Author's Note
Dear reader,
Once again I failed to properly update this story and you have no idea how sorry I am for that. You are probably fed up with my excuses (I would be too!) but trust me when I'm saying that I did have my valid reasons for not updating this sooner. To put it simply, the past two months (or was it more?) have been the ultimate proof that karma hates me at the moment. Between coursework, exams, family and a badly sprained leg that's left me bound to my bed and full of painkillers for some weeks, I unfortunately had no time to neither write nor read fanfiction. It doesn't help that I've been stuck in a place where internet is a luxury rather than a commodity and my wireless has as many mood swings as a heavily pregnant woman *facepalm*
I hope you will like this chapter. Also, at some point Egbert will try to explain a little bit of magical theory, combined with a small amount of physics. My knowledge of physics is more than a little bit rusty, but I do hope that what he says will make sense. If it doesn't please tell me and I will try to correct any error that I made. Furthermore, I advise you to pay attention to the mini-history lesson the Grand Wizard gives. It will be quite important in the future *snickers*
Also, I need to thank all those that followed and reviewed this story. I am so grateful to you: ChrissiemusaHBrules, chocomoon, AleksandraHardbroom,melissaIvory, and LongVodka I am incredibly sorry that I have been unable to properly reply to your reviews and I promise that I will rectify this as soon as possible. Thank you for following this!
Also, lots of thanks and big hugs to my big sister, NCD , who ever since I met her has been nothing but a source of support and inspiration!
Yours faithfully,
Lemondrop
PS: I promise that I will do my best to update sooner! I promise!
FIRE AND ICE
BOOK I: THE WELDER, THE GIVER AND THE HEIR
Chapter 10: Yet in his eyes all the sadness of the world
Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore
(Andrew Loyd Webber- The Phantom of the Opera)
Day 7
Hope watched her surroundings carefully and cursed her decision to once again come to the familiar place. She didn't have the faintest idea as to why she kept wasting her energy to see it. Maybe because she believed that it made her complete? Maybe because she needed a reminder of what she had been and of what she could do? She looked at her translucent hands and realized that then, more than ever, she could see the ground under her feet through her extended limbs. Maybe not.
Her presence there brought her neither comfort nor a sense of completion. On the contrary, it was a bitter reminder that she was fading. It was an awful proof that she had lost. That she had been defeated through sheer cunning. Yet, she could not conceive not visiting the musty old place. That place, which at its best was lit by the eternal flames she governed, was embedded in her blood, in every fibre of her body, and she couldn't just desert it. No matter how miserable it made her feel, no matter how weak it made her appear she knew that despite all rationality, until the day she would vanish into nothingness, she would come each day and see the wretched state to which her beloved world had been reduced to.
As she looked at the lifeless surroundings, the woman unconsciously moved towards the lake. Like everything there, the lake's clear blue waters were jet black. That mirror towards the world of humans was almost static, the images that used to flow so gracefully each and every second, were lingering longer, as if the power of the water was in itself failing. While watching how more and more souls were dying within their mortal confines, Hope felt a surge of rage towards Evan. She had always believed that when her ancestors had created the place, they had placed the lake as a tacit admission of the interdependency of the four elements. Maybe they had wanted to show that their existence would have been meaningless without the existence of their counterparts. She hated that water. She hated what it represented and she loathed what it showed. Since time immemorial the lake had been a way for the Master of Fire to know which souls needed to be granted redemption. In its depths she had seen the face of each and every person she had taken. Now she hated seeing the faces of those poor humans for whom she could do nothing. How could she save them when she was unable to save herself?
She looked at their tormented faces and pitied each and every one of them. How many of them knew about that place? How many of them suspected that their spiritual existence was ending at that very moment? How many believed? The existence of what Evan liked to call The Otherworld was one of those secrets that humans spend their life trying to unravel. Many a scientist had tried to explain what comes after death. Many of the world religions tried to make their followers believe in the existence of places like heaven or hell. They were all wrong and right at the same time. The study of death, the study of the place her ancestors constructed came down to one question. That was a question which had plagued philosophers for years: If a tree falls in the woods does it make a sound if no one is there to hear it? Like with many things in the world, the power of unconditional belief was the cornerstone of the study of death. On the one hand, there were those who could open their minds and spirits and believe that there was something else beyond the earthly confines. On the other hand, there were also those who believed that if no one hears the sound made by the tree falling, then the tree makes no sound.
In their stubbornness and eagerness to know more about their own ultimate mortality, human have tried to label the place. They had tried to romanticize its existence and give it a name. Fools. In their attempt to expand the boundaries of their consciousness, they had, in fact, tightened them. Even her counterpart, the Master of Water, fell into this pitfall. The name he had chosen was romanticized and an entirely untrue label. Our entire existence is made of labels. We need to use labels to understand the world and in our desperation to absorb such knowledge we usually lose its very essence. Hope knew that the reason behind people's complete and utter lack of understanding of that place was not an inability to expand one's consciousness, but it was single-minded obstinacy. People were far too reluctant to throw away what they knew, they were far too afraid to give away the security of what had been drilled into their minds by religion or philosophy, to allow themselves to experience the truth about their own mortality. That was why most people were unable to see her when their end was near. How can you name something that has no name. How can you name something that is not supposed to be named?
Her gaze was transfixed by the shining surface of the lake. Now, it was the only thing that looked even remotely alive in that place. That shimmer of light, although feeble, brought her some comfort. It was at that lake that her own understanding of death stopped. She did not know what was on the other bank…she did not know what happened to the souls that she brought to the realm after they went beyond the border of the water. All that she did now was that beyond that place you couldn't find angels floating on fluffy clouds. Or maybe you could. Maybe she herself fell into the pitfall that other humans did and was unable to see what was on the other bank.
She was distractedly looking at the surface of the water when she saw it. An image she would have never wanted to see. An image that was immediately burned into the depths of her brain. From the shining surface she could see a young girl smiling. Her hair was plaited and her blue eyes were shining with mirth. Mildred. Hope's heart gave a painful twinge and she wished that, for once, the mirror of water was wrong. She knew that, had things been normal, she would have visited the student, showing her true form and would have granted her eternal redemption. But now, Mildred, if what those hateful, blue depths were right, was about to expire and her soul would be torn from its earthly confines with no mercy. Her soul would disappear together with the girl's life.
As Elemental Masters, both Evan and herself knew that the soul of a person was sacred, was untouchable. They also knew that, like all those that had held their titles beforehand, they were bound to protect the soul of any living human and although they did have the right of judgement, they were never to abuse their powers. Essentially, although similar in nature, their duties, like their opposing Elements, were widely different. To put it simply, in crude terms, Hope represented what humans believed to be Death, and Evan what they knew as Life. Despite this apparently simple conceptual explanation, in practice, their roles were much more complicated. Hope wasn't some hag with a scythe that went around murdering people for her own pleasure and Evan wasn't some especially talented midwife. No, their roles, like much of their existence were beyond the perceptions of ordinary humans and were far more intricate than the labels they had been given suggested.
