Wizard's Assistant

Darkwood Academy Book One: Wizard’s Assistant By Mona Whitlock ©2011 Blushing Books Publications and Mona Whitlock

Copyright © 2011 by Blushing Books® and Mona Whitlock All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. Published by Blushing Books®, a subsidiary of ABCD Graphics and Design 977 Seminole Trail #233 Charlottesville, VA 22901 The trademark Blushing Books® is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office. Whitlock, Mona Darkwood Academy Book One: Wizard’s Assistant eBook ISBN: 978-1-60968-527-0 Cover Design: ABCD Graphics

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Chapter One “A female? You're sending a female to me for training?” Professor Cain Litchfield's lip curled in a sneer, his dark eyes narrowing at the old man sitting across from him. “What was it that I told you when I agreed to instruct the students you brought me?” Most other people would have withered under such a gaze. But Claudius Clack was too old to care. And, he knew, too powerful should push come to shove. The years may have slowed him, but he still possessed a deep and thunderous magic within him. So his response to the irate teacher was to smile. “My memory has not yet gone, Cain,” he replied softly. “I recall that you made it clear that you considered females too weak in body and mind for the kind of magic you teach. And I know that you value your reputation. Every one of your students has gone on to be quite powerful.” He paused, looking over his half-moon glasses. “Even if they did not all turn out to be well-intentioned.” Cain ignored him. “You're going to force my hand on this one, aren't you Claudius?” He tossed aside his quill and sat back, obviously exasperated. “You are the authority, after all. I will have to respect your will even as you thwart mine.” Claudius refused to acknowledge the jab. They both knew as head of their wizarding order, Claudius could force Cain’s hand. But it was not Claudius’ style. He bent people like he bent energy - deftly, and with grace. “Do not think that I’m insisting on your taking this student because I seek to thwart your personal prohibition against taking on females, Cain. I realize that there are other, capable teachers out there who would be glad to have her…” “Then why not let them?” Cain asked, his voice edged with anger. But Claudius Clack remained calm. “Because, Cain, you are the best. And the kind of untapped, undirected, unschooled power must be brought under control of its owner. Only a firm hand and an astute magical mind can help her, and you are the only wizard I know who is fit for this task.” He paused. “I do not embellish when I say this female is gifted, Cain. She could be the next Gildon Bavmore.” “Oh, please.” Cain tossed his quill aside and rose from his chair. He walked briskly across the stone floor of his tower room and turned back to Claudius while pointing at a huge stone portrait of a verenable looking man with a snow white

beard. The ice blue eyes of the man in the painting looked down at the men; the eagle owl on the back of his chair ruffled its feathers. “Do you really think you can compare some…some…girl to the man who taught you and me all that we know? Do you dare equate a child with the greatest wizard of our lifetime?” “Not child, Cain. She’s a woman. A villager. And I took her before she could be burned as a witch. She is already here. She’s confused and scared a bit angry at not yet getting an explanation.” “Why haven’t you?” Cain asked. “Because I want you to talk to her. You will set the tone. I daresay I am too kind with new students.” Cain walked back over to the older man and put his hands on the desk as he leaned over. His dark hair fell as a curtain over his face and he peered through it as Claudius Clack. “Very well,” he said. “But make no mistake. I am strict with my students. I do not spare the rod in the figurative or literal since. I do not care how old she is; if she displeases me she shall find herself as harshly punished as any male student. Humility is the first lesson I teach; we both know that it does not behoove a wizard to become heady from their own abilities. Even Gildon Bavmore realized that there’s always someone stronger than we are.” Behind him the man in the picture nodded. “Of course, knowing that can’t save us if that person wants us dead.” Cain uttered the words sadly as he glanced back at the painting. Even now, the loss of his mentor caused an icy stab of pain in what was left of his heart. “That’s why she needs a good teacher,” Claudius Clack said. “The wizarding conflicts are getting more serious, more costly to both sides. The last thing a brilliant mind like hers needs is arrogance. You, Cain, will be able to foster her great talents while teaching her respect for authority.” “Have you told this wizarding prodigy what you have in store for her? Does she have even the remotest of ideas?” Cain said the words “wizarding prodigy” as sarcastically has he dared. Again the elder wizard ignored him.

“I have told her that her training will be demanding, and difficult and that at times she will find it harder by far than the persecution she faced in the village. That’s another reason I want her under your care. She is not an easy person, this woman. She’s headstrong and fierce. You’ll know this just by looking in her eyes.” “A fierce woman?” Cain could not contain his smirk. “A fierce woman is far more formidable than a fierce man,” Clack advised. “You will have your hands full, Cain, and I personally think you stand to learn as much from this student as she has to learn from you. For too long your students have cowered in fear and awe of you. I believe you will find this young woman to be quite different.” “No wonder she has no respect for authority if you’ve already made her think she is so special and so strong,” Cain said. “Please don’t be disappointed when I have your arrogant little chit begging for mercy by the end of her first day.” Claudius Clack stood and smiled wryly. “Whatever you say, Cain.” He turned and began to hobble towards the door. His gait filled Cain with a pang of something akin to sadness. It bothered him to see the oldest and strongest wizard he knew finally starting to show his age. Cain reached for the doorknob with a wizened hand but stopped before opening it. He turned back to the professor and raised a knowing eyebrow. “If your strategy is to be overly cruel to drive her away, I will consider that an act of defiance on your part, Cain,” he said. Cain glowered. The thought had crossed his mind but had passed out of it with equal swiftness. Claudius did not need to tell him that such an obvious strategy would be unsuccessful. “Give me more credit than that,” he spat. Claudius offered a small smile before exiting. When the door was shut, Cain slumped back into his chair and massaged his forehead, trying to relieve the tension he felt building there. A woman? Really? Cain was abashedly unapologetic in his chauvinism. He had great respect for women practicing magic as healers and diviners. Some of the most skilled potion makers he knew were women, and Mara, one particular hedgewitch he knew quite well, was unmatched for her skills in communicating with creatures seen and unseen. But the kind of magic he taught - the kind

designed for battle against the forces out to consolidate all power under their own ruling mantle - was powerful, too powerful for women naturally hampered by emotion. He knew he could not drive this new student away with excessive cruelty, but should she choose to leave because she could not handle his rules or discipline, he would make it clear to Claudius Clack that she was not the first of his students to realize they could not weather his authority. He’d had male students bow out after feeling the lash of his cane; he’d made them break down and sob as they shed any pretenses of bravery. Cain was good and finding and exploiting weaknesses; this was part of his teaching style. Dark wizards like Wulfric Larchmont or Ivor Darwood could reach inside one’s psyche, find the deepest and darkest fears and use those fears to drive lesser wizards mad. Cain knew some of his fellow professors dismissed these dark abilities, or had dismissed them, until a promising young wizard named Dax Rackley had thrown himself from the old belltower two days after a mild confrontation with Wulfric Larchmont. It had been a simple disagreement; Dax was an arrogant young man in training under Professor Larkwing. He’d been at a lecture being presented by Larchmont where he’d openly disputed the older wizard’s theory on battling wraiths. Larchmont had darkened visibly at being challenged and while Dax had departed pleased at his own hubris, friends reported him becoming increasingly agitated almost from the moment of departing the lecture. That night he woke up screaming from terrible nightmares and by the next afternoon would speak to no one. He was last seen mumbling to himself on the outskirts of the forest before being found dead the next day at the foot of the bell tower. In his hand, he clutched a locket with the picture of his mother who had died when he was only a few months old. Dax had never been known to speak of his mother, although he did possess the locket. Cain was convinced that Larchmont was able to use something about her untimely demise to drive Dax Rackley to suicide. If he could do this to an arrogant young man, what could he do to a woman who was prone to be far more empathetic and emotional? It was another reason he did not take on females. But now he had no choice. A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. “Enter,” he said. The door opened and a young man entered. He was tall and well built, with deep blonde hair. Cain nodded, acknowledging his apprentice’s presence. “Ethon,” he said. He gestured to a table by his desk. “You may put the books there.”

