Nadia

Whatever you’ve heard about Necromancy, it’s probably wrong.

It isn’t some godlike force. It isn’t inherently dangerous or evil. It’s not an affront to the Gods (most of the time, anyhow). It isn’t some kind of ultimate power. It isn’t an illusion or a trick. It’s not a gift. It’s not a curse.

It’s fucking annoying is what it is.

I don’t hate Necromancy. But I hate being a Necromancer.

Nadia

I sound like the world’s biggest ingrate, I’m sure.

It’s magic, why would anyone complain? And sure, death might be intimidating, but having any measure of control over it must be incredible! And surely you can learn to use it for good, to do something meaningful and positive? Even if it’s completely bad, couldn’t I just avoid using it?

If you’d met a mage, you’d know how stupid that sentiment is.

First off, Necromancy is... well, it depends on where you go, but we’re not exactly the most likable mages. (Personally, I think it’s the black robes. Yes, we’re basically death mages, but do I really have to look the part?) Secondly, communicating with spirits might not be inherently dangerous to anyone else, but it’s done at your own risk. No one knows what a normal lifespan for a Necromancer looks like, because we don’t get to die of natural causes. But that doesn’t matter...

You don’t get to pass on magic. If you were born with any kind of magical power, then it’s your duty to learn to use it to the best of your ability.

I’m not doing that. But if I refused to go to Parnum—to learn Necromancy at all—I might actually get arrested.

Well, I’m sure that wouldn’t be the official reason. It’d probably be some nonsense about how I abused my power and was resorting to dark magic.

Did I mention being a Necromancer is awful? Because it is.

I wish I’d been born a Sorcerer instead. They can do anything.

Cass

Sorcery isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Oh sure, it’s an incredible ability—the most versatile school of magic. Absolutely limitless potential. A great power and responsibility which you have been blessed with. If only you work a little harder at it, you’ll see that anyone can do it!

I honestly want to gag whenever I hear that schtick.

Everyone tells you that what really matters is application. That so long as you apply yourself and work hard at it, you can learn to do anything.

If that were true, then they’d let me take an advanced class.

No one wants to bother teaching someone who’ll never be able to do anything on a grand scale, who won’t save the world, or reinvent magic as we know it.

In some ways, I guess it’s true: power doesn’t matter.

So long as you've got it.

Cass

I’m not exactly weak, per se. I get through my lessons just fine.

But I’m not exactly powerful, either.

When there’s power in your bloodline, there’s a lot more scrutiny that comes with being mediocre. My parents are mages. They aren’t exceptional, but they’re magic at least. And then Juliana had to go and be powerful enough to lead her entire class. Now it seems like no matter what I do, I’ll never measure up to her.

Thank gods she graduates next year; I won’t have her looming over me my whole time at Parnum.

I’m not looking forward to the ceremony. T

hen again, I’m not excited for parent teacher conferences either. I’ll have to sit through ten minutes of how I just “don’t have the power to actually join the council”, and that I’d be better off as a “professor or such”. About how it’s wonderful that I’m so “ambitious,” but I don’t quite have “what it takes” to see it through.

I would rather die.

Nadia

I’m not saying Necromancy doesn’t have its own benefits. But it’s not what I want. It’s not what I needed.

When I first manifested real magic, I was eight. I was trying to bring back a tree sapling in our garden that was wilted.

It was kind of a nasty surprise when I accidentally resurrected one of our dead goldfish instead. And as for our old cat, Shepard... look, I didn’t mean to have his spirit tailing me for a year, but that’s how things go sometimes. And I couldn’t just banish him! He was always a cuddler, and being made mostly of shadow didn’t change that.

But it turns out having a spirit feeding off you for eleven months can do a lot of harm. It didn’t seem to drain my magic (“thank goodness,” everyone says when I mention that), but it definitely had a physical effect. Nowadays I have trouble breathing, migraines, and either summoning a spirit for eleven months caused me to get occasional hallucinations, or it’s just a part of Necromancy. I don’t particularly care to know which.