The soul isn't something that is tangible. The soul isn't something that has an expiration date
It also certainly isn't something that is inherently good or bad. While still present, the soul does not govern the mind. This has been one of the great pitfalls in the various considerations on the nature of souls exposed by certain religions. Sadly enough, some such human-made institutions had gained earthly profit at the expense of a poor explanation of the characteristics of souls. They had threatened their followers into submission with judgement, with spiritual punishment and with a macabre view of a place they most often referred to as hell. Or, if you are as pragmatic as the Catholic faith and feel the need of some sort of supplementary funding each time someone commits a sin and wants a clean slate, then the concept of purgatory can be introduced. Poor foolish humans, trying to take advantage of something they weren't able to understand.
She looked up, managing to tear her gaze away from the dark blue water and her eyes were met with as sight she was in no mood to see. The bastard. The betrayer. Judas. He was standing right across from her, on the other bank of the lake, his skin giving off an unearthly white glow. His eyes looked at her, the almost white irises being a clear mirror for the thousands of conflicting emotions that were present in his soul. Hope could feel him studying her with interest and she felt her skin tingle and her heart clench painfully in her chest. Oh how she wished things were different! How she wished things could be different! Evan looked at her transparent form and felt his heart stop, anger and relief washing over him. She was alive. Weakened but alive
"Do you know what you did? How could you?" her voice was ethereal and the venom and judgement behind her words made his heart mourn with sorrow and his blood boil with fury.
"This…" he gestured, feeling his anger and pride win, "is not entirely of my own making, madam…" he murmured and saw her flinch, her blue eyes involuntarily lowering themselves under the weight of his words. "You know what you have to do, Hope. You know how to put an end to it. All you need to do is to give up" once the words left his mouth he hated himself
"Never" she whispered slowly, hatred and determination clear on her ghostly features.
As she disappeared into nothingness, clearly unable to hold her form any longer, her last word floated like a grim sentence into the non-existent air. His heart threatened to beat out his chest and he felt his eyes fill with tears. How was it possible to both love and hate someone so much at the same time?
Noah had always been an optimist. He needed to be when dealing with all the less than savoury things that were constantly happening in his life. When he had been five he had really wanted the new automatic plane model. He had hoped he would find it under the Christmas tree up to the moment he unwrapped his presents and discovered, to his disappointment, that he did not. When he was faced with his first dying patient during med school he had hoped that the man would survive up to the moment he died. Ever since his mother had been struck by the strange, merciless illness that seemed to now govern her very existence, he had been hoping to find a cure. The doctor always found that clinging to one's hope was incredibly therapeutic. Yet at that precise moment, as he found himself in the bar of the shabby old inn, cursing himself for his own stupidity and trying to abate, as well as he could, the effects of Evan's mind rape, Noah's optimism seemed to be faltering.
Although he sorely hated to show it and in spite of making him vulnerable, Doctor Elwood was a man who cared deeply and whose devotion towards those he cared for was ingrained in the very fibres of his being. In that particular case, as he was nursing a terrible headache and a glass of scotch at the bar of the old inn, his loyalties were clashing in an awful manner.
First there was Hope, his friend, his protector and, most importantly, his rock. For years and years, the younger woman had been the reason for which he carried on. She had indubitably been the one whose strength made him stronger, whose unfaltering loyalty gave him a sense of self and whose unrelenting nature had taught him that giving up is not an option. He was grateful to her for that. He was grateful to her for everything, for he was well aware that without the brunette waltzing in his life at that most wretched time, he would have succumbed to his own fears and doubts and would have ultimately committed the direst of acts. Somehow he owed his life to her. He was aware that she, at some unconscious level, knew it as well. For once he wished that he could say that he truly knew his best friend, that he knew her wishes and desires, her hopes and fears. He did not. When he thought about the past ten years he realized that all that he truly knew about the woman that was his best friend were things that she had allowed him to know.
On the one hand, he was certain that that his affection towards Constance Hardbroom was more than a passing thing. He had never been one to fall in love quickly or to attach himself to a woman passionately. But the potion mistress stirred in him feelings that he had never felt. Feelings that were of a gentler nature than he had ever expected to posses. He could not understand the hold that the potion mistress had on him for he had never experienced anything like that before. Of course there was a certain amount of physical attraction, for in his eyes the way in which her black hair and hazel eyes contrasted with her pale skin was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but there was so much more. Even if he had known her for a short while he felt like he could understand her feelings. He admired her courage and the noble, quiet way with which she dealt with the hardships that had been thrown at her by a cruel fate. He loved her devotion towards the academy, her loyalty towards her students and her obvious dedication to her job.
"Where's your little lady, sir?" Noah found his train of thought interrupted by the crotchety voice of the inn keeper who was now busying himself with soiling some glasses in a plastic hand basin filled with brown-coloured water. Upon seeing the manner in which the inn-keeper washed his glasses his appetite for his scotch was suddenly cut shot.
"She is otherwise engaged" He answered dryly hoping that the man would remove both himself and the offending recipient as soon as possible.
"So she's left you…" the older man answered with an amused gleam in his eyes, not understanding the subtleties in the doctor's voice. "Seen loads of women like her. They are the work of the devil… too pretty for their own good and treacherous as hell. As changing as the wide blue sky. Had one myself, you know… "
For a moment Noah wanted to remind his current landlord that, as he had said on many previous occasions, his relationship with the younger woman was of an entirely different nature than romantic. Yet, he decided against it. If the man hadn't been able to understand the concept on the previous occasions it was highly unlikely that he would do so at that precise moment. As such, instead of chastising him for his crass assumptions, Noah let the older man be.
"She was very beautiful… like your lady. But her hair was made of gold and her eyes were as green as the grass on the ground. Wicked woman, she was…"
Noah wasn't in the slightest bit interested in what the inn keeper was saying. What caught his attention was the way in which the man was telling his story. Despite his penchant for picking up on the emotions of others, the doctor was often unable to understand the emotions he often felt flowing from other people. It wasn't that he was unable to feel, for Noah Elwood felt deeply, but he was too much of a social recluse to have a fully-fledged rage of emotions in his arsenal. As such he had missed it. But now, as he looked up from his drink, he observed the way in which the old man was recalling the times he had with that woman. On his wrinkled face a strange look had settled and Noah, with the tenacity of a scientist, broke the man's expression into small bits. Mouth turned downwards in a scrawl, a sign of disgust. Nostrils flaring slightly, obvious anger. Yet in the man's coal-like eyes he could see a completely different picture. He could see lust, desire, and affection. He could see love. This discovery would have meant nothing to him if he hadn't been almost certain that he had seen that particular expression before. Of course, he could have been wrong. After all, having to fight for one's sanity wasn't exactly the best moment to conduct any form of observation. But he was certain that he had picked up the same emotion before. Two days before, in fact. And back then those particularly conflicting feelings were embedded into the face of a blond-haired, twenty-seven year old man.
He allowed the magnitude of his discovery to wash over him. He loved her. Evan loved Hope. He fought the urge to once again curse at his best friend for hiding such an important fact from him. He was sure that Hope was well aware of Evan's feelings for her. She was much to pedantic and obsessed about her arch-enemy to miss such an important part of his existence. So why didn't she say anything about it? Why did she feel the need to hide the man's affection from him, her best friend? That he did not know. And knowing Hope he would never know. Truthfully, at that particular point he was slightly unnerved about what his best friend could and would do. Maybe it was indeed the right choice to go to the academy and tell everyone there all that he knew about her. Or maybe not. If he somehow disturbed her plan or if she somehow found about his betrayal, he was certain that she would find a way to make his life miserable. She wouldn't hurt him, of that he was confident, but she would find a why to ensure that he knew how displeased she was.