The young man carried the stack to the place indicated and set them down. “Did I see Claudius Clack here, sir?” he asked. “You did,” Cain said without looking up. “But what concern would that be of yours?” “None, sir,” Ethon replied quietly. Years in Cain’s service had taught him the nuances in the professor’s tone. On some days he was more willing to share things. When he was quiet like this, it meant he was brooding and if pressed was more likely to deliver a lashing than information. “I’ll be going now, sir,” Ethon said. “If there isn’t anything else…” It was his last, best effort to get information. Ethon hated not knowing what was going on. “We’re getting a new student,” Cain said without looking up. “Oh?” Ethon tried to keep his voice impassive, but he was intrigued. More than intrigued, actually. So that was why Claudius had visited.. “I’ve been informed that she starts tomorrow.” Ethon took a step forward. “She? sir?” he asked. “You’re taking on a female?” Cain Litchfield looked up. “By order of Claudius Clack. My objections, it seems, have been overridden.” “Might I ask why, professor?” Ethon pressed cautiously. “Headmaster Clack seems to think this female possesses extraordinary skill. He wants me to nurture them, and to train her.” Ethon laughed. Years of listening to his mentor’s rants on the weaknesses of females and his belief that they be banned from the kind of powerful magic taught within the order had infected him with Cain’s chauvinism. “If I may be so bold to say so, she won’t last,” Ethon said. “I’ve seen more than a dozen strong young men leave this place in defeat before their trunks were completely unpacked.”

“I’ve told the headmaster that I will give her a fair chance, but she’ll get no more leniency than any of you. One misstep, one word out of line and she’ll feel the sting of my rod.” Ethon winced at the words. It had been a long time since he’d been physically punished by Professor Litchfield, but he knew even as his valued apprentice he still could be disciplined it should his mentor see fit. He could still recall the terror the first time the professor had stormed over to him, his face thunderous. Ethon had been eighteen years of age and newly inducted as a student. He’d been arrogant and eager to learn. He’d always been told he was wise beyond his years, gifted, brilliant. For a normal youth it would have been bad enough, but to have been told that by a wizarding family meant double the hubris. By the time he’d reached Darkwood Academy for the Magical Arts, Ethon was full of himself and thought nothing of speaking to a classmate while Professor Cain Litchfield was offering his introduction to the incoming class. The next thing he knew, the professor was storming towards him, black robes billowing. He grabbed the young man by the nape of his robe and hoisted him from his chair in a grip far stronger than Ethon could have imagined. He held his other hand out and from across the room a cane rose from the desk and flew to meet his open palm. Ethon fought, humiliated and indignant as Professor Litchfield thrashed him. He’d come to the school expecting to be Darkwood’s newest star pupil. After all, Ethon’s father was a powerful wizard in his own right and all his young life he’d been told he would carry on the family’s magical legacy. He’d arrived at the school to almost rock star fanfare. Aliester and Mordana Silverhand’s only son - of age at last and ready to receive instruction in the arcane arts that would propel him to greatness. To be hauled up on his first day and beaten to tears by the school’s most noted professor was an humbling experience. And from then on, Professor Litchfield singled Ethon out on a daily basis for scorn. He berated him for his wrong answers and underplayed his achievements. He gave the young man all sorts of punishments and penalties, from severe canings to extra assignments that kept him up all through the night. Only in Ethon’s second year, when it took all his strength and will to make it through just one more day under Professor Litchfield’s tyranny, did he realize that he was leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates. The extra work that Cain had given him as punishment had given him an academic and magical advantage, and the discipline meant he stayed on top of his assignments better than his peers. Professor Litchfield began having Ethon assist him with class preparations, potion-making and even let him lead a class of juniors. He began introducing Ethon as his assistant, although he’d never formally told his beleaguered student that he’d been singled out and groomed for that very purpose. Student who’d received only a fraction of the professor’s ire had left, unable to take the strict approach. Ethon realized that the professor’s demeanor was a test to the entire class, but that he’d been tested more than anyone else.

And he had passed. His position was secure and Ethon realized that he was, indeed, destined for greatness under the tutelage of his stern mentor. The idea of a female entering his class at Darkwood and being subjected to Cain Litchfield’s oversight made him smile with perverse satisfaction. Claudius Clack must be growing daft, he thought, to insist that a woman could handle the class. Even though he since had graduated and now worked fulltime as Cain’s assistant, Ethon had not grown particularly independent minded. He was completely devoted to the cruel professor, and part of him was pleased that the new student who excited the headmaster was not a male. His position working so closely to such a powerful wizard as Cain Litchfield was his ticket to advancement. The last think he wanted was competition from some new magical upstart. Had this been a male student Cain was taking on, Ethon would have been worried. But this was a female, and he would enjoy seeing her broken by the man who had almost broken him. “Ethon. I’m in need of assistance. Would you like to keep your job, or would you rather I find someone who’s less inclined to daydream?” The younger man turned. “My apologies, professor,” he said deferentially. “What would you have me do?” “Go prepare the tower room for our new student,” he said. Cain’s tone was agitated, as if he could not believe he was actually having to go to the trouble. “Keep it Spartan. Just put out the basic linens, the basic books, the basic robe. If she expects flowers and candy in her quarters she’s sorely mistaken.” “What of her magical tools, Professor? Should I find an old wand, perhaps one left behind by a drop-out?” “No,” the professor said. “Something tells me that she will have been equipped both with her wand and her familiar by the time she arrives. I know Claudius Clack. He will no doubt send her to us with what she needs. I personally disagree with his style in these matters. I believe even the basics should be earned. But it’s always been his philosophy for students to have their tools and companions to grow with them. He seems to ignore the fact that a good wand or a good familiar will not compensate for flaws inherent in some of those who walk through those doors.” He paused. “Especially the ones who arrive heralded.” Ethon laughed, unaware that the description could have easily fit him. He headed up to fix the room, which was apart from the boys’ wing. The new student would be housed in the tower with him and the professor, which he felt an odd choice.

On the other hand, as the only female perhaps Professor Litchfield wanted to keep an eye on her. Ethon turned the key in the door and opened it. The room was round, with stone walls and a cobweb-filled fireplace. He sighed, resenting that he had to clean it. “So be it,” he thought. “I’ll still get the last laugh when it’s vacated.”

Chapter Two Capella Thornberry knew the polite thing to do when offered something was to say ‘thank you.’ But as she surveyed the animals staring at her from perches and pillows, she couldn’t form the words. Claudius Clack had taken her into the small stone hut and informed her that she could pick any animal she wanted. It was an odd gesture; having just left home did she really need an animal to care for? After a moment, she put the question to the kindly old wizard. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it,” she explained. “I just don’t know if I have the means to take care of a pet.” “Oh, these aren’t pets,” the wizard said solemnly. “These are magical companions. They only look like animals. But inside is a spirit that will bond to yours and assist you in your magical workings. Capella looked around the hut again, trying to see the animals with new eyes. A crow glared at her as it preened its molting feathers. A hedgehog snoozed under a chair. Two cats lay curled into furry commas, cradling one another. A large toad eyed a fly buzzing near the clay pot it squatted beside. Snakes curled up in corners. “How do I choose?” she finally asked. If the animals had the abilitites Claudius Clack claimed they have she didn’t see it. But that didn’t mean she doubted him. Back home, she was proficient in taking in and healing all manner of wild things and had always believed animals could talk to her. But some animals seemed more communicative than others. All these animals looked sullen and disinterested. “You don’t,” Claudius Clack said kindly. “You choose each other. Look closer…” He urged her forward and Capella began to walk around the room, examining each animal as she went. She did not know what she was looking for - a look, a hint of affection. A glimmer of recognition that would indicate a kindred soul… But the animals largely ignored her. Capella began to feel discouraged, but the old wizard did not seem concerned. “Perhaps we’d have better luck in the henhouse,” he said. The henhouse? Capella tried to imagine herself casting spells with a chicken by her side. The image hardly seemed dignified. But she followed Claudius out the door just the same. The cottage garden was overgrown, the wild tangle harboring as many creatures as the indoors. Rabbits darted in and out of the hedgerows. Cats

