Dark Mirror 2 - Dark Passage (3 page)

Tory tied and pinned the back of Cynthia’s gown. When her roommate started to fuss with her hair, Tory said, “I’ll see you later. I’m off for the chapel now so I can find a seat in the back.”

She donned her dark red cloak and headed out into the drafty corridor. Other girls were emerging sleepily from their rooms to go to the chapel. Being late for the morning service would call down the Reverend Hackett’s wrath.

A plump girl stepped out of a room near the stairs. “Good morning, Tory,” she said with a cheerful smile. “I fear that winter has arrived!”

Tory wistfully remembered the June warmth they’d left in 1940. “The wind from the North Sea would freeze a goose in its tracks, Nell.”

Like most Lackland students, Nell Bracken’s greatest dream was to be cured of her despised abilities so she could go home. Tory had been like that until the siren call of magic had lured her to the Labyrinth and she had discovered the Irregulars.

But she was still friends with Nell, a motherly sort who looked out for all the new students. Tory would never forget Nell’s kindness when she first arrived, shocked and disoriented at being exiled from her home.

Nell frowned as she fell into step beside Tory. “You have great circles under your eyes and I swear you seem to have lost weight between yesterday and today. Do you think you’re sickening for something?”

“I feel fine, it’s only that this dress is loose,” Tory replied, though she’d indeed lost weight in 1940. Using so much magic literally burned a person up. “Plus I slept badly last night.”

“Cynthia?” Nell nodded knowingly. “I don’t know how you manage with her as a roommate.”

“She’s not so bad now that I’m used to her,” Tory said offhandedly. Nell would never believe it if Tory said she’d grown rather fond of her impossible roommate.

Nell looked skeptical but refrained from further comment. They descended the stairs and walked outside onto the chapel path. A blast of wind hit them and the air was so cold their breath came out in white puffs.

“I’m so much looking forward to going home for Christmas,” Nell said confidingly. “I’ve been corresponding with a young man back home. We have … much to discuss.” Her smile was mischievous.

“If he’s wise, he’ll offer marriage,” Tory said. “Miss Wheaton said you’d be able to leave Lackland soon, and no one would make a kinder or better tempered wife.”

Nell made a face. “You know that magic reduces our value on the marriage mart.” Her voice dropped. “But George and I have reached an understanding. His father’s the local doctor and George is studying medicine, too. My family would never approve such a match if I hadn’t been cursed by magic, but George doesn’t mind.”

“How wonderful!” Tory said with delight. Too often girls were released from the school but not welcomed back by their families. They faced a grim future of teaching or becoming companions. But some were lucky, and no one deserved it more than Nell.

Girls who managed to find husbands invariably married down into a lower social level. Even though students were considered “cured” of magic, children could still inherit their power, making them undesirable mates within their own class.

Once Tory thought that marrying down was unfortunate, but no longer. A good, loving husband who accepted his wife’s nature was a treasure.

The ancient stone chapel had a lovely sense of peace, but managed to be even colder than outdoors. Though there was always competition for seats in the back of the room, Helen and Penelope, two other members of Nell’s group, had arrived early enough to save half a pew. Tory sat beside Nell and tried to look unobtrusive.

The pews were miserably hard, but she’d learned early that the daily services were a good time for her to practice mental exercises to improve her magical control. With her focus turned inward, she could usually ignore Mr. Hackett’s condemnation of mages and magic and wicked young girls cursed with sinful abilities.

Tory’s happiness about being back at Lackland was fading by the end of the service. For one thing, she was freezing. Away from the school, she’d be able to warm herself with hearth-witch magic, but power was smothered in the abbey by a huge magical suppression spell. That spell was why the abbey had been chosen for the school.

The school authorities liked to think that monks and nuns of centuries gone past had suppressed magic because they hated it. Actually, the ancient order who had built the abbey had done so to train mages. Power was driven belowground and intensified in the Labyrinth. In the abbey proper, only the most powerful mages could use any magic.

Tory was so cold that she couldn’t concentrate on her mental exercises, so she heard too much of Mr. Hackett’s angry rant. In 1940, magic had been largely forgotten, but at least people like Tory weren’t despised for their talents.