That was how things were with Hope. She was his best friend, his only friend, really, and he loved her for that. He loved her for all that she had done for him and he was grateful to her. But never once did he think himself to be her equal. Sure, he advised her. He freely spoke his mind and chastised her when she was wrong, but there was an invisible line that had been drawn long ago and he was sure that, friend or not, she would be more than angry if he crossed that particular line. The problem with Hope, and he supposed with Evan as well, was that she was powerful. Too powerful. Things that took others years to learn were like second nature to her. She could do things that others would never dream of ever being able to do, and even him, her confidante wasn't exactly aware of the full extent of her powers. He couldn't say that he was scared of her, for he wasn't. He was scared of what she could do, not to him, but to others around him. And the worst part was that, knowing her, she would do it in such a way he would never even be able to tell that she did something. His mind involuntarily conjured a picture of the two people, apart from Hope herself, for whom he cared: Constance and his mother.
The matter could be put quite simply: should he go tell Amelia everything that he knew and thus maybe, with her help, find a way to get Constance and Hope out? Obviously, if he had been certain that nothing Hope was trying to do would have been disturbed, he would have gone to the academy in a heartbeat. As such, another question arouse: "Would he be disturbing any of Hope's plans by coming clean in front of the headmistress?". As much as he wanted the answer to be a firm "no", he was fairly certain that it wasn't. After all, there had to be some obscure reason for which Hope hadn't told anyone else but him (some of) her secrets. Thus he could infer that if he did what she would surely consider as betrayal, she would be more than upset. Of course, Hope wouldn't be able to do anything that was fatal to Constance, that much he knew, but could he risk his mother's life? And even if Hope didn't decide to extract any form of revenge on him, was he prepared to live a life where he would second guess his best friend for anything and everything bad that would happen to him? Probably not. And yet, neither Hope or Constance would have any chance of surviving if he didn't do something. The best possible outcome would happen if he could convey the information that he knew in such a way that Hope would never know that it came from him. If only he could do that. Then it dawned on him. He could do it. He had never tried, but he was fairly certain that he could. Taking a deep breath, Noah closed his eyes and allowed his mind to wander.
Like every time, Constance didn't look up to see who had followed her into the supply cupboard knowing that it must have been Hope. Yet, when she felt the two hands touch her shoulders in a very different way than Hope's confident, steadying grasp, the potions mistress knew that it wasn't the younger woman that stood behind her. This touch was more tentative, much gentler and the hands placed on her bony shoulders were trembling slightly. Involuntarily, Constance felt her body stiffen and the warmth of the touch disappeared for a second before returning much more confidently.
"She is asleep, Miss Hardbroom" Mildred offered quietly, her voice clearly showing her embarrassment "She never sleeps… so we thought that it would be better if we didn't wake her up…" Mildred felt stupid for having to explain herself. After what she suspected to be close to seven days in that potions lab, they should have been past explanations. Yet, no matter how weak and frail she appeared to be, the woman in front of her was still Miss Hardbroom, her terrifying, formidable potions teacher.
A few moments earlier when Miss Hardbroom had walked towards the supply cupboard and had closed the door behind her, Ethel and Mildred who had been quietly playing a game of cards while Maud and Enid slept soundly, weren't surprised. After all, the number of times their form tutor was using the supply cupboard had been increasing each and every day. Yet, when they saw that Hope hadn't followed their teacher as she always did, they turned and saw the woman sleeping quietly in a slightly uncomfortable position, her head placed on the desk she had claimed as her own personal space and her features much more relaxed than they were when she was awake. It was then that something which had been a normal occurrence turned more problematic. On the one hand, they both knew that Miss Hawthorne had a very good reason for following their potions teacher into the supply cupboard every time she went in there. Furthermore, that was the second time in the past seven days that they had seen Hope sleep so she must have been exhausted and neither of them wanted to wake her up. On the other hand, they both knew that HB wouldn't want to show weakness in front of anyone, much less one of her students. It was in that moment that Mildred felt a surge of courage, and with a quiet, meaningful look towards Ethel, stood up and followed her form tutor. Mildred had rationalized that Miss Hardbroom would be less disturbed to see her there as she had seen one of her attacks beforehand, but, as she felt the woman's body go rigid under her touch, she knew that it wasn't the case.
"It's alright…" Constance replied between raspy coughs, feeling how mortified Mildred was and hating herself for putting the girl in such a position "I'm… sorry…that you have to witness this…" she whispered
"No… I mean… you don't have to be…" Millie stuttered, her hands becoming firmer as she steadied the increasingly swaying body of her potions mistress.
"Mildred… go…" Miss Hardbroom said in as firm a voice as she could manage, disliking the empathy in the student's voice. She didn't want, she didn't need, pity from anyone. Much less from one of her students.
"No" the girl answered simply, a hint of stubborn defiance clear in her voice.
Constance wanted to chastise the girl for disregarding a simple order but found that she could not. Firstly, she didn't have the strength to argue with anyone. Secondly she knew that Mildred being there had nothing to do with the girl wanting to embarrass her, or show pity towards her. The girl's motives were as straightforward and pure as they always were: she only wanted to help. As much as she wanted to disregard it, she knew that the worst witch in school didn't have a single selfish bone in her body. She might have been impulsive, reckless and a terrible spell-caster, but she wasn't selfish, she never had any hidden agendas, she never relished in seeing others suffer or making them hurt. So rationally Constance knew that Mildred deciding to be there had nothing to do with her wanting to show superiority, or pity towards the teacher that had tormented her for almost three years. The past seven days had dispelled any reason that she might have had to dislike the girl. If before she could have argued that Mildred's escapades were either a cry for attention or a conceited effort to prove herself to be better than everyone, she knew now that it was far from being the truth.
She remembered Amelia's traditional advice of "we must open our doors and our hearts" on the first day of every school year and Constance realized that she had done neither for the girl. From the first moment she had seen the girl crash into the Academy's trash cans, she had perpetually tried to close any doors Mildred wanted to open. She had, sometimes wrongly, punished her, given her countless detentions, and tried to get her expelled on countless occasions. She had never given the girl a proper chance. And yet, it was Mildred who had approached her at the end of last year when she wanted to leave Cackle's, it was Mildred who thwarted Amanda Honeydew's attempts at buying the school and it was Mildred who was now standing behind her, quietly watching her how she expelled blood from her lungs and prevented her from falling. Mildred. Not Ethel, the girl she had praised and made things easy for. But Mildred, the student she had belittled and openly disliked.
Mildred might not have been the brightest of students, the cleverest in potions, but she was clearly the superior human being. Constance really wanted to believe that her dislike of the girl was justified by the fact that she had her head in the clouds, wasn't disciplined and was far too idealistic for her own good. In fact she didn't like the girl because Millie reminded her of how she used to be. She used to be as happy, as idealistic and as unable to hold a grudge as her worst student was. But life happened and they had converted the happy, careless young Connie into the embittered, unfeeling shell of a woman she was didn't want that for Mildred, or for anyone else for that matter, and realized that had the girl been weaker, had she had less faith in her instincts and convictions, had she been more like Constance herself when she had been fifteen, she would have managed to break the girl. But in that respect, Mildred wasn't like her.
