Look Before You Leap

By Alice Treaty

When Riley O'Malley and Aria Hardwick returned to America, they thought that their days in magic school were over, only to find out that fate has other plans - fate and Alicia Carson. Before long, the girls are on their way to world-renowned Silvergates Academy, but can the school survive them?

All Riley and Aria want is a quiet, normal high school experience, but what they get instead are feuds with the school's elite, life-altering detentions, dances that turn into brawls, and attacks from outside forces on students with highly unusual powers - all with Riley and Aria at the center. All of America's best teachers and charms might just prove not enough to handle a human stick of magical dynamite and the quiet girl who knows her trigger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781678092092

Book preview

Look Before You Leap

Volume 1 of Burden of Power

Alice Treaty

Copyright © 2020

All rights reserved.

Editor: Kathryn Hubbard

Cover illustrations created by Mohamed Ali Elmeshad (Royalty-free stock illustration ID:1207296994) and acquired through Shutterstock.com

ISBN: 978-1-6780-9209-2

Published by Lulu Press

ALSO BY ALICE TREATY

Silvergates Academy

Power of Mind

Shadows and Ravens

The hardest part of becoming someone new is

Letting go of everything you know,

But the best part of letting go of everything you know is

Becoming someone new.

1

Riley

Time was a strange thing. I hated how it seemed to race forward at times, and then drag at others. But it never moved slower than it did while in an airplane. A transatlantic flight, especially, seemed to go on forever. It had only been two days, but between the flight and the four layovers that I had been forced to endure, I felt as though I was going to lose my mind from sheer boredom. Each leg of the journey took several hours, but somehow seemed to last an eternity as I made my way from Germany to the United States. Around me, most of the passengers were fast asleep, but I was far too anxious to get any rest. Instead, I would read or listen intently to my MP3 player, trying hard to lose myself in the music and forget why I was on the airplane.

A hand rested on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. I opened my eyes to see a pleasant-looking woman in a blue and grey uniform standing in the aisle. She had dark hair that had been pulled neatly out of her face, yet fell over her shoulders in long curls. There was something very warm about her appearance, and which made me think that she felt she had the greatest job in the world.

I pulled my headphones from my ears, brushing my long brown hair from my eyes. Yes?

Is there anything I can get you? Any snacks or a refill of your soda? The woman gestured to the empty cup of ice on my meal tray. We will be arriving soon, so if you would like anything, now is the time.

No, thank you, I said politely, handing her the empty cup.

As she walked away, I glanced upward, staring blankly at the white compartment overheard. Inside of it were two carry-on bags; one was my backpack, the other a small leather bag belonging to the woman sitting two seats to my right in the row ahead of me. She was sleeping soundly, a paperback novel resting open across her stomach.

I contemplated the possessions inside my backpack. There were not many, but they were the items I valued most in the world, which included two rather thick books I had barely managed to cram inside the bag. I would have loved to spend the very long flight reading, I did not dare pull out those books, not even in a nearly empty First-Class compartment. I was not ready for the stares that I would inevitably attract, nor the questions that would follow.

The plane gave a shudder, and I reflexively grabbed a hold of the arms of my seat. I braced myself, every muscle in my body going tense. The plane continued to shake, yet no one else in First Class so much as flinched. They continued to eat, sleep, read, or listen to whatever was playing in their headphones, not showing the slightest sign of unrest as the plane endured turbulence and then relaxed into smooth flight once again.

When at last the plane leveled out, I exhaled, but did not relax. Instead, I grabbed a hold of the leather cuff that covered my right forearm and began to twist it nervously. I hated flying. On some level, I knew that this was ironic, given what I was, but no amount of mental preparation of self-scolding seemed to change the fact that from the moment the airplane changed angles and began to lift into the sky, my head would begin to spin and my heart would start pounding frantically until I feared I would vomit from anxiety. Only the escape of my MP3 player made the experience bearable, but only just.

This was only my second plane flight. The first had been ten months ago, when I had nervously left Bristle Manor and boarded an airplane for the only school that would have me: Roterdorn Institute, a particularly unpleasant boarding school in the most secluded mountains known to Germany. For Christmas, I had been fortunate enough to forego another dreadful flight, and had instead taken a train to Romania to visit my one and only friend at her boarding school.

Ten months. It might as well have been a decade. I had always prided myself on being an intelligent, well-read child, but those ten months abroad had taught me just how much I didn’t know. Not only had I needed to learn an entirely new language, but I had never realized just how small my world at Bristle Manor had been until I found myself amongst five hundred strangers. And after nine long, painful months that had ended in my expulsion, I was once again on an airplane, on my way back to America, but not to any home.

Home. What was a home, anyway? I had lived in an orphanage since I was a toddler, but not once had I ever thought of Bristle Manor as a home. Like many orphanages, it had been overrun with children and sorely understaffed. The Headmistress, Carmen Meryn, had been a short stump of a woman with far too much to deal with and certainly no time or patience for anything complicated or out of the ordinary. And if there was one thing I could say about myself, it was that I was anything but ordinary.

I was a witch, a magical being capable of extraordinary things that most humans would have considered unnatural or impossible. Still, even I could not deny that my magic seemed to have a more potent nature than other kids’, and I knew that Meryn had been as glad to see me leave as I had been to go. Aria, my best friend, had not been so sorely disliked. I would swear until my dying breath that she was every bit as stubborn as me, she was not nearly Unlike me, she was not prone to shattering windows or causing furniture to burst into flames whenever she became angry.

