Victoria Fornax. Weird girl. She pestered me at midnight. Came waltzing to my door and expected to be let in. She wore pyjamas, whereas I had whatever I’d worn that day; I took sadistic glee in watching her shiver. Though, I let her in. We chatted for a little while, and it wasn’t a waste of time. Not only because she promised me more raspberry sweets, but because she wanted to talk about Sergio. She seemed unsure about wanting to know more about his death, but at the end, she sounded really serious about investigating it. Kind of cool, caring that much about a stranger’s death. It might’ve been self-righteous bullshit, but I didn’t mind if she got results.

A few days later, I sat in the corner of the cafeteria for lunch – and Cecilia was also there.

‘Do you like peas?’ Cecilia asked.

‘No,’ I replied.

Cecilia had eaten the carrots, beans, and broccoli from her plate, and now idly rolled around a dozen peas.

‘Did you get a new pipe?’ I asked.

‘No,’ she replied.

An announcement on the speakers told me to visit the admissions office because my uncle had arrived. Hope exploded in me. I abandoned my lunch and sprinted to the admissions office. If it was an uncle, it must be Solomon. I’d overreacted at them leaving the old hideout. Not much time has passed between that and my joining the Academy. If Solomon had come, it must’ve been to tell me where to find the new hideout.

I reached the office and braced myself against the door frame to catch my breath. I looked up, and my smile faded.

‘Hey, kiddo. Come give Uncle Howard a hug.’

I went cold, great despair nurtured by greater hope. Howard’s stupid grinning face made me irrationally mad. And he’d just used his real name! Howard wasn’t a background member of the Hunter-Yao gang. He wore a partial disguise, but he should’ve kept a lower profile, rather than gone to the office to make an announcement. What if other members needed to visit me? How many uncles and aunts could I have?

‘Whaddya want?’

‘Checkin’ up on you,’ Howard said, leading me out of the office. ‘How goes our little mage and her adventures?’

‘Sergio is dead,’ I whispered.

‘Yes, you’re very smart.’ He spoke slowly, like he thought school had the opposite of its intended effect. ‘That’s why you’re here, remember?’

‘I saw his corpse.’

Howard choked on his saliva. ‘Say again?’

I repeated myself and recounted how I’d been on DetMage duty, though avoided mentioning why.

Howard sighed. ‘Good coincidence. There’s a word for that. It’s on the tip of my tongue. Bah, anyway, Sergio had outright told us Kusuma wanted him dead. He said he’d find out why, which must explain why he’s now…’ Howard scratched his stubble and drew a finger across his throat. ‘Let’s pivot to the why. When Sergio last contacted us, way back, he wanted to check things in the town of Alderrow. Heard of it? The farming place, way out in the Rainy Lands?’

‘Who cares about the why? And why did you guys change hideout? A-And why didn’t anyone tell me?’

He flicked my forehead. ‘You think we changed hideouts for fun? Ring-ring, yes, hello, we’re looking for a low-rent, thirty-bedroom apartment somewhere discreet and welcoming to outlaws. Oh, plenty of places? Yes, let me get my chequebook.’

‘Alright, alright. Damn. I just wish someone had told me.’

‘Yeah, well, I wish it didn’t burn when I pissed, but we all gotta put up with discomfort.’ Howard scratched his stubble again, loosening a blizzard of dandruff. ‘Sergio, Sergio. Right, the why. Personally, I share your opinion. Kusuma, kill the fucker, get on with life. But Stefan and Wei are paranoid about Sergio’s death being related to us, as if Kusuma wants us dead, too.’

I froze. ‘Does he?’

‘We didn’t do anything to him.’

‘Doesn’t answer my question.’

Howard ignored me. ‘We gotta check something.’ He led me outside, across the quad, and around the back of Vannerling Hall. Near the back doors stretched a huge, curved bulletin board. Flyers, notices, invitations, offers, warnings—all sorts of things covered the cork. ‘Wei’s contact in Vandagriff said all events get posted here, and this place sounds like they love extracurricular shit, so there should be opportunities. See, here.’ He tore a notice from the board and read aloud. ‘Evening seminar with Wira Kusuma, Erudite of Flight. Go to the faculty office to—oh, it already happened.’ He frowned at me. ‘Please tell me you went.’

‘They denied my application,’ I replied.

‘Those bastards. Don’t they know why’re trying to murder one of their employees?’ He smirked, tore the seminar notice, scanned the bulletin board, and snatched another sheet of paper. ‘Ah hah. Senior agricultural excursion to Alderrow.’ He shoved the notice at me. ‘Optional spots for juniors. Go sign up.’

