A Deadly Education (The Scholomance, #1)

by Naomi Novik

That sort of thing is always happening to me. Some sorcerers get an affinity for weather magic, or transformation spells, or fantastic combat magics like dear Orion. I got an affinity for mass destruction.

It didn’t seem likely: no one ever has. It’s not that I’m ugly; on the contrary, I’ve been growing increasingly beautiful in a tall and alarming way, as befits the terrible dark sorceress I’m meant to be, at least until I presumably collapse into a grotesque crone. Boys often think for about ten seconds that they might want to go out with me, and then they look into my eyes or talk to me and I suppose get the strong impression I’m likely to devour their souls or something.

I pointed a finger at the door and thought, Open sesame. A stupid kid spell, but it was my own door, and I hadn’t locked it for the night yet, so it shot open, and Orion was standing in the doorway. Jack whirled round, his hands wet and red with my blood. He’d even smeared some on his mouth to make the finishing gruesome touch. I laid my head back down and let the mighty hero get on with it.

“Because I was leery of getting shivved by a sociopathic maleficer, as I would think might be obvious under the circumstances,” I said. “Thanks for going round loudly asking questions about Luisa, by the way, that didn’t at all set him off.” “You know, it’s almost impressive,” he said after a moment, sounding less wobbly. “You’re nearly dead and you’re still the rudest person I’ve ever met. You’re welcome again, by the way.”

By far the most obvious explanation to anyone looking on was that I’d thoroughly hooked Orion, and now I was using that to build myself a power base among the people who’d tolerated me on their fringes before, likely with the intention to leverage him to get us all into a major enclave. And London was actively displaying interest. That would have been a magnificent bit of strategy on my hypothetical scheming self’s part.

My anger’s a bad guest, my mother likes to say: comes without warning and stays a long time.

He was implying that the way I’d hooked Orion was by finding some shielding spell that let me turn my room into a sanctuary for all-night shagging, which I’d offered up in trade for Orion bestowing the favor of his attentions on me.

“In case it makes you feel better,” I told him irritably as we walked to lunch—he’d even stayed with me after class—“if I ever do go maleficer, I promise you’ll be the absolute first to know.” “If you were going to go evil, you’d have done it by now just to avoid letting me help you,”

“I’m not going to be your personal bouncer,” I told him when we finally got rid of the third one, a girl who didn’t quite make it all the way to suggesting that Orion might have even more fun in the dark recesses of the stacks with two girls instead of just one—obviously the only reason he could possibly want to hang out in the library with me—but only because I cut her off before she got that far. “You can be rude to your groupies for yourself.”

I could have considered not telling him. I suppose that would’ve been a kind thing to do. Instead I said, “She died because after you wouldn’t go for it, she looked for somebody else who would, and Jack took her up on it.” He stared at me appalled. “He would’ve needed some kind of consent to get power out of another wizard. Most maleficers do.”

“You’ve got power-sharers and probably—” I reached for the bottom of his shirt and lifted it up over the buckle of his belt, which—you guessed it—was absolutely a top-notch shield holder, like the ones Aadhya was making, only by comparison hers were the equivalent of a Blue Peter craft project done by a five-year-old. He made a little hop with a squawk, grabbing for my hand like he thought I was making a move on him, but I was already dropping the shirt again. I snorted and flicked my fingers up towards his face to make him jump back again. “In your dreams, rich boy. I’m not one of your groupies.” “Yeah, I didn’t notice,” he said, even though he was blushing at the same time.

Orion didn’t stop hovering. He walked me back to my room after dinner and obviously wanted to come inside. He’d probably have stayed with me through the night again, the wanker.

She says it’s too easy to call people evil instead of their choices, and that lets people justify making evil choices, because they convince themselves that it’s okay because they’re still good people overall, inside their own heads.

so I had to crochet instead. Words can’t describe how much I hate crochet. I’d gladly do a thousand push-ups over a single line. I forced myself to learn because it’s a classic mana-building option for school: all you need to bring is one tiny lightweight hook. The standard-issue blankets are made of wool that you can unpick and put back together, no other materials required. But I’m horrible at it. I forget where I am in the pattern, how many stitches I’ve done, which kind of stitch I’m on, what I’m trying to make, why I haven’t stabbed out my own eyes with the hook yet. It’s brilliant for building a truly frothing head of rage after I’ve undone the last hundred stitches for the ninth time. But as a result, I do get a decent bit of mana out of it.

Yes, now I was worrying I’d be turned to the dark side by too much crochet.

I’d like to claim I couldn’t bring myself to go, but I’ve got quite well-developed willpower when it comes to doing necessary work. I just have very little willpower when it comes to indulging petty resentment:

The rotten thing about having Mum as a mum is, I know how to stop being angry. I’ve been taught any number of ways to manage anger, and they really work. What she’s never been able to teach me is how to want to manage it. So I go on seething and raging and knowing the whole time that it’s my own fault, because I do know how to stop.

I love having existential crises at bedtime, it’s so restful. I lay awake for at least an hour after the final bell, staring furiously at the blue flicker of the gaslight by the door.

And they didn’t stop at safety, either. They wanted comfort, and then they wanted luxury, and then they wanted excess, and every step of the way they still wanted to be safe, even as they made themselves more and more of a tempting target, and the only way they could stay safe was to have enough power to keep everyone off that wanted what they had.

But I couldn’t just be angry at her. Obviously I wanted to scream at her and set her whole enclave on fire, but that was just habit.

“What are you doing?” I said, trying to get loose: he was being stupidly persistent about it. Yes, I really sincerely hadn’t any idea: whatever was Orion doing, trying to hold hands with me in the moment of what he thought was his imminent demise, and then as soon as I spared it that much of a thought, the answer became so obvious that I felt like a complete idiot. “You are dating me?” I yelled at him, in a fury, and he turned around with his face screwed up in pinched determination and grabbed my face and kissed me.

Reader, I ran the fuck away. It wasn’t difficult; everyone wanted to talk to Orion, to hear how he’d done it, how he’d slaughtered the mals and fixed the machinery and saved the seniors—I was fairly sure that by the end of the day, no one would remember that there had actually been any team involved at all, much less that I’d been on it. If I’d wanted to stay with him, I’d probably have had to wind both my arms around his waist and cling like a really determined ivy, but the crowd moved me away without any effort on my part at all.

“Don’t even try. I’m not getting engaged to go out with you,” I said rudely, shoving in before he could drag us back onto the shoals. “If you’re not asking now, that’s sufficient unto the day! If we make it out of here alive and you slog across the pond to come ask me, I’ll decide what I think of it at the time, and until then, you can keep your Disney movie fantasies,” and your secret pet mal, my brain unhelpfully inserted, “to yourself.”

My darling girl, I love you, have courage, my mother wrote, and keep far away from Orion Lake.