Her student, with her naïve, simplistic view of the world as being made up only of good and evil, and her inherent kindness, was strong. Stronger than she had been. Mildred's faith in her own good intentions and her belief that everything had a happy ending were unfaltering. No matter how many times she was scolded, how many times she was punished for the rash actions that stemmed from her beliefs, the girl took it all in her stride and refused to change. While that could be seen as a show of conceit in others, Constance knew that it wasn't the case as far as Mildred was concerned. The student didn't let go of what she believed in not because she believed herself to be superior, in fact the girl had a pretty low self esteem, but because it was in her innocent and kind nature to do the right thing. Asking Mildred to stop helping others, even if she endangered herself in the process, would be like asking her to stop breathing.
"Thank you, Mildred…" she whispered weakly, positioning herself against the wall to regain some stability before she attempted to get up on her feet. She had said that before, rarely, but she had never truly meant it. Even when her student had saved her from being carried away by the boat the previous year, she had found fault with her actions. She had thanked Mildred then, not because she had been thankful, in fact she believed that Mildred's decision of bringing her cat along during the trip had been the thing that made her need rescuing in the first place, but because she needed to be polite and show some civility. She had said those words of gratitude as a formality back then, but now, she truly meant them. Judging by Mildred's bright smile and twinkle in her blue eyes, the girl knew it too.
The gloomy silence that had been present in the staff room for the past days, seemed to be even more pressing and pregnant. The presence of the two wizards although it had been comforting in the beginning, seemed to have lost that particular quality with every failed attempt at vanishing the field of magic that was still trapping the two fellow members of staff and four students in the potions lab. Miss Cackle, despite her attempts at being as cool and collected as she could manage, was slowly but surely losing her grip on her own emotions, and seemed to have aged ten years during the last days. Davina, who in support of the headmistress tried to behave like an adult for a change, was increasingly hysterical, her nervousness clearly shown in the massive amounts of flowers she ate every single day. As for Imogen, although like her fellow staff members she tried to keep her head, she found that her grasp on reality was slipping away every time that she looked at the blue field of magic and with every call that Evan didn't return.
"Did you manage to get a hold of Mr Mallard, Imogen, dear?" Davina's shrill voice broke the silence of the room as Imogen entered and took her usual place next to the fire.
Eight eyes in the room looked up from what they were doing and waited for her response. She shook her head dejectedly, hating Davina for a moment for putting her on the spot like that. Truth be told, the fact that Evan wasn't answering any of her calls was worrying her. Where was he and why wasn't he there when the school needed him most? After all, he was the benefactor of the school and, going by the huge amount of money that he had recently invested in Cackle's, he had a very good reason to ensure the school was running smoothly. Furthermore, her past realization that there was a very good chance the student potions teacher and her boyfriend knew each other didn't do anything to settle her nerves. She had gone through every single memory that she had of the woman and had chastised herself for not paying much attention to Miss Hawthorne. All that she knew of her was that she was in her twenties, presumably studying potions and that the girls kind of liked having potions with her, which, considering the alternative, wasn't saying much.
"If I think a bit about it, she kind of reminds me of you…" The words she had said to Evan during what had been their last night together were incessantly circling through her mind. They were true. Hope Hawthorne did remind her of Evan, but why? Yes, they did have the same, slightly superior, air about them and they did use the same cold politeness but there was more and Imogen couldn't put her finger on it. As much as she hated to admit it, the entire situation was very suspicious to say the least.
Two people who knew each other coming to Cackle's in the span of less than two months and then the entire blue field affair happening? While her heart didn't want to admit that Evan might somehow be involved in the entire thing, her brain begged to differ, and as much as she wanted to follow her heart on this one there was too much at stake for her to do so. So what was connecting this seemingly unrelated events? Why would Evan go so far as to avoid the academy in order to hide the fact that he knew the student teacher?
No matter how hard she tried she couldn't come up with a plausible answer. There was nothing special about Hope, apart from the obvious fact that she was a witch. And the fact that there was something about her that was distinctively Evan-like…Maybe she was his sister. But then, why would he hide the fact? Although, if she were his sister his investment into the school would be justified. He wanted to make sure that his sister would pass the examination process and he wanted to bribe the school. But then why would he hide their relationship? It wouldn't make any sense for someone to give a bribe without saying what he gave a bribe for. Plus, if she indeed were his own flesh and blood, then wouldn't he be worried about what was happening to her? From the countless voice-mail messages that Imogen had sent she was pretty sure that he was well aware of the situation at Cackle's. Even if Hope was his estranged sister he would have come to see how she was faring. No, it wouldn't make sense for them to be related in such a way.
Imogen could feel a headache starting at the back of her head and she was tempted to let the matter rest. After all, Evan couldn't avoid her forever and when she did have a chance to talk to him she would ask about the entire affair. As she was entertaining these thoughts and was toying with the idea of reading one of the magazines in the staff room to give her brain a well-deserved break, it struck her. Evan could avoid her forever if he so chose. Apart from his phone number and the address he had written on the check he gave to Miss Cackle they knew nothing about him. Nothing whatsoever. And even with those, she was pretty certain that he had more than one house and could thus make sure that, if he so wished, no one from the academy would ever be able to find him. This realization was the equivalent of a bucket of cold water thrown on Imogen and she involuntarily felt her body shiver for a second.
All that time, all those days, she had tried to think of all that she knew about Miss Hawthorne to try to connect her to Evan. She had not once tried to think about what she knew about him. Imogen tried for a second to focus on her boyfriend and make a mental list of all that he had revealed about himself during the past month. Truth be told it wasn't much. His name was Evan Mallard. He lived…somewhere… in a big house. He liked… What did he like? He was charming. He was wealthy… but why? His favourite food was…what? How old was he? Late twenties? Early thirties? He had an Italian grandmother, who she had never met. Actually she had never met anyone who was even remotely connected to him. No friends, no family, nothing. She furrowed her brow and tried to remember if he had ever mentioned any friend, any acquaintances… anyone, really, and found that he had not. So what did they talk about during those lengthy dinners? Well… he didn't really talk much. She was the one who did the talking and he would comment rather sparingly on whatever captured his interest. Mostly the school. She realized that even after sleeping with the guy for more than a month she knew almost nothing about him. In fact, she knew as much about him as she knew about Miss Hawthorne.
So why would she assume that the two people were similar? To her shame, she knew close to nothing about either of them, so why did she have this certainty that they were like each other? Why? Their air, their demeanour, their obvious wealth? Imogen was certain that it was far more than that. Something she did not understand, something that she couldn't put her finger on.
She interrupted her interior monologue and looked at the others in the room. Davina was quietly munching on some fruit salad while Miss Cackle was reading some school papers, the absence of her deputy forcing her to engage more and more in administrative issues. The two wizards were talking about the uses of dragon blood and it seemed that they were disagreeing on the uses of a particular kind. Then it dawned on her. There was something else that was similar about both Evan and Hope. Something that she had taken for granted. They were both able to do magic.
