If you ask the Pitches why they hate the Mage, they start talking about “the old ways” and “our magickal heritage” and “intellectual freedom.”
But everyone knows they just want to be in charge again. They want Watford to go back to the way it used to be—a place for only the most rich and the most powerful.
The Mageeliminatedschool fees when he took over, and threw out the oral presentations and power trials to get in. Literally anyone who can speak with magic can attend Watford now, no matter their strength or skill—even if they’re half troll on their mother’s side or more mermaid than mage. The school had to build another hall of residence, Fraternity House, just to make room for everybody.
“Can’t be too picky with cannon fodder”is Baz’s take on the reforms.
He just hates being treated like another student, instead of the heir apparent. If his mother were still headmistress, he’d probably get his own room and whatever else he wanted…
I shouldn’t think like that. It’s awful that his mum died. Just because I’ve never had parents doesn’t mean I can’t understand how much it would hurt to lose one.
Baz doesn’t show up to Political Science, so I keep an eye on his best friend, Niall, instead. Niall doesn’t flinch when Baz’s name is called, but he looks over at me, like he’s trying to say he knows I’m onto them and that he gives exactly zero fucks.
I corner Niall after our lesson: “Where is he?”
“Your dick? Haven’t seen it. Have you asked Ebb?”
(Honestly. I’m not sure why goatherds take such crap for being perverts. Cowboys seem to get off scot-free.)
“Where’s Baz?” I say.
Niall tries to get past me, but I’m impossible to get past if I make the effort. It’s not that I’m big—I’m just bold. And when people look at me, they tend to see everything I’ve killed before.
Niall stops and hikes his bag up on his shoulder. He’s a pale, weedy boy with brown eyes that he spells a muddy blue. Waste of magic. He sneers: “What’s it to you, Snow?”
“He’s my roommate.”
“I’d think you’d be enjoying the solitude.”
“I am.”
“So?”
I step out of Niall’s way. “If he’s planning something, I’ll find out,” I say. “I always do.”
“So noted.”
“I mean it!” I shout after him.
“Your sincerity is also noted!”
***
By dinner, I’m so antsy that I’m tearing my Yorkshire pudding to shreds while I eat. (Yorkshire pudding. Roast beef. Gravy. It’s what we have for dinner every year on the first day of the term. I’ll never forget my first Watford dinner—my eyes nearly popped out when Cook Pritchard brought out the trays of roast beef. I didn’t care if magic was real at that moment. Because roast beef and Yorkshire pudding are fucking real as rain.)
“He might just be on holiday or something,” Penny says.
“Why would he still be on holiday?”
“His family travels,” Agatha offers.
Oh, really?I want to say.Is that what you talk about alone in the woods? Your shared love of travel?I rip off a chunk of bread and knock over my milk. Penny winces.
“He wouldn’t miss school,” I say, picking up my glass. Penny spells the milk away. “He cares too much about school.”
Nobody argues with me. Baz has always ranked first in our class. Penny used to give him a run for his money, but being my sidekick eventually affected her grades.“I’m not your sidekick,”she likes to say.“I’m your dread companion.”
“Maybe,” she suggests now, “his family has decided to stop pretending that we’re all at peace. Eighth year is optional anyway. In the old days, lots of people left after seventh. Maybe the Pitches have decided to get serious.”
