“So what are we going to do about it?”
“We?” She looked sideways at him. “What can we do? Vertulious is too powerful by far.”
“So we stand by and let him start a war that will destroy this place and everyone in it?”
Abigail planted her hands on her hips. “What would you have us do, Hugo? I’m a witch. When it mattered most, I turned my back on a friend to be loyal to my coven.”
“Proving what?”
“That my heart is made of stone.”
He stared at her as though she’d grown an extra head. “I know this has been hard, Abigail. Losing your mother all over again. Seeing Melistra destroyed and having Endera blame you.”
“She’s right to blame me—if I’d never been born, none of this would have happened.” Her hand strayed to her pocket, searching for the soothing object she carried.
“Maybe … but the fact is you were born. Your father was a beautiful star. And your mother loved you so much she came back to save you.” Hugo drew her hand out and uncurled her fingers. A small white stone nestled in her palm: a single teardrop from her mother. “This stone represents her love for you,” he said quietly.
Abigail blinked back tears, fighting the pain that came with thinking about her mother. “How do you know that? Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it’s just a dumb crystal.”
“Then toss it into the sea.”
Annoyed, she jerked her hand free and dropped the stone back into her pocket. “I have to go. I don’t want to be late for classes.” She brushed past him and headed back along the trail of footprints in the snow.
“I’m going to find a way to stop this,” he called. “With or without your help.”
Abigail paused at the edge of the woods, then turned to give him a cool stare. “You’re a Balfin. You serve the witches. Or have you forgotten?”
“I serve what’s right. And war is never right. You know that.”
“War is war, Hugo. Why are you such a child? Maybe we should stop meeting all the time until you grow up.”
Hurt flickered across his face. “I thought you were my friend.”
“So did Robert,” she snapped.
Hugo flinched, as she had intended. “Yeah, well, he thought the same about you.”
Chapter 2
Abigail hurried to her first class, already regretting her words to Hugo. She would have to apologize later. For now she had to get through Awful Alchemy. It used to be her favorite class. In fact, she had been Madame Malaria’s star pupil, but no longer. Not since the day Vertulious had returned. One of the first things he had done was remove Madame Malaria from her position and take over teaching her classes.
Abigail took her seat in the back row, as far away from the front as possible. The other witchlings were all seated, eagerly waiting for the revered he-witch to appear.
Calla dropped into the seat next to her. “Is it gone?” she asked quietly.
Abigail nodded as the side door that led to the alchemist’s private chambers opened. Vertulious stepped into the classroom carrying a small draped cage, which he set on a table. Shimmering threads laced his blue robes, and he’d tucked his silvery hair under a matching blue skullcap. He searched the room, not stopping until his eyes met Abigail’s, and a satisfied smile curved his lips.
“Secondlings. We have learned much in the weeks we have been together. Today we will see who can impress me with her newfound powers. The witchling who can complete this spell will be my personal assistant for the rest of the term.”
An excited rustle of whispers broke out. It would be a huge honor for any of them to be recognized. Abigail was probably the only one who dreaded it.
Vertulious pulled the drape off the cage, revealing a small shreek. It hissed at the alchemist, spraying green spittle. “To earn my favor, you must use the metamorphis spell we learned earlier this week to turn this lowly shreek into an Omera.”
The classroom gasped and groaned at the same time. Turning a spotted moth into a butterfly, maybe, but changing such a low-level creature into a fierce and powerful Omera was far beyond their reach. Abigail snorted, thinking it ridiculous.
“What is that, Abigail?” Vertulious asked. “Do you not think your fellow classmates are up to such a challenge?”
His eyes were like lightning rods, pinning her in place.
She straightened, clearing her throat. “If they can, they deserve to be Head Witchling.”
Vertulious beckoned her forward. “Come here and I’ll assist you.”
Endera shot up, planting her hands on her desk. “That’s not fair if you help Abigail.”
Vertulious eyed her coolly. “Would you like to volunteer then? Your mother certainly didn’t mind.”
The girl went pale as milk, but her eyes glittered at the alchemist. “Better me than Abigail.” She stepped around the desk and moved to the front of the class.
Abigail rested her chin on her hands, curious to see what Vertulious was up to.
“What have we learned is the secret to performing alchemy spells?” he asked.
“That you need the proper catalyst and a source of power,” Endera replied, repeating the words he had drilled into their heads.
“Correct. I was able to return to my original form thanks to a collection of elements I assembled and Abigail’s assistance unlocking the power in Odin’s Stone.”
Endera went even paler—that spell had destroyed her mother in the process, but Vertulious ignored her distress as he went on.
“The metamorphis spell can change the form of one being into a completely new one, if you possess the right keys. Tell me, what are the keys to transform this hapless shreek into a powerful and vicious Omera?”
Endera’s brow furrowed, but finally she shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Then you may sit down.” He turned his back on her. “Who can tell me what is needed to complete the spell?”
Endera stood frozen. For a moment, Abigail thought she might plant a ball of witchfire in the old alchemist’s backside, but she spun on her heel and returned to her desk, taking her seat and staring down at the floor.
Portia raised her hand. The girl had taken a liking to Vertulious after Madame Malaria had given her a pox on her face earlier in the term.
Vertulious nodded at her.
She stood, smoothing her skirt with her hands. “I think the shreek needs something that will make it grow, since the Omera is much larger.”
Vertulious nodded. “Go on.”
Portia glowed. “We learned in Horrid Hexes how to make someone’s feet grow by putting a pinch of gallillium in their porridge. What if we fed some to the shreek and used the metamorphis spell?”
“It’s a start. But not enough. Sit down.”
Portia gaped, then thought better of saying anything, slumping down in her seat.
“A child could make this shreek bigger,” Vertulious scolded. “That won’t make it an Omera. What do we know of these blackhearted creatures?”
The Omera were known to be fierce, although Abigail had met Big Mama and her offspring, and they were different. She smiled fondly thinking about them.
“Abigail, I hear you have met an Omera before. Even tamed one. Come, share with the class.” He beckoned her forward.