Page 15 of Reluctant Witch (A Course in Magic #2)

15

Sondre

The sight of Scylla motionless on the infirmary cot twisted something in Sondre’s stomach. Scylla wasn’t his friend, but she was the force that kept their world safe from discovery.

And they shot her.

He had to be ready to go after the people he’d wrongly thought were trustworthy. I have been a villain all along. Not a revolutionary. A monster. He motioned Monahan forward.

“You—” He paused and pointed at Axell. “—wait out here or go somewhere else. Stay away from the infirmary door.” He wasn’t a bad person, as far as Sondre could tell, but he was troubled. Sondre gave the musician his most intimidating look. He had recommended him for siphoning. The problem was that he had enough magic to stay, and he was a “death risk” if he went back.

Which shouldn’t be a factor in our decision, Sondre grumbled mentally.

“Come on.” Sondre gestured to the door.

“I’m ready. What do I do?” Dan asked, visibly straightening himself as if he were about to walk into conflict. He might be the size of a sapling, but the boy had courage.

Sondre couldn’t do much else right now other than worry and grumble, so he could wait here for a minute.

Get the boy settled.

Check on Scylla.

Report to Congress.

Maintain the fortification over the school.

Handling the infirmary is the easiest thing on the list; that’s the only reason I’m staying, Sondre lied to himself briefly. But the lie felt heavy in his skin, as if the act of telling himself such things was akin to eating spoiled food.

Sondre pushed open the door and motioned Dan forward.

“I brought the amplifier,” Sondre called out to the healers inside. But instead of going inside, he let the door fall shut behind Dan, creating a moment of privacy outside the infirmary with Axell.

Once Dan was doing what he must on the other side of the door, Sondre stared at Axell for several moments. Objectively, the musician was handsome, but there were a lot of handsome men Dan could get to know.

“If you jab another needle in your veins, I’ll call in a favor to have you sent back,” Sondre said.

“I have enough magic to stay.” Axell pushed off the wall and glared back at him.

“And I have enough authority to make your magical levels not matter.” Sondre prodded the other man in the fold of his elbow, where recent needle bruising was obvious.

Sondre didn’t mention that there were drugs in Crenshaw. He considered it. He considered letting Axell know and letting the obvious thing happen. They used to try to keep the drugs out, but Aggie—who had been head of House Grendel—and most everyone else had been focused on bigger concerns of late.

“If you’re chasing a high, you don’t belong here. You don’t deserve the magic in you. If that’s what you want, be siphoned and go. Don’t destroy Dan along the way,” Sondre said pointedly in his chilliest voice.

Axell said nothing. After a moment of silent glaring, he turned and walked away.

Sondre sighed. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the occasional race toward danger or dangerous bliss. He’d been on that route himself—not with needles but with violence. No one could change a person’s self-destructive tendencies, but Sondre thought Dan had enough challenges without adding this one.

And I feel brotherly toward him.

He watched Axell walk away before he shoved the door open to see what solution the doctors had inside now that they had Dan’s amplification to factor into their plans. He paused, magically sealing the door behind him. Logic said all the attackers were gone to the Barbarian Lands, but Sondre wasn’t sure what other secrets the New Economists had kept from him.

Are there dangerous people still here?

Are more attacks forthcoming?

Not everyone had left. There were too many of them. Were the others like me? Not wholly committed. Or are they here like snakes in the grass? Caution seemed the wiser path right now. Door secured, Sondre looked around the infirmary. The shelves were orderly; sparkling vials sat in racks; ceramic pots were lined in rows. Several glass-doored cabinets had devices in them, and a basket of bandages sat where it usually did on a countertop.

He paused at the sight of the prone body of one of the strongest witches in Crenshaw. Scylla was still enough that he had to watch to see her chest rise and fall before he could look away. She had often been his opposition in matters before the Congress of Magic, but Sondre was man enough to admit that he was likely the one in the wrong on a lot of those matters. She didn’t deserve this.

Did anyone? he wondered. He’d taken lives. Was that right? Did war justify it? He’d spent plenty of time asking that question in the dark hours when booze left him maudlin.

Did Aggie deserve it? That question was a bit more pointed. There was no way that Prospero’s rage was going to be easily dismissed, and if it had been someone he counted as family—if it were Maggie or Craig—would he feel any less vengeful? That wasn’t a question he felt adept to answer. Not now. He’d have to, though, because he was the witch who went to that world with Prospero. He was also the witch in line to replace Aggie as head of house.