For a moment she considered discarding that particular idea because there was nothing unusual about two people coming to a witch academy to be able to do magic. Frankly, her entire rational was simply a string of circumstantial suppositions, probably easily explained. She once again considered putting the entire thing to rest, but something inside her urged to think more. Something inside her told her that he needed to think more… that she needed to connect all the dots. Magic. They were able to do magic. So what? Why was that important? Why did she feel like this obvious, irrelevant fact was the key to the entire thing? She closed her eyes for a second and then she could see it. Clearly. Miss Hawthorne raising her hand in the air, long, angry streaks of fire coming from the tips of her fingers, covering Mildred's exploding cauldron.
Fire? Why was that relevant? She had never seen Evan do anything even remotely similar. In fact, she had never seen Evan do magic. Period. She had known that the woman was a witch, so normally she would have some sort of power. So why was did she feel that the picture of Hope covering Mildred's cauldron with those streaks of flames was very important. It wasn't. She was used to see weird things so she shouldn't have been surprised to see the young witch do something weird. She had seen this type of thing before. Unless… Unless, her mind was actually trying to tell her that she hadn't.
"Miss Cackle can you use magic to create fire?" Imogen asked naively, thinking that if somehow her subconscious was trying to show her something she should at least ask.
"What do you mean, dear?" Amelia raised her head from her papers and looked at her gym mistress with a contrite expression.
"Can a witch wave her hand and just create flames?" Imogen asked, her left hand reproducing the movement she had seen Hope make, being well aware that all the eyes in the room were upon her.
"Well… there are spells to set something on fire, but they require a lot of concentration and we don't teach them in school…" Amelia offered helpfully, still not understanding why her gym mistress would ask such a thing.
"But can you do it without a spell?" the younger woman asked calmly. Being in the proximity of witches for the past years she knew how a spell looked like. She also knew how one could cast a spell and she was fairly certain that it wasn't what the student teacher had done.
"Not to my knowledge… No…" the headmistress said calmly, her heart giving a painful jolt. Constance would have been much better at answering this kind of questions.
"Why do you ask, dear lady?" Egbert Hellebore intervened, his eyes gleaming strangely.
"I saw her do it…" Imogen whispered carelessly, her eyes unfocused for a moment.
"You saw who, do what, Imogen?" Amelia asked now slightly worried about the mental state of her youngest teacher.
"Hope… during her first class…" Miss Drill answered, trying really hard to get her fuzzy brain back into focus.
"What did you see her do?" Davina asked in a shrill voice, now paying attention to the conversation as her friend had been mentioned.
"Mildred's cauldron was about to explode, I think, and she waved her hand in the air and these limbs of flames appeared out of nowhere and covered the cauldron!" Imogen explained
"Are you certain that's what you saw, dear lady?" the Grand Wizard asked calmly.
"Yes! I'm certain!" Imogen said in a brisk tone
"Maybe she just said a spell…she is in college, so she should know how to set things on fire…" Davina replied innocently not exactly understanding the serious look that both the Grand Wizard and the headmistress now possessed.
"She didn't! I know a spell when I see one! You said that it requires a lot of concentration right? To set things on fire, I mean" at this Imogen turned her head towards the headmistress who nodded slightly, her eyes wide "She was relaxed… she just waved her hand like this…" she quickly demonstrated, slightly excited that she had discovered something that could be of use to free the students.
"Maybe she did it non-verbally…" Miss Bat tried again, not really understanding why everyone made such a big deal about something that seemed normal
"She didn't set anything on fire, Davina. If Imogen is right, she created fire. Out of nothing." Amelia replied in a grim tone, the magnitude of the situation hitting her full force. She had never heard of anyone being able to do such a thing. No one.
"But Constance does that too, doesn't she? When she lights the fire under the cauldrons of the students?" Miss Bat once again asked, still not understanding
"Dear lady, that is a different thing…" Egbert said in a pompous voice, as if he was lecturing about the different species of dragons to a not so bright student. "The spell for setting something on fire uses two processes, which is why it requires a great deal of concentration and practice. Firstly, one needs to infuse the particles of the object they want to light up with energy so that they can move quicker and as such emanate more heat, and, secondly, even if it done non-verbally, one needs to concentrate their energy precisely on a particular object, or objects, for obvious reasons. What it is more important is that you cannot set everything on fire. When you are using the spell you don't create fire, you just make the particles in the object move faster and let nature take its course when they reached a particular level of energy. That is why the spell works only on solid objects. They are the only type of objects that can be set on fire because their particles are the only ones that are close enough to each other to be able to collide and emanate enough heat. Also, you can only set something on fire if the material from which the object is made is able to be set on fire… "
"So she couldn't have done that?" Davina said in a small voice now understanding why everyone was so amazed by what Imogen had said.
"No… Magic bends the laws of physics, Davina, but can't completely invalidate them. Magic works with the natural way in which this world works but does not go against it… When we transform an object into something else, we energise each and every molecule in that object to take the form that we wish. That is why you have pairs of objects that can be transformed easily into one another. It is easier to transform an object into something that has a similar shape or consistency than into something completely different. When we levitate something, we don't annul gravity but be use a blanket of energy to make the object lighter… what Miss Hawthorne did is…" Amelia allowed her voice to trail off, being painfully aware that had Constance been there she would have been able to offer a better explanation. But Constance wasn't there. She was stuck in a room with a person who was able to do things that were unheard of. Amelia felt unprepared to deal with such a situation.
"She absolved the laws of physics…" Imogen declared softly, once again amazed by how magic worked.
"That she did… but how was she able to do it?" Algernon intervened for the first time.
"There is a legend that says that there were once two families…" Egbert started in his trademark monotone voice
"Egbert, surely you don't think that the girl is…" Algernon interrupted knowing exactly what his friend wanted to say.
"I had my doubts up to now, but with what Miss Drill said, I am certain that I was right in the first place" he answered in a calm voice, more serious than the one that he usually used, and his friend was immediately quieted
"As I was saying, there were once two families that were said to stand at the foundation of magic as we know it today and they had been at war for centuries. One of them was the Hawthorne family. Both families had power that extended beyond belief and they could do things that no one else could. It is said that they controlled vast lands and that their rule was ruthless. Every woman, man or child, every magical person, had to pledge themselves to them on pain of death. Legend has it that the power of the other family came from an object, an object that made the person who had it so powerful that he could defy death itself. For years and years the Hawthorne family tried to find this object thinking that they could defeat their enemies with it but were unsuccessful, until, one day they asked a brave king by the name of Arthur aided by his knights and an equally brave wizard to look for the object. They called it the Holy Grail…Some say that the purest of the knights, Galahad, found it and that the other family was defeated… others say that it was never found and that even today the two families are waging war against each other…But this, dear ladies, is only a legend and it would be unwise to draw any conclusions from it. I myself was acquainted with old Hawthorne before he died and I can assure you that he was a most delightful chap! Although the girl's powers are quite strange." the Grand wizard finished and looked at the surprised faces of those in the room.
"Was the name of the other family, Mallard?" Imogen asked shyly. The Grand Wizard's, wide-eyed, shocked look of recognition was enough to confirm her suspicions.
