Sylvie Asleton and the Coven of Glass Read online

  “What was it called?” Sylvie managed to squeak out. She was reeling, the knowledge that her parents were Magi was overwhelming.

  Immau gave her a strange, piercing look. “How did you know?”

  Sylvie was nonplussed. She didn’t know what Immau was talking about. How would she know what? Her parents surely hadn’t told her they had magic.

  “It’s just that, usually Covens are not named.” She shook her head. “Anyway. They were the Coven of the Evenstar. Thomas, Kylie, Richard, and Ismas were nigh inseparable. If you saw one of them, you knew the others weren’t far behind. Even though they were Mavens, they stuck together as a Coven.”

  It was like she had just been struck in the gut. She couldn’t get in enough air to breathe. Her whole world was turned upside down for the umpteenth time since coming to Brookmoors. Her parents were Magi!

  How could they hide that from her? How could she not know?

  “I-I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what, dear?”

  “My parents went to Brookmoors? They knew magic?”

  Professor Immau stared, eyes wide and round. “Oh my Gods! I’m so sorry Sylvie. I thought you knew, the way you asked about the Coven’s name I figured you-“ She caught herself and laid a comforting hand on Sylvie. “I’m sorry you had to learn about it from me.

  “Some parents prefer not to involve their children until they show a spark of magic. Others resign from the magical world for personal reasons. Whatever reason your parents had, I’m sure it made sense to them. Oh dear. This must be a terrible shock for you.”

  It was all she could do to nod. Sylvie had to make sure to keep breathing because she was afraid she might forget and black out. A pang of deep loss echoed in her heart. That means Gavin would’ve been coming to Brookmoors in a couple years.

  Hot tears gathered at the corners of her eyes and she viciously scrubbed them away.

  “No, it’s okay Professor. I didn’t know, but I was only nine when they died in the fire. I wish I’d known. But maybe, it would’ve made things harder. Knowing magic existed, but being cut off from it in a world where nobody believes.”

  The reek of antiseptic and sterility wafted into the room, and Sylvie pressed hard against the memories, shoving them away. Yes, knowing for certain that magic was real would have made her life much harder.

  Looking back on her life without the lens of the Shrike’s Curse to warp her view, she was all but certain that knowledge would have killed her. It was hard enough to lose her family in the fire. Harder still for a little nine-year-old girl to be called a liar for claiming it was magic and to be institutionalized.

  If she had clung to her belief that magic was real. If she had known. She may never have gotten out of that hellhole. To know that she had lost her family and any chance at magic would’ve been too much. It would have broken her so completely that there would have been no coming back.

  Sylvie cleared her throat and with an effort mastered herself enough to speak. Get Immau talking again, distract and change topics. “You make it sound like it was a civil war between the Magi.”

  Immau pursed her lips, a muscle jumped out on her dimpled cheek. “You could say that. Even now I don’t fully understand what the conflict was about. It was above me, students weren’t terribly troubled by it. By the time I graduated it had ended, with no clear victor. It took a long time for the Magi community to recover.

  “I only learned of the specifics after I came to teach at Brookmoors. The Uprising was about guiding the world away from self-destruction. You see, Sylvie the Nemps - that’s what we call humans it’s short for Non-Magical People - are ruining the planet. Wars, petty grievances, toxic dumping, climate change, it’s all coming to a head. Sooner, rather than later.

  “The Uprising was about using magical means to fix the problems head-on. That would result in magic being known to all. Naturally, the Nemps would see it as a threat as they do anything they don’t understand. They would try to control us, force us to identify ourselves and that didn’t sit well with anybody.

  “So, as the Uprising supporters saw it there had to be a means of subduing the Nemps. Magi have always protected humanity from external threats. We never thought we’d have to protect them from themselves, and surely never to protect ourselves from them. But they vastly outnumber us and while they don’t have any magic, a bullet can still kill a Magi caught unawares. And that’s nothing to say of missiles and bombs and other nasty arsenals they’ve concocted.