It definitely didn’t do me any favors.

So, yeah, I hate being a Necromancer.

... which is why I am now hanging out of a tree trying to spy on the Advanced Sorcery class. I’m not technically breaking any rules. I mean, am I supposed to be here? No. I’m supposed to be in some Necromancy course (though I’d be lying if I said I remembered which). But there’s no rule expressly forbidding me from sitting in this tree that just so happens to be right next to the window of Professor Bruna’s lecture hall.

There is, however, a policy about students taking advanced courses for any school of magic that isn’t their own (which is the only reason I’m not on the other side of this cursed window). It’s kind of hard to see the board, especially with my breath fogging up the glass, but I don’t dare use magic to get a better look. There’s a basic spell to get a closer look at things, but it’s not worth the risk. There’s some kind of field charm on the school that can detect spells used outside of classrooms, and I don’t know if I’m close enough to the lecture hall to avoid setting it off. And I spent enough time getting lectured for dabbling in other schools last year.

Now that I’ve got my notebook propped up against the building, I pull the quill out from between my teeth. It’s gross, holding a wet feather and all, but they’re easier to get a grip on than pens.

I’ve gotten down a third of the energy chart that’s on the board when I feel a jolt of electricity up my spine.

(Don’t ask why I know what that feels like.)

I fall a good ten feet before getting a grip on another branch. I’m choking on my own throat and praying I didn’t break anything when I see Cassandra. She’s got the most angelic smile on her face, as though she didn’t just shoot lightning up a tree while I was in it.

“You know if you keep scowling, your face will stick like that.”

When I don’t smile, she offers up my journal. “You dropped this.”

“Shouldn’t you be in class right now?” Cass didn’t actually qualify for the advanced course, but she’s still a Sorcerer. There’s no way Professor Bruna’s class is the only one going on right now.

“Professor Ebi kicked me out when I told him I forgot my textbook. I figured you’d be here.”

There’s a pang in my heart, but it’s not exactly regret. Guilt, more like. I could probably have gotten a Sorcery guide from the library, but Professor Mara would definitely find out. I’m positive she’s been monitoring me since my... outburst last year, because she’s always popping up at the worst of times—usually when I’m doing something that technically breaks no rules, but ostensibly we both know I’m not supposed to.

Cass’s textbook is in my dorm right now. Even if it would have been useful for Bruna’s lecture, getting caught with it might have actually been enough to get me expelled.

On second thought, maybe I should have brought it.

“I can get it back to you in ten minutes. I’ll run over to my dorm—” “

Are you kidding me?” She’s got that look on her face again. The one that says she’s going to do something that will get her in trouble and she knows it. “If I’d spent another minute listening to that lecture I might have hexed my own ears off, taboos be damned. Let’s get out of here.”

Even though it’s exactly what she wants, I slide my journal back into my bag and sling it over my shoulder. I have no idea where the stupid quill went, but who cares. I have more, and if it’s been on the ground, I can’t exactly hold it in my mouth anymore.

“If we get caught, you’re taking the blame.” We both know that’s not how it will go, but I can at least dream.

“Fair enough.”

Cass

The real way to survive school is to befriend the librarian. I have no idea if she’s a mage, but librarians are definitely some kind of magic.

Plus, it’s the one place I can hide out between (or during) classes where I know I won’t get in trouble. If a professor does see me, I can always say I’m doing an independent research project. It’s worked three times now.

Besides, Nadia loves books almost as much as I do.

One minute we’re at the doors, the next she’s at the front desk looking for Professor Cheryl. She’s not there, but by the time I’m close enough to see it for myself Nadia’s heading for one of the spiral staircases. Did she use a speed charm on herself? Most nonviolent spells can be done in the library without triggering the field charm, but I only looked away from her for a few seconds.

Nadia could do it. She could change the world if she wanted to. She already does, really. Even if it’s just little changes, like reshelving the philosophy section. For the third time.

