The Mystwick School of Musicraft Page 11

  I miss a few notes, which is to be expected since I haven’t played this piece before, but the important thing is to keep playing, even through the mistakes. The melody that fills the little room is dreamy and haunting and a bit sad, but that’s not the only reason a shiver runs through me. I’m waiting for something to happen, to try to trip me up. I wish they’d at least told us what to expect. My feet pinch, and I shift my weight to try to take pressure off them, which nearly makes me fall over.

  Keep your cool, Amelia, I think. Just keep your cool.

  Illusion is a type of elemental spell, so the magic that begins to peel away from my flute is pale blue, like shimmering sapphire dust. It twinkles and fades, and in front of me, a white orb begins to grow. At first it’s faint, little more than a fleck of light, but the deeper I get into the music, the brighter it becomes. It’s just like the ones Miss Noorani made when we were hunting for my echo tree.

  It’s beautiful.

  I’m so focused on watching it and reading the music that I don’t notice at first that the light around me is dimming.

  The room is getting darker. And colder.

  Soon the only light I have to read the music by is my glowing white orb. It hovers over the stand, while the walls, floor, and ceiling fade away into infinite blackness. It’s like standing in the heart of the night, with no horizon in view. Nothing exists but the sheets of music, my flute, the ball of light, and me.

  Unease stirs inside my stomach. I press it down, thinking, It’s just an illusion.

  I imagine Mr. Pinwhistle on the other side of the wall, blasting his bassoon and flooding my little room with his illusions.

  But then I start to feel heat behind me. I don’t turn, I don’t take my eyes off the music, but I sense flames leaping up. Then they spread around me, hot and red and angry, until I’m standing in a circle of crackling fire. For an illusion, it feels incredibly real.

  I begin to sweat from the heat.

  Panic sparks like fireworks in my chest.

  The flames are everywhere, hungry and relentless. Unlike the illusion Miss Noorani did at the Planting Ceremony, this fire actually feels hot. Is it real? Would they trap me in here with an actual fire?

  Whatever your mother tried to do that night by the river, it didn’t work, I hear Gran saying in the back of my mind. And it killed her.

  I push away her words. Now is not the time to think about my mom, especially not how she died, or I’ll almost definitely fall to pieces and fail this test.

  Finally, the fire fades away, and something inside me unclenches as it does.

  The room grows lighter, until I can see it’s not the same room at all. Instead, I’m standing in the ballroom at the hotel where the auditions were held. My blue light is still hovering overhead, but it’s harder to see in this bright room. There’s a little acorn in a pot in front of me, and the four Maestros are seated behind it. They all stare at me with different expressions: Mr. Pinwhistle looks enraged, Mr. Walters looks bored, Miss Becker looks disgusted, and Miss Noorani looks deeply disappointed. Those looks drag at me like chains around my neck.

  For a moment, I forget I’m at Mystwick.

  I think I really am in that ballroom, failing all over again. Destroying my own dream. Risking everything for silly, stupid hope.

  Nervousness and shame fill my cheeks with heat. My hands get clammy. I play and play, but the acorn doesn’t so much as jiggle. It’s not working. I’m going to get kicked out, I’m going to lose everything I ever wanted—

  It’s all an illusion.

  Keep your cool.

  The words come just when I need them. Though I’m trembling all over, I force my hands to stay steady.

  Then the Maestros start whispering.

  “You’re not good enough,” says Mr. Pinwhistle.

  “Why don’t you just give up?” asks Mr. Walters.

  “Is that chicken poop?” Miss Becker wrinkles her nose.

  Miss Noorani just shakes her head and adds, “We don’t want girls like you. You don’t belong here, Amelia Jones. The real Amelia belonged. We wanted her, but we got you instead.”

  It takes all my might not to whip my flute from my lips and yell that they’re all wrong, that I do belong here. At least, that’s what I think I’d shout, if I could.

  But a part of me knows they’re right.

  I don’t belong at Mystwick.

  I’m not the real Amelia.

  I was never meant to be here.