sunned on garden walls. And then, right by the henhouse door she saw him. And she knew. The fox regarded her from its perch on a barrel. It was red, its impressive tail curled around its slender black legs. Its yellow eyes were fixed on Capella’s face. She started to say ‘hello,’ but the fox beat her to it. It was not a verbal greeting, but a silent one. Capella looked at Claudius and smiled. “I thought so,” he said. “You have the same color hair.” The fox hopped gracefully down from the barrel, landing - catlike - on the ground. It padded over to her and circled her, inspecting her from all sides. Capella stood, watching it. Then she reached into her pocket. She always kept scraps of bread there for the birds and now knelt to offer some to the fox. It walked up, its nose twitching and then gingerly took the bread. Tossing it up in the air, it caught it with a snap of its jaws and ate it. Capella laughed, delighted as it sat down and stared at her, clearly expecting more. “Well,” Claudius said, sounding pleased. “That settles that.” “I can’t pay you for him,” Capella said. “He isn’t for sale,” Claudius replied. “The animals find their way here for this purpose. He was meant for you, Capella, just as the wand you choose was meant for you.” Her hand went to just under her cloak, where the cherry and aspen wand she’d selected nestled in a leather holster. Claudius had taken her to a strange man who’d only glanced up briefly at her as he turned a new wand on a lathe. “Top shelf, third row,” he’d said, and Claudius had guided her to ladder. Capella had been forced to climb until she found the spot. Wands were jammed into bundles, but one fell open as she reached the shelf and all the wands toppled to the side except for one. The handle was a burnished red color, the shaft the color of wheat. It tingled in her hand. “And now, you are ready,” Claudius said as the fox curled at her feet. Then his face turned grave. “Now the hard part begins.” “You did tell me this would not be easy,” Capella said, trying to look brave. In truth, she’d asked herself repeatedly why she’d agreed to go with the old man. True, he’d saved her from being burned as a witch. But he’d made it clear that she did not have to enter into magical training if she did not want to. Then she’d asked

herself what else there was for her and she could not answer that question. She’d always tinkered in herbs and potions and spells. It had never been an issue until the new priest had come to town - a new priest who preached that what she’d been doing since childhood was the work of the devil. “It may be easier,” she said, “if you would tell me what to expect.” “You can expect to learn, child,” Claudius Clack said. “But you can expect your teacher to be demanding and stern and even cruel. He is a hard man, and does not want you for a student.” “Then why would you send me to him?” Capella asked, confused. “Why not send me to another teacher? Aren’t there others?” “Oh, there are many,” Clack assured her. “But none so good. Professor Litchfield is unrivaled, especially in areas of protection and combat.” “Combat?” she asked. “These are trying times, my dear.” She nodded. “You’re referring to the witch burnings.” “That and more,” he said. “Talented witches and wizards aren’t just being killed by the non-magical; they are also targeted by one another.” He patted her arm. “But enough of this. We’re getting ahead of ourselves now. Just remember these things: Study hard. Submit. And remember that in time you will have the freedom and power you desire.” He studied her face. She look suddenly worried. “What’s wrong, Capella?” he asked. She sighed. “I can study. I’m quite good at that. And I’m patient, too. I know I can bide my time. But submitting? In all honesty, sir, I cannot say I’ve ever been good at that.” He smiled. “I can see that in you,” he agreed. “But Professor Litchfield is not an man tolerant of disobedience, or any hint of defiance to his authority. As part of his agreeing to take you on as a student, he has insisted that I not interfere. And I have agreed. Once I hand you over to him, I cannot help you.”

Capella pondered this. She’d dealt with difficult people before. Often a secret charm would put them to right, but this was different. This man was a powerful wizard and her simple magical remedies would be unlikely to help.” “But I could leave if I wanted….,” she asked. “Yes, oh yes,” Claudius said, peering at her over the top of his half-moon glasses. “You could leave and go back to the village. They’d burn you there. Or you could run and find the same fate in any other village. Perhaps you could marry some pig farmer and bear his children, wondering as each day passed why you did not follow your true calling…” She frowned at the old wizard. His words irritated her because they were true. She really had no choice. “I won’t disappoint you,” she said. “I won’t let you down.” “I’m not worrying about your letting me down,” he said. “I’m more worried about your letting yourself down. You have no idea of your potential, Capella. Once you realize it, I fully expect you to amaze not just the world, but yourself as well.” “Thank you,” she said. He smiled. “You can thank me later. But now you must go.” As if knowing something she did not, the fox jumped up. She felt herself grab him even as Claudius Clack’s wand touched her on her forehead. She felt an odd sensation of warmth and then everything collapsed around her. Capella was mometarily twirling in a dark void, fox in tow, before finding herself standing in a room with stone walls. She swayed a bit and knelt to put the fox down, cupping its face and turning it up to hers as she did. “Are you all right, little guy?” she asked. “He’s quite fine, I assure you. Our magical companions handle projection far better than we do.” The voice that had spoken was both soft and deep. Capella looked up from where she still knelt. The man who addressed her was tall, with shoulder-length black hair. His face was handsome, his eyes intense. He looked to be in his forties, but it was hard to tell in the light. He did not look at all friendly. “Professor Litchfield,” she said.

“Correct,” he replied. “Which means one of us has had the benefit of at least having a name. I would have yours now.” She stood. “Capella,” she responded. “Capella Thornberry.” “That’s a peculiar name,” he said. “I’m a peculiar person,” she replied. He smirked. “Already eager to point out how special we are, are we?” “No,” she attempted to clarify. “It’s just…” “Spare me,” he said with a snort, and turned away. Capella told herself to be calm. Claudius Clack had warned her, after all. She remained silent as Professor walked to the window and looked out. He said nothing for several long moments before turning back to her. “You may have stood out in the village, but here at Darkwood you are nothing more than another student. You abilities do not make you special here no more than those freckles on your nose made you special back home.” He began to walk towards here. “Here you are not an anomaly and you will do as you are told when you are told.” He was level with her and she looked up at him. Professor Litchfield was scowling down at Capella. He was so close she could smell the scent of his robes. They smelled like strange herbs and smoke. She felt slightly lightheaded. “Is that clear?” he asked. “Yes,” she said quietly. He smirked again. “You’ll be wanting to see your quarters, I suppose. I had them furnished only with the basics since I don’t expect you to be staying. Despite the headmaster’s reassurances, I can already sense the weakness in you.” She looked up at him, the irritation she’d tried to quell rising in her breast. “Oh really?” she asked. “Really,” he said. “Clack’s gone soft in the head, sending me some pretty little female. So embarrassing for him to see gifts in you that I do not sense. The only thing I see before me is a simple hedgewitch.”

Capella realized then that he was trying to provoke her. So she simply smiled. “And how lucky of me to be given a chance to learn from someone so accomplished, not just in magic but in charming women. I can see why you prefer the company of men…” She gasped in fear then as he grabbed her by the shoulder of her cloak and pulled her close to him. “Are you mocking me, young lady?” he asked. His tone was dangerous. “Are you so eager to feel the lash of my cane on your bare bottom?” When her eyes widened in fear he smirked down at her. “Oh yes. I will do it. And gladly, should you stand in my presence one more second.” Cain Litchfield shoved her back then and for good measure stomped in the direction of the fox which had started to growl at him. The fox rushed behind Capella and glared at the professor, but the growling stopped. “Ethon!” His voice carried through the room and a moment later his assistant appeared, his eyes disapproving and arrogant as they appraised the new student. “So this is her…” “Indeed,” Cain replied disdainfully. “Her name is Capella. Now get her out of my sight. She’ll spend the rest of the day in her quarters thinking on how fortunate she was to have escaped immediate punishment.” Capella did not want to admit to herself just how shaken she was by her treatment. She said nothing to her new teacher as she followed his assistant out of the room and up the winding staircase. He moved quickly without even bothering to look back at her or offer her help with her bags. The little fox followed closely at her heels. “You’ll be staying here.” Ethon had reached a door at the top of the tower. It opened to a small round room with an uncomfortable looking bed, a chamberpot, a wardrobe and a washstand. On a small table lay a stack of worn books, a quill and an inkwell. “You can put your things in the wardrobe. I believe the professor told you not to leave the room. I would suggest you do as you are told, if you know what’s good for you.” “Thank you,” Capella said. “Thank you?” Ethon’s tone was sarcastic. “That’s all you have to say?”

She looked at him, puzzled. “Were you expecting something else?” “Oh come now,” he said. “Don’t attempt to deceive me. I know you are just dying to ask me why Professor Litchfield dislikes you. I’m quite sure you’d like to know how you can make things easier on yourself. Do you think me unapproachable? Or do you think you’re above asking for help from a friend?” “Friend?” she asked. “You don’t even know me.” “No,” he said quietly. “But I know the professor. I know how hard my early months were here at Darkwood.” His tone softened and he sighed. “I’d hate to see you go through the same thing. At her feet the fox growled. “Shh,” she said to the animal. “It’s alright.” Capella looked back at Ethon and sighed, relieved. “I could use a friend,” she said. “You look like it.” He smiled then and Capella was struck by how handsome the young man was, with his wavy hair the color of aged parchment and bright blue eyes. “I’ll tell you this if you promise not to let the professor know we talked. He’s a strict man, and he’d be furious if he knew I were giving you pointers. And if there’s one thing you should know about him, it’s that he gives his students tests. Not just written tests, but tests of character. The one I failed early on is one I hope to help you pass. When he tries to intimidate you and belittle you, what he is really doing is seeking to determine if you are strong enough to stand up for yourself, strong enough to stand up against him. He deplores weakness and considers meekness to be the worst weakness of all..” “But the old wizard told me…” she began, remembering how Clack had cautioned her to obey. But Ethon cut her off before she could finish. “Clack is overly cautious. And if you don’t mind my saying, he’s far too chivalrous. He clearly told you to be obedient because he feared that a mere woman would be wiser to hold her tongue and be deferential. It’s my opinion that as a woman you should do the opposite. Show the professor right away that your gender does not make you afraid. Show him, Capella, and you will earn his respect.”

