Chapter 9

Nine woods in the Cauldron go, burn them fast and burn them slow

– The Wiccan Rede

Ifidgeted with my dress as Callista reversed the Corniche out of the garage. Perhaps I would have spent the weekend agonizing over what to wear and might have raided the attic as my aunts and sister did and remade something rather than re-wearing the same dress over and over again if I hadn't been so distracted by the death of that little girl… And, by Ender. Instead, it had just been the only option in my wardrobe and there had been no decision involved – I had simply put it on. Again.

At this stage, they would bury me in it, I thought ruefully.

I slid into the front passenger seat as Callista adjusted the rearview mirror.

"Ready?" She glanced at me.

"As ready as I can be," I shrugged.

"Nonsense," she coaxed the Corniche down the driveway. "You're more ready than you think. I know what's going through your head, Nyx. You are worthy of this scholarship and this position in the Academy."

"I guess," I wasn't concerned about the scholastic side of attending the academy. I had always been a good student and enjoyed the subjects that I would be taking. I wasn't even that worried about making friends – I had attended school in Mortensby for half of my education, after all, without them.

My real reason for concern seemed foolish.

"I'm sure that you will make friends. You have to remember that many of these students aren't from Mortensby. They won't be as steeped in fear, discrimination, and hate. They will be more likely to look poorly upon that behaviour from the locals who also attend. You will make friends," the way she said it had a hint of a charm behind it, and I slid her a look under my eyelashes.

"No magical aids," I cautioned her.

"Of course not, my darling," she replied airily.

"It's not making friends…" I trailed off as we passed the spot where the girl had died, and I had encountered my grim reaper. Ender? I asked myself again. "It's… Bishop House."

"Ah," she nodded.

As we passed through the town in the Corniche, people interrupted their conversations to follow us with their eyes. I couldn't tell if it was due to word circulating about the funeral, or because they were wondering where we were off to in the Corniche.

"Don't mind them," Callista drew my attention back. "If Mortensby didn't have the Vossens to gossip about, they would all be very bored." She waved loftily as the greengrocer paused, clutching a crate of lettuce heads against his green apron. "Arsehole, just like his father."

I smothered my giggle.

"We had a bad year in the garden when I was a child," she continued. "My mother always suspected that someone was sneaking up the hill and pouring salt water into the soil - as if it were not struggle enough to grow anything so close to the ocean, they had to be malicious on top of it. And then when she was forced to supplement what we had with produce bought from a grocer… Well, Roger Milton did what men normally do and when she turned him down, he would have given her the worst of the store and probably overcharged her for it, but she walked us straight out and drove the two-hour round trip to the city instead."

"I always wondered why he hated us," I commented mildly, not revealing my curiosity as to the segue in our conversation.

"It's not hatred, Nyx," she replied. "Or, at least, not initially. And that is the reason I am telling you this story. What happened with Roger Milton, happens time and time again... It's desire. And when that desire is thwarted then the hurt male ego quickly turns desire to hate. Because many men can simply not accept that when they want someone that badly, the feeling might not be reciprocated. Often when they realize that they will not be able to have the object of their desire, they seek to destroy it so no one else can have her either..." She trailed off and I wondered if she was thinking of Fennel and her burns.

"Okay," I drew the word out slowly. "So…?"

"That is what happened with Bishop Hargreave," she told me. "Men like that don't like to be refused. And when faced with a sustained refusal, it sours within them and becomes a poison that festers and rots their soul. He tried to destroy Charity. Roger Milton tried to destroy my mother. Logan Tilbrook tried to destroy your aunt Fennel…"

"Fuck, Aunt C," I frowned at her. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"None of these men succeeded," Callista replied as we began to climb the hill towards Pinegrove Academy. "That is what I mean, Nyx. They tried to own and possess something that was not theirs to take and ultimately failed. There is something heartening in that, isn't there?"

I raised my eyebrows and looked out the window. "The men might have failed," I told her. "But the women didn't escape unscathed, did they?"

She hummed her agreement with a sigh. "Which is why, although we must take heart and not be afraid of men and their symbols such as Bishop House, we must also remain wary and always vigilant, Elenyx. Always."

"Yes…" I wasn't entirely sure that I understood, or how it was supposed to make me feel less uneasy about attending school in a house that had such a dark history with our family.

"Why did you choose Pinegrove, Nyx?" Callista asked sensing my uncertainty. "Why Pinegrove if its history worries you?"

