Of Wards and Whispers

  Volk’s office was elaborate but strangely off-putting. His office was...interesting to say the least. Like the hallways of the school, the lack of bright lighting did not make the room feel anymore welcoming. It didn’t help that the only windows in the room were facing the shadow cast by the brick garden wall. A grand piano sat in the far corner with dust collecting on the top. Volk wasn’t much to play but had it placed in his office for aesthetic purposes. Someone should’ve told him the dust bunnies were starting to multiply on top of the old thing. He sat upright at his polished oak writing desk rubbing his temples waiting for his staff to report to him about the unfortunately event that had just taken place in the hallway. Across from him, Abelle Quire, sitting quietly with her head bowed in subtle shame.

  "I'm so sorry, sir, I..." Abelle gulped, her arms across her chest.

  Volk held up a finger to silence her. He put down the memo he was reading and looked at her. "Don't do that. An apology is a good thing, yes, but do not overuse it." He readjusted his glasses which often fell past the bridge of his nose. "You're probably wondering why I asked you here."

  "Yes, sir."

  Volk held up a brown tea-stained envelope, the seal broken. "From your mother. She's asked me to look after you. She needn't have bothered: being Nick's sister is enough reason to take pains for your safety."

  "I thought you hated Nick."

  "Not hate, but we have our differences. He can be hard on people. Even his friends. I’d imagine a younger sibling wouldn’t have it much easier." Volk smiled warmly. "If you need anything, even just a short talk, let me know. I'm always ready to listen."

  Abelle smiled hesitantly. "Thank you, sir." She stood up to leave.

  "Wait," Volk pulled out his wand, muttered a brief incantation, then nodded. "A ward. If he tries to enchant you again."

  Through the dim hallway windows, Claire caught glimpses of ivy creeping up the academy walls, its tendrils reaching higher with each passing year. The stone was dark with age, worn by time and weather, as if the school itself had grown weary of holding secrets. Mist curled through the distant trees, swallowing the academy in its usual veil.

  She had read about Venefica’s legacy—how it had once been the place for magical study, the first multi-discipline magic academy of its kind. A hidden gem, they called it. But sitting here, waiting for judgment, the grandeur felt secondary to the way the floorboards groaned under every shift of weight, the way the lights flickered with an unsteady yellow glow.

  For all its history, Venefica felt… patched together. A place that tried to be something greater than it was.

  Inside, the scent of fresh pine mixed with the aged musk of wood. Door hinges creaked as if protesting their own existence. The walls—once solid limestone like the castle’s exterior—had been slowly covered over time with polished redwood, leaving only a few spots where the original stone peeked through. A reminder that beneath its refined fa?ade, Venefica had been something else before.

  And maybe Claire had been, too.

  She sat stiffly on the long, cold wooden bench outside Volk’s office, fingers curled around its edge. Talking to Elora or Mystic seemed pointless. They weren’t her friends. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  Her eyes wandered to the framed photographs along the opposite wall. Graduating classes. Dozens of them. Hundreds of students. Names that had long since faded from memory, faces locked forever in sepia tones. The stiff, posed portraits blurred together, each row identical to the last—faces that once had stories, ambitions, lives.

  Now, they were just ornaments in a hallway, watching the next cycle of students come and go.

  Claire’s stomach twisted.

  Would her face end up here someday? Would she just become another forgotten name in Venefica’s long, unbroken line of history?

  Would she even make it that far?

  She tore her gaze away, suddenly dizzy with the weight of it all. She had thought stepping into Venefica would be the beginning of something new—a fresh start. But looking at these portraits, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was just another placeholder, another nameless figure in a school that had seen thousands like her before.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  And thousands after.

  The light above her flickered, and the door to Volk’s office creaked open.

  Abelle Quire stepped out.

  Abelle exchanged a look with Claire and carried on. Her walk had more bounce, her back a bit straighter, Abelle seemed to come out of that conversation with a bit more confidence than before. She scanned the bench, confused by why the new girl and her two friends were each sitting outside the headmaster’s office.

  "Some crazy w!tch broke into Stewart’s classroom and goo-ed us up" Elora explained. Mystic shrugged in agreement.

  The door to the office swung open. Volk, noticing the dead lightbulb, waved his hand and the lights outside burned in a steady yellow glow. The three of them stared up. Benedict Volk looked like he walked straight out of a ghost story. His face; pasty, dry, and hollow-cheeked; had a perpetual sullen expression. For a man of his late 50’s, he was oddly thin and wiry. He straightened his tie and motioned for the three of them to enter.