Guilt tore at me. I hated the idea that Aria would be leaving a school where she had been doing so well, but I couldn’t deny that the idea of returning to America without her caused me to fall into a pit of deep despair. I had no family, no home, no school, and no idea of what was going to happen next. The only thing I had in this world was my best friend, Aria Hardwick, who was the closest thing I had ever known to a sister, not to mention the one person who seemed capable of putting up with any amount of insanity I brought to her life.

Well, this was half-true. I was constantly amazed by how much craziness Aria was willing to put up with from me, but I had long-since suspected that the reason for her remarkable tolerance was that she, herself, was a little on the crazy side. Life with Aria was a bit like living in a carnival, both bizarre and entertaining. Her mind seemed to operate in a very non-linear way, with a sense of logic that often reminded me of a giant bowl of spaghetti.

Strangely enough, we seemed to complement one another quite well. Inexplicably well, in fact. Meryn and the rest of her staff had often wondered how two children who were so fundamentally different could find so much to talk about. There was no logical explanation for our friendship, which only made it that much more meaningful. We had been through a great deal together in the ten years since Aria had joined me at Bristle Manor, in which she had shown me a loyalty that went beyond blood or logic.

I noticed the flight attendant walk past me again, stopping at the fore of the compartment so as to face all the visitors in First Class. Her lips moved, and I could read them just well enough to know that she was informing everyone that we would be landing soon. At once, everyone began the rituals of fastening their seatbelts, raising their seats, and locking their meal trays into prone positions. This took only a minute or two but was just long enough for the plane to tilt forward and begin its descent.

My throat tightened once again. I closed my eyes and tried with all my might to focus on the music rather than the rapid change of angle and altitude. But I might have gone deaf, for none of the notes or lyrics seemed to reach my ears. Instead, an incredible pressure was building inside of my head while my eyeballs seemed to expand until I thought they would break the sockets that held them.

How could people stand this? How could they voluntarily subject themselves to the horrific sensation of one’s internal organs switching places and turning inside-out while still trying to resist the urge to vomit? No job in the world, no vacation, and no family member or friend was worth enduring this nightmare for. I could wait any additional length of time necessary to take a car, train, bus, or boat if it meant keeping my feet firmly on the ground.

In all fairness, it wasn’t just airplanes. At Roterdorn, I had been required to learn how to ride a broom and had been convinced that the experience would kill me. Somehow, I had managed to learn, but had sworn the day I passed my final examination that it would take a life-or-death threat to ever get me back on a broom. This was at least better than Aria, who had been forced to learn the same skill at Creswell, and had somehow managed to get bucked off her own broom in a dozen different ways, resulting in a half-dozen broken bones and two record-worthy concussions.

The plane hit the tarmac very suddenly, and my body gave an abrupt jerk that I was certain would send my eyeballs flying out of my head and rolling across the floor like marbles. But to my dismay, they stayed firmly inside my skull, stretched wide for a full minute while the airplane slowed down and circled the landing strip. When I finally closed my eyes, they seared with pain, which helped to clear my mind and return my senses to me once more. Then the plane stopped, but no one moved. It was several minutes before the flight attendant approached the front of the compartment and faced the visitors with that warm, friendly smile. This time, I removed my headphones so that I could hear what she had to say.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have arrived in Kent, Montana. For those of you wishing to leave, please gather your belongings and make your way to the front of the plane. We will be departing for Seattle, Washington in twenty minutes.

I rose to my feet and grabbed my backpack from the overhead compartment. I was one of six people who did so, while the others waited in complete silence. Together, we made a line and moved from the airplane to a metal tunnel that reminded me of a railroad car, but which I could see was collapsible and led into a massive building made almost entirely of metal and glass.

It was an absurdly large airport for a town like Kent. Located near the center of Montana, the airport was the primary source of jobs and revenue. It took up nearly half of the city; not just the airport and tarmac, but also the dozen hotels, the many restaurants, and an astounding number of stores that serviced travelers, airport employees, and citizens of Kent. The rest of the city was largely residential and arranged in a circle around the airport. I knew from personal experience that even on the outskirts of town, you could count on hearing the thunder of planes all day long. It was impossible to understand why anyone would choose to live in a city where they could hardly ever get a moment’s silence, yet people were constantly moving to Kent for the many employment and business opportunities.

Once past the gate and inside the main corridor, which passed a wide variety of shops and restaurants, I stopped and stared. Hundreds of people were walking to and from the security gates at the front of the airport. Some had cell phones held up to their ears; some were looking around desperately for maps or arrival boards; some were stopping to ask for directions. I distinctly overheard one woman scold a small boy who couldn’t have been older than four or five, for grabbing a stuffed teddy bear from a bin outside a shop, causing the boy to dissolve into disappointed tears when she snatched it back from him.

There were so many unfamiliar faces; people of different ages, races, sizes, and shapes; some even spoke different languages, yet there was something unmistakably similar about all of these people. The way they talked, moved, and even dressed; these were Outsiders, nonmagical people, most of whom I suspected neither knew nor believed in the magical world. Still, I was certain that amongst the thousands of people in this building, there had to be others like me. Witches and wizards. Sure, we were few amongst the non-magical, but we were always there.

I turned without thinking, and a grin crept from my lips. Down the corridor stood a girl with light brown skin and straight black hair, and the most vibrant brown eyes I had ever seen. She carried a backpack with one strap, which crossed from her right shoulder to her left hip. Her smile, infectious even from a distance, grew as she broke into a run. I barely had time to drop my backpack before she threw herself on me in a strangling hug, nearly knocking me off my feet in the process. I laughed as I hugged her in return, even as her tiny arms threatened to break my neck.