  I don’t know how I keep playing, but I do. Sheer stubbornness, I guess. I always did have a head like a mule, Gran would say. So out of pure spite I continue, because they can whisper all they want.

  The louder I play, the harder it gets to hear them.

  Then they vanish like smoke.

  The room goes dark again, leaving me alone with my music and the bobbing ball of light. Except for the soft notes of my flute, there’s total silence.

  My heart lifts. The test must be over. Everything comes in threes, right? I passed three tests—darkness, fire, and the audition—and I’m still playing strong. I may have wobbled a bit and missed a note or two, but I didn’t quit. They didn’t beat me.

  But I still have one page of music left to play, and the lights don’t come on yet. It’s just me standing in a pool of light, my glowing orb floating like a bright bubble over my head.

  I feel like I’ve been standing here for ages. My legs are sore, my hands and arms are tired from holding up my flute, and I’m losing my breath.

  Shifting slightly to give my legs a break, I feel something against my shoe.

  Something like . . . water?

  I chance a look down between notes and see I’m standing in an inky puddle. Or . . . not a puddle. A wide, shallow pool. And that pool is getting deeper.

  In seconds, the water is to my knees.

  Then my waist.

  A current rises, pushing against me like I’m standing in a river that’s getting stronger and stronger. Looking around, I don’t see anything but dark, rising water. The light of my illusion spell ripples on the choppy surface.

  The water reaches my chest. I raise my arms so it can’t throw off my playing. I wonder if the Maestros use the same illusions on all the kids, and if so, how did Rabiah manage this test with her cello?

  The thought comes and goes like a fly, and soon all I can focus on is keeping my flute above water. The stand with the papers somehow stays still, but the current is so strong now that I can barely stay on my feet. I brace against the flow, convinced the test has to end soon, or I’ll be completely submerged in water.

  Just an illusion! Keep your cool!

  But it doesn’t end.

  The water reaches my chin.

  Only my hands and flute and head are above the surface. The current drags at me hungrily. Despite my efforts, my fingers grow clumsy and I hit a few bad notes, and the ball of light shrinks to the size of a pea.

  I’m standing chin-deep in a powerful river in almost total darkness.

  I keep playing, desperate and terrified, trying to remember the last few measures of the spell since the light isn’t strong enough to illuminate the pages. The notes jumble in my head, and I frantically pound the keys of my flute, but the ball of light doesn’t grow again.

  Then I see something: a girl standing in the corner of the room. She’s so faint I can barely make her out, but something about her is familiar. Her features are blurred, like she’s a watercolor painting. Is she part of the illusion? She watches me silently, with eyes like gaping holes. A shiver runs over my skin.

  Then she starts toward me.

  I back away, fighting against the current, but the water doesn’t seem to slow her down. She raises a hand, which is pale white and transparent.

  I shake my head, still playing my flute, telling myself she isn’t real, isn’t real, isn’t—

  Losing my balance, I plunge underwater.

  This isn’t an illusion.

  It’s a memory.

  I’m
sinking, drowning, clawing for air that I cannot find. Instead of my twelve-year-old body, I feel small and weak, four years old again. I can’t seem to remember how to swim. I’m totally at the river’s mercy.

  And it is merciless.

  Opening my mouth to scream, I shut my eyes and twist this way and that, terror coursing through me. I can feel myself getting weak. Sparks dance in my eyes.

  I’m drowning.

  I’m drowning and I’m reaching for my mother, but she isn’t there.

  She was there, she was there beside me and so was my father, but I slipped and fell into the river, and they called my name but the current carried me swiftly away.

  Out of their arms.

  Into total darkness.

  * * *

  The lights come on, revealing the little soundproof room.

  I’m curled up into a ball on the floor, sobbing for Gran. There’s no water anywhere except for my salty tears and the snot running from my nose. It was an illusion after all, but my body reacted as if it were real. My flute is clutched to my chest, and the music stand has toppled over. The pages lie scattered about. The strange, ghostly girl has vanished.

  “Amelia.”

  I shake my head, curling up tighter.

