm for the coming morning to the point where it's appropriate.