Page 87 of An Arcane Education
I’ve thrown myself into practicing magic whenever I safely can. Max and Callista patiently coach me through basic elemental manipulation spellwork, but the bulk of my practice is focused on my Affinity. I’ve spent more than a few afternoons by myself on the far edge of campus—the opposite side of the island from the forest—and have managed to almost perfect my skills with identifying plants and their needs, coaxing growth and inhibiting illness, and generally exhibiting the control I’dbeen lacking at the beginning of the semester. It’s like I’ve found the current my magic runs through, and it’s taken me months to learn how to regulate the power running through it.
One of the hardest parts of my weeks is having class with Alaric. I manage to wear a mask of indifference despite the heartache that surges every time I see his face. Every Tuesday and Thursday, I arrive to class one minute before it begins, sit in the back, take meticulous notes, and leave the moment class ends.
Alaric tries to get my attention, though subtly. He attempts to catch my eye during lectures, but I avoid eye contact as much as possible, and he always lingers at the end of class. I make sure to strike up a conversation with Joanna as class ends each day in order to look busy on my way out the door, and we’ve waited on each other at the end of our lab sessions to go to lunch together in AJ’s absence. Thankfully, Alaric respects my boundaries, though it’s evident in his demeanor that he’s having a difficult time.
Today, Max and I are in the library as we so often are. She’s tapping a pencil against one of her psychology textbooks, mumbling to herself as she reads aloud a paragraph about the influence of magic on those predisposed to mental illness, while I have three yearbooks on the table before me, one of them open beside my notebook. In the moments where studying any longer becomes impossible, I’ve resorted to digging into my investigations about who Charles and Melinda might be. I’ve found so many matches for the first names, but I can’t manage to determine why any of them might be significant to my father.
I slam the yearbook closed, return it to the stack, and immediately grab the next one.
“You should probably take a break from that,” Max says calmly. “You’re going to drive yourself mad at this rate.”
“I’m already there,” I mutter. “I can’t figure out any connection.”
Before Max can respond, we’re interrupted by another voice calling our names in a whisper-yell. “Max! Vivian!”
We both turn, and Delilah is hurrying toward our table with a stack of books in her arms and a blazer draped over her elbow. Her pleated navy skirt swishes over her tights with each footstep, and her long braids hang over her shoulders atop her white turtleneck. She looks every bit the classic academic.
Her books land on the table with a heavy thud, and she sinks into the chair beside me. “Sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ve been doing a project about the minor variances in classic spellwork comparing Latin versus Greek incantations, and it’s basically taken over my entire life.”
“That sounds… miserable,” Max says, raising her eyebrows in a silent question ofwhy would you ever put yourself through that?
“It’s actually really interesting,” Delilah says. “The linguistic background and translation of spells is actually a highly debated topic when it comes to Classicist circles, so I might actually focus on expanding this for my master’s thesis.”
“Well, that’s cool,” I chime in, because I have absolutely no clue what she’s talking about.
“Anyway, how are you two? What are you working on?” She asks, eyeing the yearbooks in front of me.
I hesitate, sharing a glance with Max. Delilah is kind and intelligent, and she’s shown nothing but positive traits since I’ve met her. But with all the warnings I’ve received from both my father and the other instructors about being careful with who I trust, I’m perpetually on edge.
Still, I’m tired of keeping secrets and tired of carrying this weight alone. Delilah is my friend.
“My father left me a letter,” I say slowly. “Before he died. It warned me not to trust two people named Charles and Melinda. But those are such common names, and I don't have last names or any other identifying information, so I've been searching through old yearbooks trying to find anyone who might fit.”
Delilah's brow furrows as she processes this. “Charles and Melinda,” she murmurs. “Those names sound familiar.”
“They're common names,” Max points out. “That's the problem.”
“No, I mean—” Delilah pauses, searching her memory. “There are two people with those names. An older married couple. Charles and Melinda Langley. They're on the board of trustees for the academy.”
My brain glitches for a moment as I come to terms with what she’s saying. “What?”
“Yeah, they’re on the board of trustees and are pretty influential from what I’ve heard. They've been on the board since my parents were students here.”
My heart beats so hard I fear it might break through my chest. “And their last name is Langley…” It’s not a question so much as my mind trying to wrap itself around the information.
“Is that significant somehow?” Max asks.
“Yes. That was my father’s last name. Whoever these people are, they’re related to my dad and, consequently, me. I’d bet you anything they’re his parents if they’re old enough to have been on the board for that long.”
“Well, shit,” Max breathes.
I’m reeling as pieces of the larger picture start to connect in my mind, only resulting in more questions. “Would the Chancellor know them? She’d have to work with them on some level, right?”
Delilah nods. “Yeah. She works with the board pretty closely on things related to the academy’s big-picture stuff.”
“So there’s no chance she’d not know their names?”
“Uhh, no, I doubt it. She’s been here for long enough that she’d know the board members all by name. There are only, like, twenty of them. Why?”