Capella nodded. Her instincts had been right all along, and she regretted not speaking up when she had the chance. But she would get the chance, she told herself. And next time she would not pass it up. “Thank you…” “…Ethon,” he said. “I’m Professor Litchfield’s assistant. It’s not always an easy task, but if you know how to handle him it’s not hard to be a good assistant or a good student.” “Well I appreciate your help,” she said. But at her feet, the fox growled. “Ssh,” she said, before looking back up at Ethon. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. He’s been so quiet until just now.” Ethon frowned at the fox. “You need to see to its training,” he said. “I’ve never cared for foxes. They are too much like cats.” “I like cats,” Capella said. “I miss mine.” “You’re better off without them,” he continued, eyeing the fox. “Cats are too…..nosy.” He continued to regard the fox. “I don’t like nosiness in an animal, especially a familiar.” The fox growled again. “I must be going,” he said. “Remember what I said, but keep it to yourself. Ordinarily I don’t get involved, but I want you to get off on the right foot with Professor Litchfield, especially since you come so highly recommended.” He turned away and she thought she saw him smirk but decided it was just a play of light on Ethon’s handsome face. She was suddenly tired, and finally glad to be alone when Litchfield’s assistant shut the door. The fox stared at the door for several seconds, still growling. Capella knelt beside the animal. “Really,” she said. “You shouldn’t get so suspicious, my little friend.” On the other side of the door, Cane Litchfield’s assistant smiled, knowing that the fox had seen through him even if Capella had not. If she followed his advice, which he hoped she would, then his potential rival would be driven out in tears by week’s end.

Chapter Three Cane Litchfield sat at his desk, pondering the box sitting before him. It had been years since he’d opened it. He’d told himself he never would again, that the part of him that needed to be reminded of the past had died along with the one person he had ever allowed himself to love. But now, having met the new student, Cain was compelled to open the box if for no other reason than to prove to himself that he was not merely imagining the resemblance. Her picture was at the bottom of the box, underneath a few other mementoes he had to remember her by. There was the apple she’d conjured from a stone when Cain had complained the one he’d packed wasn’t sweet enough. Of course, the apple was inedible, but in his mind, the gesture made it the sweetest apple he’d ever seen. There was a ribbon that had fallen from her hair when he’d followed her around school. Back in those days she had no inkling that he’d fancied her, and Cain had felt guilty keeping her ribbon. But the smell of her hair clung to it, and Cain carried it with him for weeks until he worked up the nerve to talk to her. Her letters were here, too, including the last one. He’d received it two days after learning of her death. In it she’d spoken of the excitement she felt at being interviewed by Wulfric Larchmont for a teaching position at Ravenhook School for the Magical Arts. Cain had done his best to persuade her to seek a position at Darkwood, but she’d been insistent that they work apart as first year professors. The magical conflicts were not yet brewing then and Cain still believed that the poison that had taken his true love’s life had been an attempt to keep her from revealing something she’d discovered about Larchmont and his plans. He put the letter down and picked up her picture. Her hair was as auburn as he remembered, her eyes as sea green. A wreath of tiny white butterflies circled her head like a crown. The image in the picture smiled as she picked a dandelion puff and blew on it. The puff turned into small fairy which kissed her and then flew away. Cain watched the scene once more before putting the picture back. Falina. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. And the most determined. He’d not been a full professor when she’d entered the school. He’d been an assistant to Gildon Bavmore then, but had enjoyed the pleasure of having Falina in one of his classes before she graduated. Since they were technically both students, he’d not thought it too untoward to start a relationship with her, especially since she was closer to his age.

He’d been surprised when she’d agreed to see him. There were many other males at the school who were after her, and some arguably more suited. Falina and Cain were as different as night and day. Where he was stoic and brooding, she was impetuous and animated. Where he was tall and broad-shouldered, she was almost elfin in form. But intellectually they were equals and she had a scholarly side to her that impressed him. In classes she was the first to offer an answer to his questions. Her papers on magical theory and practice were brilliantly argued and brilliantly written. Cain was as smitted with her mind as he was with her beauty. The only problem he had with Falina was her willfulness. She was headstrong, insisting on doing things her own way. He was not the strict professor he became in the wake of her death, when guilt led him to believe that to discipline students could be to save them. He’d told Falina not to go. He’d begged her not to go. Even then he had a bad feeling about Wulfric Larchmont. It was one thing for a wizard to be ambitious, but Larchmont’s quiet recruitment of the best and brightest was of concern to Cain. He knew it was also a concern to Bavmore, who was headmaster at the time. If only they had paid more heed to the rumors that had started to swirl. If only they had paid more heed; if they had, Cain would have stopped Falina even if it meant he had to use force. In retrospect it seemed an irony that the one student who could have benefited the most from some serious discipline was the one to whom he could never raise a hand. He’d thought about it; his hand itched to take up the cane for Falina’s benefit, to bend her over his desk, lift her robes and thrash her until she agreed to listen to reason. After her death he swore he would no longer be guided by his emotional attachments. He would make his students fear him; he would condition them to obey without question. They would heed his words, and his warnings. And Cain declared he would no longer take on female students. Falina had refused to listen to logic. He’d told her that it did not matter if they had a relationship while both being Darkwood professors; they could keep their personal and professional lives separate. He even offered to suspend their relationship for a year, if she would only stay at Darkwood, stay close to him. But she wanted to make a name for herself in her own right, she said. She did not want anyone to say her success had a teacher had anything to do with her relationship with another staff member. At Ravenhook, she would just be another junior professor. She would make her name there, and then come back. She’d promised she would. But then she had died. Her last letter alluded to being worried about something. She said she could not give details but would tell Cain when she saw him again. But that had not happened.

“Falina.” Cain ran the tips of his fingers over the picture. She smiled and laughed at the dandelion fairy, her image forever looped. His heart twisted. It was cruel to see her without being able to hold her in his arms. A rap on his door distracted him. He quickly put the picture and other items away, locked the little chest and stood, calling out for the guest to enter as he placed the box back in the cabinet. “Sir,” Ethon bowed his head respectfully upon entering as he always did. “The girl is settled. However…” “What?” asked Cain, turning. Ethon was frowning, his expression concerned. “Did the headmaster warn you of her disrespectful nature before insisting you take her on as a student?” Cain locked the cabinet, glancing irritably at his assistant as he did. “What do you mean, ‘disrespectful’?” “She’s in her quarters, fuming about how you treated her. She said one handpicked by Claudius Clack should expect better treatment. She said she would have spoken up for herself further, but was too taken aback by how you received her. I expect trouble, sir.” Cain Litchfield eyed his assistant. “She said those things?” “Indeed, sir. And while I know it’s none of my business….” “Don’t apologize, Ethon. You did the right thing coming to me. It’s as I suspected; she’s willful and arrogant.” He paused. “Send her to me.” “Right away.” Ethon departed and Cain sat down again behind his desk, pondering his situation. His mind wandered back to Falina, to her beautiful face, light laughter and beauty that hid an iron will. Oh, the things he would have done differently if he were given another chance. But life did not offer second chances, and no magic could turn back the clock. He was still brooding when Capella entered. “As you requested, sir,” Ethon said. “Thank you,” Cain said, rising. “You may leave, Ethon.”

