39. AURORA #3
Feeling a little overwhelmed with everything, I pull my hair off my face, yanking it taut and giving my scalp a delicious stretch. This calms the brain-chaos for a moment. I haven’t heard back from the live-in housekeeper job yet. Maybe I’ll get that.
Ha! Right.
Pretend you don’t know the odds of getting hired are about the same as a snowball surviving this heatwave.
It’s a plain and Gods’ honest fact that the majority of the world has a problem with Anomalous Unawakened Adults (AUAs) like me, which sucks.
Finding a scrunchie on the floor, I tie my hair back into a low ponytail, grab my phone, and scurry down the stairs two treads at a time.
“Double-shift again, sweetheart?” Nancy’s voice calls. “Well done, you.” Nancy always praises me for holding down my minimum-wage job. She doesn’t think I’m capable of much else. Especially after I’d blown the (Nancy quote hands) One Big Chance You’ll Ever Get, (end Nancy quote hands).
“Yep, double shift. See you later.”
As I head down the hallway, the framed photos of my cousins stare down from the green-striped wallpaper.
The one of Neil graduating from the prestigious Edinburgh Academy of Magic always seems to be super-judgey.
Then there’s the portrait of Nicola and her fiancé.
Nicola’s betrothed is one of the Manchester Elites, which is a big deal.
It’s one of the reasons Aunt Nancy needs me out asap so she can start planning the wedding without my presence lowering the tone.
She hasn’t said that out loud, but I 100% know it’s in her head. I bring shame to her manageable house.
Nancy may have mentioned (once or twice) that it was a pity neither of her children had been given the same ‘incredible’ and ‘unwarranted’ opportunity as me. There’s no way Nicola or Neil would have bombed.
She’s not wrong; I’m quite sure they’d have aced the six-week program I’d been on.
Every year, a handful of lucky high school witches were sent to a fully-funded intensive at a magic academy. Last year’s WMO lottery winner had been little ol’ me.
Aunt Nancy was disappointed my experience had all been a waste of time, but not surprised, oh no, not surprised at all. If anyone was ever going to be an AUA, it was me.
“She’s a sweet girl,” I’d overheard her say to a friend. “But not terribly bright, and certainly not talented.”
“Such a shame the girl got nothing out of it,” her friend replied, patting Nancy’s arm in commiseration. “Going all the way to Havengard and everything.”
The flight to the United States of Havengard had taken sixteen hours. Not surprising, given that the country is almost on the other side of the globe. It’s the only place on the planet entirely governed by the Magical Elite. The rest of the world splits governance between humans and witches.
However, it’s not entirely true that I got nothing out of the intensive; but Nancy doesn’t know about my extracurricular activities.
Still, as for awakening? I’d gotten a big fat F.
The magic classes hadn’t engendered even the merest flicker of my internal spark.
And without your magic spark igniting, the witchcraft of Arcane Magic was impossible—no spells for Theo.
So, it was back to England with no placement at the local state academy for me—just a job alongside humans, making and delivering sandwiches.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Theo. You have a roof over your head (well, for the next fourteen days), and you have steady employment. Lots of people have it worse.
Internal-Theo gives me the talking-to I need. I can’t sink into the trap of self-pity. I’ve gone there before, and it’s not a good look. The trouble is, a lot of my life has been hard. It’s almost like I’m cursed or something.
If anything can go wrong for ol’ Theo, then it will.
Case in point.
When I step outside, gross humidity instantly soaks my shirt, and I’ve got a flat.
With a sigh, I unchain my bike from the iron railings and grab the patch kit from the saddle bag. Old Mrs. Turnbull at number 3 waves and calls out, “It’s gonna be another scorcher, Theo.”
“I think you’re right, Mrs. T,” I reply, giving her a one-handed wave as I use the quick-release to free the back wheel. I’m going to be really late now.
“Bike giving you troubles?” Mr. Turnbull bellows as he joins his wife on the stoop. —Probably should offer to help, but it’s too hot—
And here we go—shields up, Mr. Sulu.
