Chapter 11
By the time Friday rolls around, I’m slightly overwhelmed by the overload of new information I’ve received this week, but I’m determined to make the most of my time here.
I’m at a school for magic, I keep reminding myself.
Even if the worst-case scenario were to happen, I’d end up right back where I started. So what do I have to lose?
The shift in mindset hasn’t made me entirely optimistic, but it’s been helpful to adjust my stress levels. I don’t need to be perfect; all I need to do is eke by with a passing grade. I can do this.
To make matters easier, yesterday even went better than expected.
I managed to answer another question correctly in Dr. Vale’s class, and my embarrassment about speaking to him so casually before is already becoming a distant memory.
And while I won’t object to the fact that he is nicer to look at than, well, every other person on campus, I was able to maintain a professional demeanor around him without faltering when he commended me on my knowledge as I left class alongside AJ and Joanna.
Max and I also seem to be adjusting around each other’s schedules, avoiding crossing paths unless absolutely necessary, which usually happens at night when we’re both going to sleep. It’s the best I can ask of the situation considering her unreasonable animosity toward me and everyone else.
I walk into Introduction to Magic with my head held high, not only in an attempt to retain my confidence but also to show Clarissa, who’s sitting at the desk with her legs crossed while silently scrutinizing everyone, that I’m not going to cower.
My observations of her over the week, my interaction with her on Wednesday, and the insight I received from AJ have clued me in to the fact that she is, for lack of better phrasing, a pretentious bitch.
Throughout the class, which is a continuation of Wednesday’s lecture on manipulating energy by priming the body and brain for magic use, I diligently take notes.
When the class is over, I take a moment to gather my items and linger in the classroom until most of the students have cleared out.
“Professor Showen, can I talk to you privately for a moment?”I ask, glancing at Clarissa out of the corner of my eye in a clear indication.
“Oh, of course. Clarissa, you’re good for today. We’ll catch up on Monday.”
“Sure thing!” Clarissa answers brightly, pinning me with a glare when Professor Showen turns away. Her heels click against the hardwood floor as she exits the room.
When it’s just the two of us left, Ms. Showen gestures to one of the chairs facing the desk, and we both sit.
“What can I help you with?” she asks, giving me her undivided attention.
I take a deep breath. Despite the fact that she seems kinder than all of my other professors, I’m still having a difficult time articulating what I need without being embarrassed by my ineptitude.
“I was wondering if you might be available for tutoring or have any recommendations for supplemental materials for this course. I, um, didn’t grow up with magic and only learned about it a month ago, so I’m just a little worried about making sure I can pass this class,” I say in a rush.
She nods along to my rambling with a sympathetic look.
“That does make things more difficult. Unfortunately, I’m unable to provide one-on-one tutoring at the time.
I teach all of the Introduction to Magic courses, which is a significant number of students, and when I’m not teaching, I have to be at home with my daughter.
You’re welcome to visit me in my office hours, though I will have to see other students during them as well.
I’ll be happy to bring you a list of supplemental reading materials on Monday, if you’d like. ”
“I would definitely appreciate that. Thank you. Do you live off campus then since you have children to take care of?”
She shakes her head. “No, my daughter lives on campus with me. She’s terminally ill, so it’s best for her to be here with me.”
Suddenly, her perpetually tired, somber expression makes more sense. I think of Christopher and the constant underlying stress that came with managing his care. I can’t even imagine how much harder it must be to be a caretaker for a child who is terminally ill. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. We have some time left and have been working through it however we can, and we’re lucky to have some great medical doctors that permanently reside here on campus.”
“That’s good to hear, at least.” I stand and swing my bag over my shoulder. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, and I’d love that list of supplemental reading materials next week if you’re able to get that for me.”
“Of course. And some of the other professors may have the time to tutor you on the basics, so I’d keep asking around if I were you. And, forgive me, but could you tell me your name again?”
“Vivian Harver.”
She cocks her head to the side, examining me. “This might be an odd question, but do you happen to be related to someone named Cameron Langley? He passed away a long time ago, but you bear enough of a resemblance that I can’t help but wonder if he may have been an uncle or something.”
My heart stops. “He was my father. You knew him?”
Professor Showen goes still, pausing a few seconds before answering in a shaky voice. “Yes. I—I didn’t think he had any children.”
“Just me. Did he go to school here?”
She nods, but her face is pale with shock that mirrors how I’m feeling. My father went to Arcadia. My magic isn’t some aberration; he had it too. Which opens up an entire world of possibilities about my own past that I’ve been ignorant of.
“When—” she starts before taking a deep breath and continuing. “When were you born? What month?”
I tell her my full birthday, confused by the question, and she seems to connect the dots in her mind before muttering, “three months before he died.”
“Yes. I never got the chance to meet him, and he and my mom hadn’t been together for very long before she got pregnant. She doesn’t talk about him much, but… would you be able to tell me anything about him?”