It’s good to see you, too, Aria, I said in a strained voice. When she finally released me and stepped back, I picked my backpack up off of the floor and slung it over my right shoulder again. When did you get in?

About two hours ago, Aria answered. I thought about getting something to eat, but figured I’d better wait until you got here, and we could eat together at the hotel.

I nodded my appreciation, suddenly aware that the airline snacks and meal I had most recently eaten had worn off hours ago.

You didn’t get your luggage?

I figured I would wait for you.

So, what have you been doing for two hours?

Sleeping outside the gate where I came in. At least, I was until about ten minutes ago. I set my cell phone’s alarm to alert me when your plane was supposed to arrive.

You didn’t sleep on the plane?

Sure, I did.

I didn’t push the matter. Aria was the one person I knew apart from myself who could sleep almost as many hours as she spent awake, though she preferred to do it in sporadic naps throughout the day. I had even wondered whether she might have an undiagnosed case of narcolepsy, though I had no way to prove it.

Come on, Aria said, leading the way down the corridor.

We walked to Baggage Claim, where one large duffel bag awaited each of us. Aria had to use both hands to carry hers, which seemed to weigh as much as she did. It took us twice as long as a normal person to walk out of the airport, with Aria wobbling awkwardly as she struggled with her bag. It was difficult to not laugh. Aria was easily four inches shorter than myself, and incredibly scrawny. Her arms and legs were like twigs, and though her boney fingers were capable of a vice-grip that could make me cry, she had almost no muscle and despised exercise or extensive manual labor with a fiery passion.

An airport bus took us the six blocks to our hotel. It was not the tallest, but had ten floors and a spectacular lobby that gave the hotel a rather grandiose atmosphere. I took in the high-end furnishing which decorated the lobby, along with men and women walking around in identical red and black suits with an ornate crest on the left side of the chest. To the left, there was a large wood-burning fireplace, where a fire burned warm and inviting, while guests sat on old-fashioned couches and armchairs that seemed to be in pristine condition.

Aria led the way to the front desk, where a thin man with receding grey hair stood, also wearing a red and black uniform. He looked up from his computer, unable to hide the surprise from his beady brown eyes as he looked between Aria and myself.

Welcome to The Dumont, he said in a very formal, yet unimpressed tone. How may I help you?

Reservation for ‘Hardwick,’ Aria said as she dropped her bag unceremoniously on the ground, her breaths ragged from the labor.

The man did not immediately react. It was as though the idea of taking an order from a teenager deeply offended him. Finally, he looked at his computer and typed a series of commands into it. Whatever he saw only seemed to deepen his suspicion.

Aria Hardwick? he asked at last.

That’s right, Aria replied pleasantly.

This says that you will be staying in the Platinum Suite, he said, staring at the computer.

That’s right, she repeated.

The concierge looked between us again, and though he did not say so, I could see in his eyes that he was questioning how two teenagers could afford such extravagant accommodations. As if this might be a prank. He glanced back at the computer for a second time, and then he withdrew two key cards from a drawer and walked around the desk with a broad, warm smile that appeared so quickly, it was quite alarming.

Very well, everything seems to be in order. I will take you to your suite right away. When Aria reached for her duffel bag, the man gave her a dismissive wave of his hand. Please, please. We will take care of that for you.

He gave a wave of his hand and a small man in a similar red and black suit hurried over with a luggage cart. Aria stepped back, clearly having no desire to argue. The small man took Aria’s duffel bag and then my own, though we both insisted that we could carry our backpacks.

Please excuse my rudeness, Miss Hardwick. In my twenty-three years at The Dumont, I have never known our finest room to be utilized exclusively by two young women such as yourselves.

I understand completely, Aria said pleasantly. You see, my parents are currently conducting business abroad, and they thought it best that my step-sister and I not stay at home by ourselves. At least here, we have staff available to keep us safe and assist us, and a restaurant where we might have proper meals.

Of course, of course. I would hate to think of two young girls spending any great length of time without adult supervision, the man said, sounding horrified as he held the elevator door open for us. It’s a dangerous world, and one can never be too careful. Did your parents happen to mention how long you would be staying for? There was no check-out date for the reservation.

For at least a month, Aria answered, not missing a beat. That won’t be a problem, will it?

Not at all! Not at all! the thin man said delightedly, apparently feeling the need to repeat all positive statements twice. We would be delighted to have you for as long as you like.

On the tenth floor, the thin man led the way to a set of ornate double doors. He slid a key card into a digital lock, and then opened them dramatically.

I had never been anywhere so nice. There was a massive bed covered in heavy, beautiful red blankets and at least a half-dozen square pillows. On either side of the bed was a full-size dresser and high-back sitting chair positioned separately from the large Victorian-style couch and sofa chairs that had been arranged in what appeared to be a lounging area. They were positioned around a wood-burning fireplace with an ornate mantle and marble hearth, over which hung a flat-screen television. There was also a small kitchenette and dining table. I could see three doors – one leading to what appeared to be a walk-in closet, one leading to an absurdly large bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and walk-in shower, and one leading to a second bedroom.

It was difficult to keep my mouth from falling open in dismay. Aria did not seem remotely fazed. This helped slightly, but I couldn’t help feeling as though I had just stepped into another universe.

There is a team of highly-trained professionals on-site at all hours, available to assist you with everything from housekeeping to cooking. The gym and pool, however, are available only from six o’clock in the morning until midnight. The thin man handed a keycard to Aria, and a second one to me. If there is anything that we can do to make your experience more comfortable, please let us know right away. And welcome to The Dumont.

