Chapter 32

Yule Day dawned clear and cold, and Alastair spent a peaceful hour dozing well past the time he’d normally have awoken. He’d piled the bed high with warm blankets—almost every one he could find. And while the air—even in his quarters—was crisp, he was plenty warm. Eventually, he muttered a Warming spell, and hauled himself upright.

After greeting Amby, who had been all but hibernating most of the school year, he mounted the steps to his office and found that Quicksilver had already been in. The fire in the hearth was lit, and a tray of coffee—charmed to stay warm—sat upon his desk. A small pile of gifts sat under his little tree, along with a much larger stack of Yule cards.

He poured himself a cup from the carafe and added a lump of sugar and a splash of milk. Then, he padded over to the tree to see what was there.

The cards were, as expected, mostly parents and professional contacts who had “Headmaster of Emberstone” on their Yule list. There was a jokey note from Brendan—Turn on the radio at noon—and one from his own parents, which he tore open.

They’d clearly liked the picture he’d sent, because they’d enclosed their own: a home-developed photo of the farm under a heavy blanket of snow. A blurred figure was walking past the barn—his father, maybe?—but the landscape was otherwise empty. On the backside of the picture, he recognized his mother’s handwriting:

First real snow of the year!

The letter itself was cheery, anodyne, and brief, just as he’d expected. His mother sent her love and best wishes from his father, assured Alastair that all was well on the farm, and sent him hopes for a happy Yule. That was it.

His gaze lingered on her words, then he snapped his fingers and affixed the note (and photo) to his wall with a gentle Sticking spell. It would be nice to see the farm from his desk every day.

No other cards were particularly interesting, so he turned his attention to the presents. There was a joint gift from Eloise, Ari, Brendan, and Juliana, and he eagerly ripped off the blue and white paper. Enclosed was a book on the history of Emberstone and its oft-strained relationship with Watermere.

It looked fascinating, and he fought the urge to immediately crack the spine.

The rest of the teachers had come together to send him a warm velvet cloak in Primordium colors, and he’d gotten a Watermere snowglobe from the mayor’s office along with a note from Samuel Lamkin himself.

See you soon.

After that, there were just two gifts left under the tree.

He lifted one—and froze. It was from Ms. Shadow. Whatever had she gotten him? He’d done nothing for her, which made him feel awful.

Hesitantly—and a bit anxiously—he pulled the paper off.

It was a crystal ball, the same as could be bought in any student supply shop, but it was the magical signature on it which made it special. She’d spelled it herself and some of her work was very unorthodox. She’d also attached a note—more of a booklet, really—and he flipped through the pages quickly at first, then sat down to take a closer look.

I heard you’d had some trouble with Scrying, so I wanted to send you this. It’s just a standard-issue crystal, but I’ve strengthened it with some spells of my own. It should be able to see across distances, across time—although, of course, things get blurrier the farther you go—and, if you practice a bit, perceive the truths and falsehoods of a given situation.

I’ve enclosed this booklet of exercises for you. Some are pretty traditional; some are my own. If you do keep at it, you should become a decent Scryer, even if your strengths still run to Elemental Magic. As I tell my students, anyone can Scry if they try!

Hope this helps. Happy Yule.

AS

The booklet contained 104 exercises in ascending order of difficulty, all written out in Ms. Shadow’s spidery hand. She’d clearly spent an exuberant amount of time and effort on it.

“That was kind of her,” he said aloud.

Then panic shot through him again. He had to figure out how to reciprocate before the end of the day. He cast about in his study. A bottle of Richardson brandy? He didn’t even know if she drank. He couldn’t get her a pen like he had Quicksilver. That would be a pathetic gift in comparison. He’d have to call Eloise.

He set the crystal ball and booklet down on his desk, feeling awful, and retrieved the final gift. To his surprise, it was from his Glimmerglass students.

They hadn’t forgotten him!

Headmaster Meade, we miss you! Happy Yule and come back soon.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

PS: We like your photos.

He opened the package to find a roughly knitted wool scarf embroidered with the Glimmerglass insignia. Impulsively, he wrapped it around his neck. It looked—well, rough and lumpy, but it was warm.

Alastair hadn’t gotten them anything either. He’d assumed they’d all have forgotten about him by now. Clearly, he’d been wrong, and there was nothing he could do about it now. He couldn’t very well send them a bottle of brandy.

Guilt-stricken, he sank into his desk chair—still wearing the scarf—and poured the rest of the coffee into his mug. He drank it slowly and brooded until it was far enough along in the morning that he wouldn’t feel bad calling on Eloise.

“What do I do about this?” he asked when she arrived, still wearing pajamas.

“Do about what?” she asked, not even trying to hide her irritation at being rustled from bed. “The nice gifts people got you?”

“I didn’t get anyone anything,” he said. “Aside from Quicksilver. And you four, I got you four a… bottle of brandy. I didn’t wrap it. I was just going to give it to you. Sorry about that.”

“Ally, I’m sure they all realized you probably weren’t going to send anything. And they sent gifts anyway. It’s not a big deal.”

“I should wrap the brandy,” he said, pulling open drawers. “Do you have any wrapping paper?”

“No!”

Alastair sighed. “What should I get Ms. Shadow?”

“I don’t know!” Eloise said. “I’m not the Shadow Whisperer. Hm. That would make a great band name.”