Love Potion

Melodrama does a Magist Make?

Whatever 'zam' is, it tastes like ham except much sloppier. 

We sat opposite each other at Hwelpum's desk, the plate of oozing sandwiches between us. They had the texture of aubergine and I forced down gunky mouthfuls of it as Master Spigte fed Hwelpum sandwiches and his skull-voice hummed a tuneless tune. It was quite a pitiful sight, Spigte scraping fallen pickle off his chin as the old man swallowed down practically liquid food, his mouth unmoving. But if there is one thing that Hwelpum hates most, it is people pitying him if they have nothing to do about it.

Half wanting the excuse to not eat any more of the revolting sandwiches, I asked, "So... if the shifting ritual is a load of- 'crack' -" Spigte's splitting eyes were on me. "then how did it work for me? What do you think it was that made my ritual different to everyone else's?"

Hwelpum's voice spoke while he still swallowed. "I have, no i-dea. Ma-gic is we-ird." 

Well, fabulous!

"It, could be some-thing to do with you, ra-ther than, the ri-tual."

"Hm." I said. Well, that was just helpful. I stared at the half soggy zam and pickle sandwich on my plate, daring to touch it. "I think..." I said carefully, "I think the reason the shift worked was because I really, truly wanted to leave the life I already lead behind."

Hwelpum looked at me, but obviously I could not read his face.

"You, do-not want to-go back?"

I paused. Swallowed. "No, I... I would very much like to stay here."

Spigte cut in, "Headmaster, if you please, this girl cannot just leave behind whatever from wherever she came from-"

"Tha-nk you, Spigte," Hwelpum cut back. Spigte was the strictest teacher in the school, and her steeliness was melted only by Hwelpum. "It's true, that, this cas-tle is not a runaway hide-out, but it is ac-cep-ting, to all students, magist-born or not, es-pecially, if we are pro-tec-ting them, from rotten family homes. Tell me: why, do you wish, to stay?"

"Oh, I certainly have a rotten family home, sir!" I say hysterically, "Thirty foster homes in eleven years, and who're only looking after me for the cash! My real mother lost me and herself for drugs! Not to mention my father - I don't even know his face! The only thing I'm 'leaving behind' is my friends: my only two friends. I have nothing else worth going back to. Not family, not school, not a bright future... and I can bring my brain and hobbies with me!" I looked into Hwelpum's worn eyes pleadingly. "Please. No one will miss me."

"But what, if you are a voodont?" he questions.

That was a point. "You can test that," I solved. "But even if I'm not, I could... I don't know, live out in a broom cupboard or something! I could help you clean up, cook..."

"You seem, very set, on stay-ing."

"Yes, sir," I say. "Who wouldn't pick a magic fairy-tale castle over a poor, boring, non-magical, crappy life? Oh-! I'm sorry, pardon my language."

"Oh, don't frinxing worry about it. Ha-ha-har," he friendlily replied. In the Greamelts books, magists had different, strange curse words. "Now... Spigte, will you, take her to Master Caesus?"

"Certianly, sir," Spigte said, though she eyed me with deep displeasure. Probably stupidly, I gave her a big, plasticy grin back. She wrinkled her nose in response and swept past for me to follow.

"Wait, I- why are we going to Master Caesus?" I asked anxiously. (Not that I was disappointed: Master Caesus was a favourable teacher in the books.)