Reading, Writing and Necromancy Read online

  I had brought my sketchbook to the meeting with me and made quick gesture drawings of Jasper and the coach. I smiled at Vega and Jackie Frost when they came in together, and Jackie nodded to me at least. They sat together farther down the table, and when Pro Ro entered, he selected a seat near Vega.

  The aroma of rotting garbage and goaty musk wafted toward me. I looked up, knowing what that meant.

  Pinky entered the room wearing a khaki kilt. I suspected it was a Utilikilt, which were pretty popular in the Pacific Northwest. I didn’t think Khaba would object to that. Pinky seated xirself next to Vega and introduced xirself to Jackie Frost.

  Vega wrinkled up her nose and sneered. She lifted a black beaded purse from her lap. It resembled something my grandmother had once owned. She removed a vintage perfume bottle with a pump out from her bag and sprayed it in Pinky’s direction.

  Pinky choked and coughed. “Excuse me. I’m allergic to chemicals and Morty—”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m allergic to sasquatch fur and dander, and I have to put up with your presence. Do us both a favor and sit over there.” She waggled her fingers in my direction. Great.

  Pinky grimaced—or I suspected that was the expression I saw under all the fur. Pinky rose and sat down next to me.

  “Hi,” xe said.

  “Hi,” I said. I tried to smile. Tears filled my eyes from the strength of xir stench.

  “Is everything all right?” xe asked.

  I nodded. I didn’t know if it was worse to breathe through my nose or mouth. If I breathed through my mouth, that meant I couldn’t smell. But that also meant I was sucking molecules of rancid air into my mouth.

  “What are you drawing?” Pinky asked.

  I showed xir my sketches.

  Xe leaned closer. I held my breath. I wanted to like Pinky, and I felt bad the other teachers didn’t want to be around xir. Staff didn’t treat me much differently.

  The moment Josie walked in, Pinky stood and waved. “Hi, Jo! We have a seat for you over here.”

  Josie’s smile grew strained. She looked from the empty seat next to Pinky to the one next to Vega to the one next to Pro Ro. She flashed an apologetic smile. “Excuse me, I’ll be over there in a sec. I just need to… .” She pointed at Pro Ro and sat next to him.

  “How did the first day of teaching real yoga go?” Josie asked Pro Ro. “Did you survive?”

  “I showed them a couple simple poses and then Duran Pollock told me I wasn’t doing Downward Dog correctly. I couldn’t even remember which one that was. The students laughed at me.”

  Josie nodded sympathetically. “Those haters.”

  “I realize I don’t get out of the woods much, but I thought Pro Ro was a yogi,” Pinky whispered. “He’s wearing a turban.”

  “Don’t believe all the stereotypes you read about people in turbans,” I said, thinking about my previous blunder when I’d tried to rip it off his head.

  Pinky nodded. “You should have heard some of the rude comments that came out of the students’ mouths today. It was a horrible second day. Yesterday was worse.”

  “I can only imagine,” I said. I had gotten my dose at the beginning of the year. I knew how harsh the kids could be.

  Thatch took the last remaining seat next to Pinky. I closed my sketchbook, not wanting him to sneer at my art like he had in the past. Thatch glanced over at the sasquatch, nostrils flaring. I felt bad for Pinky. Xe was clueless that xe was the smelly teacher. Someone had to tell xir.

  But I didn’t want that person to be me.

  Khaba, Puck, and Jeb strolled in together at three thirty exactly.

  “Howdy, folks. Hope everyone had a productive day full of readin’, writin’, and alchemy,” Jeb said.

  Grandmother Bluehorse shuffled into the room late, leaning on her staff. All the seats were taken. It was standing room only in the back next to Evita Lupi and Silas Lupi, the married couple.

  Grandmother Bluehorse’s eyes roved over the seated teachers. No one offered her a seat.

  She tolerated my presence when I helped in her sophomore level herbalism class, but I wanted to do something nice for her that would make her know I wasn’t like Alouette Loraline. I stood at the same time Thatch did.

  “You can take my—” I started.