He gave the two of us a slight bow and walked out of the room, snapping his fingers for the bellhop to follow with the luggage cart. Once the doors were closed, I looked at Aria with a slightly accusatory expression.

Your step-sister? Really?

"Well, no one is going to believe that we’re related by blood, not with your ghostly complexion. She gave a dismissive wave toward me, and then set a hand on her hip and gave a tilt of her head. And what was with you? You were unusually quiet."

That’s because anything I might have said about his snotty attitude might have come across as rude, I said with an unpleasant smile. Besides, you were doing well enough on your own; coming up with that cock-and-bull story about your parents working abroad for the summer and not wanting to live alone.

"Well, I had to tell him something, Aria said, shrugging. I booked the room the day after I realized we would be coming back, and then made a phone call pretending to be my own mother, so that I could give them approval for the two of us to stay here by ourselves. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. Thank goodness for 21st Century technology and voice-modification charms. So long as they get their money, they don’t ask too many questions."

I laughed. "And people think I’m duplicitous."

Aria seemed not to have heard this. She walked toward the king-size bed in the main room and flung herself onto it, her arms and legs spread apart in a remarkably undignified manner. Her eyes were closed, her head turned to the side. She looked as though she had fallen asleep on impact.

Order a pizza, will you? she asked in a lazy drawl. There’s cash in my wallet.

I walked toward the second room, grinning over my shoulder as I teased, I’m not sure that counts as a ‘proper meal,’ you know.

When Aria grabbed the pillow, I had no idea, but I had barely finished my sentence when a fluffy red pillow with tiny golden threads around the border smacked me in the face. I caught it and threw it back with twice the force, causing Aria to let out a mousey shriek.

I took my duffel bag and backpack into the second room and placed them on the bed. This room was just as nice as the first; nicer than anything I had ever stayed in or could have dreamed of affording. A slight pang of jealousy tore at my insides, but I tried to ignore it. Money meant very little to me, but it was difficult to not feel a certain degree of jealousy when someone so close to me had so much more than I did. Well, more money, anyway.

Aria’s parents had died fourteen years ago, just like mine. Her parents had, in fact, been friends with mine, though it wasn’t until we were five that we met and discovered this. Our parents had attended the same school and had gone on to live in the same small wizarding town in northern Montana. But what should have been a quiet, peaceful life filled with the trivial joys of raising small children had been spoiled by a hateful, vindictive war incited by magical supremacists bent on the subjugation of the non-magical community. For three years, witches and wizards rose up in defiance of such old, narrow-minded ways of thinking. And the Outside world never knew. Hundreds of witches and wizards had laid down their lives in service to men and women who would never know how close they had come to losing their freedom, leaving thousands of children as orphans; sent to live with family, or to orphanages like Bristle Manor because they had no family remaining.

I was one of the latter, left with only a few material possessions and a modest savings account, on which I now depended for all of my financial needs. Aria, however, had been sent to live with an elderly aunt for three years before the woman died. Upon this second death, Aria had inherited a rather large estate, including a perfectly large house that she would someday be able to return to. But more importantly, she had been left a substantial fortune; more than she could spend in an entire lifetime, for all the good it had done her at Bristle Manor. It was Aria who had arranged for my holiday visit to Romania, and for my recent flight back to Montana. And now, we would be living in the hotel and charging our daily expenses to her bank account, as well.

Money meant nothing to Aria, of course. She gave only out of the goodness of her heart and the pit of her bottomless stomach, but I still felt guilty whenever she gave so generously, especially she never asked for anything in return.

My stomach growled demandingly. I called in the pizza order and then began to unpack my bags. It was full of clothes, which I placed within a dresser located near the room’s only window. There was also a black cauldron, a dozen exceptionally large books, a collapsible telescope, several journals, a fluffy pillow that Aria had sent me the previous Christmas, and a case of my favorite pens. It seemed impossible that the bag could contain so much, yet they all fit quite easily. Various forms of luggage with similar enchantments were standard in the magical community, who could pack all their clothes and books for school in a single bag, which saved space during transport and in the dormitories. I unpacked my backpack, as well, which was not spelled, but contained items of greater sentimental value. This included my two favorite books about magic, the only photograph I owned of myself as a baby with my family, and most importantly, a long, slender piece of red-brown wood.

It wasn’t even a foot-long, but when I held the wand in my right hand, I felt as powerful as though I were brandishing a razor-sharp sword. I turned it over in my hand, marveling how natural it felt. It was like an extension of my right arm.

The sound of a knock on the door caused me to jump, reflexively shielding my wand behind my back. Then I remembered, with a sigh of relief, that no one was around to see it. I placed the wand back inside my backpack and walked into the main room, where Aria was still lying half-asleep on her bed. I grabbed her wallet from her backpack, slipping a few bills from it before walking toward the door. When I opened the door, however, it was not a delivery man standing outside, but another concierge.

A messenger just arrived and delivered these letters, addressed to a Miss Hardwick and a Miss O’Malley, the man said pleasantly.

On his hand was a silver tray, on top of which were two white envelopes. I stared at the envelopes for a full ten seconds, unsure of what to do or say. How could mail have arrived so quickly? Aria had reserved the hotel room nearly two weeks ago, but we had only arrived less than fifteen minutes ago. Besides, who would have bothered sending us mail in the first place? It wasn’t as though we had any friends or family to correspond with.