Sometimes Mildred hated her imagination for, over the years, it had brought her only trouble. Whether it was her arguments with Miss Hardbroom or her strange proclivity to create the most twisted, and slightly dangerous, plans to save the school, she blamed her overactive imagination for it. Truth be told, the only instance where this particular trait had served her well was while writing the essay about the two-headed giant who was arguing with himself, for without that essay, she would have never been admitted into Cackle's. Apart from that, it had always worked against her. And now, as she was standing in the middle of the well-lit hallway of what she supposed to be a very old Victorian house, she wondered what sort of twisted scenario her mind had concocted for her now.
A pair of long arms wrapped around her from behind and Mildred could feel a familiar, yet strange scent envelop her. The embrace was welcoming and the girl had to fight the urge to close her eyes and lose herself into the warmth of the body behind her. Instead, she kept her eyes wide opened and turned to see who was greeting her so very tenderly. When she first turned Mildred got the strange impression that she had been hugged by her mother. Yet, the woman that was proudly beaming at her most definitely wasn't Annabelle Hubble. She had long black hair which was neatly plaited and which reached the small of her back, her eyes, which were deep hazel, held a mysterious kind of sparkle in them and her red lips were parted in a slightly mischievous grin. It took Mille a good couple of seconds to process that the woman who had been hugging her and was now gently nudging her to go towards the last door in the hallway was Miss Hardbroom.
"Sweetheart, please go wash your hands before dinner. Your father is already waiting". Her tone was soft, loving and slightly shy and her request was nothing like the orders she usually barked at her students. Her request was more like a gentle, unassuming plea, if nothing else. If HB had ever used that kind of voice in class, each and every one of her students would have probably had her committed
Mildred nodded in bewilderment and moved towards the door she had been directed towards stealing glances at this most odd version of her potions teacher. The woman was as thin as she remembered her to be, but instead of her usual black dress, she was clad in a light blue silk frock that was reaching up to her knees and revealed a pair of creamy, thin legs. Like the Miss Hardbroom she knew, she wasn't wearing much jewellery, save for a golden pendant round her neck, yet the most obvious and baffling addition was a small golden wedding band and an equally delicate engagement ring. Unlike the woman she saw every day in class, this version of the potions mistress had a relaxed, benevolent smile gracing her pale features and while she was as straight as ever, her poise seemed to be a proof of immeasurable grace rather than dourness and self-restraint. For a moment, despite the sheer oddity of the situation, the student wished to see this Miss Hardbroom more.
When she returned from the bathroom and was directed with a gentle nudge by her "mother" to what she supposed to be the dinning room, her eyes were immediately transfixed on the man that was sitting at the table. Although he was sitting on one of the tastefully chosen Louis the XVI chairs she could tell that he was tall. Very tall. The way in which he was bending slightly over the table, while reading the paper, betrayed not only abnormal grace for a man but also some sort of hidden power. Mildred could see that under the crisp white shirt his muscles were tense as if the man was ready to jump from his seat and attack. The tense state of his body wasn't shown on his face. Behind a wavy curtain of black hair that was loosely tied at the nape of neck, his angular, tanned features were relaxed, his thin lips spread into a serene smile. Upon hearing her approach he looked up and, for an unknown reason, Mildred took an unconscious step back. His almond-shaped eyes, now fully directed towards her, were the most vivid blue she had ever seen. She could not tear her eyes away from those blue depths and she felt sad. Sadder than she'd ever been. It was as if an invisible hand was pressing against her chest and throat making her choke. She could feel salty droplets of water fall on her cheeks. Every fibre in her body told her to run away, to leave the strange man's presence but, no matter how hard she urged her legs to move, she found that she could do nothing but stare into those deep blue eyes. Only when the blue irises suddenly faded into pure white did Millie find the power to scream.
When Hope woke up she felt as if her body was made of lead. Her limbs seemed heavy, her eyelids seemed unwilling to reveal the clear blue irises of her eyes and she wished for a second the she would be able to just sit there and never move again. Would anyone really care if she spent the rest of her days with her head propped on her hands and eyes shut against the reality of what was happening? Would anyone really give a damn if she just waited for death quietly, without a fight? If about a week ago the answer would have been a definite "no", now she knew that the four girls would care. After seven days of being stuck in that place, a quiet camaraderie had been built between herself and the girls.
For years and years she had tried to kill her heart but the bloody wretched thing refused to go down without a fight. She had tried to convince herself that love, compassion, friendship, and other such noble sentiments were nothing but expressions of weakness. She couldn't afford to be weak. She couldn't afford to allow herself to form ties to other people. That was what she had always told herself, that was what she truly believed. Yet her heart chose, time and time again, to work against her.
First there had been Evan, the one and only man she had loved. Back then she had known how dangerous it would be for her to give her heart away to someone who had been born and raised to hate and destroy her. But back then she had been fifteen and her eyes saw the world in a completely different light. Then she had been able to see the colours of the world, she had been able breath in the smells and she had been able to feel the heat of the sun on her skin. Now? The world held nothing of interest for her. For her the world was nothing but a collection of souls, one more deformed and destroyed than the other, waiting to be granted absolution and to leave their unfortunate corpses behind. She pitied them.
She wondered for a second when did her perspective change. Was it when Evan tried to kill her after she had agreed to run away with him when both their families expressed disagreement when finding out about their relationship? Or maybe it was when she had to consciously take her first soul. The soul of her own father. She had truly loved him. Her father, that is. Even if he had never been able to fully express his emotions, even if he had never been able to control the fear that he felt while he was in his daughter's presence, she had truly loved him.
Before she had taken the soul of her father she had never truly understood what she was capable of. Of course, people had died before she had been fifteen and she had taken each and every one of their souls but she had done so without realizing it. After all, taking one soul didn't require her physical presence, only her spiritual one and her spiritual signature was, or had been up until recently, omnipresent and omnipotent. She guessed that her father wasn't the first one whose souls she had taken while being in physical form. The first one must have been her mother. After all, that was why each and every Elemental Mistress of Fire died in childbirth. The entire balance of the world would have been destroyed if there was more than one person who could control death, after all. But she couldn't remember taking the soul of her mother. It was irrelevant. Quite frankly, her mother was irrelevant. She was nothing but a few pictures on the mantelpiece.
But her father… he was an entire different matter. Hope had been there when he had died, not spiritually, but physically as well. She had held his hand, she had witnessed the immense pain he had been in and truth be told, she had wanted nothing more than for the old man to just give up his grasp on life. But her father had been stubborn. He had also been more than afraid of death and his daughter had been unable to give him a proper explanation of what happened after death. Truthfully, Hope hadn't been able to offer that particular explanation because she had no idea what happened after death. Her mission was to take the souls to the realm her ancestors had created. She had no idea what happened to the souls after they went past the barrier of the lake. So without being able to offer him any comfort she had taken her father's soul, her own soul being shattered into pieces as she stared at his wretched look of fear.
Ever since then she had made it her personal mission to use her physical form to take souls as often as she could to see how they reacted to her. Although a part of her hated it, she wanted those whose souls she took to be afraid of her. Why? Because if there were others who were truly scared of her then it meant that her own father wasn't such a miserable coward. There had only been one person that had been as terrified of her as her own father but she had allowed that one person to live…
After Evan, she had given her heart to Noah. Not in the same way, but she had allowed the doctor to form a bond with her. Why? That she did not know. At first it was because he had been the only one who could see her spiritual form and she had been intrigued by that. But then… Hope didn't exactly know why she had allowed him to enter her life. She had met him just after her father's death and after Evan's attempt to murder her. Maybe, back then, she had believed Noah to be some sort of replacement for both her father and first love. He was after all ten years her senior. And then, she had attended his father's funeral and she had, for the first time in her life, felt guilty and remorseful. She had watched for a while how all his so-called friends had deserted him and she had known that he would need someone to be there for him. That, coupled with the immense guilt she felt, made her visit him more and more often. After a while she realized that she needed him as much as he needed her. She needed someone to be able to just look at her and see her for what she was: a girl, a human being, not an abomination of nature.
