Chapter 1

A minute until noon and Alastair Meade feared he would miss the midday Regional to Watermere. The train billowed smoke on the far end of the platform, the last-call whistle already sounding.

“Egads!” he cursed, his heart pounding with urgency to catch the train. He sprinted toward it, his lanky limbs flying wildly in all directions, just a hair faster than his charmed trunk scuttled along behind him.

Of all the days to be late.

He couldn’t miss this train. Not today. Desperation compelled him to dig deep and put on an extra burst of speed as the final whistle blew.

“I’m coming!” he shouted, a wave of relief washing over him as he arrived at the carriage just as the doors were closing. “Sorry, Stanley.”

The conductor froze, already inside, gripping the door’s handle.

Alastair drove an elbow through the gap and tossed his heavy trunk onto the train with a flick of his wand.

“Won’t happen again,” he promised as he scrambled in after it.

“12:01, lad,” the conductor chided, displaying his gold timepiece and fixing a stern eye upon it. “We held a minute just for you. Don’t you set an alarm?”

“I do,” Alastair protested. “It’s just—you know—one thing led to another thing and another after that. You set a spell on to burn, and then you have to pack and, well, next thing you know…”

Stanley shook his gray-haired head and slammed the carriage door tight. “Mages. You lot would lose your heads if they weren’t hexed on tight at the neck.”

But he winked one of those brilliant blue eyes as he said it.

Stanley Pyke was twice Alastair’s age and looked it. He was also twice Alastair’s size. He wore a belt that likely did more to gird his belly than to keep his pants from falling. He had been running the Regional to Watermere for neigh on thirty years, and never once in all that time had Alastair Meade arrived on time for departure. At this point, Stanley knew to expect it.

“Going all the way to Watermere this close to term time?” Stanley went on. “Picking up some last-minute supplies for Glimmerglass?”

“Not exactly,” Alastair said, thoughts drifting to the letter in his coat pocket. He’d read it over and over again, yet still couldn’t quite make sense of it.

Stanley raised a quizzical eyebrow but held on to cordiality and didn’t push further. “Head up-train. Should be a few seats still open.”

Alastair set off in the direction the old conductor indicated, his trunk trotting obediently along behind him like a faithful spaniel. When he finally found an empty compartment and sank into a plush window seat, it settled down at his feet with a grunt.

Without hesitation, Alastair pulled out the letter from Headmaster Ozelius and read it over again, though he already knew it by heart.

To Alastair Meade:

Best and brightest of my former pupils! I’ve been called away from Emberstone on urgent business. Can’t be avoided; can’t discuss it. I’m in need of someone to fill in for the year—one year only—and I immediately thought of you.

The board placed their votes, and—well, I won’t mislead you—it was not a unanimous decision. However, in the end, we—mostly—agreed you were the right man for the job. I have the utmost faith in you to smooth over any difficulties that might arise.

I do hope you’ll accept the position, though I am confident Glimmerglass will miss you. Hopefully, they can manage without you for a season. If they have trouble filling the slot, I may have some suggestions.

Write back as soon as you can. There’s much to be done.

Yours in flame and embers,

Sylvester Ozelius

Alastair scanned the letter twice more, then carefully folded it and returned it to his pocket.

None of this makes any sense.

Of course he’d written back immediately and accepted the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to take up the position as acting Headmaster at Emberstone Academy of Magic—the best school of its kind in the country. But he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand why he’d been offered the job in the first place. It was true he’d been a good student, except that was over a decade ago. And it was equally true that Headmaster Ozelius had often taken note of Alastair’s proficiency in the magical arts. “As strong with a charm as with a curse,” the old man had been fond of saying.

But he hadn’t gone on to a high-flying career as some of Emberstone’s graduates had. Instead, he’d spent the last eleven years teaching magic at Glimmerglass, a respectable—though by no means top-tier—country school with good, hard-working students. While it might not have been the most prestigious post, he’d enjoyed his time there thus far.

Ozelius had never written back after Alastair’s acceptance of the position. Which was fine. The man clearly had something of import to attend to.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The countryside sped past behind a dirty window. Alastair’s thoughts traveled through his mind nearly as quickly. Had Headmaster Ozelius expected him to have done more with his life? Was that what this was all about? Some sort of challenge?

His steamer trunk stirred uneasily, sensing his agitation, and he gave it a quick pat.

“Not your problem,” Alastair said soothingly. “You’re doing a fine job carrying my things.”

The trunk, reassured by this, settled back to sleep with a low growl. Likewise, Alastair leaned back in his chair, his eyes firmly on the passing landscape.

It was late August—just before the start of term—as Stanley had said—and they were passing through a wooded area not far from Glimmerglass. Alastair knew the region well. The leaves were just beginning to turn, and in a few short weeks, the trees would be ablaze with red and gold. He often took his classes out into the forest during their first month of classes before the first cold snap of autumn drove them inside for the winter.

Not so at Emberstone.

Emberstone was a city school in the heart of busy Watermere. Its thick stone walls kept it well-insulated from the world outside, but the chaos and noise of the town still managed to pry its way through. And the students… Well, Emberstone had a reputation for accepting only the best and the brightest, and they certainly were a talented lot.