TROUBLES = Tube, route, blot, belt, ooh rouble! Roubles is even better—seven letters.
I’ve been trying to dampen the voices for as long as I can remember.
Distracting my brain helps. My current tactic is playing mental games of Boggle to divert myself.
It works to press voices down into a vague white noise—most of the time.
The ever-present buzz of other people’s thoughts is like having a dozen browsers open, each playing a different video at the same time. Exhausting.
There are always. So. Many. Voices.
It’s a wonder I’m not completely barking.
As soon as my parents figured out why I was such a weirdo-of-a-toddler, they immediately moved us out of the city and into a remote hillside village in Wales. I was five or six before I understood what they were telling me. I was telepathic.
Mum and Dad were terrified that the World Magic Organization would find out about my ability and take me away. “People who go to the WMO labs never return,” Mom had whispered. “Keep away from the authorities.”
“OK,” I nodded, not really sure what I was agreeing to.
Dad had put a heavy hand on my shoulder. “And promise us you’ll try to stop hearing the voices, it’s so important, Theo. Keep a low profile, never tell anyone.”
Not the words a kid really wants to hear every night before bedtime.
Their fear was based on the fact that telepathy was an innate magic. And innate magic had been extinct for millennia.
Shit, it really didn’t make any sense. Literally any witch in the whole world would be more likely to have innate magic than me.
My current theory is that I have a genetic quirk, some throwback gene that shouldn’t exist.
But even so, I’ll never tell a soul. The fear of being a lab rat for WMO scientists haunts me down to my bones. Shudder.
—She’s an odd duck, that Theo. Not quite right in the head—
I don’t need to hear Mrs. Turnbull's inner opinion of me right now, so start thinking of all the words I can make from SHUDDER: Udder, red, reds, due, dues, hue, hues, rush, rude, dud, duds…. Ah, great, the rubber glue has set.
After putting my bike back together, I give the Turnbulls one more wave and head off.
Six hours later, my bike—now with the sandwich cool-box attached—and I are leaning against a wall. I’ve found a shady spot to catch a breath and quickly munch down the tofu-delight special. The tip of my nose is burning, and so are my thighs; good thing there aren’t any hills in this town.
With all the physical effort this job takes, you’d think I wouldn’t remain so puny. But my arms and legs are like skinny string beans.
The sub-shop was extremely doubtful I’d be up to the task of being their third delivery person, but I hadn’t failed yet, as long as you don’t pay any mind to me getting lost and muddling up deliveries. Having to suppress other people’s thoughts taxes the crap out of my poor brain.
Chugging most of my water, I pour the rest over my head, trying to relieve my pounding temples, and decide to give myself another five minutes in the shade before hitting the road again. Going back to scrolling, a few cat videos make me laugh. That shit never gets old.
Checking my email, something catches my attention.
The subject line is ‘Guggenheimer Scholarship’ and the email address is ‘[email protected].’
Dear Theodora,
I hope your last year has been full of magic and wonder.
I am writing to offer you a unique and exciting opportunity: the prestigious Guggenheimer Scholarship for the full-time academic program at Validus Vale Academy.
This scholarship is awarded annually to one exceptional young person and covers up to four years of tuition at Validus Vale, including accommodation, board, books, and uniform. Congratulations!
We understand this is a short time frame for you to consider this offer and make arrangements, as the school year begins in just ten days, so apologies. However, I sincerely hope you will give us your serious consideration. We believe you would be an excellent addition to our student body.
Attached are the details and contracts for your review.
Yours in expectation,
Acting Dean, Larissa Crankshawe.
c.c. Validus Vale President; Solita Eudoxia.
Validus Vale Academy
What the eff? Seriously? I mean…
SERIOUSLY?
I sink to the hot pavement, my legs suddenly not able to hold me up. Never in a million years did I think I’d be anywhere near a magic academy again, let alone Validus Vale.
Shit-balls. I’d needed a miracle, but this?
Going to Validus Vale again?
Last time it nearly killed me...
VALIDUS VALE ACADEMY: BOOK ONE