"I didn't want to leave Vossen House and my family," I told her honestly. "I wanted to stay here. Anywhere else, and I would have needed to leave. And…" I shrugged slightly. "I'm curious. I'm a little… nervous, yes. Bishop House has always been a bit like the scary haunted house in movies, because of Vossen history. But at the same time… Something is fascinating about it, don't you think?"

"Hmm," she glanced out of the side of her sunglasses. "The darkness can be very alluring to many witches. Perhaps you are one. I am flattered that your choice of further education was made according to proximity to Vossen Homestead, Nyx, but I hope you didn't limit your choices for that reason."

"Pinegrove has an excellent academic reputation of producing graduates who go on to have influential and successful careers in a wide variety of fields," I replied verbatim from the brochure. "It is an excellent choice of school, offering state-of-the-art resources, excellent recreational facilities, attentive staff, and support services for its students. And," I slid her a grin. "A full ride."

She laughed a little under her breath. "Very well then, Nyx. If you are happy with your choice, I am happy for you. We also provide attentive staff and support services for our students at Vossen Homestead, and we're very pleased to have you amongst our community."

"Aww," I giggled. "Thanks Aunt Callista."

She had deliberately lightened the conversation I thought, to take the edge off my nerves as we drew closer to our destination. It was obvious where Pinegrove's ownership of the land began for there was a stacked stone wall that shadowed the passage of the road on that side, preventing us from seeing within. Overhead, ravens circled, unable to perch upon the wall as someone cruel had capped the stone and set glittering spikes of metal to prevent both the birds from roosting and anyone from climbing in… or out.

The heavy and elaborate wrought iron gates stood open, and Callista slowed the Corniche to join the queue of cars working their way down the driveway toward the car park. The gardens that we passed through were impressive, laid out in formal hedges and garden beds, walkways, and glades of grass shaded by tall trees. Scattered amongst the greenery and flowers were garden ornaments, chubby cupids, and bare-breasted ladies pouring water from urns that did nothing to nourish the plants below.

Where the gardens around Vossen House had been cultivated both for use in and to hide our craft, these gardens had been crafted to intimidate and impress, and they did a good job of doing so.

The driveway curved and suddenly the roofline and part of Bishop House became visible. The original building had been impressive. In Charity's time, it would have been a rectangular frontage with the house spreading out behind, and I could see the original house within the additions that had been built to either side breaking the original symmetry of the design. The floorplan now would be a maze of corridors and staircases and probably echoed with the restless spirits of centuries of occupants.

The dead did not scare me. It was the living that did that, I thought wryly.

The extension to the left of the main house had been crafted of local grey sandstone in sympathy with the original structure, and its frontage was as ornately detailed, each window elaborately framed. From the regularity of the windows, I was certain that it contained the dormitory that was spoken of in the brochure. Most of the students of Pinegrove Academy roomed at the school, with only the local students, like me, coming and going.

"Have you ever been here before?" I asked Callista quietly for there was something about her silence that told me that a dark mood had overcome her.

"Several times," she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, and then turned her head and smiled with false brightness. "Never for such a happy occasion as this."

Callista turned off towards the left, avoiding the main courtyard where most of the traffic seemed to be converging, offloading students and their cases near the door to the dormitory. As she seemed to always do, Callista found the ideal parking place and pulled the Corniche in easily, turning off the engine.

"Well," she adjusted the rearview mirror and touched up her lipstick. "Here we are then."

"Yes," I blew out my breath before claiming the mirror and performing my own last-minute checks on my hair and makeup.

Callista waited, her hand on the door handle until I was done, and then elegantly slid her legs out of the car, rising with the poise of a queen. She posed by the car, apparently unaware that she had somehow drawn every eye in the area to her. I felt like a drab shadow as I rounded the car to her side.

I was not surprised that as we approached the front doors of the Academy Dean Harvey Ashbourne excused him from greeting another couple and their daughter and crossed to greet us. He was dressed in a dark navy suit that turned his storm-cloud grey eyes blue, and his hair was immaculately styled, his cheeks so clean-shaven that barely a shadow was hinted beneath the skin.

"Callista," he said warmly extending his hand to my aunt who offered her fingertips in return, a gesture that was just polite. He clasped it between his hands as he had done mine, his eyes lighting with enjoyment. "Or do you prefer Ms Vossen?"

"Miss," Callista correct extricating her hand. "I have never married."