  “Amelia, dear, it’s over. You can get up now. You did it. You finished the spell.”

  Shaking, I slowly turn my head to see Miss Noorani standing over me. She bends down, softly touching my hair.

  “It’s all over,” she says again.

  It’s all an illusion.

  Keep your cool.

  But I hadn’t kept my cool at all. I feel so completely, utterly un cool that I start sobbing all over again.

  Miss Noorani helps me up. We walk out of the room together and I try to get a grip on myself. All I want right now is Gran—her arms around me, squeezing me till I can’t breathe in the way that used to always annoy me, but which I now miss more than anything. But Gran isn’t here. She hasn’t even responded to the emails I’ve sent her, though I’ve been sure to write at least every other day.

  “Did you . . . was it you who did that to me?” I ask Miss Noorani in a trembling voice.

  She gives me an apologetic smile. “You did well. Better than I’d expected, really. I thought I had you with the audition illusion.”

  Anger rushes through me. “And what about the river? What about my parents? Did you think you ‘had me’ then?”

  Her brow furrows. “What? I didn’t conjure your parents. Just the water.”

  “What about the girl?” I demand. “The girl who tried to drown me?”

  She looks totally confused. “What girl? There was no girl. It was just an illusion.”

  “Just an illusion!” I’m yelling now. “Just an illusion? This, this, is not just an illusion!” I press my hand to my chest, which feels like a cage full of snakes. Angry and twisted up and crawling.

  “Amelia, it’s a standard exercise—”

  She is cut short by a scream.

  It comes from the little room on our left, despite the walls being soundproof.

  I look around. “Where’s Jai?”

  Miss Noorani tries to grab my arm, but I pull away and throw open the door of the room.

  Jai is huddled in the corner, still screaming.

  A huge, salivating dog with enormous fangs is standing over him, snarling and snapping, foam dripping from its massive jaws. Weirdly, between its snarls, it speaks in a human voice that sounds eerily like Jai’s dad: “Enough! It’s time to get serious! You’re a disgrace!”

  Jai is trying to play his violin, but then he gives up, throwing it aside to put up his hands instead, in a feeble attempt to hold off the rabid dog.

  “No!” I shout, jumping between them. “Jai, it isn’t real!”

  The last page of the Debussy spell is still on Jai’s stand, behind the dog, while the other pages are scattered on the floor—so he must have made it through most of the piece before the dog appeared. A faintly glowing ball of light hovers over the page, on the verge of flickering out altogether. I quickly raise my flute and play the last few lines, completing Jai’s spell for him, and the light strengthens. I play so fast and so fiercely that the orb grows until it’s like a small sun, blinding the dog. All the light particles that Jai’s assigned Maestro assembled to create it become mine to manipulate instead. The dog doesn’t stand a chance. I obliterate him totally.

  I finish the spell like the good Mystwick musician I am, then lower my flute and turn to Jai. The bright light fades away.

  Putting my arms around him, I hold him tight and whisper, “It’s over, Jai. It was all an illusion. And it’s over now.”

  He grips my arms so tight it hurts, but I just wince and don’t let go. He’s shaking like a leaf in a storm.

  After a few moments, his sobs turn to sniffs, and he pulls away. Keeping his eyes averted, he mumbles, “Thanks.”

  I nod and pick up his violin, handing it back to him.

  Hearing a grunt behind me, I turn to see Mr. Pinwhistle has joined Miss Noorani, and he’s looking hard at me. I guess he was the one testing Jai.

  Defiantly, I stand and snatch up my flute, then help Jai up. Together we glare right back and march out of the room.

  Without a word we go past the two Maestros and head for the door leading outside. I’m still shaking, but now it’s from rage. I know interrupting Jai’s test won’t help me prove to the Maestros I belong here, but for once, I don’t care.

  “That was completely out of line, Miss Jones!” Mr. Pinwhistle says, but he’s got a funny look in his eyes, like he’s puzzled. “Consider yourself in last chair for the entirety of next week.”

  I turn and shout back, “Worth it!”

