Prologue

Norlocke Academy, located in the northernmost regions of the Republic of Fraighe, didn’t often receive new students.

  Which is why, instead of eating supper in the dining hall with the rest of my peers, I was crouched just outside the Headmaster’s office door, listening intently.

  The voices from inside the office were muffled, but I could tell from the woman’s tones that she was anxious. At the beginning of the conversation, while they had probably been discussing technicalities and things – such as lodging, food, expenses, curriculum, and any benefits – the anxiety had only barely managed to leak through. But the longer they talked, the more apparent the woman’s agitation became, and, as a result, her voice grew louder. I began to pick out a few words.

  “… previous schools … issues … worried.”

  None of those words were particularly useful to me. All of the students at Norlocke Academy had issues, and most had been expelled from at least one school. That’s why they were here, and that’s what Norlocke was for: to help those unfortunate vagabonds of society, such as myself, receive an education and hopefully change for the better.

  What I really wanted to overhear were any specific details about the new student. Was it a boy? Was it a girl? Were they somewhat nice, or completely awful? Would I have to avoid them to stay alive for the next few years? And, more importantly, why had they been sent here? What kind of story did they have? Although many of the students had fairly similar circumstances, I always found it worth digging into their pasts. There were always a few intriguing differences.

  A low rumbling came from the Headmaster, as he said something in response to the woman’s worries, something that I couldn’t hear. Although it was risky, I silently crept closer, and practically rested my ear against the door.

  Suddenly, I could hear nearly everything, but whether that was more due to my new position, or because of the sudden raised voices, I couldn’t tell.

  “I’m warning you,” the woman said, her voice shaking with an emotion that sounded an awful lot like fear and not worry, “you will be taking a risk if you accept her.”

  “All of my students,” the Headmaster said calmly, “are risks. But just because that’s the case doesn’t mean I will turn them away. Every child deserves a proper education.”

  I heard the woman suck in a deep, ragged breath. She sounded as if she were shaking. “Just promise me, then,” she whispered, her voice low with intensity, “that there will be no storms.”

  There was a short pause, long enough for me to wonder which storms the woman was referring to. Emotional storms? Mental storms? Social storms? Or was she talking about natural storms, caused by the weather? Because if it was any of the former, no one can promise something like that, especially in regards to a child with issues. And if it was the latter … well, no one could promise that either. But in Norlocke, you almost could. The weather was always the same: cold, wet, grey, and likely snowy. Despite the fact that the sun rarely ever escaped from behind a thick layer of grey clouds, the only storms we ever had were infrequent rainstorms, and the occasional blizzard. We were too far north to experience anything else, even something as potentially mild as a thunderstorm.

  “I promise,” the Headmaster said, his voice as calm as ever.

  It must be natural storms then.

  The woman sighed in relief, and I heard tears in her exhale. And then I heard something far less thought-provoking and far more dangerous: the sound of her standing up, quickly followed by the Headmaster.

  Snooping time was over, which was just as well. My legs were getting cramped.

  Fleeing silently down the hall, I heard the office door open, and the Headmaster say, “Norlocke Academy is looking forward to having Ms. Glass join us next week. Safe travels, Ms. Harcourt.”

Chapter One: In Which I Contemplate the Fickleness of Weather, or, Prelude to a Storm

Glass Farthingdale arrived in a downpour.

  In and of itself, this would not have been particularly significant, as rain was not uncommon in Norlocke, nor was it especially gentle. There were times when the wind and the rain worked together so seamlessly that I would wonder if Norlocke’s walls might stand through the onslaught, or whether they might just crack and demolish the students and faculty housed within.

  What was significant was the fact that, as weather in Norlocke went, it had originally been one of the nicer days. That is, until Glass Farthingdale arrived.

  It was Sunday afternoon, and I had popped outside with a box of peanuts, prepared to wait on the porch for hours upon hours until the new student came. This Ms. Glass should be arriving around three o’clock, as most new students did, in which case I’d only have to wait half an hour. However, there could be complications, and she could be much later. For instance, the train could’ve stopped working, or the motorcar might’ve slipped into a snowdrift, or the border guards could’ve gotten finnicky about crossing the state line. Which is why I’d brought the peanuts.

  I perched myself on the railing, wound my feet between the posts, and fixed my eyes firmly to the west in the hopes of soon seeing a motorcar. Since there was nothing yet, I began to eat my peanuts.

  The weather, as I mentioned, was lovely. The sun actually shone quite brightly, there wasn’t a hint of a snow cloud in the sky, and the sky itself, instead of being its usual obscured grey, was a muted sort of bluish-white – though a significant portion of near-invisible clouds were still trying to block everything, the blue had actually managed to peek through. It was even rather warm outside. Instead of wearing my greatcoat, I had only a wool sweater on.

  For about twenty minutes, not much changed, except for the number of peanuts in my box. Then I noticed a dark smear on the western horizon. As the minutes ticked by, the dark smear grew and grew, until I could make out a billowing mass of black clouds piling up, reaching greedy tendrils across the sky.

  There’ll be rain later, I thought. But I stayed put. I’d already been curious about the new student, but especially after overhearing what Ms. Harcourt had said, my interest was thoroughly piqued. I wasn’t going anywhere, not until this Ms. Glass showed up.

  Another ten minutes passed. My peanuts were almost gone. A chilly wind, where before there had been none, started circling ominously about in the branches of the evergreen trees lining the drive. It swirled in my hair, smelling of rain. And the clouds on the horizon, seemingly so far away, crept slowly nearer across the sky, darkening the landscape with every step gained.

  When the clouds had covered about half of the sky, I noticed a pinprick along the road. A pinprick that could only be a motorcar. A motorcar that could only hold the new student.

  I watched with heightened interest as the pinprick grew bigger and bigger, the ominous black clouds almost appearing to be chasing it.

  “Just promise me, then,” Ms. Harcourt had said, “that there will be no storms.”

  It looked like a storm was already brewing.

  Perhaps fifteen minutes later, the sleek black motorcar shuddered to a stop only a few yards from Norlocke Academy’s porch. The clouds, mere seconds behind, suddenly swooped in over us. Abruptly, the world darkened, the temperature dropped several degrees (I wished for my greatcoat), and the heavens opened up. The downpour had begun.

  Now, I do not consider a downpour a storm. I especially do not consider it to be a storm if there is a significant lack of wind. While there was wind now, it wasn’t blowing very hard – only about six miles per hour.

  Nevertheless, a downpour can be a prelude to a storm, and it was certainly similar enough to send goosebumps crawling up my arms when the back door of the motorcar opened and a tall, slender girl stepped out.

  Glass Farthingdale did not seem to mind the rain that instantly turned her tailored clothes into mini rivers, and that plastered strands of her long, thick black hair to her cheeks. She didn’t seem to mind that the drive was now mostly mud (although it usually was, unless, worse, it was ice), and that she was standing in it. In fact, she didn’t even seem to notice these things.

  She only appeared to have noticed Norlocke Academy, and also me, perched upon the railing, currently safe from the rain.

  And although her outward appearance seemed very calm and composed, the dark brown eyes, half-hidden under tangled and wet lashes, that regarded me only slightly before flicking on towards the front entrance, were almost black with a deep fury.