Chapter 43

Alastair awoke in an unfamiliar place, and it took him a few beats before he recognized it as the Primordium common room. A cold snap had settled in. A clammy chill buried itself beneath the castle’s Warming spells. Most of the windows on the north-facing side were covered in a cloudy layer of rime. Alastair debated using magic to clear the glass, except there was something cozy about how the sunlight filtered through the ice—like he was in an old cathedral.

The shrieking of the second-year students echoed down to him. Instantly, he sprang into gear, pulling his wand from its sheath on his side, and sprinted toward the sound, readying a braid of Elemental Magic in case he needed a quick cast.

“Go, Headmaster, go!” squealed a small group of first-years as he ran toward the second-year dormitories. “Run!”

By the time he got there, he was no longer worried that kids were under attack by the Night Coven. Emberstone’s youngest students stood around outside the dormitories, practically falling over with laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Alastair demanded.

“Ohhhhh,” a small girl in pigtails said, pointing toward the staircase to the second-year girls’ dormitory. “You just have to go up there and see!”

“He’s going to be so mad,” said another girl solemnly. “So mad.”

“What am I going to be mad about?”

The girls dissolved into giggles again, useless in the way that first-year students usually were. He took the stairs two at a time. The girls hadn’t let up screaming upstairs—but now, they sounded more gleeful than frightened.

He threw open the door to find the room filled with frogs of all shapes, colors, and sizes—from tiny, near-transparent tree frogs to massive brown, warted creatures the size of a mastiff that croaked thunderously at the others. Caliban Elmwood and George Redding, of course, were at the center of it all, lying on the floor, surrounded by their creations and cackling wildly.

“What in all the gods’ names?” Alastair said—and the boys immediately sat bolt upright. “This is how you’re spending your time?”

The students grew quiet, though the same couldn’t be said of the frogs, which kept ribbiting endlessly. Most of the girls seemed all right, but the faces of the youngest ones were streaked with tears. The culprits, at least, had the good grace to look ashamed.

“It was just a prank,” Caliban said. “Harmless. Look, they had fun—”

“Who do you think is going to clean all of this up?” Alastair said. “Get rid of the frogs, unpick the—what did you use, Summoning or Conjuring to get them in here—”

“Conjuring,” George said. “It was kind of complex—”

“I know it’s complex. You’re better than this, both of you. And Quicksilver’s staff aren’t touching this mess. They have enough on their plates right now. The two of you can undo the mess you’ve made, and you can do it by dinner.”

“By dinner?” George complained.

“Sooner if you argue!”

The boys nodded obediently. “Fair enough.”

“Headmaster,” Caliban said. “It was just a prank. No harm done in the end—”

“Now’s not the time for pranks, not with everything going on. The two of you, both… you’re growing up. Getting too old for this. You’re talented mages. You need to be role models for the others, not—whatever it is you’re doing now. First, you fight with each other, then you sneak around and bully the other students. What’s come over you? Knock it off!”

George and Caliban were speechless—a not too common thing. George, in particular, looked crestfallen. “We were—” he stammered. “I mean—it was just a bit of sport. We didn’t mean any harm by it. Most of the girls thought it was funny!”

Alastair looked around the room. Apart from a few young ones sniffling up the last of their tears, the girls all nodded their agreement. All at once, he felt terrible. The boys might have been pests, but they were also a mere fourteen years old and only looking to have a bit of fun. Why was he being so hard on them?

His mind drifted back to the fib he’d told Eloise when peering into the Nightmare Glass. He’d told her he’d seen frogs, and though he hadn’t, his explanation was true enough. He hated the things. Perhaps he was projecting some of his own fears upon the others.

“You boys know the drill,” he said with a sigh.

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They looked at him expectantly.

“Tea and cookies. Let’s go have a chat. We can all clean this up later.” Then, hesitantly, he added, “I’ll help.”

Caliban and George followed after him, grim as if they were going to their own funeral.

“Yer in trouble,” the gargoyle knocker teased when they reached the headmaster’s office.

“Quiet, you,” Alastair said—a phrase that had become all too familiar.

Once they entered, he handed out teacups. He didn’t bother Quicksilver for tea this time—got the water boiling with a magnified Warming charm. Then, he sat down across from them next to the fire.

“I’m sorry for snapping just now,” he admitted. “We just don’t have time for pranks, boys. What’s going on with you two? You used to hate each other—now you’re torturing second-years together?”

“We weren’t torturing them—” Caliban started to protest, but George stopped him.

“You were right earlier, sir,” the boy said. “We’re good mages. We know it. But you treat us like children—”

“You are children,” Alastair said. “Technically.”

“You want it both ways. You expect us to be serious, to be role models, focused all the time—but you lock us up in the castle and don’t let us out at night. And then you get angry when we goof around. No one cared about the frogs, sir. They were laughing.”

“And we put a key into the Conjuring spell, so it’s easy to unpick,” Caliban added. “It should all come apart with ten minutes’ work.”

“I overreacted,” Alastair said with regret. “That’s on me. But keeping you inside the castle is for your own protection—”

“That’s what I’m saying, sir,” George said. “About wanting it both ways. With all due respect, if you want to treat us like kids who need to be protected, that’s on you. But then you can’t put all these expectations on us. Pick one.”

A bold statement from a teenager, one Alastair could respect.