His assistant looked disappointed. “I could tidy up while you speak with her…” “Leave.” It was one word, definitively spoken. Ethon all but slunk back out the door. Capella stood facing Cain Litchfield. “I take it the room meets your exacting standards?” he said. The hint of sarcasm in his voice was obvious. Capella remembered Ethon’s advice. She would not be afraid, even if she found the handsome professor intimidating. “It’s more than adequate,” she said. “Especially since I did not arrive with exacting standards.” He smirked. “If there is something you’d like to say, you should say it,” he said. Capella felt relieved. He was giving her an opening to prove herself. She looked up, her green eyes locking with his gray ones. “It was not my intention to insult you earlier,” she said. “But just as you will not be disrespected, neither will I.” “So you think it is disrespectful for me to remind you that you are simply a hedgewitch?” he asked. Capella sensed a trap in his tone, but was not deterred. “No,” she said. “But I think it is disrespectful for you to attempt to disparage me for being where I am. Perhaps I’m not capable of grand spells - yet - but what magic I practice did help the people of my village.” He sneered. “Before it almost got you burned.” Capella regarded him. “This conversation is not at all instructive,” she said. “I have no interest in conversing with someone who only wants to provoke me. I’m going back to my room.” But as she went to leave, Cain suddenly appeared before the door. Capella gasped. He could not have moved that quickly; he’d just materialized there. “You will not take your leave until I give you permission,” he said softly. “I don’t need your permission to leave,” she said.

He reached forward, and then cried out as he took her by the arm. Capella struggled as Cain Litchfield led her to his desk. He stood by it for a moment, his hand hovering above a can that sat on the edge. Then he looked down at her and raised an eyebrow. “No,” he said. “I think not. It will not take such harsh measures for one I suspect is so soft.” He pointed at his chair and it flew around to where they were. He sat down and pulled Capella over his lap. She fought, but was no match for his strength. Cain was a tall, strong man, well over six feet in height. She was small by comparison and nothing she could do could stop him from what he was doing. “No!” she cried as he lifted her robe and the skirt beneath it. She wore only a thin muslin undergarment, which offered no real protection when he raised his large hand and brought it crashing down with a resounding and painful smack on her upturned bottom. Tears stung Capella’s eyes even as rage and indignation filled her chest. “You have no right!” she cried out. He smacked her again, the force of it sending a burning pain throughout the surface of her buttocks. “I have every right,” he corrected. “You are my student..” SMACK! “…subject to discipline whenever..” SMACK! “…and wherever I choose…” SMACK! “….at my own discretion!” SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Capella tried to respond, but to her horror all she could do was cry. His hand continued to rain down spanks, and the intensity of pain continued to build until she was a broken, sobbing wreck. When she was sure she could bear no more, Capella felt herself hauled up by the back of her robe and raised to standing in front of the professor. “You don’t think you need my permission to leave?” he asked quietly as she sought to catch her breath. “Think again, Miss Thornberry. You need my permission to do anything here, and henceforth if I detect even a hint of such arrogance I will take particular delight in reddening your bottom. Do you understand?” When she did not immediately answer, he gave her a shake.

“Do. You. Understand?” Capella nodded, afraid now to defy him and ashamed of herself for that fear. Outside the door, she could hear her little fox whining and scratching. Ethon had told her that Professor Litchfield had requested she leave it. “My familiar…” she finally managed to say. He looked down at her and for a moment she thought he was going to haul her over his knee again, so angry was his expression. He held out his wand and the door opened. The little fox rushed in, teeth bared, and headed straight towards the professor. But just as suddenly it was intercepted by a large black cat. It seemed to just appear from the shadows and the next thing Capella knew, her fox was under the cat and screaming in fear. She rushed forward to save it, but was restrained by Professor Cain. “No,” he said into her ear, his arms tight around her. “Let your companion figure it out for itself…” The fox was on its side, its head turned up to face the cat’s open mouth. The fox snarled defiantly, but its body language indicated that it was in complete submission, even if it was an unwilling submission. “The fox is like you,” he said. “It realizes it has been bested. It may not feel it, but it knows it’s been beaten. It will now recognize the cat as an authority, and will defer. Unless, of course, it enjoys pain.” His mouth was still close to her hear. “Do you think it does, Miss Thornberry? Do you think your familiar enjoys pain?” She shook her head, tears coursing down her cheeks. “No,” she said. “No, sir.” “Very good. Let’s hope it - and you - will remember your respective places in the order of things.” He let her go and said something in a strange language. The cat reluctantly got off the fox and moved to curl around Professor Litchfield’s leg. The fox sat up, panting and fluffed from fear. Capella could tell it wanted to approach her, but was afraid. Capella looked up at Cain. “Please, sir,” she said.

He released her and she knelt. “Come,” she said. The little fox scurried to her and leapt lightly into her arms. “Your first lesson is at an end,” Professor Litchfield said. “But your homework is an exercise in humility. Follow me.” Capella did as she was ordered, trailing the professor to a door on the other side of the room. It led to a smaller room lined with low tables upon which were heaped cauldrons, flasks and other containers filled with residue. A large cauldron of water was in the center of the room. A scrub brush sat beside it. Capella felt her face flame with anger. He would never expect a male student…. “Do not think you’re being given this task because of your gender,” he said as if reading her mind. “When I first entered Darkwood I did my share of scrubbing vials and pots. It helped motivate me to better things, and allowed me to reflect on how to best get them.” He turned then and headed to the door. “Call for me when you are done.” Professor Litchfield exited, pulling the door shut behind him. Capella heard the key turn in the lock. She was locked in. “At least you’re with me,” she said miserably to the fox, which glared towards the closed door. She sighed, sat down on the stool by the cauldron and ruffled the fur on top of the little animal’s head before picking up a sticky vial and the scrub brush. The remnants of purple goo hung around the edge. It smelled foul. Capella wrinkled her nose, dipped the brush in the soapy water and began to scrub. “I did indeed learn something today,” she said to the fox. “I learned that life in the village wasn’t quite as bad as I thought. At least I only had to clean up after myself.” The fox cocked its head and looked at her. “And I learned not to trust Professor Litchfield’s assistant.” The fox jabbed at the air with its nose and barked in the affirmative. “You tried to warn me,” she continued, putting the freshly cleaned vial aside and reaching for a small cauldron covered it a gritty residue. “I’ll listen to you next time.”

The fox blinked knowingly. Capella shifted on the stool. Her bottom was terribly sore, and she felt a wave of humiliation as she reflected on what had just happened. She wanted to hate Professor Litchfield, to see him as a brute. But something was stopping her. When he’d held her and made her watch the interactions between their familiars she got the sense that his motive was not to simply dominate her. He really did want her to understand the order of things. Ethon had tried to convince her that the best course of action was to defy the professor. But why? Did he see her as a threat? If he did he was no doubt laughing at how easily he had gotten her into trouble. “Let him underestimate me,” she said, reaching for another small cauldron. “It will be to his peril. I will learn magic,” she vowed. “I will learn and I will not give up, no matter how hard they make it for me here.” And she told herself that with every vial, flask and cauldron she scrubbed. By the time she knocked on the door four hours later, her hand sore from scrubbing, Capella was more determined than ever to succeed. “All finished?” Professor Litchfield asked. “Yes, sir,” she said. “Off to bed with you then,” he said. “You’ll find supper waiting for you in your room, and a bath which I am sure you will appreciate. Class is early in the morning after breakfast, which is in the dining hall at six. I expect you at your desk promptly at seven.” Chapter Four Capell had not expected to sleep much on her first night at Darkwood, but her four-hour exercise in humiliation combined with the emotional turmoil she felt in the wake of her punishment left her exhausted. She slept fitfully, and was awakened an hour before class by the feeling of her familiar’s cold nose against her cheek. There was some bread and cheese left over from her dinner the night before. She gave it to her fox before heading to the dining hall. It was a long, narrow room. Students and staff were already seated and eating. She wasn’t sure where she was supposed to sit and felt awkward standing there, especially when she felt everyone’s eyes on her. Then when Ethon approached her she felt herself wishing

for anyone’s attention but his. She no longer trusted him, realizing now that he’d given her the worst possible advice. “Why are you just standing here?” he asked. His voice was kind, and for the first time she detected the phoniness behind it. “I’m not sure where to sit,” she said. He turned and surveyed the room. “All of Professor Litchfield’s students usually sit together.” He pointed to a table lined on either side by young men. They cast unfriendly glances in her direction. “Of course, you may not fit in,” Ethon said silkily. “They’re all quite scholarly and not given to frivolous conversation.” “Oh,” she said. “Perhaps I should go sit with some other females then. Do you suppose that is where the frivolous conversation resides?” She looked over to where some female students sat, distinctly apart from the all-male enclave at Litchfield’s table. “It may offer the only enjoyable conversation you’ll have today,” he said. She looked at him and smiled. “Thank you, Ethon.” Then she turned and headed to Litchfield’s table. He was sitting with the other students, and Capella realized that he’d been watching her interaction with Ethon. She’d longed to tell him of her suspicions regarding his assistant, but had decided against it. She needed to learn to deal with people on her own. If she went to the professor with her problems he’d never respect her. She did not look at him or the other students as she sat down, but she could feel them looking at her as she reached for bread, cheese, fruit and eggs for her plate. “I suppose this would be a good time to make introductions,” Cain Litchfield said to the table. “Everyone, this is our newest student, Capella Thornberry.” “A female, sir?” A young man with shaggy brown hair asked, his voice edged with surprise. “Yes,” the professor replied. “By order of Claudius Clack she has been placed in my class. Just to make things clear, my well-stated opinions on the short-comings of females remains the same. It will be up to Miss Thornberry to convince me -and the rest of you - otherwise.”