I knew that I must look stupid, staring at the envelopes as though they might explode. Brushing my confusion aside for the moment, I accepted the mail, muttering my appreciation to the man before walking back into the hotel room. The envelopes were identical except for the names printed across the front. They were written in beautiful calligraphy, the likes of which I had not seen outside of textbooks.

Riley O’Malley

Room 1070

The Dumont Hotel

"Please tell me they remembered to send us paper plates, because I don’t think I can bear going all the way downstairs to ask for fancy ones, Aria said sluggishly. When I did not respond, she raised her head. What’s the matter?"

We’ve got mail.

This caused Aria to look up, blinking in confusion. What do you mean? Mail from who?

I stared down at the envelope with my name, and then turned it over to see if there was a return address or seal. The space was blank. I handed Aria the second envelope, and then proceeded to open my own. Inside was a neatly folded letter with the same beautiful handwriting, also addressed to me and dated earlier that morning.

Dear Miss O’Malley,

I hope that this letter finds you well and must express my deepest relief at knowing you arrived safely from your travels abroad. I understand how sudden this might seem, but I was recently made aware of the circumstances surrounding your departure from Roterdorn Institute and would like to extend my deepest condolences. I would also like to take this opportunity to offer you a chance to attend a school closer to home. We at Silvergates Academy would like to extend to you the offer of attending our school this upcoming academic year.

At Silvergates Academy, I feel that you will not only find the support of highly educated staff members who are eager to nurture your interests and talents in a variety of subjects, but also a family who will help you to achieve your greatest potential. Should you choose to accept, a list of required textbooks and supplies will be sent to you. Please send your reply to the front desk at The Dumont. A courier will stop by to pick it up tomorrow morning.

I look forward to hearing your answer, and I hope to see you this fall.

Sincerely,

Alicia Carson

Headmistress of Silvergates Academy

I reread the letter several times, too stunned to speak. I did not know what to think. In fact, my mind seemed to have gone completely blank. When I looked up, I found Aria staring at her own letter with a similar look of bewilderment. She raised her eyes to me, and for an entire minute, the room was utterly silent.

Possibly even more significant was the realization of who had sent the letter. Alicia Carson. A chill ran up my spine at the idea that Alicia Carson had actually written a letter to me. And according to this letter, she knew about the circumstances surrounding my departure – or rather, my expulsion – from Roterdorn. But how was that possible? Alicia Carson was one of the most powerful witches in the world. She had made a name for herself years ago as one of the most powerful Hunters in the country, catching criminals before she took over as the Headmistress of the best magic school in the country. There wasn’t a witch or wizard in the United States who didn’t know who Alicia Carson was, and hardly a witch who didn’t aspire to be just like her. How was it possible that she knew anything about my time at Roterdorn? And if she knew, then why would she want me as a student in her school?

Silvergates, Aria said, breaking the silence. Silvergates Academy.

How could she have found out so soon? I asked, holding up the letter. We only just got back.

She’s Alicia Carson, Aria said with a shrug, as though this explained everything. She folded her letter and set it down on her mattress. So? What do you think?

"What do I think?" I repeated, unsure of where to begin.

An offer to attend Silvergates? Silvergates Academy, the most elite of the four schools of magic in the United States, ran by the most powerful witch in the entire country, Alicia Carson. A shiver ran up my spine. It was the school that my parents had attended, which I had hoped to attend myself, but had been unable to because I had never received an invitation. So why now? If Carson truly knew the details about my departure from Roterdorn, why would she offer me the chance to join her school?

This is amazing, Aria said, rising to her feet. She walked toward me, her expression suddenly somber. "Truly amazing. You understand that, right? This is a second chance, for both of us. We aren’t likely to get an opportunity like this again."

I know.

"Silvergates is the best school in America. It’s the school that we always wanted to go to. It’s the school that our parents attended, which we should have attended in the first place."

I know.

"So?"

I stared at her, and then looked back down at the letter. Was it possible? Was it possible that I wasn’t dreaming? I didn’t want to let myself believe it. I didn’t want to let myself feel the hope that I could hear practically dripping from Aria’s mouth. Because whenever I felt that kind of hope, it was yanked out from beneath me and I always landed hard on my butt. But there it was, the invitation I had always wanted.

It was nearly impossible to keep myself from smiling. I looked up at Aria, and I could see the light burning brightly in her eyes. Yes. I want to go to Silvergates.

Aria clasped her hands over her mouth and let out a shrill squeal that left me quite certain I would go deaf. But before I could clasp my hands over my ears, Aria threw her arms around me in a hug, nearly toppling me over for the second time that day.

Another knock on the door interrupted the gleeful moment, and Aria ran to the door. This time, it really was the delivery man standing outside, holding a pizza box and case of root beer in his hands. For a moment, I thought that Aria might hug him, as well, but she simply grabbed the money from me and handed him an especially generous tip. And while she ran back inside, holding the box and soda over her head as though they were a trophy, I could not help but laugh at the bewildered expression of the clueless delivery man holding a wad of cash in his hands. And for a moment, I wondered whose day had been made brighter.

2

Aria

Riley and I stayed up all evening, eating pizza and talking nonstop. First, we discussed all we had seen and done during this past year. Of course, we had mailed each other while at school, but letters just weren’t the same as talking to one another in person. And there was so much to talk about, even without discussing the more unpleasant parts. Tragic though the end of the year might have been, I could see that Riley had been enthralled by the world of magical learning.

I couldn’t blame her for being so excited. The truth was, the idea of attending Silvergates Academy excited me far more than Creswell ever had. My parents, like Riley’s, had attended Silvergates many years ago. Of course, I had no more memories of my parents than Riley did, but I longed for one more thing to connect me to them. Besides, Silvergates was the best school of magic in the United States. What place would challenge us more and offer us more opportunities to grow?

