Chapter 2 #2
This had been the true heart of her home here, the place where she’d felt okay.
The place where, when other kids made fun of her, someone stepped in to tell them firmly, but not cruelly, to stop.
Tears pricked her eyes, and for a moment she tried to fight them.
Not in front of Amelia, not at the school.
Wait till you get home, get back to Denver …
Get at least to the car. But then, well, fuck it.
She had loved Professor Herringbone, and she would never see her again.
And that was worth crying for. That was worth mourning.
So what if Amelia saw? So what if anyone saw? She was allowed to be sad about this.
Decision made, she squared her shoulders, then felt the lightest touch on her arm.
“I think it was the hardest thing I ever had to do, standing up in front of the school and telling them that the professor had died,” came Amelia’s voice, also choked up. “I’m still so sad.”
Bryn opened her own tear-filled eyes to find Amelia right in front of her, but Amelia had let the tears fall. Her cheeks were wet.
“Sorry,” Bryn said, and Amelia shook her head.
“Don’t be. It’s really nice not having to pretend.”
The idea that Amelia Hexford felt the need to perform around others was so foreign that Bryn had to take a moment just to let it sink in. “Do you have to pretend a lot? That sounds difficult.”
“No. Well, sometimes.” Amelia shook her head again.
“It’s— You’re not here for this. I don’t want to trouble you.
Come on. Let’s go look at the professor’s books.
” She withdrew her hand and led the way through the classroom.
“I’m so glad you came for them. There was talk of donating them, or putting them in the library and indexing them, and people offered to buy them, which—I don’t know why that hit me so hard.
The school could use the income and the collection’s last valuation, which was twenty years ago, put them at a rather astronomical amount.
But it feels like they should be with someone who really cares about them and the professor’s memory. ”
“Yes.” Bryn agreed, in principle, though it was strange to imagine Grimoire Academy needing something so boring and mundane as money. But clearly Amelia didn’t want to discuss the details, so Bryn didn’t ask any questions.
The professorial suites had bedrooms, studies, and sitting rooms. Students were only permitted to go into the latter, but in Professor Herringbone’s case, that sitting room was a library first, and a place to sit second.
The space had clearly not changed in five years, because every available surface in the room was covered in books and papers.
“Oh my,” Bryn said, feeling overwhelmed. How had she thought she would do this in an afternoon? “What about her papers?”
“That is a topic under some discussion right now. It’s agreed that they should be cataloged. It is less clear who owns them.”
“Not me?” Bryn asked, feeling the loss of all those many, many papers she hadn’t even thought about until that moment.
“No, the professor’s will was very specific.” Amelia was also gazing around, taking it all in. “You are to receive all of her books and unfinished manuscripts, but otherwise her belongings go to the school to be distributed as we—or rather, the school governors—see fit.”
“There’s so much,” Bryn said, looking around.
“So, so much,” Amelia agreed. “And I’m out a world-renowned teacher. You know, she was considered something of a genius in her field.”
“I know,” Bryn said. “I mean, I didn’t know when I was her student, but I know now. She’s cited in so many books about spellcasting and the history of magical science, and all of these other things. Even podcasts and television programs will discuss her and her work.”
“It’s gratifying sometimes, but it makes me sad, too,” Amelia said. “We never knew any of that when we studied here.”
“Would it have impacted anything if we did? I mean, she was our teacher. We lucked out, I think.”
“True. It just seems like—” her eyes cut to Bryn’s, then away.
“It just seems like the school should be harder hit by her passing. But perhaps I am projecting. In any case, what help can I offer? I need to go to my rooms to get the letter she left you. Can I bring you anything? A cup of tea or coffee? I could order some food sent up.”
At the mention of food, Bryn’s stomach, heretofore paralyzed with anxiety, decided it had relaxed enough to contemplate eating. “Oh, maybe,” she said awkwardly. School food again, what on earth was she doing? “Whatever was for supper … It doesn’t bother me.”
“All right.”
Still slightly thrown off by the change in tone from reminiscing about the professor to practical tasks, Bryn added, “And boxes and tape, if you have any?”
“I’m sure we have some somewhere. I’ll find a minion or something.” Amelia smiled weakly. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere without talking to me, please. And I’ll find out which guest room they’ve made up for you.”
“Oh, right.” How had she forgotten already?
It seemed like an unnecessary waste of time and resources.
Could they bring a cot and stick it in the professor’s library?
Or were her rooms still being used for classes?
Bryn decided none of these questions were important right now, and Amelia was halfway through the classroom already. On impulse, she called out, “Amelia?”
Damn, the woman could swing those robes around her. Bryn’s words choked in her throat. She cleared it, focusing on Amelia’s face and not the striking, attractive figure she cut. “Congratulations about the headmistress thing and all.”
Instead of the smile and thanks she’d expected, Amelia’s face tightened. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. She swung around again and left the room.
Bryn, heart pounding for no reason she could immediately discern (except having accidentally offended Amelia by congratulating her on an incredible promotion), stood for a moment amidst the piles of books that filled the bookshelves to the brim, and closed her eyes again.
Professor, if your spirit is still here, please let me not make a fool out of myself in front of Amelia Hexford.
It was petty, maybe. It was a cheap thing on which to use any kind of spirit communication, no matter how slapdash. But still, she thought it anyway.
And then she got to work.