Breakfast in the refectory was also familiar, though not in a good way. The long room wasn’t much warmer than the chapel and the porridge had chilled. Nell frowned as she and Tory collected their bowls. “It’s always like this the first really cold day of the year. Tomorrow the room and porridge will be somewhat warmer.”

“I certainly hope so,” Tory said as she regarded the congealed mass and thought wistfully of the huge, tasty breakfasts the weather brigade had been fed to keep up their strength when they were calming the seas.

At least the tea was steaming hot. Tory suspected the students would riot if the tea wasn’t decent.

Sipping her tea, Tory watched the girls split into their usual three groups. Cynthia fit seamlessly back into her circle of haughty, angry girls who deeply resented their exile at Lackland. They were a difficult lot.

The smallest group was Elspeth and her friends, the students who embraced their magic. They were resigned to staying at Lackland until they turned twenty-one. Then they would leave and become practicing mages. Though the girls who loved magic were avoided by other students, they were relaxed and happy with what they were.

The largest group centered around Nell Bracken. These were the girls who wanted nothing more than to be cured so they could leave Lackland and try to reclaim what they could of their old lives. They considered themselves the most normal students at the school.

Tory had been happy to be taken under Nell’s wing. Nell and her friends were pleasant and easy to like.

But Tory no longer belonged here. She should be sitting at the far table with Elspeth and the others who embraced their abilities. If she moved across the room and sat with them, she would be politely dropped by Nell and the others, who abhorred any suggestion that they approved of magic or mages.

If Tory publicly declared herself a mage, there would be no going back. Even her brother and sister, who accepted her now on the assumption that she wanted to be cured, might change their minds if she revealed herself to be an unrepentant mage.

Tory had never liked the rigid separations between the groups, and now she liked them even less. Why shouldn’t Tory publicly be friends with Cynthia and Elspeth as well as Nell? But that wasn’t how the school worked.

With a sigh, she applied herself to her cold oatmeal. She was home after terrifying adventures—and her old problems were still here waiting.

At least they were small problems compared to being shot.

*   *   *

The day got worse when Tory went to her Italian class. The teacher was Miss Macklin, a fervent hater of magic and not fond of young ladies, either. Since Tory’s father was a firm believer in education, even for daughters, Tory had done very well on her entrance evaluation when she started at the school. Miss Macklin had never forgiven her for that.

Tory’s French was better than Miss Macklin’s so she’d been placed in the Italian class instead. She would have enjoyed learning a new language if not for Miss Macklin’s constant criticism.

Besides being angry all the time, Miss Macklin wasn’t a very good teacher. She managed to make a beautiful language boring. Today the classroom was cold and the chairs were almost as hard as the pews in the chapel.

Tired from her fortnight of exertion, Tory dozed a little toward the end of a boring set of grammar exercises. Her hands were neatly folded on her desk and she was sitting upright, but her eyes drifted shut. Her whole body was saturated with fatigue.…

“Abominable girl!” Miss Macklin’s furious words jerked Tory to full awareness an instant before the teacher’s brass ruler smashed across the back of Tory’s hands.

Tory cried out as pain stabbed through her hands, particularly the left, which took the worst of the blow. Miss Macklin had struck her twice during her initial evaluation, but not since. Tears in her eyes, she shoved her chair away from her desk, distancing herself from the triumphant teacher.

Mercifully, the bell rang to end the class. Tory grabbed her notebook with her less-bruised right hand and bolted from the room, wondering if her fingers were broken.

The corridor was full of girls changing classes. Elspeth, who was also a student of Italian, murmured at Tory’s shoulder, “Go into that room ahead on the left. It should be empty now. Maybe I can reduce the pain.”

Blinking back tears, Tory obeyed. Though most magic was suppressed inside the abbey walls, very strong mages like Elspeth could use some of their power.

When they were in the small, unoccupied office, Elspeth closed the door to give them privacy, then took Tory’s left hand gently between her palms. “Your hands are like ice!” she exclaimed.

“This is a very cold building,” Tory said gloomily. “I’m not looking forward to January. The wind off the North Sea must freeze people solid. I wish I had enough hearth-witch magic to really warm myself up, but inside the abbey, I can barely manage to take the worst of the chill off.”

