Dangerous Magic

5. To Classify, or Not to Classify

A tone sounded in the arena--and throughout the school--signaling the end of class. Students gathered their belongings from shelves near the entrance and filed out for the day. I'd tucked my bag behind several others, just in case anyone decided to go snooping in the new kid's stuff.

"Stick around, Rochelle, please," Ms. Williams spotted me near the door. So much for sneaking out with the rest of the class. "Jackson, hang tight; I have something for you to give your mom while they're in town."

Charlotte Williams was not about to accept my sob story about my father. She was probably more inclined to sell me to the nearest laboratory herself rather than wait for the authorities to turn me over. Nulls were not as common these days; some labs offered finder's fees.

Since I couldn't run to save my cover, and I was not about to confess, I propped myself up against an outcropping of rocks and tried to look innocent.

While I waited for the arena to clear, I uncorked the bottle in my mind that held all of the magic and siphoned it all into the rocks at my back. Where my hands touched the uneven stone surface, the rock warmed uncomfortably. I willed the excess energy away from me and into something else so that I couldn't inadvertently suck it back out of the air.

I kept only a small amount; the test had to measure something. Nulls read like humans on any scanner but humans weren't allowed to attend magischolas.

"Let's go up to my office, you two."

My eyes popped open; I didn't know when I'd closed them, or how long I stood there in a meditative state. The arena was empty save for the three of us.

I followed behind Ms. Williams and Jackson, listening to their easy, familial banter. Each step felt like I was going in the wrong direction. We took the stairs up one floor and walked straight into the Com-n-De teacher's office.

Ms. Williams's domain was stark, almost sterile. White walls, no pictures or awards; two wooden chairs in front of the wide table serving as her desk; a single cabinet in one corner behind the desk. I would have thought a woman who wore heeled leather boots to teach a bunch of teenagers how to fight and defend themselves with magic would have a more interesting office.

Or a picture of a motorcycle or something.

"Jackson, let me get that box for your mom." Ms. Williams went to the corner cabinet and unlocked it, removed a small green box, and locked the doors again.

The little box was the most colorful thing in the room. When she set it on the desk, I could smell chocolate across the room.

"The seniors whipped up something special for her birthday. I convinced Mr. Taylor to let them use real amaretto instead of the virgin stuff this time."

Ms. Williams proudly opened the box to show six chocolate-dipped strawberries with tiny pink pearls sprinkled over the tops.

"The box will keep them cool until she can get them in the fridge. Just make sure she gets these tonight, and tell her I'm sorry I can't be there for her birthday, okay?" Ms. Williams' smile didn't quite reach her eyes. She replaced the lid and handed the box across the desk to Jackson.

"She'll be disappointed you can't make it, Aunt Char. But strawberries are a good substitute." Jackson accepted the box.

I felt like an outsider witnessing an exchange that I had no business being part of. And I desperately wanted out. I stayed by the door for a quick exit if the opportunity presented itself.

"You're going to make us all proud tonight, Jackson."

Before Jackson could respond (and before I had a chance to ask what was happening tonight, which would remind them that I was in the room), someone knocked on the doorframe.