But that also means more homework, I grumbled wearily, already imagining mountains of textbooks and hours dedicated to studying that could have otherwise been spent on well-earned naps.

Eh, who cares? Riley said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I wonder what classes we’ll be taking, and if we’ll get to choose any electives. At Roterdorn, all of our classes were predetermined until our fourth year. Ooh, I hope they offer classes about magical creatures and obscure languages. You know, like Elfish and Dwarf-tongue."

She looked as though she might faint with excitement.

Better you than me, I muttered, a slight edge to my voice. I’ll be happy with just passing all of my classes.

Oh, please. You’ve never failed a class yet. Well, it sounds like you came close in your flying class, but you still scraped a pass, didn’t you? Other than that, your grades are almost as good as mine.

This was true. Despite my intense loathing of studying and examinations, I couldn’t say that I was bad at school. In fact, I had been in the top five percent of my class at Creswell and had been pleased to find that when Riley was not around, I had not gotten a single detention. Somehow, I suspected that my record would not remain quite as spotless this year.

Our conversation stretched into the early hours of the morning, but it wasn’t until four o’clock that I really started to get drowsy. In fact, I felt oddly energized. It felt so good to be able to talk to Riley again, rather than having to condense our conversations to a few pages of notebook paper at a time. And now that we would be attending the same school, we could talk to each other whenever we liked, not to mention study and practice spells together. Just like we had always dreamed at Bristle Manor.

It was fortunate that I fell asleep before Riley. While she stayed up reading, I slept soundly, and was saved the unbearably distracting sound of Riley talking in her sleep. Even with a wall between us, I was quite certain that I would have been able to hear her carrying on conversations, half-muttering bits of spells she knew and reciting entire passages from textbooks. Her wand, thank goodness, was safely stowed in her backpack. It might have been amusing – impressive, even – if this little habit of hers didn’t interrupt the precious hours that I preferred to devote to sleep.

It was a long, peaceful night. The best sleep I had had in a long time, and the best I suspected I would have for a while. After all, we had just traveled back to America after having lived abroad for a year. We were living in a hotel because we had no homes of our own. And now, it seemed that we would be going to a new school, where we knew no one and would spend what we hoped would be the next three years learning all the magic we could while trying to overcome the stains left by what was arguably the worst year of our lives.

When I woke, it was to see rays of sunlight streaming in between the curtains that we had drawn closed the night before. I debated closing me eyes and trying to go back to sleep but saw out of the corner of my eye that the alarm clock read 12:43. I groaned miserably, aware that if we were to do anything semi-productive today, it was best to get out of bed now. Then again, it was June. Summer Break. We didn’t need to do anything productive.

Just as I had decided to pull the comforter back over my head, a repetitive knock as loud as gunshots caused me to sit upright. My heart racing wildly, I looked frantically in either direction. Then my mind cleared, and I realized that the noise must have come from the suite’s front door.

I sluggishly pulled myself out of bed, lazily running my fingers through my hair as I let out a loud yawn. Then I pulled open the door and saw the thin man from the lobby, holding a silver tray in his right hand like a waiter. Atop the tray, however, was not food or drink. It was a stack of two white envelopes.

A letter just arrived for you, Miss Hardwick, and for Miss O’Malley.

His voice was polite enough, but I could sense his barely suppressed disapproval that a wealthy heiress had clearly just pulled herself out bed past noon. But I didn’t care. I smiled and thanked him, and then took the letters and walked back to my bed.

The envelopes were identical to those Riley and I had received the night before, which meant that they were from Silvergates Academy. As I opened my envelope, I heard Riley’s voice drift from the cracked door of her bedroom. She spoke in a barely audible slur, but I could just make out the instructions to correctly transfiguring a goblet into a jewelry box. I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a smile as I looked back down at the envelope. There were two pieces of paper folded together inside, including a letter.

Dear Miss Hardwick,

I am delighted to hear that you have accepted my offer to attend Silvergates Academy this fall. I am certain that you will find the curriculum both interesting and challenging, and the faculty eager to help you on this next leg of your journey.

Enclosed is a list of all the books and supplies that you will need for the forthcoming year. Based on your current residence, I suggest you travel to the wizard town of Middleton. To get there, I recommend traveling precisely 42.3 miles south of Kent along Route 275. You should be able to find everything that you need there.

All students will arrive on August 31st, and the term will officially begin at the opening ceremonies, which will begin promptly at six o’clock. Students will depart for Silvergates Academy from the predetermined location of Sky High Ranch at four o’clock on August 31st. If you would like to arrange your own transportation to Sky High Ranch, you may do so. The address is 4340 Rocky View Drive in Weatherby, Montana. However, transportation is available and may be found on Beech Street at no later than 3 o’clock on August 31st.

I hope that you enjoy the rest of your summer and look forward to seeing you soon. We shall discuss housing arrangements upon arrival.

I stared at the letter, my heart racing once again, but this time with excitement. It was official. We were students of Silvergates Academy. I was now wide awake and couldn’t wait to get the day started.