Far more recent than the other two bonds she had formed over the years, was the one with the four students in the potions classroom and, why not, with Miss Hardbroom. She guessed that it was pretty hard to be stuck in a life and death situation and not form any kind of attachment. From experience, she knew fully well that people did not want to die alone. Maybe that was why she had felt the impulse to get close to the people who were in the same position as her. She felt a weird sense of companionship towards them. Even towards Miss Hardbroom. Despite the fact that she had resented the woman's cold demeanour she felt that in their present situation such animosities did not matter too much. After all, it was much easier to live with someone that you didn't outright hate.
And then there were the girls. The girls well… they amused her. With their innocence they showed her what she could never be. Too much knowledge had been given too her when she had been their age. Too hard of a burden had been placed on her shoulders from birth. She had never had the luxury to be carefree, to play, and to make mistakes. Seeing them, interacting with them, made her regain a bit of her lost childhood.
As she looked at Mildred's sleeping form, she could not help but feel slightly overwhelmed. If what the lake showed was true, and it always was, Mildred would have a very small amount of time left. Very small. Surprisingly enough that saddened her, not only because the girl could be of great use to her if she ever managed to get out of the blasted potions lab and decided to go after Evan, but also because she knew what was to happen to the girl's soul and she did not deserve it. Millie was one of those kind, pure creatures whose soul deserved to be preserved, to be given absolution not torn, shattered and discarded. Yet, with her stuck in that bloody place, with her unable to exercise her birth right, the girl's soul would be lost forever. And how about the other girls? Surely their wide-eyed innocence will be gone when they will see their class-mate, who was also unknowingly their leader and moral compass, in such unbelievable pain, twisting and turning while taking her last breaths.
At various points during the entire ordeal, Constance thought about giving up and letting death claim her. She believed that any type of death would be far kinder than the losing battle she was fighting against her own body. Yet, when such thoughts threatened to cloud her judgements she looked upon the faces of the four students and was suddenly reminded of why she was desperately trying to carry on. Knowing that if she failed they would as well, she carried on fighting for every breath and urging her weakened heart to beat away.
As far as the pretend potions student teacher was concerned, ever since Hope talked about her first date, Miss Hardbroom felt a strange kinship form between her and the younger woman. She was now certain of two things about the elusive Miss Hawthorne: she had once loved dearly and she had nothing but the better interests of the girls at heart. No matter how cold and superficial Hope appeared, Constance knew that she wasn't a sadist or a psychopath and regardless of her initial purpose when coming at Cackle's she knew that the woman would not let anything happen to the innocent girls who were in the same position as they were. The kindness that she had shown, not only towards the students but her as well, proved that despite that the potions mistress had been wrong in her assessment of the younger woman. Slumped gracefully on her desk, Constance sighed softly while watching Hope leaning against the back wall of the class room. With all the make-up gone and being much thinner, Miss Hawthorne didn't look as proud and arrogant as she had before. Truth be told, she looked much younger than her twenty five years. Maybe Amelia was right. Maybe she was indeed a poor judge of characters.
Knowing that the girl would automatically follow, Constance staggered, for the second time in the past two hours or so, towards the supplies cupboard. The attacks were becoming more and more frequent and it worried her. Without trying to be a martyr, the potion mistress wasn't especially worried about what this increased frequency meant as far as her health was concerned. She had, long ago, made peace with the fact that she was going to die sooner rather than later. What she was truly concerned about was the fact that, as things were presently going, her body was prone to fail her at the most inopportune of moments and that the four children would have to both go through the traumatic experience of seeing someone die and, in the worst of cases, suffer through their imprisonment in the company of a corpse.
"Miss Hawthorne, I think we need to have a serious discussion…"the potion mistress whispered as she felt her lungs regain a bit of their normal functon and Hope released the woman's shoulder, giving her the freedom to turn and face her.
"What about?" the younger woman asked calmly, leaning on the wall opposite the potion mistress,
"I don't think that I have much time left." Constance answered simply, dryly. "And, as such, I think it would be prudent to make some… contingency plans… in case…" she tactfully followed, her voice slightly higher than usual. It was one thing to actually admit that you were going to die, sometime in the future, and another to actually prepare for your imminent demise.
For her part, Hope didn't know whether to laugh or cry. For one, she knew for a fact that the woman standing before her was condemned to death and the stoicism with which the potion mistress accepted her fate made her feel bad, and why not, impressed. But, on the other hand she also knew that, by some twisted turn of fate, Miss Hardbroom would not be the first one to go in that room. Of course, she could not tell that to the woman so Hope maintained a blank expression waiting for the potion mistress to continue.
"First, you will need to find a way to dispose of…" Constance began but her voice refused to voice her thoughts. This conversation was proving more difficult than she had expected. She tried to take a deep breath and continue "There is some…" once again her voice refused to work properly. She could feel her heart beating quickly in her chest and her lungs scream for air. Upon seeing that the potion mistress was either having a panic attack or one of her usual bouts of illness, Hope quickly came and sat next to her, putting her hand on the back of the older woman to steady her.
"What… I am… trying to say… is that… you need to… dispose of my corpse…" Constance took a deep breath as soon as the words left her mouth and she took a moment to comprehend their magnitude. It was happening. It was truly happening."… Oh… God…!" she whispered softly, tears making their way from the corner of her eyes on her chin. She had thought that she had made peace with the idea of dying. She had thought that she could accept her fate with no qualms, but now that she actually believed her death to be not only a certainty but also an imminent occurrence, she could not help but feel somewhat cheated. She did not want to die. No one did. Although eternal sleep would certainly be preferable to all the suffering and pain she went through a daily basis, she could not help but feel somewhat afraid at what was happening and regretful.
Hope was stunned. Constance Hardbroom the most proper, most straight-laced woman she had met in her life was currently breaking down by her side and she had no idea how to react. The woman's breath was coming in shallow gasps and her hands were trembling by her side and Hope was certain that if she didn't do something soon the woman would have something akin to a heart attack. What she did surprised them both. She extended her long hands and enveloped the woman into what she hopped to be a reassuring hug. By the way in which the potion mistress went rigid into her arms she could tell that the woman had as much experience with hugs as Hope herself. Which wasn't much, really. And yet, Constance didn't move, not because she was particularly fond of either the younger woman or of physical contact, but because Hope's presence was reassuring. The fact that she could feel something, anything, was reassuring.
"I once promised myself that I will face anything with dignity… it seems that I have trespassed this promise" Constance said in a much calmer voice after a few minutes, extracting herself from Hope's arms and wiping away the last remaining tears from her cheeks.
"You didn't…" Hope replied in an eerie voice, her longs arms now hugging her legs.
