struck by the number of books on the shelves and the huge window behind the desk. Rubic himself sat at his desk, an elderly man with a face that longed for a beard it didn’t have. Standing before him was a tall man with dark hair swept back off a high forehead, a man who looked just like his son.
“Ah, Miss Wicked, Omen,” said Rubic, waving them in, “I was just about to call for you. Of course, you will both recognise Grand Mage Ispolin, here from the Bulgarian Sanctuary. The Grand Mage is, very naturally, concerned about Jenan’s well-being.”
“It’s been seven months,” Ispolin said, “and nothing has been done.” His accent, like that of so many sorcerers, was both distinct and soft, the result of hundreds of years of living. “My son remains missing, and this woman is still teaching at this school. I’m here to demand answers.”
“Of course,” Rubic said, “of course. Your concern is understandable.”
“For seven months, I have been met with nothing but excuses from the High Sanctuary.”
Rubic nodded sadly. “Investigations of this nature do, unfortunately, tend to take a lot of time, Grand Mage.”
“I am aware of the amount of time investigations take,” Ispolin said slowly. “What I am interested in learning is why this woman is still employed here.”
“I believe you know my name,” Miss Wicked said.
Ispolin looked up. “What?”
“My name,” she said. “I believe you know it. Please use it. Every time you say ‘this woman’ I look around, wondering who you’re talking about. I am here, I gather, because of the altercation outside the boys’ dormitories. Is that right?”
“That’s right,” Ispolin said. “When you attacked Jenan. Is this the type of teacher you have here, Mr Rubic? One who goes around assaulting your students?”
Omen cleared his throat to speak, but could only croak. Ispolin glared at him.
“Yes? You have something to contribute?”
“I’m sure Omen was about to remind you that the altercation began when your son attacked him,” said Miss Wicked.
Ispolin sneered. “So he claims.”
“Now, now,” said Rubic, “we have no reason to doubt Mr Darkly’s version of events.”
“Jenan attacked me,” Omen whispered.
Ispolin folded his arms. “And I say that you are a liar.”
Omen flushed red.
“Look at his face,” Ispolin said. “Only the guilty blush.”
“Nonsense,” said Miss Wicked. “Omen blushes at the mention of his own name. Please don’t make my student feel any more uncomfortable than he already does, Grand Mage Ispolin. Blushing means nothing, and Omen is not a liar.”
“How can you be so sure?” Ispolin fired back. “His brother is the Chosen One, isn’t he? Jenan told me all about him, and, from where I stand, this is a boy who has been starved of attention his entire life. His brother is the one people know. His brother is the one people remember. But this boy here is so desperate for a moment in the spotlight that he has fabricated this entire story.”
“I didn’t,” Omen said, shaking his head.
“You’re a liar!”
“Grand Mage!” Rubic said, rising slightly in his chair, “I must ask you to calm yourself!”
“I want him expelled.”
Rubic frowned, and sat back again. “I … Grand Mage, I cannot do that.”
“I want him expelled and I want her fired.”
“Grand Mage, please …”
Miss Wicked adjusted the sleeve of her blouse. “Are we done with this nonsense?”
Rubic held up a hand. “Just a moment—”
Miss Wicked ignored him, and focused on Ispolin. “I walked by and found Jenan choking the life out of Omen. I intervened. Jenan proceeded to physically attack me. I restrained him.”
“You nearly broke his arm!”
“It could have been far, far worse. Headmaster, you realise this, do you not? I could have hurt Jenan far, far worse than I did?”
“Of course,” Rubic sighed.
“In which case, I restrained him with an admirable amount of, dare I say it, restraint. For which I should be thanked. Of course, I don’t do this for the thanks. I do this for the love of teaching, of moulding young minds.”
“If this happened the way you say it happened,” said Ispolin, “then you won’t mind a Sensitive verifying it to be the truth.”
Miss Wicked smiled. “No Sensitive is going to poke around inside my head, Grand Mage. You are just going to have to take my word for it, as an educator.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“I’m afraid you don’t actually have a choice,” said Rubic. “Miss Wicked has been before a Review Board, and we have cleared her of any wrongdoing. Grand Mage, we have taken this meeting with you as a courtesy, but please don’t be under any illusion that you have any sort of jurisdiction here.”
Ispolin glowered, and Rubic turned to Omen and Miss Wicked.
“Thank you both for coming.”
Miss Wicked gave a curt nod, and led the way to the door.
“Not the boy,” said Ispolin. Omen turned. “She can leave, but I haven’t finished with the boy.”
Omen looked to Miss Wicked for help, but her face was impassive.
“Very well,” said Rubic, sighing. “Omen, stay behind a moment, would you?”
“I will take my leave of you,” said Miss Wicked, opening the door. “But, as I had foreseen something like this occurring, I have arranged for someone to come in and speak on the boy’s behalf.”
She left, and Omen frowned. Then he heard footsteps. Familiar footsteps.
They entered the room with a flourish – Emmeline Darkly and Caddock Sirroco, grand and good-looking and imperious. The room seemed to shrink around them, like a lens being refocused. Rubic stood up quickly and even Ispolin diminished slightly in their presence.
“Hi, Mum,” said Omen. “Hi, Dad.”
His mother threw him a sharp glance, but his father was too busy looking furious to acknowledge him.
“We were listening,” Caddock said, turning his gaze on the Grand Mage. “So you haven’t finished with the boy, have you? The boy?”
Ispolin bristled.