Riley did not share my enthusiasm. It took nearly twenty minutes of poking, prodding, and hitting her with one of her pillows to convince her to stir, but even then, it was to make an uncouth suggestion before burying her face back in her pillow. And so, I sat down at the foot of her bed and began talking about all of the things we would need to buy in Middleton, and how I was looking forward to exploring the many shops and buying new magical items that I had seen advertised in magazines that had been distributed regularly at Creswell. And when none of this worked, I began talking about all of the different potions supplies that I wanted to buy. I was five minutes into detailing the exciting new features of the brand new Prestile beakers and vials that had been released only two weeks ago, when the "thump" of a fluffy red pillow hitting my face muffled my monologue and I knew that my point had been made.

After we had showered and changed, I called for a taxi and gave the driver the address included in Carson’s letter. I was surprised, however, to discover that the driver did not take us to any town or city. In fact, the further he drove, the more I began to question if Carson’s directions had been correct. We were driving on a long stretch of highway that seemed to be going nowhere in particular. There were tall trees on either side of the road, and vast fields of grass with mountains clearly visible in the distance. It was a beautiful drive, but not a single sign of an upcoming settlement.

The driver looked just as confused. More than once, he asked where we were going, but I simply repeated Carson’s instructions: precisely 42.3 miles from Kent. This answer did not seem to satisfy the man, however, especially when he pulled to the side of the road next to a valley without a single person or building in sight.

Riley and I stepped out of the taxi, equally perplexed as we surveyed the apparently empty terrain. Riley stepped onto the grass while I looked in either direction. Was it possible that the taxi’s calculations had been slightly off? Why would Carson send us here?

"Are you sure this is where you want to be dropped off? the driver asked, eying the area with a great deal of uncertainty. There’s nothing out here. Is someone –"

This is the place, I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. I handed him his fare, which he eyed warily.

Are you certain? I don’t feel right leaving two young girls in the middle of nowhere by themselves.

We won’t be alone for long.

Riley’s voice was oddly colorless, but clear. She was no longer facing the taxi, but was instead staring at a great, open field to the right of the road. I followed her gaze, but saw nothing, not even a tree or bush.

Trust us, we’ll be fine.

This answer did not seem to satisfy the driver, but with a large tip in hand, he left without argument. Once we were alone, I looked at Riley, whose eyes remained glued to the valley. I stepped forward and stopped beside her, and immediately understood. It was as though the air before my face was vibrating, a deep pulse of energy that I could feel in my bones. In my blood. My breath grew short as I raised a hand, holding it flat against something that I could not see, but which I could feel as clearly as a brick wall.

A barrier, Riley said quietly.

Magic. My blood pounded with a wild excitement. At once, the sun seemed brighter and the grass seemed greener. It had been weeks since my last encounter with active magic. Though I always carried my wand on me, I had not used it once since I had left Creswell, but it was not until this moment that I realized just how much I missed it. Even just being near it again brought my senses into sharp relief in a way that I had not realized I had been missing, as though I had been in a deep sleep and was now awake. One glance at Riley, and I knew that she felt the same way. There was a ravenous hunger in her eyes as she stared ahead; a deep longing for the magic that she had recently been denied, and until twenty-four hours ago, thought she might not have again for years.

Without a word, I stepped forward and passed right through the barrier. It was as though I had stepped through a waterfall, a cool rush passing through every cell of my body. I shuddered, blinking without meaning to, and when I opened my eyes, the valley that had been empty only a moment before was now filled with an entire city.

The streets were made of an old, heavily worn stone that looked as though it had been there for centuries. The buildings were a strange mixture of old and new; tall and short; brick and metal. I could not remember ever having seen such a peculiar combination of architecture, but found the sight intriguing and oddly mesmerizing.

As we passed the shops, I stopped to stare into each window. Clothing shops. Apothecaries. Broom shops. Inns, bars, and restaurants. Wand shops. Bookstores. Each one was alive with enchanted items that seemed to glow, bubble, make noises, change shapes, and even move about on their own. It was difficult to take it all in, but every fiber of my being wanted to. I wanted to visit every store and see every item within; to know what all this world had to offer and understand everything about it.

We should probably go to the bookstore first, Riley said with a growing smile.

I nodded. The bookstore was one of the tallest buildings in town. Bernas and Neblos. It was easily recognizable for its pillars, which appeared to be made of giant stacks of books carved from solid bronze.

The inside of the building was just as unique as the outside. I stopped just inside the shop and stared upward, transfixed by the sight of a staircase which led up to what appeared to be dozens of landings; more than the building had been capable of containing, yet there they were. Even from the first floor, I could see hundreds of books. Thousands, even. The sight made my heart race. I had never felt so excited as when I was surrounded by books, and this place seemed to be filled with more than I even my previous school’s library. Books were flying through the air of their own accord – some to customers, some to employees, and some for no apparent reason whatsoever, but people seemed to accept this without question, as they would duck or move to the side whenever a book came flying toward their head, apparently not minding one bit.

It was difficult to focus on the reason why we had come. We spent hours in the fabulous bookstore, exploring dozens of shelves filled with every kind of book imaginable. I grabbed a bag from the front of the store, which – like our duffel bags – had been spelled to contain more items than the eye could justify, so that no matter how many books I placed within it, it did not fill. This turned out to be a blessing, for it quickly became clear that every book in the store fascinated me. Riley seemed to face this same dilemma, though I knew that she had to be more careful with her money, and therefore could not buy every book that appealed to her. Knowing this made me feel guilty, and so I did my best to restrain myself, but it was difficult when so many books seemed to call out to me; not only the books required for school. Where It All Began: A History of Famous Witches and Wizards, Brick by Brick: Transfiguring for the Modern Age, One Thousand Magical Creatures: Biology and Care, and Honing the Craft of Potion Making. This last book intrigued me the most, as I knew it would provide me insights into potion-making well beyond that of my current sophomore standing.

