“For what?” Ellie asked, feeling ready to argue with anyone, but especially with him.
Every eye in the room turned to her. The reactions were a mix of politeness, curiosity, shock, and envy.
“I didn’t sign up to come here,” she added. “I don’t want to be here—”
“Yeah!” someone interjected. “What she said!”
“So how about you just send me home? I don’t want to learn your history and whatever.Nothing”—Ellie resisted glancing at Prospero— “about your Brigadoon witch land is going to change that.”
The chief witch rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Miss…”
“Brandeau,” the headmaster filled in when Ellie didn’t.
“Miss Brandeau, there is a process. You will attend classes for the next several months. After the first session, some students may be returned from whence they came.”
“I don’t want to wait,” Ellie said, crossing her arms and glaring at the old man. “I want to go home now. I volunteer.”
“That’s not how it works. You will stay until you are assessed. At that time, if you fail out of our program, your memory will be altered so as not to expose Crenshaw to the Barbarian Lands, and—”
“Suppose you can’t erase my memory?” Ellie continued to resist looking at Prospero.
“Lady Prospero”—he gestured toward her—“has a unique type of magic, Miss Brandeau. No one here or there has ever been immune.”
Ellie now turned her gaze to Prospero, who looked rather like she was trying not to speak. Their eyes locked, and, for a moment, Ellie pressed her thoughts at Prospero. “So what happens? Do you lie to them or trust me?”
Prospero’s eyes widened as if she heard Ellie.
Prospero’s voice slid into Ellie’s mind. “This is… new.”
Despite her best intentions, Ellie looked away first. Maybe that was normal? Maybe it was just another side effect of why Prospero couldn’t steal Ellie’s memories? The truth, however, was Ellie didn’t want the other witch in her head.
“We aren’t your enemy,” the chief witch said, expanding his conversation to the assembled group. “You are special, born with a genetic ability that some trauma awakened, and to exist in their world as you arenowwould inevitably result in persecution of our kind. To protect you, them, and us, there is a process we will follow. This is a necessity.”
The headmaster cleared his throat, loudly. Another witch, an exceedingly pale one who had bone-white hair with red streaks in it, snorted.
“Allegedly,” the woman said.
“Over fifty thousand people, Agnes. Murdered as witches.” The chief witch pinched the bridge of his nose again.
“For being odd or old or outspoken,” the red-and-white-haired witch snapped. “Most of them weren’t actual witches, and you know it, Walt.”
“They are still dead, Agnes.” Prospero’s voice rang out loud and clear. “So are plenty of lesbians, gays, transgender people. So are people whose skin is different, whose faith is, whose—”
“Well, they didn’t have magic,” the red-and-white-haired witch, Agnes, retorted. “We can defend ourselves. I could fold them inside out and—”
“Order!” the chief witch called out, cutting off the argument.
There was obvious dissent here, and if this was the leadership on their best behavior—as one would expect in front of the new students—Ellie wasn’t sure their worst would be tolerable. She recalled the things she’d learned from Prospero. She didn’t want to expose this world to the non-magical world, and others—including the headmaster and Agnes—did.
The chief witch continued, “We have a system here in Crenshaw. It works. So you all will attend the College of Remedial Magic. Should your magic be too weak, you might be selected for siphoning. This would allow you to return to the Barbarian Lands without magic or memory of your time here.”
“And if not? Someone will look for us and—”
“Not necessarily.” The chief witch took a deep breath. “Any connections you had there will be induced to forget you, or they will futilely seek you. There is no travel permitted between the worlds other than by the acting headmaster and Lady Prospero or those they send to assist them.”
Every student seemed to be hit by this revelation.
“But my fiancé—”