  “The Magi manipulate things from the shadows. Without the knowledge of the greater part of humanity we’re attempting to fix the ills that ail the world. The Uprising thought this was too slow, and that the Nemps would find new horrible ways to destroy the world. You’ll find that there are entire Orders dedicated to certain causes.

  “You think the ozone hole closed itself up just because humanity stopped using hairspray?” She snorted. “And I’m Merlin. The point is, the Uprising was going to reveal magic to all, and while their heart may have been in the right place the methods were not. Subjugating humanity goes against everything we stand for. The Magi were founded to protect humanity.”

  “If revealing ourselves is so bad, how come there’s magic all around then? If there are Orders involved in the affairs of the Nemps, why does it matter if humanity knows of magic or not? How don’t they see it happening all around them?” asked Sylvie.

  “There’s a fine line between magic existing around humanity and shoving it in their face. The kinds of magic that was being suggested would be enough that even the most stubborn of Nemps would be forced to see the truth.

  “Humans excel at seeing only what they want to. Place subtle magic and they’ll find a way to explain it away. It becomes part of the world, it becomes ordinary. Force magic onto a person, however, and now they’ve got alarm bells ringing in their head.

  “They can’t explain it away, it’s now become a threat. Not only is the illusion now broken, but now the person fears magic. Magnify that by seven billion plus people, and you begin to see the problem.”

  Sylvie felt her blood run cold as her thoughts followed the logical conclusion. The same one those of the Uprising must have come to: In order to preserve your own people, your family and all that you loved, you’d have to strike first and strike hard. The risk, otherwise was too great.

  That the conclusion was so obvious and sensible - despite the implied genocidal connotations - scared her more than anything. She had always been a bit of a misanthrope, but this was on an entirely different level.

  Immau crumpled her brow, misreading Sylvie’s expression of self-reflection as fear and worry. “I’m sorry, Sylvie. That was terribly inappropriate of me. Let’s get back on track, shall we?” She nodded towards her left arm. “The Shrike’s Curse is sealed.”

  Sylvie looked to her left, at her bandaged elbow. There were speckles of blood spread throughout the white, but that wasn’t what caught the breath in Sylvie’s chest. Out of the corner of her eye, was another bed. And in that bed was Pyx, sleeping soundly for all the world looking like some fairytale princess in a sleeping curse.

  “Oh yes,” said Immau. “She played a vital role. Even with her help, I’m impressed you were able to suppress the Curse long enough for me to finish the Sealing Rite. There are countless variations on Curses - the Affliction, not the magical aspect - and I have only heard of five cases of your particular type of Curse before.

  “The Curse locked you into perceiving the worst in the world. You were unable to see the good in others. How you managed to survive years of its cruelty I cannot begin to fathom. You need to know Sylvie, the things you saw, or thought you saw were not your fault.” Immau gripped Sylvie’s arm, giving it a tight squeeze. “There was nothing wrong with you. It was the Shrike’s Curse.” She put particular emphasis on those two words.

  Sylvie nodded. She understood she wasn’t to voice its true name, the Netherwrought Curse. There was small comfort in knowing that all the vicious, horrific memories she had were in some way or another false. It did nothing to soothe the pain they caused, however.

  She was damaged. Part of her was permanently maimed, no matter how good her life may be from that point on those memories would stay with her. They were part of who she was.

  Immau looked into Sylvie’s eyes, a depth of sorrow lingered there. “There is no known cure for a Curse of this magnitude Sylvie. While it’s been Sealed, it is akin to remission, do you know what I mean?”

  Sylvie nodded. Like cancer, it could come back if she wasn’t vigilant about it. Her first reaction was to avoid it. Ignore the fact that it existed. She couldn’t do that here. There would be no ignoring this.