"I did… I also promised myself that I would never show weakness in front of anyone… another promise that I broke…" she followed more for herself than for her counterpart.
"If it's any comfort you should know that whatever happens in this room stays in this room" the younger woman said with honesty, her eyes still fixed on the wall across her.
"It strangely isn't. But thank you, Miss Hawthorne." Constance replied in a raspy voice
"What for? And please call me Hope… I feel that in the present situation using given names is more than appropriate" Hope asked truly surprised that the potion mistress would see fit to be grateful for anything
"For doing what I no longer can for the girls and for myself as well. They look up to you. They trust you to protect them" Constance explained
"I beg to differ. You might not see it, but I do. The girls trust no one more than they trust you. They care for you, Miss Hardbroom. No matter how weak you might think you are, no matter how weak you might think that they see you to be, it is still you that they need" despite her words she could not bring herself to address the stoic woman by her given name "You think that they come to me and talk to me because they think that you are weak? No. They come to me because they care for you enough as not want to burden you. They want you to conserve your energy because they know that when the time comes and something more serious will happen it is you that they will turn to. It is you that can and always will unequivocally help them"
"I can only wish that what you said is nothing but the truth but I am afraid that when the time comes, no matter how hard the girls try, I will not be able to properly aid them…" her voice trailed off, regret obvious in her deep hazel eyes.
"Then we will deal with that when the time comes…" Hope whispered calmly knowing exactly what the deputy headmistress was implying
"Miss Hawthorne… Hope… there is one thing that I need to ask of you… " Constance started in a calm voice now looking at the woman beside her with seriousness "I do not know why you came to Cackle's and I do not know what you intend to do, but I do know that you have a certain sense of honour ingrained into you and that you are not cruel. What I want to ask of you is that, regardless of your intentions, you will not harm the girls. Not only these four, but all the girls" she asked calmly and could see the ghost of a smile playing on the younger woman's lips.
"How can I harm them? Am I not in here with you?" she asked with slight derision
"If we get out, if you get to do what you came here to do…" Constance sighed softly
"Then I promise that I will not touch the girls. It wasn't my intention anyway" Hope said calmly the irony of the entire situation making her lips curve slightly in a mocking smile.
"Thank you. Even if I will still be alive when we get out of here, I doubt that I will be in any condition to protect them from you. Quite frankly, even in my prime I doubt that I could have overpowered one of the Elemental Masters. I am trusting in your conscience to keep your promise" the deputy said calmly and watched a look of surprise flicker on the other woman's features.
"You trust me…why?" she whispered in a perplexed voice.
"I have no other alternative. Even if I do not trust you I can do nothing to stop you" Constance answered in a slightly defeated tone.
"Are you afraid of me?" Hope asked in a straight-forward manner after taking some time to ponder what the potion mistress had said.
"No." Miss Hardbroom answered simply.
"My own father was afraid of me" the younger woman said with a tone that would have been indifferent if not for the painfully obvious bitterness in it.
"Then he was a fool" the younger woman's look of skepticism made Constance feel compelled to explain "I do not fear you. I fear what you could do, not to me, but to others. Hence the promise."
"It makes no sense. If you fear what I can do, then you fear me as well… "
"Not at all. You have great power. I fear that power. I fear that you could use that power to hurt those for whom I care. But I do not fear you." Miss Hardbroom said calmly "For the past week or so I have seen you without your power. I have seen you not as an Elemental Master that has come to this school to wreak chaos and destruction, but as the person who has been kind to both me and the girls"
"You base your assessment of me on what you have seen in the past week. But you forget that this is not me. I am…."she was intrigued at the deputy's train of thought.
"Tell me, Hope, do your powers control you or do you control your powers?" Constance asked upon seeing the unconvinced look on the younger woman's face
"Obviously I am the one that controls them…"
"Then, underneath all that power, all that energy, the same person lays. The person who has been fair with the ratios of water, the person who has listened to the girl's incessant troubles and participated in their games and the person who has watched me expel my blood once every couple of hours for the past week" she explained in the same way she explained a particularly difficult potion to her classes.
"If only it could be that simple…" Hope whispered softly a shadow of regret present in her eyes while looking at the other woman
"Even if you are unaware of it, you still have power over us all in this situation. You are the one who prepares all the water ratios. Even if you are an atrocious potion maker, you could still find some sort of poison in the potions lab to put in our ratios…" Constance continued her rationale in the same, teacher-like voice.
"Wouldn't you know, though?" the younger woman replied for the sake of the argument
"Probably. But then again, how hard would it be to eliminate me?" Miss Hardbroom asked in the same matter-of-fact voice "You spend at least half your day in this supplies cupboard with me. It would be easy for you to kill me, wouldn't it? There is a strong chance I wouldn't even be able to fight back… And I doubt that anyone would ever even suspect that you murdered me. After all, everyone knows that my heart can give out any moment… "
"Are you tempting me?" Hope continued with derision.
"No. I am proving a point."
"Are you trying to convince yourself that I will not go back on my word and harm the girls or are you trying to convince me that underneath all that power I am still a good person?" she asked a little bit more forcefully
"Tell me, while being in here, did you consider, even once, the possibility of killing any of us?" Constance asked, her hazel eyes challenging Hope's blue.
"No" Hope admitted softly, her eyes lowering.
"Why not?" the potions mistress asked once again looking for any sign of feeling on the girl's blank face.
"I do not like killing without a good reason…" she whispered, her eyes still fixed on the stone floor.
"You have killed before?" Constance enquired even if she was well aware of the answer.
"What do you think?" Hope asked rhetorically her blue eyes finally meeting the deputy's hazel ones.
A cry from the other room interrupted their conversation and after an exchange of worried looks, Miss Hardbroom lifted herself off the floor and started to walk as quickly as possible towards the commotion. Hope did not move. She had recognized the voice as being Mildred's. Was that it? Was the child truly dying? Was she screaming because her soul was being torn from her body? If that was so, Hope could not bring herself to go into that room and witness the process. If only she had a bit of power. If only she could relieve the girl. If only there was something, anything that she could do. The young woman took a deep breath and tried to block out the screams of the girl. Now, Maud, Enid and Ethel were shouting as well urging Millie to wake up. Every time she heard them call Millie's name she could feel her soul shattering. Hope looked around the small familiar room and her eyes fell on a small potions kit. She lifted the lid of the box and her eyes fell on a small knife. With trembling hands she took it. There was one thing that she could do, but was she ready to do it? She could save one soul, but at what cost? At the cost of everything she had. The ghost of her conversation with Miss Hardbroom was lingering in her mind. She had told… no she had promised… the woman, albeit in a roundabout way, that she would protect the girls. Was she ready to truly do it? Was she ready to sacrifice everything just to be able to spare that child the pain?
Mildred's screams seemed to become louder and louder. With a steady, determined hand, Hope pressed the knife into her pale flesh.
Author's Note:
So… *hides behind chair*…. What do you think? Was it any good? I was so nervous posting this chapter because a lot happens in it and a lot of info is given. Please send me your thoughts through your reviews or pm's… I love reading your feedback!
*gives chocolate fudge brownies to everyone who has made it thus far*
Sneak preview (if you chose to continue reading, that is):
Evan comes to Cackle's and has a big surprise. Noah is consumed by guilt. Things in the academy take a very unexpected turn.