Page 25 of Fractured Fates

“Miss Wence, this is your new roommate, Miss Blackwaters,” the principal says with her usual blank expression. The girl practically bounces on her toes, her braids leaping up and down. “I will leave her with you now. I am hoping you will show her the ropes.”

“Of course, Professor York,” she says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into the room.

“Thank you. Good night ladies.”

“Good night,” the other girl calls, shutting the door and spinning around to face me.

I dart my gaze around the room. It’s about as run down inside this building as it looked from outside. The room is small, with a large damp spot across the ceiling and a bunkbed pushed up against the wall. On the other side are a pair of rickety desks sitting side by side and one wardrobe, its doors hanging crooked.

“It isn’t much,” the girl says, watching me take in our room, “but I’ve tried my best to spruce it up.” She has. Fairy lights stream around the window as well as strings of fake spring flowers. Some bright works of art are pinned to the walls as well as a few posters of men and women I don’t recognize. “Plus it’s the cheapest room the college has.” She smiles and flops down on the bottom bunk. “I was beginning to worry I’d have to pay full whack for the room after Saskia left last term. I didn’t think I’d find another roommate.”

“Saskia?”

“My old roommate.”

“Why did she leave?” I ask with suspicion.

The girl’s eyes grow sad. “Her mum got sick, and she had to go home to help with her brothers and sisters.”

“And the authorities let her? I thought it was compulsory to attend this college.”

“She was already 21, and she’d accrued enough points to graduate.” The girl twists one of the braids around her fingers. “My name’s Winnie by the way. Short for Winifred.” She pulls a face.

“Rhi,” I tell her, “short for Rhianna.”

“Oh, that’s a nice name. Your parents aren’t cruel like mine. They named me after some pioneering magical from like two centuries ago.”

“I don’t know why they named me Rhianna. They died when I was young.”

Sympathy floods her face. “I’m sorry.”

I shrug, walking to the empty desk and lowering Pip and my bag to the surface.

“Where have you transferred from?” Winnie asks as I start to pull my few possessions from my rucksack, “and when do all your other things arrive? We don’t have a lot of space for stuff so I hope–”

“This is all I have.”

Winnie blinks as I lay out a pair of jeans, a pair of shorts, another hoodie and a couple of tees.

“Well … we have to wear our uniforms most of the time anyway, so you don’t need that much I guess.” She looks a little unsure. “Why didn’t you bring more? Can’t your old school send stuff or something?”

“I didn’t come from school. In fact I’ve never been to school.” I hear Winnie’s sharp intake of breath as I stroll over to the bed and pull off the spare blanket slung over the end. I use it to make a little nest in the space next to my desk and lay Pip up in it all cozy. I wait for her to ask about my pig, but that last piece of information must have been enough of a bombshell to distract her.

“You’ve never been to school?! How … How is that possible? All magicals have to attend school. Were you sick or something?”

“Onlyregisteredmagicals have to attend school,” I say, stripping down to my panties and vest. “Is there somewhere to brush my teeth?”

Winnie points to a small sink hidden in the corner by the window. Heaven only knows where there’s a toilet and a shower. I run a line of toothpaste over the bristles of my toothbrush and march over to the sink.

“You’re … you’re unregistered?” Winnie asks in a voice several octaves higher than it was a minute ago.

“I was. I’m guessing I’m registered now.” I shrug and shove my toothbrush under the trickle of cold water. I notice the basin is cracked and the thin carpet damp around the pedestal. I scrub my teeth, spit, rinse and turn to find Winnie gaping at me like a red alien with ten arms and four heads just landed in her room.

“Unregistered?” she whispers.

“I’ll tell you all about it in the morning,” I say, jumping up onto the top bunk, the springs of the mattress groaning under my weight as Winnie climbs into the bottom. “Oh my god, is this thing even safe?” I ask as I sink into the soft belly of the mattress. “It’s not going to collapse and crush you in the night, is it?”

“Saskia was about twice your size and we never had any problems,” she says in a weak voice. Then she snaps her fingers and the light extinguishes, plunging us into darkness apart from a sliver of moonlight that creeps in through the gap in the cheap curtains. “How could you be unregistered?” I hear her mumble.