  Immau came around to the other side of Sylvie’s bed and slid down the blood speckled bandage. Below was a raw tattoo on the inside of Sylvie’s left elbow. A pair of serpents facing one another, their tails entwined in a spiral until they hit her forearm and then spread out to create a square frame around them.

  There were strange, faint lines intermingled with the imagery. Like spider’s silk, they were only visible when the light hit her arm just right.

  In a way it was beautiful. It wasn’t the sort of tattoo she’d ever think of getting herself, but it was far from ugly. The dark inked lines were rimmed with puffy, raw skin that was sore to the touch. A noticeable heat came from the Seal that she could only feel by hovering her hand over it.

  She had been cursed, literally cursed. Sylvie still struggled to believe it.

  “The Seal will fade in time,” said Immau. “Give it a few days and you won’t even know it’s there. Only when you experience a regression will it be visible. The Seal should hold for a long time, but at the end of every year I want to see you t
o make sure all is well.”

  “What is a regression?”

  “You may feel hot or cold, minor pain, and may experience similar experiences you may have had from the Curse. They do not last long and if they happen no more than once or twice a month there is no worry. If they occur multiple times in a day, come see me immediately. It may be a sign the Seal is weakening.

  “So long as you possess that Seal, Sylvie the Shrike’s Curse will be unable to influence you. If you experience anything out of the ordinary or damage it in any way either magically or physically, I want you to call on me immediately. One of the Healers here will always be able to get a hold of me.”

  “Got it, if something happens to it, come to the Gardens and ask for you. But what if the Healer thinks I’m making things up? If the Seal is invisible, I can’t very well prove it exists.”

  “I will leave specific orders. If there’s any problem, any at all, I want you to tell me who denied you. If, for some unlikely reason, you are not believed immediately, I want you to tell them that failure to take you seriously will result in forfeiture of their Lotus Leaf. I doubt you will need to resort to such base tactics, however. My Healers know how to follow protocol.

  “That doesn’t mean I want you threatening every Healer you run into just because they aren’t treating you as fast as you’d like. Few people outside of the Healing Arts know about the Lotus Leaf and its significance. Don’t go abusing the power I’ve given you.”

  “I won’t, Professor.”

  Immau gave her a weary smile and patted her arm, sliding the bandage back over the Seal. “Best to keep that covered for now and let it heal. By tomorrow it should be on the mend. What you need now is rest. I’ll come and check on you in the morning. Have a good night, Sylvie.”

  “Good night, Professor…and thank you.”

  Immau paused in the doorway and looked back at Sylvie. A ghost of a smile on her tired face. “The work we did is nothing compared to what you endured, or the force of will it must have taken to overcome the Curse’s hold on you. It is nothing short of amazing that you survived. Never let anybody take that from you. You’re stronger than you know.”

  Sylvie was left thunderstruck by the familiar phrase she’d heard so much recently and yet never believed applied to herself. She turned to look back at Pyx, unable to understand what would inspire the girl to help her. She didn’t know what it was that Pyx did, but if she wasn’t hallucinating then she had somehow come into her mind when she needed help the most.

  It was Pyx that had pulled her from the brink. She could never thank her enough.

  Sylvie laid back down, but her mind wouldn’t let her sleep. She should have asked for something to help her sleep. Maybe Immau had a sparkly potion that would help her.

  She was about to get up when something caught her eye. A small tuft of silken brown fur was gathered on her jeans. Sylvie had only seen it after pulling back the covers. She took the bits of fur and rolled them back and forth between her fingers. They were startlingly smooth and downy.

  With a shrug she brushed her legs clear of fur and felt a lump in her pocket. It was small, and out of place. The only other thing in the pocket was her father’s key. She hadn’t put anything else in there.

  Sylvie reached her hand inside and pulled out the small lump, it was coarse and oddly shaped. Only when she put it up to her face in the low light did she make it out as a gum drop. The coarseness came from the layer of sugar over the pink candy.

