Page 10 of Hollow
“Kat it is,” the woman says. “So as long as you call me Sister Margaret. We are a family here, yes, and the Sisters run the show.” She tilts her head, reading the confusion on my face. “You were tested, Kat, before you were admitted. You proved yourself worthy of the institute. I apologize that we only came to a decision to admit you last week. There had been some…shuffling around.”
That explains why none of this seemed real until a week ago.
“And when you were tested, you showed great promise,” she goes on. “All students carry potential deep inside them. It’s up to us to bring it out. You showed promise in the realms of telekinesis, as well as elemental magic, shadow control, and mimicry.”
“Mimicry?” I repeat. I’m not even sure what that is. “Why don’t I remember any of this? When did you do all this testing?”
“You know when, my dear,” she says. “All the memories will come back once you step through the gates. Slowly, and over time, but they will. Come along now. We’ll go inside, get your horse put away, and get you to your first class. I must admit, you’ll be the first student we’ve had in a long time that hasn’t stayed on campus.”
With a flourish of her hand, the gate unlocks itself with a loud click and opens out toward us.
I marvel at the open display of magic, my jaw dropping slightly. My father had made me promise to keep my magic buried, even around my mother. It made sense at first, especially as my mother didn’t show any magic around me. These last few years, however, she’s become more curious about what I can and can’t do, yet she’s kept her own magic to a minimum.
So to see it here so boldly gives me a thrill. For the first time, I’m a little excited about attending this school. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe this place will provide me with all that I’ve been searching for.
With the gates fully wide, I cluck softly to Snowdrop, encouraging her to follow Sister Margaret into the campus. Snowdrop stops mid-way through, throwing up her head, and I have to nudge her sides to get her to keep walking.
Please do this, I say to her inside my head. You will be safe, I promise.
As usual, when I speak to her in my mind, she listens. She walks through, and the moment she does, I feel something ice-cold slide over me, like submerging in a river. This must be the wards. Both of us shiver in unison but keep on moving through until suddenly, the world seems to shrink and expand, the pressure in my ears building and building until they pop.
And then all is still. I hear birdsong. Faint laughter coming from the buildings. A breeze blows back my hair, smelling of bonfire and roses.
Sister Margaret stares up at me. “Welcome to the institute.”
I wait, expecting to be inundated by forgotten memories of my admission and testing, but I don’t remember any of it. Not yet anyway.
But as she walks down the cobblestone path that cuts down the middle of the school, tall stone buildings on either side, I have a strong sense of having walked here before. Snowdrop seems content to follow her, so I sit back in the saddle and marvel at the architecture. From far away, the gargoyles on the stone buildings seemed faceless, but up close, they all have very distinct human-ish facades. The statues that line the path are the same, men and women who are frozen in white marble and mossy stone. The gardens are more vibrant than they looked from outside the gates, not just dahlias but blue poppies and black-eyed Susans that dazzle in shades of yellow.
Even the windows that looked shuttered earlier are clearly open, and voices come and go as we pass them, classes already in session. I can feel their energy and excitement seeping out, swirling in the air around me. Only the perpetual fog remains the same, resting amongst the buildings like a white cape that won’t stir, even with the lake breeze.
Sister Margaret takes us over to the stables that line the back of the campus, giving me a closer look at all the buildings. They all seem to form a circle, with the path and gardens cutting through and between like a wheel and spokes, with the newest buildings in the back by the stables. There are more trees here, oak and elm and a few maples, the color of their leaves blazing despite the gloom, shrouding the two brick buildings as if they were built into the forest like an afterthought.
I dismount just as a stableboy appears. He can’t be more than ten, with dark blond hair, and he watches Sister Margaret with full attention, his body tense and fidgeting.
“Simon,” she says to him. “This is Leona and Ana’s niece, Kat. Do take excellent care of her horse, Snowdrop, while she’s here. Have her saddled and ready to go by three forty-five.”
“Yes, Sister,” Simon says, glancing at me ever so briefly with a fearful nod before he reaches for Snowdrop. For a moment, I wonder how Sister Margaret knew my horse’s name, but then I realize she knows a lot of things.
Thankfully, Snowdrop lets out a soft nicker the moment Simon clasps his hands over the reins and dutifully follows him inside the stables.
“Now,” Sister Margaret says to me, “while your horse is in good hands, I think it’s best we get you to class.” Then she frowns as she looks at me. “Did you not bring any pencils or paper? Not even chalk or a slate?”
I shake my head, feeling foolish. “My mother told me all would be provided.” Actually, my mother barely told me anything at all. Every time I asked her about what my classes were (since I never had a chance to pick any) or what to expect, she would give me a small smile and say, “You’ll see.”
This information seems to bother Sister Margaret though. Her eyes narrow a little. “Is that so? All students were given their textbooks and supplies, but because you’re the only one who lives off campus, you must have been overlooked. Luckily, your first class is energy manipulation, and I’ve heard it’s very hands-on. Or should be. The teacher is new, you see.”
Energy manipulation? She walks off toward the closest stone building, and I follow, careful not to let my dress drag on the path. They aren’t starting me out with philosophy or Shakespeare?
“We don’t believe in starting slow,” Sister Margaret explains as she opens the large wooden door and ushers me inside. “We prefer to dive headfirst into our studies. But don’t be alarmed. You’ll take to it much like an eaglet does when the mother kicks it out of the nest, forcing it to fly for the first time.”
I make a face. I don’t think I like that analogy much.
“Besides,” she says, giving me a sidelong glance, “all your classes were chosen based on your aptitude tests. I’m surprised your mother didn’t give you the schedule.”
“She didn’t give me anything,” I admit. “Just said for me to show up before nine a.m.”
“Typical Sarah,” she says with a dry laugh, though there is a bitter undertone to her words, an animosity toward my mother that I don’t think I’m imagining.