"Ah. Such a misfortune for mankind," he said and then turned to me. "Elenyx, you look lovely. Let me welcome you to Pinegrove Academy," he reached out for my hand. The breeze carried a body-warm aftershave scent that was rich with spice and intoxicating and his palm was warm against my own, his grip firm. He held my gaze as he held my hand, an intense and intimate connection, before releasing me abruptly. "Let me show you Pinegrove Academy," he said gesturing towards the front entrance.

There were many students in the Pinegrove Academy uniform gathering around the arrivals and their parents, and amongst them, my eyes caught on the bright hair of the red-haired man from the cemetery. He grinned at me, bright with charm and cheek, his eyes lighting, and I blushed and tried to keep from glancing back over my shoulder as Dean Ashbourne guided us past them, and into the cool of the grand foyer.

"Most of our students take their tour of the Academy during the application interview," Dean Ashbourne paused allowing us to take in the entrance foyer. It had been designed to impress upon those who entered the importance of the owner and his closeness to God, with the woodwork carved into judgemental angels and the friezes depicting scenes from the Bible, as if offering windows into Heaven.

A small room with an arched entry was lined with leatherbound books and set with chairs – what had been a library or study was repurposed into a waiting room. The room to the other side had been refurnished into a reception and the woman behind the desk looked up attentively upon hearing Dean Ashbourne's voice.

"This is the reception area," he gestured to the woman. "Susan or Anne look after the reception desk from nine am until six. They are here to assist with any inquiries. Most of the rooms on this ground floor are for the administration of the school, as well as offices for the teachers. Up the stairs are the teacher's accommodations." He walked between the double staircase where another arch led to a dimly lit hallway, and my aunt's heels clipped crisply across the marble tiles as we followed.

The doors to either side held name plaques of the teachers and their positions at the school. At the end of the hallway, he paused. "To the left is the entry to the dormitories," he gestured to a doorway. "To the right the classroom wing."

He turned right, holding the door open for us. "Each extension has been made in sympathy with the original structure," he continued as he closed the door behind me, falling in step, his hand resting on my lower back in a gesture of old-fashioned courtesy as we started down the hall. "And with a great deal of loving care, furnished with antique artwork and furniture to create a truly unique learning environment that blends and values both the past and the modern technology of the time."

"For example," he stepped away from me to open a classroom door. Within the room, the wainscoted walls had been painted black. One wall supported a truly massive screen, and the antique-style desks had been fitted with power points and USB ports. With large Georgian-style windows along one wall, complete with the original shutters showing in the deep window frames behind the caught back curtains, spilling light over the desks, it was a beautiful classroom.

"It's lovely," I was a little intimidated by the room.

"The Academy prides itself on providing its students with a world-class education preparing them to take on leadership roles in their chosen fields," Dean Ashbourne replied with a warm smile. "Your submission paper on the voice of women in literature was very well argued and thought out. I think that you will find that Pinegrove Academy will offer you the opportunity to explore interdisciplinary study into anthropology, sociology, and psychology which will help you to develop your interests."

He closed the door and gestured for Aunt Callista to proceed us down the hallway. As I turned to follow, a movement behind me caught my eye, and I glanced back to see the red-haired man scrutinizing a painting on the wall with a frown.

The Dean and Aunt Callista had continued down the hall, talking between them.

I stepped over to the man. "Are you following me?"

He slid me a look out of the corner of his eye and smiled as he looked away again and back up at the painting. "Rather a grim-faced man, don't you think?" He lifted his chin at the painting. "Bishop Hargreaves?"

I had seen paintings of Bishop Hargreaves before, both replicas of originals, one of which we were probably looking at, or pictures of them on the internet. He had always struck me as a rather boring-looking man, old, and dressed horrendously. "A case of what was on the inside being reflected outside," I told him.

"Very true," he chuckled. "I'm Mal," he said as he turned towards me.

"Nyx," I replied.

"Look at us, matching already with our three-letter names," his grin was crooked and heart-stopping.

"It's Elenyx, really," I corrected. "Elenyx Vossen," I added reluctantly, but if he knew the Vossen name, he didn't give any indication of it.

"Malachar Veridian," he put his hand to his heart and performed a little bow.

"Malachar Veridian," I repeated.

"Nyx!" Aunt Callista called back to me.

"You'd better run along. They're waiting for you," Mal told me. "We'll see each other again, Elenyx."

I turned and hurried down the hall to catch up. "Sorry."

"I understand that there is a lot to see," Dean Ashbourne's smile was warm. "And, yes, the artwork on the walls is original."

"Oh," I blushed. "I did think that. I've seen replicas of that painting, at school and online. It just… caught me for a moment seeing the original."