At Bristle Manor, Riley and I had both begun studying magic at a very young age. Not as practicing witches, of course, since minors were only allowed to practice within the confines of a Directive-approved educational institution. There were a total of four such schools in the United States, all of whom educated children only once they had reached the age of fourteen. But the Headmistress of our orphanage had begun instructing us on the fundamentals of magic at the age of seven determined to do her part in ensuring that every one of her charges was a success when they left school. Immediately, I had been drawn to Potions, and my one year of schooling thus far had only nurtured that interest.

It was only after three hours that I remembered the vast amount of shopping that we still had yet to do, and I realized with a start that I had somehow become separated from Riley. My heart gave a jolt. In a store of this size, it could be another three hours before I found her.

Two floors above, I found Riley sitting in a lounge chair, her shopping bag resting on a coffee table in front of her. A book was open on her lap, her feet pulled up beneath her. It was the position that she always assumed when she got comfortable with a good book.

Riley, I said at last. She looked up, blinking as though she had been woken from a dream. We should get going.

Right, Riley said distractedly.

She closed her book and dropped it inside the shopping bag, and we made our way for the staircase. On the first floor, we paid for our books, as well as for them to be delivered to our hotel. I was grateful for the simplicity of a magical community that used the same money as the Outside world. Not every country did, but it certainly made my life easier to not have to keep track of two different currencies. The magical community of America had many banks, including one here in Middleton. They stored money, of course, but they usually specialized in protecting other treasured items, such as precious stones, gold, ancient antiquities, and other items of immense intrinsic or magical value.

So, it looks like we both need a bunch of the basics, Riley said as she read through her supplies list. Notebooks, papers, pens, etcetera –

The boring stuff, I said with disinterest.

Says you, Riley said indignantly, casting me an ugly glare. "And then there’s the long list of ingredients that we’ll need for Potions… the gross, squishy stuff."

Says you, I teased.

Riley narrowed her eyes at me, this time unable to hide the amusement from them. She shoved the list in my hands. "You can go to First Stop Apothecary and ogle your precious eye of newt and rabbits’ feet. I’ll go to Leeble’s Inks and get the normal stuff. And we can meet at Griselda’s Pub and Inn afterward, all right? I heard someone at Bernas and Neblos say that they serve food to people of all ages, and that their food is supposed to be the best in town."

This idea suited me just fine. I nodded and made my way toward First Stop Apothecary. Unlike the buildings around it, all of which gleamed in the sunlight and had large windows that displayed shiny, brand-new gadgets or trendy clothes, the apothecary was a small, shabby store. It was black and looked in desperate need of a paint job, but I actually found the structure very intriguing. It reminded me of a haunted house, only smaller. The store had precisely one window, which displayed a cauldron and several glass jars filled with liquids of various colors, in which were suspended strange ingredients, which I was fairly certain included salamander tails, dragon claws, and some sort of blood.

The proprietor of the shop was an elderly woman named Lydia March. She wore a long black dress that looked as though it were made of layered cobwebs, which I thought suited the atmosphere of the shop quite well. The shop was not large, but it was lined with shelves containing all sorts of jars. Some of the jars held beans, nuts, shells, powders, and berries, all of which could be bought by the pound. Then there were also bottles of juice, pastes, blood, bile, serum, and plasma extracted from various plants and animals, which had been pre-bottled and were sold by the container. Then there were the rarer, more volatile substances that were sold individually, and came covered in labels with express warnings regarding the proper care and storage procedures, as well as lists of substances which they should never come in contact with. These were ingredients used only for the most advanced and complex potions, none of which would be sold to anyone under the age of seventeen or in their final year of school.

It’s for your own safety, as well as the safety of others, Mrs. March said with an amused smile when she saw my obvious disappointment. She seemed to be half-deaf, as she spoke very loudly in a wheezy voice. "Imagine a freshman trying to impress his friends with a daydream potion, only to mix in eighteen ounces of powdered canter root rather than the necessary seventeen-point-two ounces. He would be lucky to not blow his face off! Canter root is an extremely sensitive ingredient. Very insensitive, indeed. Best to be handled only by experienced hands."

I nodded, but still felt disappointed. How was I supposed to learn advanced potions if stupid rules like age restrictions kept getting in my way? With a tiny pang of guilt, I couldn’t help but feel that I had known Riley far too long.

Mrs. March helped me find the ingredients on my school supplies list, enough for myself and Riley. As we both still had the basic equipment for potion-making, I did not need to buy any more, but I did splurge on a new black case with sleek silver hinges and embellishments, which would hold twice as many ingredients and instruments as my old case; nearly as big as my duffel bag, but with six compartments inside, each of which was capable of storing a different type of ingredient without the possibility of cross-contamination. I knew that Riley would not begrudge me the extravagant purchase. Though quite competent in her own right, she had little interest in anything to do with potion-making, but respected and strongly encouraged my passion for it, even if she also liked to tease me about it. Besides, it was so fancy and glossy, and the silver embellishments were so shiny…

You are the first sophomore I have seen buy a Model X-27 case, Mrs. March said, sounding impressed as she helped me to store the supplies I had just purchased in the case. Top of the line. Awfully expensive, too. Most girls your age are more interested in Charms supplies than potions. She sniffed with disapproval. Attracted to things that flash and bang, I suppose. Hardly anyone respect the beauty of the incredibly complex science that is potion-making. Feel free to write to me if you would like to order more ingredients during the school year, and I will send them to Silvergates without delay. I’m always eager to help an aspiring potioneer.

I