Capella looked up at the professor, trying not to let her newly awakened anger show. It was bad enough that she had to prove herself to him, but to announce that she had to prove herself to her peers? Her face reddened, and she sought to hide her emotions. “Can you cook?” asked a stout, bespectacled student across the table. “Because that’s the only kind of female magic I respect.” The other students guffawed, and Professor Litchfield smirked. Capella looked at the young man who’d addressed her. “I could do a better job with those eggs,” she said, nodding at the three boiled ovals on his plate. He smiled, satisfied. “I’d like to see that,” he replied. Capella stared at the eggs. In her mind, she saw them swell and burst. She moved the energy of her vision onto the target. There was a pop and the stout wizard was suddenly covered in bits of egg. Professor Litchfield was on his feet and around the table before Capella could even feel a hint of pride in her work. He grabbed her by the collar of her cloak and pulled her from the bench. Capella stumbled backwards, humiliated by the manhandling. She could feel every eye in the dining hall on her. “You’re coming with me. Obviously the little talk we had last night did no good at all…” She was terrified and embarrassed beyond description. The gazes of students and teachers alike followed her and Cain as he shoved her ahead of him through the dining hall and out the door. Her fox followed, yapping, but every time it got too close the professor’s feline familiar turned and snarled, keeping it back. He drug her up the stairs. Capella tripped several times but managed to keep up. At the top he opened the door to his classroom and flung her inside. She caught the desk to keep from falling. He slammed the door and began to roll up his sleeves as he approached her. “Why am I going to punish you?” he ask as Capella backed away, shaking her head. She struggled to find her voice as he asked the question again, raising his. “WHY am I going to punish you?”

“For…for performing..magic?” she grasped. “No.” He was rolling up the other sleeve. “For attacking…a male student?” He smirked. “No. Try again, Miss Thornberry.” Her heart was pounding. She did not know why she was being punished. “Because you can?” He gave a harsh, sharp laugh. “Good girl. That is true. But it is secondary. What is my primary reason for punishing you?” Professor Litchfield had backed her up against a wall of cabinets. He reached for her and pulled her up against him. His chest was solid and she braced herself against it with her hands, her frightened eyes meeting his stern ones. “I don’t know…” she admitted in a quavering voice. “Then I shall tell you,” he said quietly. “I am punishing you for letting a dunderhead like Herman Philbot provoke you into wasting your magic. He’s an imbecile. Of all the students in my class he is the most mediocre waste of space. And yet you allow him to score points among his peers by seeking and getting a reaction?” His voice was disappointed and suddenly Capella felt ashamed. He was exactly right. How could she have been so stupid. Professor Litchfield held out his hand and a cane rose from a holder across the room and flew into it. “You don’t have to…” she began to plead, seeking to twist herself out of his grasp even as she knew it was futile. “I won’t make the same mistake again.” “No, Capella. You will not.” He pulled her over to his desk and shoved her forward. “I will not hold you,” he said. “Not unless you force me to. But if you do I shall wait until your classmates are back before punishing you for this latest transgression. Would you like that, little hedgewitch? Would you like for them to

all see your bottom striped under my lash? Would you like them to see you weep?” “No!” she cried out the word, not able to imagine anything worse. “Then raise your robes.” She stood, her hands shaking as she lifted the hem of her Darkwood issued garment. “Your skirt, too, Miss Thornberry.” She looked back at him, her eyes pleading. “Your skirt, too,” he responded to her unasked question. She sighed shakily as she obeyed. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done to bend over. Her bottom was still tender from the punishment he’d given her just hours earlier. And now to be caned? She’d seen a few people in the village subjected to such punishment while bound in stocks; she’d found it difficult to watch. But to be subjected to it herself…. Capella heard the whistle of the cane before it hit her. The pain was blinding, literally. A flash of white appeared before her eyes and she screamed. The first blow had landed across the middle of her buttocks. The second landed low, just above her thighs. She cried out plaintively and sank to the floor, feeling nearly sick with agony. He caught her arm. “Do not make me hold you,” he said, and again she was struck by the kindness of his voice. As cruel as he was, she could tell he truly did not want to have to carry through with his threat. “Please,” he said. “Hold your position.” She kept her eyes locked on him as she lowered herself back over the desk. His hand was beside hers as he raised the cane, and just before he brought it down for the third blow Capella grabbed his hand and gripped it. It was just a reaction, but he did not pull it away. Instead, he clasped hers in return and held it even as he brought the cane down for three more brutal lashes. It would have taken too much effort for Capella to even try to stop the tears that coursed down her face when it was over. She did not even attempt to brush them aside as she stood and allowed her robe and skirt to fall back in place. She was

aware of each individual welt that he’d laid across her bottom. She could feel them, puffed with hurt, against the undergarment he’d discreetly readjusted after baring her bottom. “Your classmates will be on their way back,” he said, reaching into the shoulder pocket of his long black jacket to hand her a tissue. “Dry your eyes and try to collect yourself.” She nodded and mopped her face with the handkerchief. She knew it would be apparent that she had been crying but there was nothing she could do. “You’ll sit over there,” he said, pointing to the middle seat behind a table near the front of the room. Capella walked stiffly over to the table and took her seat. She winced visibly as her bottom encountered it and looked up to see if Cain had noticed. He had. His face was entirely unsympathetic, but she told herself that she was to blame, not him. He’d been right; she’d been entirely foolish to let herself be provoked. Herman Philbot was the first through the door. He was swaggering, overconfident by the first socially victorious thing he’d ever done. Capella could see now what the professor had meant. It was obvious by the body language of the others that this young man was the class misfit. He was pudgy, unkempt and unattractive. As his eyes fell on her, he sneered, thinking that his days as bottom of the totem pole were over. Yes, she’s thrown eggs on him, but she’d been hauled out for her crime and he’d gotten credit for her humiliation. “Still here I see,” he said loudly as he took his seat beside Capella. “Yes, Mr. Philbot. She is.” Everyone looked up to see Professor Litchfield addressing the young man. He walked over and when he was inches away he stopped. “But taunt her again and you won’t be.” Philbot’s face reddened to a beet-like color and he looked down at his books, firmly back in his place. The other students, who had been staring at her face, still puffy from crying, turned their attention to their books. “Correspondences…” Professor Litchfield began. “They are the secret between a good magical endeavor and a great one. Tell me, Mr. Stroebel. What would be the danger in using a willow wand to thwart the energy of a powerful sorceress, should such a creature exist?”

The class tittered with laughter and again Capella felt herself flush with anger. She loathed how the professor assured her one moment and the publicly mocked all females the next. “The feminine energy in the willow wand would be sympathetic with to the female,” Stroebel answered. “But what serious wizard have a willow wand anyways?” The class began to laugh, but that laughter instantly faded away when Cain gave his reply. “Me,” he said. He pulled his wand from out of his sleeve. “It’s a combination, actually - willow handle, oak shaft. When I fashioned it, my elders said it would never work; the male aspect of the oak would counter the willow. But in my mind, it seemed that the duality could be powerful. Quite powerful indeed. The handle cannot exist without the shaft. And the shaft nestles perfectly within…” Some in the class smiled, amused at the sexual reference. Capella flushed and looked down, wondering if he were trying - again - to make her uncomfortable. “Balance is important. If you find yourself in a precarious situation, you should be prepared to draw on all the elemental energy you can. If you are facing a hostile female energy, a hostile male energy may or may not be sufficient to thwart it. A balanced energy is best. So if your wand is oak, then carry a moonstone to balance it out. If the wand was willow, what type of stone should you carry?” Capella raised her hand. Everyone turned to look. Professor Litchfield looked surprised and raised an eyebrow. “Miss Thornberry?” “Sunstone,” she said. The class laughed. “Sunstone doesn’t have feminine energy,” snorted Philbot. From the corner of the room, Ethon - who was grading papers - snickered loudly. “No,” she said quietly. “But willow is a water wood. And sunstone is a fire stone.” Professor Litchfield smiled. “Clever girl,” he said, his tone mildly impressed. “Miss Thornberry is correct. There is always more than one way to keep the balance. While you dunderheads were focused on gender, our little hedgewitch was thinking in circles around you.”

