Study in Slaughter (Schooled in Magic) (46 page)

“Necromancy,” Sergeant Miles said, quietly.

“It may actually be overfeeding,” Professor Lombardi added. He passed Emily a copy of his notes, which included the modified fingerprint spell. She glanced at it and stuffed it in her pocket. “There are too many students in the school.”

“So we starve it,” Mistress Irene said. “We isolate the students from it and let the monster starve.”

“Assuming it
can
starve,” Sergeant Miles said. “We don’t know how often it needs to eat.”

The Grandmaster held up a hand. “This leaves us with one final question,” he said. “How do we catch it again?”

“We do the same test we did before,” Master Tor said, simply. “We just get ready to cast the dispersal spell before it can break free.”

“Except that there will be a riot if we try,” Mistress Irene said. “And it would be hard to blame them.”

Emily shuddered. The events of the last magical testing had scared everyone in the school, even the pupils who hadn’t seen the Mimic directly. Mistress Irene was right; if they tried to gather so many people close together, the students would riot.

“There’s another possibility,” she said. “I go out alone and let it come after me.”

Lady Barb snorted. “Are you out of your mind?”

“The Mimic has been going after people out on their own,” Emily pointed out, carefully. “I intend to give it a target—me. It knows that I was meant to be cleaning the barracks...”

“It can’t think that you are meant to go back there now,” Sergeant Miles snapped.

“Why not?” Lady Barb asked. She gave Master Tor a dark look. “Someone
else
did.”

“It may not think at all,” Emily said. “But I can’t think of any other way to catch the creature.”

“And if you fail,” Lady Barb said grimly, “you will be the next person to be killed and replaced.”

“I know,” Emily said. “But what other choice do we have?”

She listened to the argument between the tutors, surprised at the sheer level of venom that showed up in their words. It had always seemed to her that the tutors kept up a united front, even when they had private disagreements; the Grandmaster had certainly not overruled Master Tor when he’d decreed Emily’s punishment. But now they seemed to be on the verge of hexing each other—or worse. If a fourth year student could take both Emily and Imaiqah, what could the tutors do? She didn’t want to find out.

“
ENOUGH
,” the Grandmaster bellowed, using magic to project his voice through the room. “I see no other alternative.”

“But a dispersal spell,” Master Tor said. “How can it
work
?”

Sergeant Miles huffed. “Do you think anyone else has ever
tried
?”

The Grandmaster glared them both into silence. “Emily,” he said, “are you truly willing to do this? To take the risk of merely being its next victim?”

Emily nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“One of us should do it,” Lady Barb said. “This isn’t a task for a student.”

“We all know that she is no ordinary student,” Master Tor said. “I...”

“THAT. WILL. DO.” The Grandmaster scowled at them. “Apart from Sergeant Bane, the Mimic has not gone after another tutor. It may fear what we could do to it, if we were pushed against the wall. Emily is the most logical person to serve as bait. Myself, Lady Barb and Sergeant Miles will be nearby.”

Emily wasn’t sure if she should feel honored or not. “Thank you,” she said, quietly. “I’ll go now.”

Lady Barb came after her as she stepped out of the staff room. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, quietly. “I...”

“I
need
to do it,” Emily answered. “Get ready to come after me.”

The corridors felt completely empty as soon as she stepped away from the dorms, as if the students and staff were cramming themselves into a small part of the school. Emily looked around as she slowly made her way up the grand staircase, peering into the shadows as if they might hide the Mimic. Even the omnipresent
thrumming
of the wards seemed muted, somehow, as if the power were draining away. What would happen, she asked herself, if the school were completely dead?

She hoped—prayed—that they were following her as she reached the correct floor and glanced down the darkened corridor. There was already dust gathering on the floor, despite the wards and runes that should have kept it moving down and out of the castle. Emily wondered, absently, if the next pupil to get in trouble would have to sweep the corridors, before remembering that the servants would probably deal with it. They just didn’t get paid enough to work in a magic school.