I gingerly accepted the paper. ‘Shouldn’t I focus on Kusuma?’

‘Sure. What’s you plan?’

My thoughts were jumbled. ‘Watch…his daily routine?’

‘How’s that been going?’

‘I’m making progress, I think.’

‘Yeah, I bet,’ Howard snorted. ‘Look, go on the excursion, look for hints about why Sergio went there, and maybe get some farming tips along the way. The Khan’s still going on about a stupid fucking veggie patch, and he might finally start if you’ve got the know-how.’

We called the gang’s cook the Khan, and he usually complained about the quality of supplies we brought him. Vegetables not fresh enough. Meat not marbled enough. Salt not salty enough.

As I scanned the excursion notice, Howard checked his watch and said something about needing to leave. ‘How do I contact you guys?’ I asked, fighting to keep desperation out of my voice.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

‘We’re still on the move.’

‘Will someone visit – to keep me updated?’

‘Fuck, Amber.’ Howard fell into an exaggerated slouch. ‘You get to chill here while we deal with—we’ll talk later, alright? Alright.’ He jogged away, waving over his shoulder.

I chewed my lip, feeling much smaller and childlike than usual.

Xandria crept up my back. ‘Farming is surely every teenager’s dream.’

I sighed. I’d screwed up the seminar application, and any other attempts to track Kusuma weren’t going well. I’d better apply to this, I thought.

#

Junior students spent most of their time in Vannerling hall, in classrooms, where we studied subjects that would go on to form the foundation of our magic in senior years. That said, the rooms weren’t identical. Class-A used the room furthest west, class-B took the middle, and class-C was furthest east. Each room was a slightly different size, with slight variations in resources, things so slight that nobody formally complained, but everyone knew what the “slight” differences signified. The hierarchy. Class-A had air-conditioning and wide desks. Class-C had fans, and you’d bump elbows with your neighbour.

What I’m saying is: The hierarchy mattered. A student would make friends with others in their class while thinking all students above were narcissists and all students below were simpletons. I was in class-C. Victoria was in class-A. Since our midnight chat, I decided to believe she really wanted to investigate Sergio’s death, so I wanted to share my idea to visit the town of Alderrow.

But, class-A moved in packs, and walking up to them, being from class-C, was…

I just didn’t want to do it; let’s leave it at that. But I wasn’t sure when to catch Victoria alone. I settled on a note slipped under her room’s door, which meant I had to check the public-access room index in the admissions office to figure out her room number. My efforts surprised myself. In the process, I checked a couple other names: Cecilia Harkenfield, Elidred Griggs, and Bravery Sansing.

Going to Vic’s room, I delivered the note, and then went to sign up for the Alderrow excursion. I just had to hope it’d go better than trying for the Wira Kusuma seminar.

I went after classes ended. There wasn’t a line outside the faculty office, which was a good sign. Not many junior students had plans to move into agriculture, since you had to live outside the cities. On top of being dangerous, mage farmers used magic for monotonous daily tasks. From what I’d heard, it took some of the “magic” out of magic.

But I soon learned a lack of interest from other students didn’t guarantee me a spot.

‘Why should we let you attend?’ Mr Willigan asked me, before I’d even finished asking about the excursion.

‘Because…farming is…’ Mr Willigan had intense blue eyes, so I avoided his gaze. Plus, I hoped to find an answer on the posters and flowcharts with yellowed, peeling laminate. ‘Farming is…the future. Because, like, if we can make more food, we can…’

‘Good one,’ Xandria whispered. She’d been experimenting with sarcasm, to my utter annoyance. ‘Gonna fake cry about your grandma wanting you to become a farmer?’

Mr Willigan made a steeple with his fingers. ‘Your grades are at the bottom of class-C, which puts you at the bottom of the cohort. You’re disrespectful to the faculty, difficult with fellow students, and it would appear you have no care for your conduct outside the classroom, either. Additionally, your recent assault of Miss Fornax makes any requests by you difficult to permit. I would say I am sorry, but you’ve made your bed.’

‘You never make your bed,’ Xandria said. I couldn’t snap at her about using sarcasm incorrectly without Mr Willigan thinking I was worse than a merely troublesome student.

I left the office soon after. Not a great attempt. Not a great result. At least I didn’t get into a fight. I did want to hit something, though.

My feet wanted to go somewhere and I let them, and gradually it became clear I had a destination in mind but didn’t want to admit it. My feet brought me there and I knocked on the door of room 18.