  Without much thought to it, she popped it into her mouth and swung her feet out of bed. Only then did she realize that she hadn’t put a gumdrop in her pocket. And that perhaps eating candy mysteriously appearing in her pocket at a magical school wasn’t the brightest idea.

  There was the faintest sound of giggling in the distance before Sylvie crashed back onto the bed. She was fast asleep before her head hit the mattress.

  Impenetrable darkness rolled back like a receding tide, leaving Sylvie stranded amid a sea of Gray. She was vaguely aware she was safe here. Sitting. Curled up. Comfortably wrapped in a thick blanket. The pain and the darkness were gone.

  Featureless Gray spread out before her like a sea, except for the chair she was curled up in. She recognized it immediately. It was her father’s favorite chair. Ugly as sin, the color of vomit after a hard night of drinking.

  He refused to throw it away. It was the only thing she’d ever heard her parents argue about.

  For a long while the only thing Sylvie was aware of was the featureless Gray expanse around her and her dad’s ugly, but oddly comfortable armchair and its thick blanket wrapping her up in a cocoon up to her chin.

  Life was simple. There were no voices speaking to her. No warnings of unseen dangers lurking in the abyss. No shadows to darken her thoughts. No Shrikes.

  It was a good life. For a time.

  The Gray was just what she needed. A place to decompress and leave the stress, pain, and terror of her life behind. If only for a little while. There was comfort in the Gray, but little else.

  When she began to notice something was missing from the room, it appeared. The only thing resolutely missing were doors, but there were windows. From time to time she’d walk up to them, the thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cloak.

  The window panes were frosted with misty cold air from outside. An intense west-coast foggy morning that never lifted greeted her. The glass was cold, but the Gray had a crackling fireplace that she’d only noticed once she realized how cold it was.

  It was a blank slate. If she needed something more it appeared, only to fade back into featureless gray once the need passed. Wherever she walked the room came into greater focus. The Gray responded to her attentions by creating what she expected to see, and in some cases what she wanted to see.

  The floor that had once been swirling gray fog resolved into a thick fuzzy red carpet that was warm beneath her bare feet. She wriggled he toes in the deep fluffy fibers. Sylvie had no want of food or drink. Sleep came whenever she wanted and the black oblivion of dreamless sleep ate up the hours.

  No nightmares. No fear. In the Gray Sylvie was free of the shackles that had bound her. The lies, the mistruths and the secrets belonged to another world. A world where Sylvie’s parents had been Magi, just as she was studying to be. She felt betrayed that they had held it secret from her.

  How could she not know?

  Sylvie picked up the thoughts, the memories attached and examined them with a clinical objectivity she lacked in the waking world. Things that troubled her, her worries and concerns were like little pieces of curiosity she could pick up and examine then put away. They held no sway over her. Not here.

  She cherished the sleep more than anything. Ever since she could remember she had been plagued by horrific night terrors. She never could remember the dream itself, only the abject terror remained to keep her company in the dark.

  It lingered like a sour taste. She had forced herself to stay up well past a reasonable hour, distracting herself with one thing or another until exhaustion claimed her. Fear was a constant companion. The Gray was the first real sleep she could remember since her parent’s death in the fire.

  There was no telling how long she had stayed in the Gray. The days ran together. There were no clocks, no matter how hard she tried to conjure one with her thoughts. Her restful convalescence gave way to growing boredom.

  One day after a restful sleep, whether days, months, or mere hours, she woke to find a large iron-bound oaken door staring at her across the Gray.

  The appearance of something new excited her, and her excitement bled out of her like droplets of water color into a glass of water. They spread with each step towards the door. Color rippled out from her footsteps illuminating the Gray with a rich chromatic spray.

  As pleasant as the Gray had been, there was nothing for her there anymore. Rest and recovery were what she needed in mind and soul, and she had gotten it in spades. This was the Gray giving her a clean bill of health. She was ready for the outside world, her baggage significantly lightened.