The lights should have come on as she walked into the corridor, but nothing happened. Emily hesitated, straining every sense for a hint of the Mimic, then cast a light globe into the air. The barracks door was right ahead of her, firmly closed. Emily muttered a second spell and the door opened, revealing that the dust had been slowly urged into a corner by the remains of the runes she’d drawn. Melissa hadn’t managed to damage them all.

Emily reached for the mop automatically, then stopped herself and dug into her pocket for her notepad. It was almost full, she realized as she found a place to sit; she would have to have a new one sent to her by the papermakers in Zangaria. A notepad that would have cost less than a dollar on Earth was luxurious in Whitehall, even if the paper-making process was growing cheaper every month as they worked out the kinks. In time, she was sure, it would replace parchment completely.

She swore inwardly as she remembered what she had intended to discuss with the Sergeant—and then forgotten. Most spells designed to throw objects towards their targets could be easily cancelled—and the object, deprived of its propulsion, would drop out of the air. But with a little twiddling the spells could impart velocity, just like a cannon ball. It would keep going after being fired until gravity finally asserted itself—or until it hit something.
That
would be a nasty surprise for sorcerers who thought that a basic ward would keep them safe.

Carefully, she jotted down the concept. If she were consumed and replaced, it was quite possible that the Mimic would give the notepad to the Sergeant—all unknowing. Or that he would find it on her body. She added a few extra notes of her own, then wondered if she should write a letter to Imaiqah and Alassa. There was so much she wanted to say that she hadn’t been able to tell them in person. And she hadn’t even gone to see Imaiqah to say goodbye.

What would death be like? She’d never really been religious—it was hard to be religious when there seemed to be no justice in the universe—and she had always believed that death would be the end. There had been times when she had welcomed the thought of oblivion, back when she had considered suicide. And yet...it
would
be the end. There would be no afterlife, no heaven or hell.

Or maybe there
was
an afterlife. She’d never had time to really study the religions in Zangaria, let alone the rest of the Allied Lands, but there were a thousand different concepts of life after death. Maybe one of them would welcome her. Or maybe they would all see her as a stranger to their world. There were times when she knew she didn’t truly belong.

She regretted, now, not seeking help and safety after her stepfather had started to make her life a misery. She could have escaped—or found help for her mother. But she’d never had the confidence to try. If Shadye hadn’t kidnapped her...

...She might well have died on Earth. Or wasted her life.

And she waited.

She glared down at her notepad an hour later, wishing that she had thought to bring a book. It would have been better than just keeping company with her own thoughts, particularly the darker ones about the other mysteries puzzling her. Who had been going through her desk? Who had attacked Imaiqah and Emily in the corridor? And who had been spreading rumors about her...

Not that they really needed to bother
, Emily thought, sourly.
There’ve been rumors about me ever since I arrived, carried on a dragon’s back.

Master Lombard’s second fingerprint spell was a vast improvement over the first, she realized as she pulled it out of her pocket and studied the spell. Carefully, she cast it and smiled when she saw her fingerprints all over the barracks. She tested the second half of the spell and felt her smile widen as she saw hazy lines running from the fingerprints to her fingers. Given time, this spell might revolutionize forensic magic.

Until someone figures out how to break the links
, she thought.
Or if they start wearing gloves...

There was a creaking sound from the door. Emily looked up sharply as a figure appeared, peering towards her. She was surprised to realize that she recognized him as one of Cat’s friends, the one who had told her to go away at breakfast. He looked thoroughly unhappy with Emily, but there was something wrong with him. His body was moving as though it were a puppet with half of the strings lost.

“You...friend...has...charmed...Cat,” he said, slowly. He seemed to be flipping from one mode to another and back again with terrifying speed, as if he were caught between two minds. “He...is...with...her...now.”

Emily slowly stood upright, feeling a chill run down her spine. The Mimic’s natural personality—if it had one, as humans understood the term—and the human mindset were fighting for dominance. If it
was
the Mimic. Someone could easily have hit him with a spell intended to turn him against Emily.