Philbot glared at her. “She’s still just a stupid female.” Professor Litchfield covered the short distance between them in two strides. Snatching the young man up by his collar, he shoved him onto the floor. “And you are even less,” the professor snarled. “How dare you try to elevate yourself at the expense of a student who has just correctly answered a question you were two stupid to figure out.” “I need leeches for the potion we’re doing tomorrow,” he said coldly. “Go to the swamp and fetch them.” Philbot looked stricken. “But it’s raining out!” “Then pull your hood over your head.” He snatched the boy up and thrust him towards the door. Philbot stumbled across the room before hurling out, his face red from humiliation as his classmates now turned their laughter on him. Only Capella did not laugh. The boy’s distress made her uncomfortable. She understood now that this was the professor’s way of not letting any one student get too much pride, but she could not take satisfaction in seeing one so broken. At home she’d known her share of misfits. Being one of them, she could remember as a child how hard she wanted to fit in. Over time she’d outgrown that and had become happy to be different. But she knew that was not a skill everyone acquired. Herman Philbot was obviously desperate to be accepted by his peers, even if it meant preying on her to do it. So as the laughter continued, she looked down at her book as she absently stroked the fox that had crawled into her lap. The lecture continued in Herman Philbot’s absence. No one seemed to care that he was gone, but Capella couldn’t help but look towards the window every now and again. The rain was sluicing down the leaded glass and somewhere out there, a very humiliated young man was searching for leeches and likely blaming her for his plight. She knew enough about weak people to know they rarely had the courage to blame themselves or those they knew they could not defeat. He’d find a way to take his anger out on her. She continued to take notes, trying to concentrate, until the end of the class when Professor Litchfield dismissed everyone. Capella stood, eager for a break but as she was preparing to head out Cain called to her. She felt a surge of apprehension; it was never good when he wanted to see her alone. “Sir?” she asked. He was sitting at his desk, not looking at her.

“You disapprove.” “Of what?” “Of what I did to Herman Philbot. But why should you care? What is he to you?” His question confused her. “He is nothing to me,” she said quietly. “And yet during class you worried about him.” She knew it was useless to lie. “It is raining quite hard. And he’s all alone out there.” Now he did look up at her. “You do realize, do you not, that if the situation were reversed he would have been gloating and likely hoping you’d be mauled by a water jinx or some other creature that lurks at the murky swamp’s edge.” “I can’t be responsible for how someone else sees things,” she said. “I can only be responsible for myself. Sir….” He said nothing, but continued to regard her. “Am I in trouble, sir?” she finally asked, worried that she was. For the first time, Cain Litchfield smiled at her. It was a small smile, but a smile nonetheless. But she was too afraid of him to return it. “No,” he said simply. “You may go.” She felt a stab of relief and nodded respectfully before hastening from the class, the fox at her heels. She nearly ran into Claudius Clack on her way out. “Headmaster!” she said. “Miss Thornberry.” The old man smiled, the kind eyes crinkling at the edges. “How are you enjoying your time in Professor Litchfield’s class?” Her bottom still burned from the caning, and he terrified her. Capella did not want to lie, for she could feel the professor watching her. “I’m trying to adjust,” she said.

“Ah, well I suppose that is all one can do when thrust into such a new and unusual life, eh?” “Yes, headmaster. Good day.” “Miss Thornberry?” She turned back. “Yes?” “You will not be walking on the grounds without first informing Professor Litchfield. His permission will be required.” She thought it an odd thing to say, so odd that for a moment she was taken aback. Why would the headmaster impose such a restriction on her. When she had entered the school, he’d told her the grounds were lovely and she would enjoy exploring them. But something told her that to question this now was not a good idea. “As you wish,” she said. He nodded then and slipped into the professor’s classroom, shutting the door behind him.

Chapter Five “The girl’s eyes are red-rimmed. You made her cry, Cain.” It was not an accusation so much as a statement. “She’s willful,” Professor Litchfield said. “I’ve had to correct her. Twice. She’ll thank me later.” “I promised not to interfere…” Claudius began. “Yes, you did,” Cain replied. The older man settled into a chair across the desk from the professor. “There is something you should know, Cain.” The professor looked up. “Is it about the girl?” “It may be nothing, but it has come to my attention that we were not the only ones to hear of a suspected witch in the village. Someone else showed up the next day seeking her. A tall man with silver white hair. He rode a large gray horse. He gave a name but none of the villagers, curiously enough, can now seem to recall it.” Cain’s face grew a shade paler. “Larchmont.” “It would seem a fair guess. He’s used memory blocks before after stealing gold or tumbling some wench against her will. However, one of the women he encountered in this village is a midwife who also happens to be one of our spies. A rather strong protective charm saved her memory and the description is indeed that of Wulfric Larchmont, right down to the scar….” “The only thing I’m glad he ever got from Gildon Bavmore. If only the wound had been fatal.” Cain’s voice was bitter. “There’s little use to dwell, Cain. Larchmont may not have been the better man, but in this case he was indeed the better wizard. We cannot change the past, but it does concern me that one so wicked would have his sights set on our newest student. Apparently he was quite adamant that she be turned over to him, should she resurface. He even produced a trunk of gold for a bounty. Even the church would hand her over for that.”

This information made Cain more uncomfortable. Each side in the current conflict was eager to recruit new talent, but usually the recruits were more trouble than they were worth. Magical abilities did not necessarily mean skill or strength, especially if the person was stupid or unfocused. Like Claudius Clack, Wulfric Larchmont had detected something special in Capella Thornberry. But what? “Don’t you think it is time you were honest with me, Claudius?” Cain’s tone was weary and irritable. “You brought this girl to me expressing high hopes for her abilities, but I know there is more to this story and so do you. Given that you’ve saddled me with her, I think it only fair you should tell me.” The old man was silent. He looked pained, but then he sighed. “Capella Thornberry is Wulfric Larchmont’s daughter.” Whatever Cain had been expecting, this was not it. He sat back hard in his chair and stared at the headmaster. Then he stood. “I want her out of my classroom. Today.” “Cain…” The younger man turned. “If this is true, then her father killed the man who was like a father to me. And he likely also killed the only woman I will ever love. And now you ask me to protect and train her? I will not do it!” “You must, Cain! We must! Wulfric Larchmont has been looking for Capella for years. She does not know her bloodlines or the power in them. She does not know that the people who raised her are not her real parents. She does not know that her mother was a powerful witch tricked into Larchmont’s bed by means of glamour. She fled and hid the baby away, circulating rumors that she’d given birth to a son. She herself went into hiding but two months ago Larchmont found her and tortured her until she admitted that she’d delivered not a son, but a daughter. It was through terrible means that he finally extracted a general location, but nothing more. Capella’s true mother died at Larchmont’s hands and now he seeks to find Capella, to turn her into the greatest sorceress the world has ever known.” He rose, extending his hands to Litchfield in supplication. “Don’t you see? She is better off here, with us. And you cannot hold her heritage against her. How can you? You know she is not bad of heart. In fact, the young woman seems pure in every sense. We must protect her. You, especially, because you have the most knowledge in defensive spells.”

“Her father is my enemy,” Cain said. “I’ve sworn to myself that I would cause him pain in any way I could for what he did to Gildon Bavmore. And to….” “It will cause him more pain to have Capella on our side than it would to kill her, Cain. And besides, you couldn’t do it. She looks too much like Falina.” Cain turned and rushed at the old man. Never had he showed Claudius Clack anything but disrespect, but he was furious now. And Clack knew he’d crossed a line as Cain grabbed him by the lapels. “Do not ever, ever compare Falina to any other woman. Especially not the daughter of Wulfric Larchmont. They are nothing alike. Do you hear me, Claudius? Nothing.” The headmaster nodded and Cain leg him go, looking shamed as he did. He was usually so cool; he rarely lost his temper. “Why did you not tell me from the start, Claudius?” “Because,” the headmaster said, adjusting his glasses and smoothing his lapels. “I knew you’d react as you did. And I knew you’d not give yourself a chance to see the girl for who she truly is. You’ve been with her a day now. You are a fair man, and I know that sense of fairness will keep you from vilifying her because of her bloodlines.” “You’re a crafty man, Claudius,” Cain said, for he knew the headmaster was right. He sometimes wished his sense of right and wrong was less refined. But he could not change it any more than he could change his eye color. In the short time the girl had not shown any indication of being like her father. “Don’t hate her. Pity her,” Claudius was saying. “Pity her? What little I know of Capella Thornberry, pity is the last thing she wants. She’s far tougher than she looks.” “Do I detect a hint of admiration in your voice?” “No,” Cain replied. There was a knock at the door and Ethon walked in. “Excuse me, sir, but Herman Philbot has not returned.”