Her shock is colored by something resembling concern. Fear, almost, laced with sadness.
“He was a kind man who loved to have fun. He was the life of the party, but he always managed to pass his classes.” She shakes her head, as if clearing her thoughts, and stands suddenly, glancing at her watch.
“But it’s been so long. Memory is a fickle thing.
And if you’ll excuse me, I need to prepare for my next class. I’ll see you on Monday, Vivian.”
She rushes out the door, and I’m left standing in the empty classroom with a strange mix of confusion, concern, and hope warring inside me.
What was that all about?
My mind won’t stop reeling all throughout my next class, and when Callista flounces over to me to give me a handwritten note with the party information on it, all I can do is impassively thank her.
In my afternoon gap between classes, I don’t head for the dining hall. Being around a massive crowd of people is the last thing I want to do right now when this new information is whirling through my head like a tornado.
Instead, I let my legs lead me and find myself drawn to the edge of campus where there’s a small path leading into the forest with wooden handrails on either side and a small sign indicating the start of the mile-long path.
Moments after stepping across the treeline, my body relaxes slightly.
It’s only now that I realize the true reason why being in nature has always been so calming for me.
I’ve had nature magic running through my veins forever and simply didn’t know it.
Here, the feeling is amplified beneath the canopy of ancient trees. The ground is carpeted with accumulated needles and leaves, and ferns wave in the gentle breeze that chills the air. Moss climbs the tree trunks in thick, vibrant pelts from the constant moisture of the island.
The scent of pine and damp earth envelops me as I make my way deeper into the forest, working through my thoughts.
Professor Showen knew my father, but something about me being his daughter, about my age, worried or scared her enough for her to be evasive and rush out of the room.
But why?
And if she knew him, chances are that multiple other professors here knew him too. It seems to be a tight-knit, insular community, which means I can look into this further and ask others about him—hopefully people who are less freaked out by the fact that I’m his daughter.
The trail doesn’t extend very far into the woods, and when it curves to loop back to the clearing, I slow.
I don’t want to leave yet. The clarity that being among nature gives me compels me to stay here for a while longer.
I walk for another minute before I glance to my left and notice a much less obvious path worn through the underbrush that indicates others—or maybe just animals—walking this same direction.
Telling myself that I’ll be fine as long as I follow the worn trail, I climb over the railing to veer off the main path and walk directly into the woods, ignoring the signs that instruct walkers to stay on the trail.
The underbrush is just dense enough to be interesting, but not dense enough to pose an obstacle.
As I walk, I note interesting landmarks to find my way back—a large boulder split in half, a pair of initials carved into a tree, and massive oyster mushrooms on a dead stump—while making a list in my head of what I plan to do about this whole situation with my dad.
I’ll call Mom and subtly prod at the subject, for starters.
Then maybe I can go to the library and see if there are old yearbooks from the academy.
After that, I might be able to find others who knew my father and speak to them.
The unofficial trail I’ve taken, which twists and turns so much through the trees that I almost lose it a few times, ends at a large clearing in the woods.
It’s an empty circle of grass, no trees or brush to cover the ground nor the gray sky.
It’s an unusual thing to stumble across, and I can’t help but make my way around the perimeter.
I know I should head back to campus, but something tugs at my gut, and I find myself walking deeper into the thicket of trees.
There’s no path this time, but I make sure to mentally note items I can use as unofficial trail markers for myself. I’m not sure why I’m wandering besides pure curiosity, and it only takes a few minutes for an unnerving sensation to overwhelm my mind and body.
Something feels wrong.
It’s not a sound or a sight or anything I can articulate, but there’s a notable shift in the atmosphere that makes my stomach twist. It’s not far off from the feeling I got when I was hiking and realized I was being followed.
The heavy presence of the forest, previously calming, suddenly feels crushing, almost threatening, like I’m somewhere I don’t belong.
I stop walking, listening for any indication that I might not be alone, but there’s nothing.
The sounds are the same as they were ten minutes ago.
The uneasiness lingers as I turn around and find my way back to the circular clearing, and it all but dissipates when I start back on the pathway to the main trail.
I brush my hands over the goosebumps raised on my arms and shake off the strange sensation, trying to convince myself that I’m imagining things after a week of stress and exhaustion, brought on by the shocking revelation about my father.
But my intuition never lies. The energy in the forest had shifted from welcoming and peaceful to foreboding.
Reasoning with my overactive thoughts, I convince myself that there was likely an animal, a predator of some sort, watching me from where I couldn’t see it.
Never mind that I’m not sure whether there are any animals on this island at all.
It doesn’t matter, I think. I went where I shouldn’t have, and the experience is over now. I only have to worry about three things right now—surviving my last class of the day, investigating my father’s attendance here, and mentally preparing for my first college party tomorrow.