‘Ella?’ said Cecilia, poking her head around the door. I glanced around, still unaccustomed to being Eleanor Wilson. ‘Wait.’ The door closed, and when it fully reopened Cecilia had on her trench coat, along with an olive-toned training top and shorts, both with patterns of turquoise rainforest leaves. ‘What’s up?’

My breath caught. ‘Wanna do something?’ I blurted.

‘Like?’

‘I don’t know. Anything.’

Cecilia chewed gum, mouth closed, with a thoughtful face. ‘Ever heard of tennis?’ I hadn’t. ‘C’mon, I’ll show you. I heard Vandagriff have courts. Hopefully racquets, too.’

So, tennis needed courts and rackets. A more elaborate version of cops and robbers? I envisioned teams of lawyers and crooks, with zones for legal trials and racketeering.

From the dormitories, we walked across the quad, past Vannerling hall and the athletics centre, and through a birch copse, to an area of green and blue rectangles. Along the way, Cecilia outlined the rules of tennis. Oh, I thought. Racquet, not racket. Hit a ball across a net. Sounded easy.

I followed her, until she explained that we stood on opposite sides of the court. Cecilia warmed up, and I mimicked her stretches, though with less certainty. When it came time to play, she tossed a fuzzy ball high into the air and slammed it down, arm moving in a powerful arc. I flinched, and my racquet didn’t get anywhere near the ball. She explained the move was a “serve” and happened at the start of each round. She served again, softer, so I could hit it back. And – she promptly hit it back to me way harder, faster, and more accurately.

Bring it on, I thought.

We played. I didn’t make for a good opponent, and I worried she got bored. I made an effort, but whenever I ran hard at the ball, or swung with extra force, it ended up hitting the net or sailing over the court. Still, I committed myself to getting one point. Just one.

Back and forth. Hit-hit-net. Sweat darkened my clothes and ran down my forehead. People came and went on the surrounding courts. Lesser-used muscles screamed at me to leave them alone.

In the end, fatigue beat stubbornness; I needed a break. I hadn’t gotten a single point against Cecilia. We got drinks from a vending machine—Cecilia paid for mine—and rested on the benches. Sunset’s light made Cecilia’s olive skin and blacker-than-black hair look sharper and stronger—better—than usual.

‘You’re not hot—warm?’ I stammered, panting. ‘The coat isn’t too hot?’

Cecilia shook her head. ‘I prefer to keep it on, except when showering.’ By the tenderness she touched the trench coat, I doubted she was joking. It didn’t look thick or warm, but I would’ve been drenched in sweat if I wore it while playing. It didn’t affect her skill, either.

I admired how Cecilia moved, not only playing tennis, but down to small gestures, like with the coat, warmup stretches, or when she sipped and closed her drink. Smooth, decisive movements, like she knew exactly what she wanted to do from moment to moment. In comparison, I must’ve had no idea: I fidgeted with my jeans, opened and closed the bottle, sipped the drink but stopped when Cecilia drank, too, because I didn’t want to look like I copied her. Dumb thoughts.

‘Your heart is beating faster,’ Xandria told me.

I slapped my neck, causing Cecilia to frown at me. ‘Mosquito,’ I explained. Clearing my throat, I asked if Cecilia liked tennis.

‘That is…complicated.’ She sighed at the fading sun, lips pulled into a thin smile. ‘I’m good at tennis. My parents taught me.’ She turned back to me, haloed by sunset. ‘Do you have anything you’re good at but aren’t passionate about?’

Elbows on knees, I cupped my chin in sweaty palms. ‘I’m good at…’

Fighting?

Footsteps drew near behind me. Victoria crossed the courts, followed by her friends, and waved at us. She called my name. ‘Do you possess a raincoat?’

‘No, why?’

‘You can have one of mine.’

‘Again, why?’

She looked bemused. ‘Because the Rainy Lands live up to the name.’ She said a bit more about the Alderrow excursion.

‘I’m not going,’ I replied.

‘Sure you are. I literally saw your name on the list.’

‘Mr what’s-his-name will take it off. He said I had to sleep in my bed.’

Weird. Her laugh sounded like a moss-covered wind chime. ‘I heard, but Mrs Geisler advocated for you, so then Mr Willigan inquired how I felt about you attending.’

I squinted at Victoria. Where Cecilia looked stronger at sunset, Victoria looked brighter. I felt a twinge of hope. ‘Did you say it was?’

‘Why do you think we’re having this conversation?’ She smiled, and it didn’t look fake. Her teeth were very white. Yet, I didn’t understand. That teacher, Mrs Geisler, backed me up, and Victoria wanted me to go on the excursion? Well, maybe these Academy people weren’t the worst.