Cain looked at the clock on the wall and frowned. “He should have been back by now, the simpering dolt. He probably fell in the mud. Take three of the others and go find him.” “Very good, sir.” Ethon ducked out the door. The headmaster departed as well, leaving Cain alone. His head was hurting from the tension of the conversation. It had been too much to absorb. He did not like having things kept from him and resented Claudius for easing the girl’s way so masterfully. And he was mad at himself for being a better person than he wanted to admit. Part of him wanted to satisfy his desire for revenge at her expense, to torture her physically and magically until her death ended any chance his enemy had at a legacy. One magical progeny. That was all any wizard could hope for. It was obvious that Capella was it for Wulfric Larchmont. Letting her live was risky business. Larchmont had not started out as an evil wizard; he had become one in later life, made heady by his own power and the deference it brought him from others. Who was to say the girl would not turn out the same way? But could he do it? Could he really kill someone who looked so much like Falina? The headmaster’s words had incensed him not just because they were out of line, but because they were true. Capella did look very much like Falina. They had the same wildness, the same refreshing innocence. But unlike Falina, Capella was the daughter of his mortal enemy. Lighting lit up the sky out the window, and Cain thought he saw shadows moving in the near dark outside. He looked out, peering through the rain and then felt a stab of fear. Ethon and the others were coming back, and they were carrying something, something prone. He strode from his office, joining other students and staff on the stairs. Some sort of dire news was spreading through the school like wildfire. He pushed his way through the students and reached the main hall, where he could hear cries. The huge doors flung open and the boys rushed. They each had the limb of a body. He did not need to get any closer to see that it was Herman Philbot. The young man’s face was ghostly white; he’d lost nearly all of his blood through two huge criss-crossed slashes that had sliced his chest and neck. The cuts were not made from any blade, but were the clean, lethal cuts caused by projecting razor sharp energy from the astral plane to the physical one. They were made by a wand wielding dark magic.

“He was by the swamp,” Ethon said. “He had not been dead long.” Cain’s eyes met the headmaster who had just entered the room. “Why would anyone kill Philbot? He would not hurt a fly!” One of the girls nearby began to cry. “Has he been robbed?” someone asked. “Of what?” asked another of Cain’s students. “He was sent out to get slugs. He was sent out after insulting…..” They all turned now and the room fell silent as all eyes fell on Capella Thornberry. She was nearly as pale as the corpse. Her eyes were riveted to the lifeless face. Herman Philbot had not been taken by surprise. His face was frozen in the final expression it had worn in life - one of abject terror. This was a young man who knew he was going to die. “I…I had nothing to do with this,” she said quietly. Professor Litchfield stepped forward. “Of course no one is accusing you of this, stupid girl.” He looked at the students. “No one is, right?” Everyone shook their heads. “Back to your quarters, now,” the headmaster said. Reluctantly, the students dispersed. Some of them were crying, shaken by what they had seen. But Capella remained planted where she stood, her hands holding the railing. She was shaking. At her feet, the fox - sensing her distress - was shaking too. Professor Litchfield walked up to her. “You were in your room, correct?” She stared at him, puzzled at the question. “Of course,” she said, her voice a raspy whisper. “What are you suggesting? You sent him out! I did not want him to go!” “Why not?” he asked quietly. Capella had not really thought about it, but she remembered having a very bad feeling when Cain had sent the young man out into the rain. She had not been able to concentrate on the lecture, so deep was her feeling of dread. She’d wanted to

say something to the professor, to ask him to change his mind. But she feared he would punish her again if she spoke up. Now she felt burdened by an unfathomable guilt. “I had this feeling that something bad was going to happen if he left,” she said. “I don’t know why, professor. I just did. I should have said something but I was….” “Afraid?” he asked. She nodded. “Of me?” She sighed and nodded again. “Then the fault is not yours but mine. Remember that, Capella.” “What happened to him?” she asked. Cain looked at the body. He did not know. But he realized he did not know Capella, either. A sorceress of great power could kill remotely, even if she did not mean to. The trick with the eggs in the dining hall, while petty, was not one that every wizard could do. It was not an easy thing to focus and dispel energy as she did. Could she think of things and have them happen? Perhaps she was like her father and did not realize it. Perhaps she would turn out bad no matter how hard they tried. What if Claudius Clack was entirely wrong? What if she were just like her father? He realized now why Clack had put her in his keeping. A wizard or witch could go up against anyone, but they were bound to be loyal to an authority figure. As long as he established his authority over Capella, he would always have a certain power over her. “Come with me.” He took her by the elbow and led her up the stairs. Professor Litchfield led her to her room. “Go in and get your things,” he said. “I’m moving your quarters.” “Why? Where?” she asked. “As to where, you will be residing in a room in my apartments. As to why, that is none of your concern.”

Capella shook her head. “None of my concern? You tell me that I am to lodge with you and you will not tell me why? No! I will not do it without an explanation.” He grabbed her and pinned her against the wall. “Do you want to challenge me?” he asked. His voice was low, calm, menacing as he looked her in the eye. Capella could feel her heart beating in her chest. “What I do, I do for good reasons. I do what I do to keep my students safe. Believe me, after what I have seen, it is necessary that I keep an eye on you. I am not at liberty to say why, but you will obey me. You will obey or I will take you to the classroom and beat you until you are too weak to resist me in any way. Do you understand, Miss Thornberry?” She nodded, remembering the lash, remembering how helpless she felt when he punished her. Something about this man made her yield, even when she did not want to. Even now he held her as still with his gaze as he did with his arms. She was powerless to him. “Do you understand?” “I understand that I must obey you,” she said, her voice quaking with fear and frustration. “But I do not know what’s going on. Please, Professor Litchfield. Won’t you tell me?” He slowly let her go. “No,” he said. “Not yet.” She nodded, knowing she would get no more information than that. Quickly she went into her room and began to gather her things. Capella had few belongings and it did not take long. When she exited, Cain took her bag and books. She followed him to his quarters, her eyes on his cape as it billowed behind him. Professor Litchfield’s apartments were spacious and what she would have imagined. There were lots of cabinets filled with lots of interesting things, much like his classroom. A telescope was aimed out one of the windows. Cain’s familiar lounged on a leather sofa, his yellow eyes looking bored. The fox at Capella’s feet whimpered. “Don’t worry. They’ll get along fine once your creature realizes its place. Your quarters are over here.”

He led Capella to where she would be staying. It was a comfortable room, twice as large as her initial quarters. There was a four-poster bed hung with thick drapes, a chair, a bookshelf, a wardrobe, a writing desk and a large fireplace. “You’ll be more comfortable here,” he said. “And I’ll be able to better keep an eye on you.” She turned to him. “You think I had something to do with Herman Philbot’s death, don’t you, Professor?” He stared at her. “I could thrash you now for asking me that.” “I know,” she said. “But I promise you, I did not.” He walked over to her. “Capella,” he said, and she felt a lightness in her chest at hearing him call her by her first name, followed by a sense of shame. He was her teacher…. “Have you ever made something happen? Unwittingly, I mean, when you were very emotional?” Capella’s mind raced back through time. When she was a little girl she’d wanted to go outside but her parents would not let her. She was being punished for something - she could not remember what, but she’d been terribly upset to be indoors on such a beautiful day and she remembered wishing the door would open. She became angry and the door facing had cracked from the bottom to the top, and the door had fallen off the hinges and out. Another time a man in the village was beating his dog. Capella remembered thinking how nice it would be if the man could feel the dog’s fear. Suddenly a bear came out of the woods and the man screamed, falling to the ground. The bruin loomed above him, roaring. A puddle of urine stained the man’s pants as he cowered. Capella felt herself become afraid for the man. She did not want him to die, after all. The bear dropped down to all fours and walked away, huffing. “No,” she lied. “I’ve never had anything like that happen. Why?” He regarded her. “Just wondering,” he said. “I’ll leave you to get settled in now.” Professor Litchfield turned and shut the door, leaving her alone. Capella walked over to the edge of the bed and sat down.

“Who am I?” she thought, looking out at the rain. She knew there were answers. But she also knew they would not be easy to find.