Chapter 14

The next few weeks flew by as term got underway and Alastair settled into both new positions. The weather could not have been better for early fall: brilliant blue September skies, warm days—with an underlying bite that promised cooler times to come—leaves just starting to turn. Not that he was able to get outside much, buried in mounds of paperwork as he was. Then there were the endless meetings with Quicksilver or the faculty, or presiding over family dinners in House Primordium.

On one particularly gorgeous day toward the end of September, Alastair longingly stared out the window, watching groups of students wander around the Formal Gardens, when Quicksilver dropped a letter on his desk.

“This is for you, sir. Thought you might want to read it.”

Another list of gripes from Gold’s combative parents, I bet.

Marcus Gold hadn’t let up since the Board of Governors meeting. He’d sent a letter, on average, every two days, demanding that the Dueling League commence immediately, that this or that class be added or cut from next year’s schedule, that Alastair investigate some minor squabble among the student body. He hadn’t yet come again in person, but Alastair could tell it was only a matter of time. He was the single-most obnoxious parent he’d ever had the displeasure of dealing with.

But to his surprise, the letter bore a Glimmerglass postmark and a stamp depicting a serene pine forest in the snow. He tore it open eagerly.

Dear Headmaster Meade,

We hope you’re doing well at Emberstone. What’s it like in the big city? Is it super loud and crazy? We want photos!

Things are good back here at Glimmerglass. It’s still warm but we know the bitter cold is just around the bend. The leaves are already changing. Look at the photo we enclosed! We had our first campus bonfire last night and made s’mores.

Alastair smiled. Fall bonfires were an old Glimmerglass tradition. Students gathered around the blaze, toasting marshmallows, drinking cider, and celebrating the changing days. It got cold sooner up north, and fall was already well underway there. Here in Watermere, it still felt like the waning days of summer.

Interim Headmistress Greaves is doing great. She says “hi.” We all miss you up here and want updates. Those fancy-pants Emberstone students can’t compare with us!!!!!

Yours truly,

GLIMMERGLASS

Below was a long list of student signatures. They’d magically imposed a photo to the back of the page: a beautiful autumn forest, all red and gold, as they’d described. He recognized the place. It was by the herb garden, right on the border of the woods where someone long gone had hung a wooden swing. Students gathered at the spot all spring and fall to relax and do homework.

Alastair sighed. He missed Glimmerglass.

He looked over the letter again, debating whether to respond immediately. Of course he wanted to, but when he regarded his large stack of paperwork…

He had to get through it today. With some regret, he shoved the letter into his pocket for safekeeping. He’d write back when he had photos worth sharing.

“You should take a day off, sir,” Quicksilver said, startling him. He hadn’t realized the elemental was still in the room. “Or at least an afternoon. Headmaster Ozelius always did.”

“There’s a lot of work—”

“There will always be a lot of work. It will go on forever. Take some time off.”

That isn’t very encouraging.

He stared at Quicksilver, and the elemental returned his gaze, impassive. Though that wasn’t difficult for one such as him, since his face was just blank silver fire.

“You know what?” Alastair said, shoving the stack of paperwork to the side. “You’re right. I can do this tomorrow.”

“And if I may give some advice, sir—”

“I’m always ready to hear your advice. You’ve been here a lot longer than I have.”

“All of this—” Quicksilver gestured at the paper littering the desk, “—is important. But most important is being out in the school mingling with the students, meeting with parents, and the like. Not sequestering yourself in this stuffy office.”

“But the parents are always writing all these letters—” And they were a lot angrier, more entitled, and more confrontational than the parents at Glimmerglass.

“As they do each year,” Quicksilver said. “And they will always have something to complain about. True, Marcus Gold is…”

Neither of them could quite say what, exactly, Marcus Gold was.

“Point taken,” Alastair said finally. “I’m going to leave this office.”

“You do that, sir.”

With that settled, Alastair had no option but to venture out into the world. The gargoyle knocker chittered at him as he passed. Alastair ignored it and descended the staircase—and almost ran into George Redding loitering in the hallway just outside the secret entrance to his office.

“Headmaster!” the young man said. “I’m glad you’re finally out. I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”

“Uh, hi, George.”

Without further preamble, George launched into it, “I don’t like Mr. Shelley.”

That wasn’t a particularly unusual opinion among the school, despite Eloise’s insistence that the students loved Sebastian, but it would be unprofessional for Alastair to say, given his position.

“Hmmm,” he said. “Now, George, Mr. Shelley is one of our profess—”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“I just feel like he’s up to no good. I think he might even belong to the…” The boy looked around to make sure no one was listening. “Night Coven.”

“That’s quite an accusation,” Alastair said. He had to admit, it wasn’t entirely out of the question—and he certainly held no love for the man—but given what he’d seen, it was unlikely. Sebastian, in his current form, seemed more likely to spend a night organizing his sock drawer than performing rituals at a dark séance.

“Point one,” George said. “No one ever sees him around. The other teachers are always in the dining hall—well, except for you, Headmaster—but he’s never eating with anyone else. Point two: he keeps sneaking out late at night through the side door by the gardens.”

“And how do you know that, George?” Alastair asked with a sly smirk.

George’s face went red. “I… uh… well…”

Alastair decided to spare the boy having to admit he was out of his dorm after hours. “Did you have a third reason?”

“Uh. Yes, sir. Point three: he just has a… dark magey energy around him. He seems to know a lot about that stuff.”

Setting aside Alastair’s opinion toward Sebastian, this evidence was a little thin.

“I’m not sure having a ‘dark magey energy’ will be enough to convict him,” Alastair said, fighting back a laugh.

“I think he’s trying to convert Caliban to the Night Coven too!”

“George, these are unfounded accusations about your teacher and fellow Emberstone students. I understand that you don’t like Caliban—”

“It’s not that, Headmaster,” George said unconvincingly.

“Well, I promise to keep an eye on it. With no real proof, that’s the best I can do.”

“But—”

“If you see Mr. Shelley using a dark spell or in possession of a dark object—anything of that type—come to me,” Alastair said. “But I can’t investigate someone on ‘dark magey energy.’”

George looked disappointed. “I understand. I still think he’s in the Night Coven, though.”

“You’re allowed. And if you’re correct, I can assure you we’ll take it very seriously.”

The boy nodded, and started to walk away.

“And George,” Alastair said, causing him to turn around. “Stay inside at night, understand?”