“He was ordered to look after her,” Emily said, wondering just what Cat and Imaiqah were saying to one another. Imaiqah
was
on Alassa’s team, after all. “Why are you here?”

“I...”

His form started to break down into the glowing mist-like form of the Mimic. It slowly billowed into existence, a cold sense of malevolence filling the barracks as it placed itself to block all escape. Or maybe it wasn’t quite real. The madman who had designed the Mimics could easily have included a spell intended to make someone
feel
emotions that weren’t truly there. Emily felt the hypnotic effect starting to press against her mind, but this time she fought it off and stepped backwards. The Mimic glided slowly after her.

This time, knowing what it was, she could see a certain eerie beauty within the Mimic, something almost captivating. There was a sense that she was staring into infinity as the mist billowed, strange lights flickering through the clouds. She could almost make out hints of faces in the Mimic, the last traces of those the Mimic had killed and replaced over the years. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them. And yet the Mimic was almost beautiful.

So is a man-eating tiger
, Emily told herself.
But it is still dangerous
.

She triggered the emergency alert spell, summoning the tutors, then shaped the dispersal spell in her mind. It was the first spell she’d mastered at Whitehall, perhaps one of the simplest spells in the world. Using it on the Mimic seemed absurd, which might well be why no one had ever tried it before. Inherent magic like the type possessed by dragons or Gorgons didn’t break when exposed to the spell. And everyone had assumed that the Mimic was a beast like them.

The Mimic drifted forward, its invisible eyes fixed on Emily’s face. She cast the spell, pushing as much magic into it as she could. It reared back as if it had been stung—and then stopped, dead—but nothing else happened. Emily stared, then realized—to her horror—that the Mimic wasn’t really
one
spell. It was made up of hundreds of spells working together. And it was regenerating...

Emily cast the detection and analysis charm and
saw
the spells. The Mimic was a fantastically complex spell, almost an entity in its own right. It was almost as complex as the spells that controlled the nexus point, without the vast power they drew on to make themselves work. No wonder it was effectively a necromancer, she realized, as the Mimic recovered and started to advance on her again. It
needed
such vast power to work.

But it can’t go mad
, she thought, grimly.
Maybe it doesn’t have the same addiction to power that Shadye had.

She cast the dispersal spell again and again, watching as it picked away at the network of spells making up the Mimic. The Mimic paused, then continued advancing towards Emily, ignoring her attempts to destroy it. Her spells simply weren’t weakening the bonds holding it together. Every spell she removed was replaced a moment later. Emily simply couldn’t put out enough power to destroy it.

No off-switch
, she thought, as tendrils of mist reached towards her.
What sort of idiot designs such a killer without an off-switch
?

The door burst open, revealing the Grandmaster, Sergeant Miles and Lady Barb. All three of them carried staffs, which they raised in unison as they cast the dispersal spell. The Mimic seemed to fray around the edges as the magic crashed into its form, cancelling more and more of the spells that held it together, then started to pull itself back together. Emily shuddered as she cast the spell again herself. Could
nothing
destroy the Mimic?

“No more,” the Grandmaster said, tiredly.

He raised his staff and took a step forward. Emily felt the magic shimmering on the air and flinched backwards. She’d
known
that the Grandmaster was powerful, but she hadn’t realized
how
powerful, not really. He seemed to grow larger as he stepped forward again, daring the Mimic to strike at him. Emily shivered. The wave of magic was stronger than anything she’d seen from any of the other tutors, even Lady Barb. Only Void and Shadye had ever exceeded it. The Mimic
screamed
, a cry that echoed in Emily’s mind even after she jammed her hands over her ears, then started to come apart at the seams.

Emily cast the analysis spell one final time and watched, grimly, as the Mimic splintered into its component parts. The Grandmaster kept pushing at it, his magic thrumming through the air, until there was almost nothing left. There was a sudden sense of hatred, of anger and pain...and then it was gone. Emily slumped until she landed on the floor, feeling suddenly dizzy with relief. It was over.