Infinite Regress Read online

  Emily nodded. She focused her mind—now, extruding magic was almost second nature—and counted down from five. Magic flared in her fingertips as she pushed it forward, then swore out loud as Prunella jerked her fingers back. She tried to get a grip on the magic before it surged upwards, but it was too late. Moments later, the room turned white, even though her eyes were firmly closed. The magic had found the runes and triggered the working...

  Prunella groaned as the light faded. Emily’s eyes snapped open. Prunella was leaning away from her, sweat staining her forehead and her eyes flickering madly. Her mouth was opening and closing like a fish; Emily started forward, only to realize that her presence was making matters worse. Prunella... no one, not even Hodge, had stared at her with so much horror.

  “Interesting,” Professor Lombardi said, striding over. “Get a grip on yourself, young lady.”

  “She’s upset,” Emily protested. “She...”

  “Of course she’s upset,” Professor Lombardi said. His voice was icy cold. “But do you really imagine it gets any easier from here?”

  “I’m sorry,” Prunella said. Her entire body shook like a leaf. “I just... I just couldn’t do it.”

  “Not an uncommon reaction,” Professor Lombardi said. “Was there any reason you couldn’t do it?”

  Prunella shook her head, desperately. Emily watched, unsure what to say or do. Had she somehow scared the older girl? If Prunella had sensed Emily’s power reserves, would it have frightened her? Perhaps it would. Lady Barb had warned her not to talk about her enhanced reserves, pointing out that it would make her fellow students jealous. She hadn’t suggested that it would also scare people, but in hindsight it was far too clear.

  “The circle has been broken,” Professor Lombardi said. He jabbed a finger at where Prunella was sitting. “And you backed into it. That could have hurt you badly.”

  Emily swallowed. The chalk had turned to ash. If it had been charged when Prunella had inched away, she might have been killed...

  “Remain behind, after class,” Professor Lombardi ordered. He brushed the ash away with a simple spell. “You were not the only person to have problems.”

  But the only one to have such a bad reaction, Emily thought. Melissa looked starkly pale and the Gorgon had gone a sickly yellow color, but neither of them had reacted as badly as Prunella. Why?

  “We will be spending the next two weeks mastering the art of sharing mana,” Professor Lombardi informed them. “You will be unable to progress, ritually, until you master the secret. I’m afraid it can take quite some time to master.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Class dismissed.”

  Emily glanced at Prunella, who had barely moved from where she’d been sitting, then rose and headed for the door. The others followed her, all looking tired and worn. No wonder Professor Lombardi’s class was the last, Emily thought, recalling just how weak she’d felt after her first ritual. She doubted any of them were in a mood to enjoy being released from class twenty minutes early.

  “That was interesting,” the Gorgon said, falling into step beside Emily. Her face was slowly returning to normal. “But what happened to Prunella?”

  Melissa snorted as she walked up behind them. “Isn’t it obvious,” she said. “She’s scared.”

  “I was nervous too,” Emily said. “Professor Lombardi said it was common.”

  “You misunderstand,” Melissa said, bluntly. She frowned as Emily stopped and turned to face her. “She’s scared of you. I dare say there aren’t many students who would willingly agree to render themselves defenseless in front of you.”

  Emily stared at her. Prunella had always struck her as tough. “She’s scared of me?”

  “Of course she is,” the Gorgon said. She sounded oddly amused. “You’re the one who killed a tutor.”

  And that, Emily realized numbly, must be how the Gorgon felt, all the time.

  Chapter Twelve

  MELISSA HAD BEEN RIGHT, EMILY DISCOVERED over the next two days. Apart from Caleb, who didn’t treat her any differently from when they’d started dating, most of the students gave her a wide berth. Even the Gorgon preferred to sit next to Melissa, although Emily found it hard to begrudge two outcasts their friendship. It wasn’t just that they weren’t speaking to her—she hadn’t really spoken to many students apart from Alassa and Imaiqah—it was that they were treating her as a bomb that might explode at any second. She might have liked such a reputation on Earth, but at Whitehall she merely found it depressing. Teamwork was going to be impossible if everyone was too scared to work with her.

