Page 5 of An Arcane Education
What did I just do?
Nausea rolls through me as the implication hits, and I lean against the leg of the table, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. I’m suddenly overcome by exhaustion, and my skin is clammy despite the heat of the greenhouse.
What happened on the trail was real, and it was my power that killed that man, brought on through fear and desperation. My lack of control cost a man his life, and even though he had been trying to harm me, the guilt is crushing.
I’m not sure how long I’m on the ground before I hear footsteps and the sound of Jaz’s voice. “Vivian? Are you in here?”
“Yeah!” I shout in a feigned cheerful tone, pushing myself off the ground with an armful of pots.
“When you’re done, can you come out and help with a few of these customers? Calvin got sick and had to leave early, and there are a lot of people with a lot of questions.”
“Sure thing,” I answer, standing directly in front of the dead calathea to hide evidence of my transgressions.
The rest of my shift passes in a haze of customer interactions that I manage to perform on autopilot, but exhaustion weighs down on me, and all I want to do is go home and sleep.
By the time my shift ends at six, I’ve accomplished the task of tending to the new plants (withoutusing whatever strange power I possess). My chest feels hollow and my head is pounding, and I head to my car without bothering to stay and chat with my coworkers. I need to go home and make sense of this, somehow.
I come home to the familiar sight of Christopher in front of the TV and my mother preparing dinner in the kitchen. The air conditioning raises goosebumps on my skin after being out in the heat all day, and as much as I’d love to collapse into bed without a word to anyone, I make sure to say hi to my distracted brother before heading to the kitchen.
“Hey, Mom.”
She turns her head briefly before returning her attention to the stove. “Hey, Viv. There’s some fancy piece of mail on the table for you.”
My brow furrows, and I make my way across the room to the table, where a heavy stock cream paper envelope sits on the table. Picking it up, I turn it over in my hands, noting the beautiful hand-lettered script with my name and address as well as a black wax seal on the backside of the envelope. The seal looks vaguely familiar, and I realize it’s the same emblem that was on the bottom of the random email I’d gotten yesterday.
Something akin to deja vu jolts through my body as I examine the expensive-looking envelope.
“What is it?” she asks, feigning nonchalance, but from the way her gaze is burning into the side of my head, I can tell she’s more curious than she’s letting on.
“I’m not sure,” I answer. “I’ll let you know.” Without waiting for her response, I rush to my room in eager anticipation. This is too personalized, has too much care put into it to be junk mail.
My hands shake as I perch on the edge of my bed and slide my finger under the black wax seal, breaking the adhesion, and open the envelope. Inside is one piece of stationery, which I carefully unfold and read slowly.
The letterhead is two bolded words centered at the top of the page in an old-style font.
Arcadia Academy.
I’ve never heard of it, let alone applied to it, and for a moment, my excitement is overshadowed by the overwhelming disappointment that this might be a mistake.
But it’s not, because the greeting addresses me by my full name. Below that, the first line of the letter reads, “Congratulations! You have officially been accepted to Arcadia Academy.”
CHAPTER 4
Imanage to ignore Mom’s curious stares at dinner without saying much, then spend the next couple hours attempting to research Arcadia Academy, but there’s astonishingly little information online. I’ve circled back to wondering if this is all some elaborate scam and have been searching the email and the letter for any signs of problems or subtle tells that would indicate it’s fake.
But what doesn’t make sense to me is the beautifully packaged acceptance letter, with its expensive paper, hand-lettered envelope, and wax seal. If this was a scam, why would they put so much effort and money into one letter?
I adjust my search terms, desperate for any proof that this isn’t real, but the most I can find is a minimalistic website with photos of ivy-covered stone and vague references to “specialized education for exceptional students.” For an institution claiming to offer graduate programs, it has a remarkably small digital footprint.
I go to social media next, checking the hashtags and locations for proof of the academy via college students, but nothing populates there, either.
In reality, this lack of proof should make this entire thing easier to dismiss as a scam. However, after the last two days of my life, I’m finding it difficult to dismiss anything as impossible. If magic is real, what else might be?
A secretive academy certainly wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve encountered in the last forty-eight hours.
The acceptance letter lists an email address at the bottom, beneath a single paragraph explaining that “further correspondence regarding enrollment procedures will be provided upon confirmation of your acceptance.”
I stare at my laptop screen, cursor blinking in an empty compose window. What exactly do I say?Dear mysterious academy, are you actually real?
