Chapter 18
October 1985
It was Halloween when Constance found the book. She was sat in a shadowy corner of the college library. A swell of excited chatter and the echoing of footsteps in the corridors outside rang out through the silent library has her fellow students readied themselves to fly off to the Halloween celebrations. Constance struggled to focus on the page in front of her as the noise outside reached a gradual fever pitch. Then, quite suddenly the unruly symphony of footfall and chatter died and Constance was left alone with the library clock which immediately began chiming midnight into the silence.
Constance sighed and shifted in her seat, wincing immediately as the dull throb across her rib cage flared into a burning pain. Since beginning her fourth year, Constance's life at the college had changed quite completely. Although she still attended a small number of advanced classes, the vast majority of her time was spent as an assistant of sorts to Mistress Broomhead. Some of these tasks were more bearable than others. As well as assisting Mistress Fairwind with the first and second year potions, Constance had been given her own first year spell class and she had found that teaching was something which suited her very well. Nothing could quite compare to the thrill of seeing her students master a particularly challenging incantation. Mistress Broomhead regularly berated her for not demonstrating her authority forcefully enough when teaching but in truth Constance had very little difficulty keeping order. The first year undergraduates found the tall, pale and aloof fourth year who was so frequently to be found in Mistress Broomhead's shadow about equally intriguing and alarming.
Constance also spent a great deal of time assisting Mistress Broomhead with her tutor's own research; much of this involved replying to her seemingly endless stream of correspondence, transcribing her sprawling notes and endless repetition of new potions and spells in order to perfect them. Mistress Broomhead's most recent ongoing work was a paper on how much force was permissible against a fellow which according to the ethics of the Witches' Code. The research paper described a "willing, student volunteer" a role which Constance had been sternly told she had volunteered for. The research had involved endless evenings of Mistress Broomhead using increasing levels of magical force to position her limbs, prevent her from moving entirely and make her sit and stand at will. After each spell, Constance was made to methodically report the amount of discomfort the spell had caused her. This evening Mistress Broomhead had experimented with the amount of force required to throw a witch to the ground. She had grown impatient at Constance who took what she described as an unfathomable amount of time to pick herself up and complete the required measurements and so had cast her final, most powerful spell before Constance was fully prepared. Constance had fallen awkwardly, striking her side forcefully against the nearest desk.
Constance's side had been throbbing with growing intensity since the incident and she wasn't entirely convinced that one of her ribs wasn't broken. It would have been impossible for her to fly her broom in this condition so she had retreated to the school library in the hopes that nobody would notice her absence. The college library held an air of comfort for Constance, and on quiet evenings like this she was reminded of the long summers spent in the calm, sanctuary of her school library – it seemed like a lifetime ago. She glanced down the essay in front of her, she knew that the introductory paragraph could be improved by weaving in some of the older, more traditional magical theory which was rarely taught at the college. She leant back gently in her chair and wearily contemplated whether it was worth the inevitable pain to her ribs to get up and seek out the necessary book.
Excruciatingly slowly, Constance rose from her chair and made her way to the far side of the library. The shelves in this section of the library were partially obscured by a deep purple hanging tapestry bathing the whole corner in an indigo twilight and the shelves themselves buckled almost as much as the one's in Mistress Fairwind's office. The library's oldest books were kept in this section, most of them had remained unread for many terms a were covered with a fine layer of dust. Constance ducked around the tapestry and began scanning the shelves.
Constance knew she had seen a likely looking tome the last time she had perused the shelves. Squinting slightly in the half light, she ran her fingers absentmindedly along the slightly frayed spines finding the feeling of the books quite soothing beneath her fingertips. She slid a hefty, green volume on the Ancient Nature Rites out of its place on one of the shelves and the shelf gave a loud, creaking groan. Her attention was caught by a movement at the back of the shelf and narrowing her eyes in the gloom she could just make out the edge of a book which had obviously slipped down the back of the shelf above. Ignoring the protest from her aching ribs, Constance began to clear the surrounding books from the shelf until she had enough space to slip her hands into the back of the shelf and get a good purchase on the book. She gripped the book firmly and felt it slide free of the shelf above and slip down into her waiting hands.
She carried the book over to the tapestry curtain to give her enough light to examine it properly. It was a large grey book and well-worn. On the front, in clear black letters were the words "The Forbidden Almanac of Anarchy and Unruly Spells". Constance opened the book, sending a light cloud of dust into the surrounding air, and scanned the table of contents. Constance felt a strange tingle of excitement as she read the list of spells in front of her. She ducked back behind the tapestry and made her way back to her desk. She reached into her bag and pulled out the latest letter from Roberta and Celeste; the enclosed photograph showed her two friends on a beach, all long tanned limbs and salt tousled hair against bright white sand and a brilliant turquoise sea. She placed the book on the desk, creating a second cloud of dust, and flipped through the pages until she reached the spell she wanted: "A Spell to Hide the Truth from Prying Eyes". Constance gripped the letter firmly in her right hand and silently recited the spell. At once, the letter and photograph disappeared from sight and in their place was a brilliant white handkerchief.
Constance looked down at the Almanac in delight. It could have been years, even decades since anyone had seen this book. Mistress Broomhead, with her fixation on control and order, would surely never have given a book of unruly spells a second glance. Even though she knew she was the only person in the college, she couldn't help but glance around her in case anyone had overseen her spell. She then calmly folded the white handkerchief, secreted the large book into her bag and made her way out into the deserted corridor with a new lightness in her step.