  “People are idiots,” Cabiria said, when Emily complained to her. She didn’t seem inclined to treat Emily any differently either. But then, they’d had no dealings before beginning Fifth Year. “You’re not actually a monster.”

  “I know that,” Emily muttered.

  She scowled down at her hands, feeling helpless and frustrated. How many of the students at Whitehall owed her their lives? It had been her who’d killed Shadye, her who had deduced the nature of the Mimic, her who had identified the true cause of the problems plaguing Whitehall... and her who had been willing to sacrifice everything to save the school. She’d been in trouble before, of course, but this was worse. Instead of spells being hurled in her direction every time she turned her back, the students scuttled away from her as soon as she wasn’t looking. It was... it was infuriating.

  A sharp knock on the door made her look up. “Come in!”

  Madame Rosalinda opened the door and peered inside. “Emily,” she said. “Professor Locke would like to see you in his classroom.”

  Emily resisted the urge to pretend it wasn’t an order, no matter how it was phrased. She was a probationary student. Professor Locke could demand her presence at midnight, if he wished, or insist on her dancing attendance on him at all hours. It could have been a great deal worse. Shaking her head, she stood and grabbed a pair of books she wanted to return to the library. If nothing else, she could return them after seeing what Professor Locke wanted.

  “He didn’t summon me,” Cabiria said. “Maybe it’s nothing to do with us.”

  “Maybe it isn’t,” Emily said. “But I’d better go find out.”

  Classes were just coming to an end as she made her way to Professor Locke’s classroom; younger students headed back to their dorms while older students hurried down to the gates, hoping to catch a carriage down to Dragon’s Den. Emily rather doubted they’d keep doing that, as their workload grew heavier and heavier; indeed, she didn’t have the time to go herself until Friday. She hadn’t heard anything back from Mistress Danielle, yet, but she was looking forward to dinner with Caleb...

  Students were spilling out of the history classroom as she approached, including several she recognized from her group. Jasmine waved shyly at her; Lillian, beside Jasmine, looked as if she desperately wanted to hide behind her friend. Emily hoped they were friends, that they would stay friends. Jasmine could use someone to introduce her to the magical community and Lillian needed someone to help her get out of her shell.

  But it’s never that easy, Emily thought, as she tapped on the classroom door. I never really climbed out of mine.

  She pushed memories of well-meaning but incompetent school counselors out of her head as Professor Locke beckoned her into the room. A large map of the Allied Lands hung on one wall, which she recalled from her own lessons; the other walls showed portraits of famous people from history and a handful of detailed—and highly unrealistic—battle scenes. The painting of a famous sorceress who stopped an entire army was quite artistic, according to Lady Barb, but no one in their right mind would go to war wearing a chainmail bikini. It would be quite thoroughly uncomfortable.

  “Ah, Emily,” Professor Locke said. “I have a small problem which I hope you will help me resolve.”

  Emily frowned. “A small problem?”

  “A small problem,” Professor Locke confirmed. “Adana of House Ashworth did not attend class.”

&
nbsp; “Oh,” Emily said.

  She bit down the response that came to mind. Her job as mentor didn’t include forcing students to go to class on time. If they didn’t develop the right study habits, she’d been told at the start, they would fail their exams and—eventually—be told they could not continue at Whitehall. Adana, no doubt, considered history to be an unimportant class. She’d probably been taught all the history her family considered important long before she’d been sent to Whitehall.

  “I want you to find out why she skipped class and deal with it,” Professor Locke said. He cocked his head, consulting the wards. “Adana is in Classroom 7/17.”

  Emily blinked in surprise. Classroom 7/17 was disused, like most of the other classrooms on the seventh level. Adana had no business being there, unless she was playing hide and seek with her friends. God knew Frieda and her friends had turned some of the disused levels into their own playing field over the last couple of years. They’d probably keep doing it too, unless they found themselves caught up in schoolwork. Perhaps Adana had merely started young.

