Abigail stood, knowing if she didn’t, he would simply force her feet to move. On her way to the front, she passed Endera, who trembled with rage.
“Tell the class what you know about these magnificent creatures.” Vertulious had a calculating look in his eyes. He was up to something, but she couldn’t decipher what it was.
“They’re not all bad,” she ventured. “I met some that were kind of nice.”
Vertulious laughed. “Nice? An Omera can rip a man to shreds with just its talons. Did you know the Omera were created centuries ago by a Volgrim witch to fight at our side? It has been eons since this coven had the power to control them. It is time we showed them who they work for.”
“They’re wild animals, not pets,” Abigail said. “We can’t control them or own them.” The very thought was appalling.
“The Omera have forgotten who they belong to,” Vertulious replied icily. “We created them. We rule over them. We just need to remind them of that and bring them to heel.”
Abigail stared at the cruelty in his eyes, thinking of Big Mama and her little babes. They weren’t meant to be tamed, but before she could argue, he clamped a hand on her shoulder.
“Come, let’s do the metamorphis spell together, shall we?”
A sudden suspicion made the hair on the back of her neck rise. He was pulling strings like a puppeteer, getting her in front of the class like this—but why? Then the answer was obvious. He must not be able to do it by himself, or he would have done so. Abigail shrugged free and took a step back. “No. I’m not going to help you.”
His eyes hardened into steel points. “This class is an important part of your placement here at the Tarkana Witch Academy. I would hate for you to be expelled.”
Abigail gasped. He would never … but she read the coldness in his stare. He didn’t really care. Right now, he needed her to help him with this metamorphis spell, and nothing else mattered.
Vertulious unscrewed the lid on a jar. Abigail recognized the ingredient, gallillium, the same one Portia had mentioned.
He opened the cage door—ignoring the spitting, hissing shreek—and snapped his fingers. The shreek froze on its perch. He pried open its beak, sprinkling some of the gallillium powder down its throat.
“Now, class, the gallillium will make the shreek bigger, but to create metamorphis, we need something from an Omera to spark the change.” He reached into his robes and pulled out a pointed tooth. “Like this fang I found walking in the swamps one day.” He waved his left hand, causing the air in front of the shreek to swirl. The creature’s eyes moved wildly from side to side as a hole in its chest grew larger.
Was that its tiny heart beating away?
Vertulious slipped the fang into its chest and then waggled his finger.
The hole sealed up, and the shreek shook itself, hissing at them.
“Now say the words with me,” Vertulious said. “Cabela ello morpheus.”
Abigail remained mute. This was wrong. If she was expelled, so be it.
The alchemist leaned in and spoke in her ear. “Do it now, or your little Balfin friend might have a terrible accident.”
Abigail’s heart clenched.
“Don’t be shy,” Vertulious said loudly. “Everyone is waiting.”
The whole class had gone silent. Even Endera raised her eyes to see what would happen next.
Abigail took a deep breath, hating herself but knowing she didn’t have a choice. “Cabela ello morpheus.”
“Now a source of power.” Vertulious raised his hand and unleashed a blaze of green witchfire that circled the cage and made the shreek freeze. “Join me,” he commanded.
Reluctantly, she raised her hands and released her own blast of witchfire. Oddly, he didn’t ask her to remove her sea emerald, so her witchfire was as green as his.
The class oohed as their twin blasts of witchfire joined, turning the cage into a glowing orb that lifted off the table, then simply disappeared. The shreek remained trapped in the center of the ball of light.
“Repeat the words again,” he said.
Abigail wanted to resist, but Hugo’s face flashed in front of her.
“Cabela ello morpheus.”
The shreek began to spin in the air, twirling faster and faster until it was a blur. A ball of mist grew larger and larger around it, shrouding it from sight.
Finally, Vertulious held a hand up, and Abigail dropped her hands, gasping with fatigue.
The mist cleared, unveiling a hulking black winged creature perched on the table. The shreek continued to grow, swelling and expanding as a spiked tail emerged and its snout lengthened, adding a row of sharp pointed teeth. One leg extended toward the floor; the other kicked the table away, sending it crashing into the wall.
The creature opened one eye, revealing a red stare that was pure evil.
Vertulious stepped closer and reached out a tentative hand to touch the snout. Abigail half hoped the shreek-Omera would leap on the alchemist and do away with him, but it simply butted its snout against his hand. Vertulious smiled, then turned to face the class. “Job well done, Abigail.” He clapped, and the class joined in—all except for Endera, who just glared at her.
Cold dread penetrated her bones.
What had she done?
Chapter 3
Hugo hurried up the stone steps of the Balfin School for Boys and pushed open the door. He was late, so the hallways were empty. Good. At least no one would pummel him. He made his way to his first class, dreading every step. History had always been his favorite class under Professor Oakes, but the new teacher, steely-eyed Lieutenant DeGroot, continued to find ways to make Hugo’s life miserable.
The door to the Assembly Hall opened, and another teacher spied Hugo and beckoned him forward.
“Hurry up, Suppermill. There’s a big announcement coming.”
Reluctantly, Hugo let himself be pulled in, wishing he had just stayed home. The hall was packed with boys from every year. DeGroot stood up front with his back to the students, busy writing on a board. As Hugo hunted for a seat, someone stuck a boot out, and he tripped, spilling his book bag onto the floor.
Oskar, his biggest tormentor, grinned wickedly down at him.
Laughter rippled through the boys. DeGroot turned, a dark frown on his face. “Silence!”
The hall went quiet.
DeGroot cast Hugo a withering glare. “Suppermill, tardiness is grounds for suspension.”
Hugo picked himself up, wanting to tell DeGroot nothing would make him happier, but he caught a warning look from his brother, Emenor, who sat up front. Instead Hugo mumbled an apology and found a seat.
DeGroot must have had other things on his mind, because he turned to face the assembly, clearing his throat and waiting for absolute silence before announcing, “Today, we make history. We have received the go-ahead from the High Witch Council to launch our offensive. War has begun.” As excited murmurs spread among the boys, he held his hand up for silence. “One of you boys will be playing a vital role.”
Hugo straightened. Boys playing a vital role? The Balfin Boys’ Brigade was meant to train them to join the actual brigade once they were of age. Ten-year-old boys wouldn’t be much use on the battlefield.
“I’ll be needing a cabin boy,” DeGroot said. “Someone to look after my weapons and assist me. It’s a chance to see the action up close. Who would like to volunteer?”