exposure until adulthood. In the meantime, the academy protected them and their families from the kind of people who might try to take advantage of their condition – whether professional or personal enemies, government forces or criminal ones.
Even if Wildings’ inmates did not rebel against their confinement, they still showed signs of strain. Raphael chain-smoked. Yuri spent most of his free time pumping iron in the gym. Anjuli had an obsessive relationship with food. Mei-fen was smiling but silent, covering rolls of paper with incredibly small and intricate labyrinth designs. Jenna, meanwhile, took refuge in denial. After her initial conversation with Glory, she never referred – directly or indirectly – to her ‘trouble’ again. She prattled on about her boyfriend, plans for college and hopes for a modelling career as if she really were on an extended European holiday. Any attempt to challenge this was met by a look of blank incomprehension.
It was a surprise to find that witchkind studies was a feature of the curriculum. In normal schools, these classes would involve discussing the best methods for detecting witchwork and protecting oneself against it. Students would look at inquisitorial practices, and study the history of witchkind, including the persecutions of the Burning Times. However, Wildings’ approach was more old-fashioned – or ‘a load of pyro-fascist brainwashing’, as Glory put it.
In the first lesson she and Lucas attended, the subject was witchworked plagues. In the second, they studied the casting of banes to induce madness. Stroking the small silver crucifix around her neck, Senora Theresa Ramirez described how witches rotted their victims’ bodies with infected air, and their brains with visions of demons. The message was that the fae was not just a disability, but a disease; something that corrupted everything it came into contact with.
The other students had clearly heard it all before. They sat in blank silence, letting Senora Ramirez’s rasping voice wash over them. Lucas kept his eyes fixed on his desk. Glory’s attempts at challenge were immediately quashed. The Senora had both the look and manner of an inquisitor, with her black dress, and gaunt, haughty face.
For Lucas and Glory’s third lesson, which came towards the end of their second week, the class gathered in the academy’s film theatre. Their teacher announced she was going to show them the methods by which a witch-criminal was identified. First off: the exposure of the Devil’s Kiss through witch-ducking. To fully understand the procedure, they were going to watch a documentary film.
Glory was two seats down from Lucas so she couldn’t see how he reacted to the news. As the screen crackled into life, she found she had tensed up on his behalf. The setting was a concrete bunker. Puddles on the floor, rusting manacles on the wall. Foreign voices could be heard off-screen. It was somewhere in Eastern Europe, perhaps. Moments later, three men in military uniform dragged in a fourth, dressed in prison garb. The camera swung round to an iron tank of ice-water and the ducking-stool.
The prisoner was tied into the leather straps. He was trying to fight his captors, cursing and thrashing, his voice hoarse. Glory saw that Lucas was gripping the arms of his chair so hard the knuckles had turned white. The camera honed in on the witch’s face. Lucas’s was strained, and sweating.
As the witch crashed backwards into the ice-water, his muffled scream turned to choked gurgles. Lucas got up abruptly and blundered out of the auditorium. Senora Ramirez didn’t try to stop him, but watched him go with a tight little smile. Glory burned with rage and helplessness. But she couldn’t go after him. It would draw the wrong kind of attention to them both. And in any case, she didn’t know what to say.
‘I gather there was an unfortunate episode in Senora Ramirez’s class today,’ said Dr Caron, later that afternoon. Her
Even if Wildings’ inmates did not rebel against their confinement, they still showed signs of strain. Raphael chain-smoked. Yuri spent most of his free time pumping iron in the gym. Anjuli had an obsessive relationship with food. Mei-fen was smiling but silent, covering rolls of paper with incredibly small and intricate labyrinth designs. Jenna, meanwhile, took refuge in denial. After her initial conversation with Glory, she never referred – directly or indirectly – to her ‘trouble’ again. She prattled on about her boyfriend, plans for college and hopes for a modelling career as if she really were on an extended European holiday. Any attempt to challenge this was met by a look of blank incomprehension.
It was a surprise to find that witchkind studies was a feature of the curriculum. In normal schools, these classes would involve discussing the best methods for detecting witchwork and protecting oneself against it. Students would look at inquisitorial practices, and study the history of witchkind, including the persecutions of the Burning Times. However, Wildings’ approach was more old-fashioned – or ‘a load of pyro-fascist brainwashing’, as Glory put it.
In the first lesson she and Lucas attended, the subject was witchworked plagues. In the second, they studied the casting of banes to induce madness. Stroking the small silver crucifix around her neck, Senora Theresa Ramirez described how witches rotted their victims’ bodies with infected air, and their brains with visions of demons. The message was that the fae was not just a disability, but a disease; something that corrupted everything it came into contact with.
The other students had clearly heard it all before. They sat in blank silence, letting Senora Ramirez’s rasping voice wash over them. Lucas kept his eyes fixed on his desk. Glory’s attempts at challenge were immediately quashed. The Senora had both the look and manner of an inquisitor, with her black dress, and gaunt, haughty face.
For Lucas and Glory’s third lesson, which came towards the end of their second week, the class gathered in the academy’s film theatre. Their teacher announced she was going to show them the methods by which a witch-criminal was identified. First off: the exposure of the Devil’s Kiss through witch-ducking. To fully understand the procedure, they were going to watch a documentary film.
Glory was two seats down from Lucas so she couldn’t see how he reacted to the news. As the screen crackled into life, she found she had tensed up on his behalf. The setting was a concrete bunker. Puddles on the floor, rusting manacles on the wall. Foreign voices could be heard off-screen. It was somewhere in Eastern Europe, perhaps. Moments later, three men in military uniform dragged in a fourth, dressed in prison garb. The camera swung round to an iron tank of ice-water and the ducking-stool.
The prisoner was tied into the leather straps. He was trying to fight his captors, cursing and thrashing, his voice hoarse. Glory saw that Lucas was gripping the arms of his chair so hard the knuckles had turned white. The camera honed in on the witch’s face. Lucas’s was strained, and sweating.
As the witch crashed backwards into the ice-water, his muffled scream turned to choked gurgles. Lucas got up abruptly and blundered out of the auditorium. Senora Ramirez didn’t try to stop him, but watched him go with a tight little smile. Glory burned with rage and helplessness. But she couldn’t go after him. It would draw the wrong kind of attention to them both. And in any case, she didn’t know what to say.
‘I gather there was an unfortunate episode in Senora Ramirez’s class today,’ said Dr Caron, later that afternoon. Her
Similar Books