  “I’ll see to it, sir,” she said. “Do you want me to send her back to you?”

  “No,” Professor Locke said. He shrugged. “I want you to do as you see fit.”

  Emily nodded, then headed for the stairwell. The school grew quieter as she strode up the stairs, even though she’d expected to run into a gaggle of students playing games. She tensed, despite herself, as she reached the seventh level and hurried down the corridor. The air was cold and silent. Someone—a long time ago—had stripped all personality from the level. Even the portraits had been taken down and removed.

  The school must have been bigger, once upon a time, Emily thought. Even with pocket dimensions and TARDIS-like structure, there’s far more space than anyone needs.

  She stopped outside Classroom 7/17 and peered inside. The room was cold and empty, dust lying on abandoned chairs and tables. Someone had removed everything apart from the basics, making it impossible to tell what the classroom had originally been used to teach. She glanced down and saw footprints making their way in and out of the classroom, leading towards a large wooden cupboard. A nasty thought ran through her mind as she hurried towards the cupboard and threw it open. A frog jumped out and hopped away at terrifying speed.

  “Stop,” she shouted, spinning around. “I can’t undo the spell if you keep moving!”

  The frog—Adana, she thought coldly—stopped and turned to face her. Emily felt a wave of anger, mixed with relief. At least she’d found the girl. Adana the frog peered up at her with disturbingly human eyes. Emily rested a finger against her warty back, carefully feeling out the spell. It wasn’t a standard prank, she noted immediately. The spellwork was far too advanced for that. Indeed, Adana had had very little hope of breaking the spell from the inside, even if she hadn’t been trapped in the cupboard. It was designed to practically make it impossible to cast the counterspell.

  “It’s all right,” she said, as comfortingly as she could. “I can break the spell...”

  There was a flash of light. Emily leaned backwards as the frog swelled, slowly morphing back into Adana. The younger girl looked pale, her eyes wide and staring; Emily couldn’t help thinking of Prunella, even as she put out a hand to steady Adana. Being a frog was quite bad enough, even without being unable to break the spell and being trapped in a dark cupboard. Emily didn’t want to think about what would have happened if the spell had worn off while Adana was trapped.

  “Take a deep breath,” she advised. Adana would be used to being transfigured, surely? Lady Barb had told her that many magician families often transfigured their children randomly, just so the children became used to living in a different form. Fulvia had probably considered it to be a suitable punishment for real or imagined misdeeds. “Concentrate on your breathing.”

  She forced herself to remain calm, despite her growing anger. Whoever had done this needed to pay. Adana hadn’t deserved to be tormented, had she? And even if she had, she didn’t deserve the prospect of a very messy death when the spell wore off. If she’d realized what would happen, she might well have been traumatized by the experience.

  “I... I thank you,” Adana managed. “I thought I was going to be trapped in there forever.”

  Emily scowled. Professor Locke had used the wards to find Adana, but only because she’d missed his class. If he hadn’t, no one would have known Adana was actually missing until the following morning, when she would have skipped breakfast and her early classes. It wasn’t as if Madame Razz would have looked for her, not when she’d assume Adana was merely trying to sneak around the school. In hindsight, she made a mental note to raise the issue with Aloha. Perhaps the mentors should quietly check on where their charges were before going to bed.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, gently. “Who did this to you?”

  Adana paled. “I...”

  “You can tell me,” Emily said. She knew the code, she knew that younger students were supposed to handle such matters themselves, but this was no prank. Adana could have been killed! She wasn’t even sure what the wards would have done, if the spell had started to wear off. God knew she’d come far too close to killing Alassa without a flicker of intervention from the wards. “I need to know.”

  “... Melissa,” Adana said.

  Emily stared. Melissa?

  She shook her head, firmly. “Melissa would not be stupid enough to pick a fight with a first year student,” she snapped. Melissa wasn’t stupid. “She’d run the risk of being expelled.”

  “She hates me,” Adana said. “She...”