Sondre shoved those thoughts away and focused on this minute, this place.

Several healers were scurrying around Scylla as Sondre looked on. To Scylla’s side was the witch he’d wronged more than once in his years in Crenshaw. Mae Jemison was motionless. Like Scylla, her chest rose and fell as she reclined, unconscious, mere feet away from the witch whose life she’d saved.

“Does the doctor need us to do anything for her?” Dan asked one of the healers.

Before anyone else could answer, Sondre spoke. “She’s exhausted, so her magic is simply healing her. Like a lake refilling after a drought.”

“Poetic,” Dan said, not unkindly.

“Mmm.” Sondre wasn’t sure what else to say, so a muffled noise was the best he could do. “Let her rest. She’s more than earned it.”

“And Lord Scylla hasn’t?” someone asked.

“Yes, of course, she has, but as long as she sleeps, our whole world is vulnerable to exposure.” Sondre folded his arms over his chest. “Ask her if she agrees with me when she wakes. I have a strong suspicion that she will—and that Mae will give me hell for suggesting she be allowed to recover naturally.”

One of the healers snorted. “It’ll be a strange day if you and Lord Scylla agree.”

“Lord Scylla’s priority is Crenshaw. So’s mine.” Sondre’s gaze swept the room, noting who was there and who wasn’t. These were Mae’s people, so the witches on the cots were safe in their care. He knew that, but he still wanted to be sure of who they were.

Just in case.

He’d never imagined that Aggie would try to kill Scylla, either. He looked from eye to eye and said, “With the barrier down, we will both want the same thing, and Mae will likely need to tend more witches soon enough. Let her rest.”

Dan put a hand on a healer’s shoulder and stood silently as the man started to examine Scylla, scanning for more injuries in her body. Ripples of magic rolled over the room like a small thunderstorm in too small of a space as they examined her.

“Small tear in her lungs,” the healer muttered after several tense moments. “Deflating air sac. That’s still not mending. I stitched it again and vacuumed the blood.…”

Sondre looked away as blood bubbled up and spilled from Scylla’s lips. It seemed wrong to see her brought low, and even though he’d been a witch for more than half a century, seeing blood pushing out of her mouth and nostrils made him flinch.

He snatched a clean cloth and wiped it away. “She doesn’t need it on her face like that.”

Before anyone could reply, a thunking at the door had him spin and think about possible attacks. The healers and Dan all paused, looking to him for direction.

Sondre made a “back up” motion, so everyone but one healer and Monahan moved behind him. The healer looked at him, shook his head once, and went back to whatever he was doing with Scylla.

At that, Sondre nodded at the man and then turned his attention to the door. He felt in one of his pockets for spell-loaded stones. He had several. He always had several, as well as assorted weapons hidden in pockets of his robes.

He wouldn’t say the military propaganda he’d once believed was true. There’s no honor in ending lives. He would own the truth, though, that some causes led to wars. The senseless genocide in World War II when Sondre had been a kid was cause for military action, but to draw weapons over an opinion? It was ludicrous.

Flashes of being on the wrong side of a gun threatened to rise up in Sondre. The time he spent in combat in Korea was long enough ago that it ought to be nothing more than foggy memories, and most days it was just that. There were exceptions, though. Seeing Scylla was turning out to be one of them.

“Open the damn door, or I’ll remove it,” a familiar cranky voice called.

And Sondre felt the rising tension settle back into his bones. The chief witch was a pain in the ass at the best of times, but he wasn’t a threat.

Unless he’s here to badger me for being a part of the now-obviously traitorous group of witches.…

Sondre wouldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. He’d been conspiring for the downfall of Crenshaw, participated in the planning to create panic and force the witches to move to the Barbarian Lands. He hadn’t done this latest thing, but he was not innocent, either.

“Sondre!” Walt called, the summons in time with what sounded like a booted foot against the door. “Get yourself out here. You’re not a healer. What do you expect to do? Stand around and guard them?”

Badgering may be sooner than I expected. Sondre hoped his new wife would let him stay with her. Most badgers lived rough, like the animals they resembled, but the thought of that made Sondre want to run.

