I can’t say goodbye to Atticus. Or Dorian. Not yet.
“Maybe…” I say slowly, still forming the thought, “if we can’t attend Sibylline as students, we can find work there instead.”
“Work, you mean, like, get a job on campus?” Dorian asks.
“Oh, Raven. Yougenius,” Atticus says. “Exactly! If the school won’t teach us, we’ll work in the libraries, museums, and anywhere else. The next best thing.”
Dorian unfolds his arms and shrugs. “Sibylline adjacent. Huh.” He glances at me, seeing how I’m feeling, his eyes hopeful. “It could work. If we’re there, we’ll have access to all the same materials as the students. Maybe we can teach ourselves.”
“Get our hands on some books, eavesdrop on lectures, copy lesson plans. I’d evenpaya student to do their homework for them, instead of the other way around.” I laugh. “Maybe trick a wizard or two into meeting us for office hours. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll let us in after they get to know us. Can’t hurt to try, can it?”
I admit, my heart’s racing. It sounds risky. It sounds hard, but it’s a chance.
“We’ll need to update our résumés, get references, write some letters…” Atticus says.
“Sacrifice a virgin under the full moon,” jokes Dorian.
“So we’re doing this?” Atticus asks. He looks at me and Dorian, his dark eyes glittering.
“We’re going to learn magic,” I say. “One way or another, at any cost. Agreed?”
Dorian’s smile splits. “Nil sine magno labore, right?”
“Nil sine magno labore,” Atticus echoes.
2
Atticus
Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same.
—Emily Brontë,Wuthering Heights
On my firstday of work, a black cat follows me across campus.
As I step out of the front doors to the redbrick town house—wearing my father’s old tweed coat, tuxedo pants I found at a thrift store, a cable-knit fisherman’s sweater, and a pair of shiny leather brogues I hunted down on eBay—the cat joins me, its tail curled around its feet, looking up at me with expectant yellow eyes.
“Hello, kitty,” I say.
“What was that?” my mother asks, her voice warped through the phone.
I pinch it between my shoulder and my cheek as I open my umbrella with a snap. It’s begun to rain lightly. “Hi, Mom. I’m talking to a cat.”
This is not news to someone like my mother. “Oh, just one?”
“So far,” I say, glancing up and down the street to try to catch a glimpse of any more darting out of sight. Animals sometimes shadow me, especially when I least expect it. Cats, dogs, birds, even a fox during a school field trip to the Hudson Valley. When I was in elementary school, I was sent to the principal’s office because a swarm of frogs had crawled through the window and,for whatever reason, had chosen to gather and sit on my desk. My teacher thought I was somehow responsible.
Animals have never bothered me; they’re quiet and often uncomplicated emotionally, and I greatly appreciate having the company. I don’t have to be anything other than myself when I’m with them.
The cat slowly blinks and flicks the tip of its tail. It doesn’t seem to mind the rain, but then again, neither do I. Autumn in Vermont is cold and dreary and gray. In other words, perfect. The last vestiges of summer have long faded, the air dominated now with chilly mist and dead leaves. Rain clouds hang low in the sky, draping the mountain skyline like a shroud.
“You’re settling in, then?” my mom asks. I can hear her at the breakfast table in our apartment in Brooklyn, the groan of the wood as she slides her chair back, followed by the clink of silverware on porcelain. I picture her sitting with a mug of hot coffee and a stack of expense reports spread out in front of her before work.
“Yep. My apartment is just off Sibylline’s campus. You should see it.” Luckily for us, Sibylline is in a sleepy, small rural town and most off-campus housing was cheap and available.
“Draw it for me,” she says. It’s a game we play, describing our surroundings with ink instead of words. Mom wanted to be an architect, but her family never had the money for graduate school. So she works at a firm as their secretary, keeping track of accounts and blueprints.
“I will, but I can tell you about it, too. The buildings are colonial-style town houses, lined with the golden leaves of sugar maples, just like home.” I’ve only been gone a week, and I’m already a little homesick.