  “She would not want to be expelled,” Emily pointed out, sharply. Melissa wanted to be a Healer. She’d never be able to reach her goal if she was expelled from Whitehall. No one would defend her for picking on a younger student. “If you must tell a lie, Adana, tell a convincing one.”

  Adana looked down at the dusty floor. “Tiega,” she whispered. “It was her.”

  That, Emily conceded, was far more believable. Tiega’s family was magical. It was quite possible that she’d learned the transfiguration spell for self-defense. Given its power, it might well be effective against a student one or two years above her, particularly with the advantage of surprise. She had no idea just how powerful Tiega was, but if she’d been taught the basics by her family she was probably the most capable student in First Year.

  “I see,” she said. It was a shame she didn’t dare use a truth spell. “Why?”

  “We went back to our bedroom after lunch,” Adana said. She started to shake again. “And... and we got into a fight and she turned me into a frog and I couldn’t turn myself back and...”

  “Take a breath,” Emily advised, dryly. The first time she’d been transfigured, she recalled, it had been a nasty shock too. Perhaps the spell had flaws, flaws that allowed elements of the frog’s mind to infect the human soul. She would have to get the spellwork off Tiega and take it apart, piece by piece, just to check. “You’ll have to work on your defenses.”

  She sighed, inwardly. If Tiega could do that to Adana, what could she do to the girls who didn’t have any prior magical education? She was rooming with Jasmine as well as Adana, Emily recalled. The thought of her bullying the singer was horrific. But then, Jasmine probably did have some knowledge from the Travellers...

  So did Adana, Emily reminded herself. And look what that got her.

  She gently removed her hand from Adana’s shoulder. “Go to the kitchens and get some water,” she advised. “And then I suggest you write a formal note of apology to Professor Locke for missing his class. He was not pleased.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Adana protested.

  “I know,” Emily said. “But you need to write the note anyway. It’s good manners.”

  She escorted Adana to the fourth level before pointing her onwards to the kitchens. Adana shouldn’t have any problems getting a glass of water, if nothing else. Emily shook her head as the younger girl hurried on her way, the
n took a deep breath to center herself. She hated bullies. The urge to do something horrific to Tiega was almost overpowering. And yet, she knew she didn’t dare lose control.

  I would be no better than her, she thought, as she entered the dorms. And Gordian would use it as an excuse to expel me.

  The doors had been charmed to allow the mentors to enter, assuming there was a student already present in the room. Emily felt a flicker of déjà vu as she stepped into the room, remembering what it had been like to share such a room with two other students. She’d managed to get along with all of them, after a few prickly moments. Not everyone had been so lucky.

  Tiega sat on her bed, reading a book. There was a resigned expression on her face as she looked up at Emily, as if she knew she was in trouble. Emily glanced at the other two beds—to her relief, they were both empty—and then walked over to Tiega. The younger girl put her book on the bedside table and crossed her arms under her breasts. Up close, she looked strikingly ugly. Emily couldn’t help feeling a flicker of sympathy for her, despite her anger. Tiega looked worse—far worse—than some of the mountain women she’d met in the Cairngorms.

  “You could have killed Adana,” Emily said, flatly. She resisted the urge to sit down next to the younger girl. “You certainly caused her to miss a class, which could have landed her in hot water. Why?”

  Tiega looked sullen. “Why do you care?”

  “Because it’s my job to care,” Emily said, after a moment. “I’m here to help you.”

  “No one cares about me,” Tiega said. She looked down at the carpeted floor. “You don’t care about me any more than my parents.”

  Emily sighed. “I do care,” she said. She’d looked up House Worldweaver in the library, but there had been very little in the record books. The family hadn’t particularly distinguished itself in living memory. Tiega was, apparently, the youngest in her parent’s brood. “I’m here to help.”

  “There’s no point,” Tiega said. “Look at me!”

  “You cast a spell that should have been out of your reach for at least two years,” Emily pointed out, firmly. “I dare say you have the makings of a very powerful magician.”