“Why is Reeve filed right next to Reiner? Reeve’s work is borderline nihilistic, while Reiner wrote about the unity movement! They couldn’t be more different, why shelve them side by side?” She’s so mad about it. It's adorable.

“Maybe because they’re shelved alphabetically?” Nadia pouts a little at that. “Still. There’s plenty of room between them. And there really ought to be dividers here!” I can’t tell if she really cares, or if she just wants an excuse to be angry.

“This is what happens when animals are in charge or reshelving.” Oh, so that’s what she’s really upset over. “

Don’t take out your traumas on the foxes, Nadia.” Speak of the fae, one of them is rubbing up against my leg now. “They’re good boys. Aren’t you?” I lean down a little to pet him. “Oh yes you are! Yes you are!” I realize, too late, I’ve been talking to an animal, using a baby voice, in front of another person. I stiffen, but Nadia’s smiling about it.

“I may not like dogs all that much, but that doesn’t mean it translates to every canine. I just think maybe the library assistants should have opposable thumbs.”

Thank gods, she’s not making this weird. “Maybe a little less fur while we’re at it?” Oops. I meant that to be funny, but maybe it’s just weird.

Nadia actually puts the book back, was it that bad? “While we’re at what?”

I shrink a few inches with relief. “Improving Parnum, of course! I just went, so your turn. What else should change?”

She’s got a gleam in her eye now. I poked the dragon. Here comes.

“For starters, dorms shouldn’t be based on what school you’re in. It only serves to isolate students, instead of facilitating group study like they claim is the purpose.”

“Hear, hear! And we should get to choose our roommates. Or at least have a preference sheet or something.” I am this close to sealing Lola’s mouth shut—I already learned the spell. I’d probably get expelled or arrested, but it’d be worth it.

“And courses shouldn’t lock out students based on ability or school. We should get to choose what we learn about, right?” It sounds more like a call for revolution than a question, the way she says it.

“An excellent point. But if you could choose your own classes, I’d likely lose two of my favorite students.” Professor Cheryl smiles. I don’t know how much she heard, but she’s the one person on campus I’m sure wouldn’t report us for any of it. '

She’s not wrong, either. “Even if that were the case, someone has to fix this.” Nadia waves a hand at the offending shelf. Her tone is mostly serious, but she’s grinning. “You’d still see us here. Just not so frequently.”

Cheryl smiles, and for one moment I don’t care about any of it. Don’t care that I can’t choose my classes or become a councilwoman or do anything impressive with magic. Don’t care that Juliana’s already shown me up in every field at this school. Don’t care about anything but the fact that two of my favorite people are right here with me and that I am surrounded by books.

It’s a good feeling.

“Are you ladies still working on your little project about the school’s founding? I’ve borrowed a book from one of the back rooms that might interest you two.”

Saying that we’ve worked on it at all feels like a stretch. We’ve really only got a folder full of notes and papers from the school’s founding, and it’s all copied or paraphrased from the same three books. And it has nothing to do with our (nonexistent) interest in history, and everything to do with our need to find any kind of loophole in the bylaws that might let us switch our courses around.

But most of the books in the back rooms are banned, or at least restricted. No one in their right mind would turn down an opportunity to read one.

(Saying I’m in my right mind might be overly optimistic. But while some kids might disagree with me on this, Nadia's perfectly sane.)

“What is it?” Nadia can’t quite keep the excitement out of her voice. Or maybe it’s more like desperation.

Professor Cheryl doesn’t say anything. She just smiles.

“Well? What is it?” I sound like a little kid, but I don’t really care. I have to know.

Cheryl’s smile morphs into what can only be called a smirk.

“Oh, just a diary that belonged to an old mage. You might have heard of him–William Parnum?”

Nadia’s book drops at about the same time as my jaw.

I don’t think I’m going to get much sleep tonight. The founder of the hotspot for magical education left behind a journal–I have to read it.