Bracing for a sudden shift in height and a coat of fur wasn’t high on Sondre’s list of plans for the day—or ever—but if Prospero had told Walt what she knew, Sondre would have to face consequences. There was little chance of avoiding his fate.

He stepped out of the infirmary and looked down at the chief witch. “Walt.”

“House Grendel needs a new head of house,” Walt said without preamble. “You’re next in line.”

“Me?” Sondre blinked, half thinking that he was imagining things or misunderstanding. He’d thought about that, but he was guilty of conspiracy. Surely, they’d skip over him.

“No, the unconscious witches inside the room. Yes, you. Is there a problem with that?” Walt tugged on his rather inflated beard, a habit that served as a good metric for how his day was going. Based on the size of the cloud under his chin, Walt had been having a day that rivaled Sondre’s right now.

“Err, you do realize that I have stood with the New Economists for years,” Sondre said, feeling like he ought to confess to the obvious at the least. He stood staring at the older Scotsman and hoping his “ are you mad, man?” expression was better hidden than it felt. Carefully, Sondre added, “And I am the current headmaster and—”

“You like running the school, now?” Walt scoffed.

“I don’t know, but—”

“So someone else can do this. We can’t have a house-head spot vacant, and Aggie’s screwed up too much to survive this retrieval.” Walt sighed, gaze flitting away. “We can’t go around Crenshaw with guns, of all things.” He sighed and muttered, “Guns in citizens’ hands here in Crenshaw? What’s the world coming to if we allow that?”

Sondre looked back at the infirmary door. Whatever all they’d disagreed on, he’d have never shot Lord Scylla. Fought with her? Brawled with her? They’d done plenty of that over the last few decades. The woman had a dirty fighting style that had landed him in the infirmary a few times.

“You can’t up and shoot a person because you disagree with them,” Sondre said.

“Exactly.” Walt eyed him. “You still have the stones for the house of justice?”

“My stones are just fine, Walt. Feel free to ask the missus,” Sondre said dryly.

Walt guffawed. “Might just do that next time I see her.”

“I want consent to let the boy move between worlds,” Sondre announced. Now’s as good a time as any. “He can’t be the only teenager in Crenshaw. He has no peers at all.”

“Should’ve thought of that before you brought him here,” Walt pointed out. “Is the woman aware that he likely has latent magic?”

“Maggie. She has a name, Walt. I think she hopes it, but… no.” Sondre squirmed at the thought of that conversation.

“You know the only reason I didn’t punish you for bringing the boy here is because I knew that she’d be able to tame you,” Walt said. “I was sick of you working with those dumbasses. You’re smarter than that. They exploited your restlessness.”

Sondre paused. “So you did what?”

“Decided to keep the chit here for you and as a friend to that hellacious Brandeau woman.” Walt looked at him like he was spoiling for a fight.

“She could be siphoned.” Sondre was asking as much as stating it.

“Brandeau? N—”

“Walt,” Sondre cut him off. “Maggie.”

“Could? Yes.”

“Then why not let her and Craig go back?” Sondre stared at him with a new level of awareness, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to have.

“Well, then, how would I control you? Threaten Brandeau?” Walt shook his head and then raised one finger to point at Sondre. “Politics means leverage. I had none on you. Now? I do.”

“Your word that Craig can go back,” Sondre demanded. “I’ll lie to her and say we can all be siphoned if that’s what it takes to keep them safe.”

“Fine. The boy can go. She stays. That’s the deal. And you will go with Prospero to hunt the escapees when the time comes,” Walt ordered, pulling Sondre back into the now crisis. “Together you’re a formidable team.”

Walt flinched a little as he mentioned hunting, but it was the right word for what was inevitable now. Scylla was Prospero’s friend; Cren shaw was her home. The New Economists who fled had endangered everything dear to Prospero. Except Brandeau. If that one was under threat, too? Someone would be tasked with sedating the Victorian witch. And I can’t blame her. Not right now. Not at all if I’m honest.

Walt tugged on his frothy beard again. “She’s always been right about this, you know. Magic unleashed over there will cause problems. Try not to die. I don’t want to figure out another new house head for Grendel.”

“But when I’m not with her over there—”

“Yes, yes, get the boy settled.” Walt gestured as if he were waving away a bad smell. Then the old witch turned and marched off through the hallway, muttering something about “boils on bottoms” that Sondre was fine not hearing.