  Thatch spoke over me, his louder voice drowning out my own. “Won’t you honor me by allowing me to give you my seat?”

  Darn it. So much for trying to do a good deed. Grandmother Bluehorse sat down. She sniffed the air and glanced at Pinky. That explained Thatch’s motivation for being nice.

  I missed what the principal had been saying. Pinky stood. Jeb motioned Pinky to the front of the room.

  Jeb straightened his miniature-dragon-skull bolo tie. “For those of you who hain’t met Anotklosh Johnson yet, this is our newest staff member. The professor will be teachin’ History of Fae Studies. Anotklosh worked for several years at Zeme’s Academy for Plant and Animal Magic. We are fortunate he—she—uh—Anotklosh became available when they experienced budgetary problems, and we were able to snatch this one up. Their loss is our gain, eh?”

  Pinky gave Jeb a sidelong glance, surely wondering about the gender mix-up. How could Jeb not know what Pinky was? Didn’t he have an employment form or something with Pinky’s personal information?

  Staff clapped with tepid enthusiasm.

  “Yay,” I said, clapping as hard as I could to try to inspire other teachers to welcome Pinky a little more enthusiastically. It sometimes worked with students. It didn’t work on the room of adults.

  “Ahem,” Pinky said. “Anotklosh Johnson is my legal name, my Fae name. I prefer to be called Pinky. The kids usually call me Mr. Pinky.”

  “Oh, uh, that’s right. Mr. Pinky.” Jeb looked relieved.

  I met Khaba’s gaze across the room. He hid his smile under his hand. Well, there was one mystery solved.

  Sebastian Reade raised his hand. “Is it true Zeme’s is closing down?”

  Jeb tugged at his silver beard. “I don’t rightly know.”

  Pinky shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “They’re downsizing so they can last the rest of the year. They haven’t figured out what they’re going to do about next year’s enrollment. Admission is at an all-time low.”

  I wondered where our school was with enrollment. It seemed like we never had a shortage of charity cases: orphans or poor families who couldn’t afford the other private magical schools. But the families who could afford to pay—the students with behavior problems who had been through every other school—they weren’t enough to cover the costs of everyone else.

  “Can I sit down?” Pinky asked.

  I didn’t realize how clean the air had been with him gone until he returned to the seat next to me.

  “Now, this meetin’ ain’t just to introduce our newest staff member. We got some schedulin’ issues I’d like Mr. Puck to talk to you about.”

  Puck sprung into place at the front of the conference table. “Good afternoon, everyone.”

  Teachers greeted him with the enthusiasm of zombies.

  “First, I want to apologize for the lack of prophecy chocolate earlier this semester. I am swamped with scheduling this year since we let the other counselor go.”

  Ah, more budget cuts.

  “I wonder what the second and third thing is that he’s going to apologize for,” Vega muttered.

  Puck directed our attention to the blackboard marked with teacher schedules at the front of the room. “Some of you have been asking why so many students are in your classes this semester and why we’ve been shifting them around so late after our usual cutoff date for schedule changes. Largely that’s due to not knowing we would have a History of Fae Studies teacher until last Friday. The names in bold on your class lists are students who are likely to be transferred out of your classes and into Mr. Pinky’s.”

  “Thank god you have good news for a change,” Jasper Jang said.

  �
�Pardon? What’s that?” Jeb asked, cupping his hand around his ear.

  Grandmother Bluehorse raised her hand. “Many of those students showing up in bold on my list attended my class today. When are these students going to be switched into Mr. Pinky’s?”

  Jeb looked to Puck.

  The little man raked a hand through his shock of hair. “I’m still working on calling in students with schedule changes. If you still have any names in bold or question marks on the list on Thursday, send those students to my office to see if they have a schedule change. I’m hoping I’ll have this figured out by the end of the week, next week at the latest.”

  “So … in addition to these schedule changes, and kids on the wait list who can’t get in yet, I’m going to have to wait another week to have this sorted out?” Coach Kutchi asked.

  Puck said through clenched teeth, “I’m doing the best I can.”

  Vega muttered. “I never had to deal with this shit at Lady of the Lake School for Girls.”