  I let the door slam behind me on the way out.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Serenade with a Chance of Snowstorms

  IT TAKES A FEW DAYS before the effects of the test fade away. All the seventh graders seem just as shaken as I am, and I hear girls waking up each night screaming, haunted by nightmares.

  I’m no different. Three nights in a row I dream about the river ripping me from my parents. At first I hadn’t believed Miss Noorani when she told me that wasn’t part of her illusion spell.

  Or maybe I just didn’t want to, because that would mean admitting it was a memory. The same one that seized me in the lake after the Planting Ceremony.

  If it was, I haven’t a clue what it means or when it happened, though I guess it would have been before my mom died. I’m not sure how the memory ends, either. Every time I dream about it, it just ends with darkness.

  Finally, Miss March, who apparently is the school nurse in addition to being the dean of students and the librarian, plays a white spell for us all on the piano in Harmony Hall, which she says will help us sleep better. It works, and the nightmares stop.

  I’m mostly grateful . . . but a part of me wonders if I’ll ever find out how the memory ended. I can’t help but think it might be a clue about my mother’s death. I almost email Gran about it, but she still hasn’t replied to any of my earlier emails, and I worry she might be so angry with me she doesn’t want to talk to me at all. I carry that thought around like a hard lump of ice in my belly.

  But with the horrible test finally behind me, I settle into a routine at Mystwick. Thankfully, the rest of my lessons aren’t nearly as bad as the illusion test—with the exception, maybe, of my biweekly tutoring with Mr. Pinwhistle. One-on-one tutoring is a required class for every student, so there’s no getting out of it. At least in a class setting, I can hide among the other students, but when it’s just the two of us I feel like a mouse trapped in a box with a hungry cat. Nothing I play seems to be good enough for him, and mostly he just shakes his head and grunts with disappointment.

  Ensemble is by far my favorite. It’s me and seven other students, including Jai. We learn group spells we could never attempt on our own, but that are less complicated than true orchestral spells. Best of all, when it’s sunny, Miss Noorani tak
es our lessons outside.

  Like today. It’s been almost three weeks since I arrived at Mystwick, and though I’m still listed as last chair on Mr. Pinwhistle’s chart, I feel hopeful. I’m not as far behind everyone else as I’d feared I would be, and I think I might actually be getting better.

  Miss Noorani takes us to the edge of the lake, which I’ve learned is called Orpheus Lake, after the famous Greek god of Musicraft. It’s a lazy sort of afternoon, warm for September, and the gently lapping water has a hypnotic effect.

  But that isn’t why I can’t stop yawning.

  “Pull it together, Jones,” says Claudia, elbowing me.

  “Sorry. I didn’t sleep last night,” I mutter.

  “So?” Claudia scowls. “Not my problem.”

  I’m not so sure it isn’t, and I eye her suspiciously. This time, my exhaustion has nothing to do with studying late.

  Last night, someone snuck into my room at least four times and shone a light, waking me up. The third time it happened, I stayed up as long as I could, hoping to catch them in the act. Instead, I fell back asleep, only to be awakened thirty minutes later by another flash of light.

  Weird thing was, every time I woke up and looked around, no one was there.

  It was probably Darby, but I haven’t ruled out Claudia yet. I know neither of them likes me, but still, I can’t figure out why they’d go to the trouble of bothering me while I slept, especially since Claudia’s teasing has slacked off and Darby doesn’t even bother to talk to me. And neither of them look very tired.

  Struggling to stay awake, I focus harder as Miss Noorani tells us to pick up our instruments.

  We play a nine-instrument piece called a nonet, which has a tricky flute section. The spell is supposed to make the lake freeze over, which has Jai bouncing with excitement. He can’t wait to slide across the frozen water, and even brought a pair of ice skates with him.

  But every time we get close to succeeding, I bungle the flute part and the spell breaks. The ice crystals that have begun to form all crack and dissolve. We play through to the end anyway—we learned that lesson in the Shell—but it’s too late. Not even Miss Noorani’s brilliant viola playing can revive the lost magic. Everyone glares at me. Even Jai looks disappointed.