“That must hurt like blazes. I hope I can draw enough power to help.” Elspeth closed her eyes and concentrated. White heat surged through Tory’s hand, warming her fingers as well as smoothing away the pain.

“That’s wonderful!” Tory removed her left hand from Elspeth’s grasp and examined it. Apart from fading red marks, there was no sign of the vicious blow, and all the pain was gone. “I’m surprised you could do so much within the abbey.”

Elspeth’s brow furrowed. “So am I. Give me your other hand.”

“It’s not as bad,” Tory said as she complied. “I really think she broke some bones in my left hand. The right is just badly bruised. You don’t need to tire yourself out with more magic.”

Ignoring that, Elspeth clasped Tory’s right hand and sent another long wave of healing energy. When she was done, she asked, “How’s that?”

Tory flexed her fingers in surprise. “As good as new. I’m impressed!”

“So am I,” Elspeth said thoughtfully. “Try hearth magic to warm yourself up.”

Tory closed her eyes and visualized warmth sweeping through her. So much heat surged that she felt feverish. Startled, she released the magic. “Good heavens, I’ve never been able to create so much warmth inside the abbey!”

Elspeth examined her own hands as if they belonged to a stranger. “Remarkable. I can draw major power in spite of the suppression spell.”

Tory used the hearth-witch magic again, more carefully this time, and found she could make herself comfortably warm with little effort. “So can I.”

“This must be a result of working so furiously for days on end,” Elspeth said. “I used more magic during the evacuation than everything I’d done in the previous five years put together.”

“I suppose it’s like playing the pianoforte. The more we practice, the stronger our skills become.” Tory cocked her head. “Now that I think of it, I’m not feeling as crushed by the Lackland magical suppression spells as before. I’m still aware of them, but the feeling is nowhere near as smothering.”

“This is worth all the grueling work we did!” Elspeth said. “Now it’s time to get along to the next class. I’ll leave first.”

She peeked out the door, then left. Tory sighed, wishing they could leave together. Elspeth said she didn’t mind being publicly ignored.

But Tory minded.

CHAPTER 3

Three nights a week study sessions were held in the Labyrinth, and there was one that night. Despite her fatigue, Tory looked forward to seeing the other Irregulars. Especially Allarde. She and Cynthia went together, quietly slipping through the concealed entrance in the cellar of the classroom building.

As they closed the door behind them, Tory was stropped on the ankles by a tabby she’d befriended. She bent to scratch the cat’s neck. “Yes, puss, I brought you a bit of ham from dinner.” The tabby daintily took the tidbit from her fingers.

“Why do you spoil that cat?” Cynthia asked.

“Cats keep the tunnels free of rats and mice,” Tory said as she straightened and created a mage light to guide them through the Labyrinth. “Besides, I like cats.”

“I’d rather have a horse.”

Cynthia set off and Tory fell in beside her. The ancient chalk tunnels were centuries old, and the floors were worn by the passage of countless feet. First nuns, now students. The passage was just wide enough for two girls to walk abreast, if one of them wasn’t very large. “Have you found that your magic is stronger since you returned?”

“I don’t use magic in the abbey because the suppression spell is so irritating. Let’s see what happens.” Cynthia held out a hand and created a ball of light on her palm. It flared blindingly. She squeaked and let go of the light. The globe hovered in front her, dimming as she reduced her power. “Good heavens! Usually I have to concentrate to make a mage light, but that was easy.”

“Elspeth and I have both noticed that we have more power,” Tory said thoughtfully. “I was able to use enough hearth witchery to warm myself in the abbey, and I’ve never managed that before.”

“I’m glad to hear that we might get some benefit from going through the mirror!” Cynthia exclaimed as they resumed walking. When they turned a corner, the sounds of many voices echoed down the corner. She frowned. “Do you think it’s another raid?”

“I certainly hope not!” Tory had been fleeing a raid by the school authorities when she discovered Merlin’s mirror. Not a pleasant experience, even though it had worked out well. She cocked her head. “They’re happy voices. Celebrating?”