  “You could always go back,” Josie said.

  The cross talk between teachers rose. Jeb looked as though he’d fallen asleep in his chair. Khaba cleared his throat, stepping forward. He redirected the meeting like a pro. “Are there any other questions regarding schedules? If not, let’s move on to the next topic.” He nudged Jeb.

  “What? Meeting over?” Jeb stood and blinked.

  “Next on the agenda is the budget,” Khaba said. “Is there anything you would like to say about that, Principal Bumblebub?”

  “The budget? Ah, yes, lemme see. The budget.” Jeb pushed himself up. He gazed out at the teachers in the room. “It might be a little early to say, but in any case, we got ourselves a bit of a budgetin’ pickle. I don’t want no hard feelin’s or nothin’, but in the sake of bein’ completely transparent, I reckon it’s best to be a straight shooter. We’ve run into some financial issues. First it was the repairs to the greenhouse that had to be made due to a unicorn break-in.”

  Grandmother Bluehorse glared at me. I stared down into my lap.

  “Prices of organic non-Fae food went up this year, we had additional nonpaying students added last quarter, and all and sundry of other unexpected costs.” Jeb tugged on his mustache, straightening one of the curled ends. “We knew at the start of the year the budget would be tight. Even with not paying a history teacher last quarter, we’re still behind in our finances. We might have been fine if we hadn’t filled the History of Fae Studies position, but we need that class to provide the students with the material they need for the Fae-mandated standardized tests they’ll take in the spring. If students don’t meet benchmarks, we’ll lose Fae funding.”

  Teachers turned to each other in horror. This was as bad as public schools. Only the students in public schools didn’t get snatched by evil Fae who would drain them of magic and their life forces. They didn’t rig the tests so students were forced to study for subjects that wouldn’t help them survive in the real world. On the other hand, who actually used trigonometry formulas in daily life either?

  Jasper Jang threw up his hands in disgust. “I knew it. We can’t get through one staff meeting without learning someone has gotten fired or died.”

  “Are we going to be like Zeme’s and have to close down?” Jackie Frost asked.

  “Think of the children,” Grandmother Bluehorse said.

  Jeb’s voice thundered over the teachers. He didn’t even need to use magic to silence us. “Just so! That’s what we’re gonna need to do. Think of the students. We’re fine this quarter, but third quarter we might need to cut a position. That means class size will go up halfway through this semester. It’s either that or we need to cut the staff pay.”

  “We should cut art,” Silas Lupi said. “That’s what most schools do.” His wife, Evita Lupi, nodded in agreement.

  I glared at them. Unfortunately, it was true art was usually the first subject to be cut, at least it was in Oregon where I had previously taught.

  “It’s too difficult to have kids transitioning halfway through a quarter after they’ve missed half the lesson. You should just cut a position now and we’ll deal with the increased class size from the start,” Jasper Jang said.

  “I agree.” Vega flashed a sinister smile at me. “Cut art now.”

  Wouldn’t that be convenient for her? Not only would she have a room to herself, but she wouldn’t have to babysit me for Thatch.

  Josie looked at me across the table. I wished she had sat next to me and I had someone sympathetic at my side who didn’t want me to lose my job.

  On the other hand, Derrick and I had been discussing how dangerous it was to teach at the school with Thatch breathing down our necks and the Raven Queen waiting for me to mess up so she could get her talons on me. If I left Womby’s due to budgetary reasons, I could leave without breaking my contract.

  I raised my hand. “Would it help if I resigned?”

  “Yes,” Coach Kutchi and Vega Bloodmire said together.

  Thatch barked out a loud laugh behind me.

  “What?” Josie asked.

  “This is all my fault,” Pinky said. “I didn’t mean to disrupt a community like this.”

  Jeb twirled one curl of his mustache, studying me. “I don’t rightly know. Do you mean that?”

  Thatch guffawed louder. “Miss Lawrence is joking.”

  “No, I’m not,” I said, turning to him.

  “Aren’t you the comedian? I’m sure you used to be the class clown when you were in school.” Thatch’s eyes narrowed in warning.

  Great. He probably suspected I was up to something now.