  "I know you girls must be shaken up a bit by today's events.. The attack was handled quickly, but you still got pulled into the midst of things." Volk walked back around to his chair behind his desk and motioned for them to take a seat on one of the three lumbered stools that materialized in front.

  They sat down. The stool was more comfortable than it at first appeared, almost as if it was designed to coax them into talking. Yet, the three of them were silent, passing looks between each other to guess who would speak first.

  "Okay then, let’s start one by one. Mystic, how are you?"

  Mystic’s eyes welted and tears began to flood down and create pools on the desk in front. The blood vessels bursting in her cheeks. "Why did she pull me in?!" She yelped. "I didn’t do anything wrong!"

  "Oh, dear. Mystic, you didn’t do anything wrong." Volk replied.

  "I’ll tell you what happened," Elora sprang up out of her seat. "Mystic and I were just watching that crazy w!tch when she grabbed us, goo-ed us up, and everything went south."

  "I see. Then it’s a good thing Professor Keltore was there to save the day," Volk added. "Well, either way, Professor Keltore informed me of the incident before your arrival. I’d like you to know that the board will be looking into this in-depth and we are making contact with your parents now."

  "Who was that? And isn’t that what the wards around the school are supposed to protect us from?"

  "Her name is Rita, she was an old student of ours, top of her class. She graduated a few years back. Unfortunately for you, she was in the midst of what can only be described as a psychotic episode." Volk explained. "Yes, Ms. Cole, and I’m sorry that it happened," he corrected, "but even master caster’s wards are subject to the occasional failure now and then." He looked at Elora with dismay. "The wards are back up, and Rita is in custody. We’re ensuring this doesn’t happen again."." His eyes turned to Mystic.

  Mystic nodded. Something about that didn’t ease her worry, but it did temporarily stop her tears.

  "Now, you" Volk’s gazes shifted over to look at Claire, eyes fixed. "Ms. Claire Freed,"

  Silence. Claire never heard her name said in such dismay.

  "I’m more interested in knowing how you knew how to get them out of the goo—as Ms. Cole so frankly puts it."

  Claire shifted in her seat. Was it weird that she knew that? Maybe. But it had been obvious… right?

  "I—uh, well, I recognized it. Arctic moss loses its hold when it dries, so I just… did that."

  Her voice trailed off. She looked towards Mystic and Elora, who were now being examined by a nurse that silently made her way into the room after them.

  Volk’s stare was unreadable.

  "How did she get that anyways?" Claire asked. She could see by Volk’s puzzled look that he didn’t understand the question being asked. "The goo?" She defined "I didn’t think others knew about that kind of stuff, let alone get their hands on huge amounts."

  "Ah yes, well, she, like you, are of the same …manner," Volk answered.

  Elora pulled her head away from the tongue depressor the nurse waved in her face. "Geez, you both are mermaids, for goodness sakes!" Elora explained, trying to dodge the flashlight heading straight for her eyes "I’m fine!" She mumbled at the nurse.

  "Yeah, maybe some aloe vera for where the moss contacted the skin, and a good dry-cleaning of their clothes, but they should be fine…physically wise…at least" Claire advised, puzzled at the nurse’s continuous poking and pricking. She could tell Mystic was still upset. Mystic's eyes started to puff as she tried to hold back the tears.

  "Physically, maybe. Still, see to it that they are further taken care of." Volk urged the nurse.

  The nurse shuffled the two other girls out and led them to the infirmary. Claire stayed behind, as per Volk’s request.

  "I’m sorry this had to be one of our first introductions to each other." Volk dug into the cup on his desk to find a pen."I can’t imagine how difficult it must be, changing schools and lifestyles and whatnot." he added.

  Claire pushed back a strand of loose hair that managed to fall across her face. "Well, it’s not the welcome party that was described in the brochure," She gave off a small laugh. "and I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel at least a little shaken up by…well, everything, but, it’s what I’m stuck with I guess".

  Volk gave off a small chuckle at her comment. "Venefica has more to offer you than you might expect, Claire."

  "That woman, Rita, she kept on asking about a book," Claire added.

  Volk’s fingers tightened around his pen, just slightly. He didn’t look at her."I wouldn’t worry about that."

  Too casual. Too dismissive. Claire’s stomach twisted. He knew something. Maybe Rita was just crazy. But, maybe Rita wasn’t.

  Volk’s eyes narrowed and his hands brushed up against his mouth. He was hiding something. He knew it too.

  Venefica was a school full of stories.

  Claire’s day had unraveled in ways she never expected, but she wasn’t the only one. Across campus, others were dealing with their own messes. Some more obvious, some buried under layers of silence.