Page 9 of Malcroix Bones Academy

I had to be either in the lobby of averylarge building, or some vast, subterranean structure, or possibly some combination of both.

Either way, the mere fact that the ceiling hadn’t caved in?

“Where in the?”

“Silence,” Ankha hissed. “And close your mouth. You look like an idiot.”

I obeyed without thought.

Ignoring my aunt, who obviously wasn’t going to be a source of information, or civility, or much of anything useful, I made a conscious effort to view this improbable place logically.

I also remembered my promise to her.

I couldn’t speak. Not to anyone.

My aunt elbowed me then, hard, and I looked over to see a group of people approaching where we stood. Two of the men walked slightly in front, while six or seven others trailed behind. Those following all appeared to be wearing suits, both the male and female variety, cut in styles that evoked both the late 1800s and, in a few cases, the 1930s and 1940s. The two people walking ahead wore outfits that evoked even older periods.

Seventeenth Century?

Sixteenth?

I wasn’t enough up on my historical costumery to be able to say for sure, and neither could be entirely accurate. Neither man wore a wig or powdered their face, and the hair was all wrong. Their vests were too long in front and too short in back. One wore a coat that was asymmetrical, as if made with several pieces of cloth stitched together to give it more of a flowing, draping quality. The symbols covering the embroidered silk of their vests reminded me of Egyptian hieroglyphs, but didn’t match any specific characters I’d seen in books.

Both wore cream tights under silk pants that cut off just below the knee, but below that, one wore calfskin-like boots, while the other wore jewel-encrusted, pointed shoes with heels and no buckles.

What in the ever-loving?

“You cut it close to the line, Ms. La Fey,” the taller of the two men sniffed. “Is this your idea of a dramatic entrance, Ankha?”

“You didn’t give me much notice, Horace,” my aunt quipped.

He waved off her words with a silk handkerchief edged in detailed lace.

“You need notice for the annual test day?” he scoffed. “Thefirsttest day following your niece’s nineteenth birthday? You know when Magicals come of age. Nineteen. It is always nineteen. It’s not like you haven’t known this was coming. If I’m not mistaken, it wasyouwho wanted to do this when she turned sixteen. Then seventeen. Then eighteen…”

He let out another low scoff.

“…And now you inexplicably ‘forget’ the date actually set by the Tribunal?”

I bit my tongue harder.

Barring any ability to ask questions, I made a point of memorizing every word, and noticing as much as I could about the small crowd of strangers.

The shorter of the two men still hadn’t spoken.

He stared openly and unapologetically at me, his violet-tinted eyes raking over my black curls with an expression that flickered between fascination, distaste, eagerness, and outright revulsion. After taking in my face and hair with that rude level of scrutiny, he looked over my body the same way. He focused a lot too long on my trainers and socks, then my uniform skirt, the cream uniform blouse, the grey and black striped tie, and, frankly, my chest.

Apart from him being an old perv, I had no idea why any of it made his eyes bulge like they did, but the look there raised my hackles.

I glanced at the woman standing directly to his right, who’d edged forward once the group came to a stop. She stared openly at me, too, but instead of disbelief and revulsion, her expression held a greedy excitement.

She gripped a feather quill in one hand, with something like a clipboard clutched tightly in her other arm. Her lipstick and high-heeled shoes matched her bright orange eyes, hair, and quill feather, as did the stone on a large ring she wore on one hand.

She kept smiling and staring at me between bouts of writing furiously with the quill, her eyebrows raised so high they nearly kissed her hairline.

A tall, lean, scarecrow of a man stood just behind the woman with the quill.

He kept snapping pictures of me over the woman’s shoulder then receding back, as if somehow I wouldn’t notice him doing it. He used the oddest-looking camera I’d ever seen. Roughly the size of a sandwich, it was made of dark-green metal, with a giant, round flash that blinded me every time it went off.