  “Um, well, I ain’t rightly sure what we’re gonna do about our budgetin’ concerns, but I reckon it’s too soon to lay off any teachers yet. I’m headin’ out tomorrow to wrangle up some donors. We can reevaluate the situation closer to the end of the quarter.” Jeb offered me a hopeful smile.

  “Any other business before we adjourn?” Khaba asked.

  The room grew as silent as a graveyard. I took it everyone wanted out of there.

  As the teachers filed out, Josie made her way toward me. “What were you thinking?” She punched me in the arm.

  “Ow!” I rubbed the charley horse and scooted back. “What was that for?”

  “Why would you offer yourself up like a sacrificial lamb?” she demanded.

  Thatch’s British monotone slithered through the murmur of departing teachers. “Because Miss Lawrence is a sacrificial lamb.”

  Josie wagged a finger at me. “You’re too legit to quit.”

  I wanted to explain my logic to her, but I couldn’t with Thatch looming over me like a grim reaper.

  “Boy, I really feel awful about this,” Pinky said again. “At other schools they always get rid of the newest faculty members first and shift classes around so the senior teachers fill in the core classes.”

  “Yeah, well, this is only my first year. I don’t have tenure,” I said.

  “No one has tenure,” Josie said.

  “That isn’t quite true,” Thatch said. He probably had tenure. “Miss Lawrence, if you don’t mind, we have matters of your education to discuss. It might be prudent to think about your future before you decide you no longer need to stay and learn the most fundamental skills to survive in this world.”

  “I can’t talk now,” I said. “I have plans with Josie.” I raised my eyebrows, hoping Josie would get the hint and cover for me.

  Josie nodded emphatically. “Yeah, we have some students to discuss who we want to make sure pass—”

  “Just as I thought, you have nothing better to do.” He shoved me to the door. “To the dungeon if you please.”

  I didn’t want to talk to him. I wanted to see Derrick. Even so, I left the conference room in the admin tower, went down the stairs to the great hall, and trudged toward the dungeon. Thatch walked ahead, his brisk legs leaving me behind. I didn’t jog to keep up with him as I usually would have.

&nb
sp; He waited outside the stairwell down to the dungeon. He crossed his arms and leaned against the banister, affecting a lazy, indifferent pose. I tried not to stare at the painting of my biological mother that hung on the wall. She was striking with her midnight hair contrasting against her pale skin. Her gown was old-fashioned and Victorian, not that much different from the clothes Miss Periwinkle wore. The emerald green of a snake coiled around her arm, the head reared up and about to strike the raven swooping down from the edge of the painting. More black silhouettes of birds in flight circled the background.

  Those birds had been absent the last time I’d gazed at the painting. When I glanced at the painting out of the corner of my eye, the birds shifted, and I thought I saw a shadow swoop across Alouette Loraline’s face.

  Thatch studied me as I approached. “You have your mother’s eyes.”

  I tried not to think about Harry Potter.

  “Um. Thanks.” The dark eyes in the painting looked nothing like my green eyes. Alouette Loraline’s expression was mocking, sneaky.

  “It wasn’t a compliment,” Thatch said. “You have a sneaky look about you.”

  I followed him down the stairs into his moldy hellhole. We passed through his classroom, into the detention room, which was basically a dungeon with shackles and cells, through a smaller room with torture equipment, and traveled down the short hallway to his office. The semester must have been going well for Thatch if he hadn’t shackled anyone to the walls to make them die of boredom today.

  Thatch closed the door to his office behind us. He seated himself on the other side of his desk in his cushy ergonomic chair. I took the uncomfortable metal torture chair, trying to avoid the bolts sticking out that would snag on my skirt and striped leggings.

  Priscilla ruffled her feathers in the cage in the corner, watching me with a beady eye.

  Thatch folded his hands in front of him at his desk. His lips drew away from his mouth in an attempt at a smile. The expression didn’t reach his eyes. He waited.

  I hated it when he did this. Awkward silences were one of my weaknesses.

  “Look, I know why you want to talk to me,” I started.

  “You aren’t allowed to quit.”