"An appreciation of art is to be encouraged," he opened the door. "Perhaps another interest to incorporate in your studies? We have some excellent art facilities. It is a smaller department than many in the Academy, but very well done."

"Like everything the academy does, it seems," Aunt Callista's reply was caustic but hidden behind a sweet smile.

"Just so," Dean Ashbourne accepted the words on surface value. "This way."

He led us out of the main building and down an arbored path. "In this direction, we have both the sports and recreational facilities…"

"You missed much of the main house," Aunt Callista commented mildly. "Like the ballroom and the church." We exchanged a look. The church came up often in the Grimoires, and usually not in a flattering light. I could understand why Callista would be intrigued to see it.

"I did indeed," he smiled. "It is a big campus and would take many hours to tour minutely. The uniform shop, however, is only open for three more hours today, and you will want to be measured today, Elenyx, to receive it by the start of term."

We dutifully followed him to look at the recreational center, gym and pool, movie room, and social room. The pool was central, with the other rooms ringing it on three sides. Although the buildings were new, like the extensions to the main house, they had been designed to look as if they had been there from the original construction. The glass that encased the pool was a many-paned and white-framed structure designed to look like a conservatory, and the buildings were all built of local stone.

The recreational center offered a kitchen and bar, along with a range of antique-style tables and upholstered dining chairs, and little clusters of Chesterfield couches and chairs that offered students the opportunity to sit together and talk. The social room offered pool tables, darts, and arcade-style computer games.

"Although you are not a boarder at the school, Elenyx, you are very welcome to use these facilities at any time, day or night," Dean Ashbourne told me as we watched a swimmer do laps of the pool. "As Xander is doing. Alexander," he called out as the swimmer left the water, revealing a leanly muscled body broad of shoulder and clad only in a pair of blue swim briefs.

Callista tilted her sunglasses down her nose as the young man grabbed a towel and strolled over to us with a wide smile. "Well, well, Nyx," she slid me a look. "The view in the pool room is quite interesting."

"Shh," I hissed at her, flicking an embarrassed look toward Dean Ashbourne and the young man, but neither had heard.

"Elenyx, this is Alexander St Astor the third," Dean Ashbourne guided the young man back towards us. "Xander, this is Elenyx, our scholarship entry for this year."

"Welcome Elenyx," Xander was a glowing example of all the benefits of wealth with his golden good looks and confidence. "It's quite an achievement."

"Xander is in his second year with us," the Dean continued. "And is one of our most promising students."

"St Astor," Aunt Callista scanned Alexander's face. "I think I know of your father. Isn't he a lawyer?"

"Family law," Alexander's smile was that of someone well used to his family being known. "Divorce lawyer to the stars."

"Ah yes," Callista nodded wisely. "That would be it. Will you be following in your father's footsteps, Alexander, and pursuing family law?"

"Not family law," Alexander told her. "I intend to pursue human rights, before possibly moving into a political career." He smiled down at me. "What will you be studying here, Elenyx?"

"Just Nyx is fine," I was flattered by his interest. "Comparative literature. I hope to specialize in redefining the role of women in ancient literature."

"Very cool," he replied and from the way he said it, I knew that he was being polite and had no idea what I was talking about. "Well," he shrugged a little. "I'd best shower and get dressed. I'm supposed to welcome the new boarding students and bring them down to join the returning students for a pizza and social night, so everyone can get acquainted."

"Sounds like fun," Dean Ashbourne agreed. "Perhaps you'd like to hang around and join them, Elenyx? Get to know some of your classmates? After your uniform measurements are done?"

"I'll find you, and introduce you around if you do," Alexander added encouragingly to me.

"Yes… I guess. Thank you."

"Great, I'll find you in about an hour," he waved loftily before walking off towards the changing rooms.

"Well, let's get you to the uniform dispensary, so you're done by the time Alexander seeks you out," Dean Ashbourne gestured for Aunt Callista to proceed him out of the pool room. "We encourage socialization between the boarders and those attending from Mortensby and, as all our students are of legal drinking age and the Academy takes the safety of its students seriously, a shuttle is run on the hour between ten pm and one am between Mortensby and the Academy to ensure everyone gets home safely from their social nights."

"What a lovely idea," Callista commented. "I think that came about…?"

"Yes," Dean Ashbourne. "A series of tragic motor accidents two or three decades ago. Before my time here," he added. "But you, being local, would of course remember."

"That I do," Callista said in soft sadness. "That I certainly do."