Tick, tock.
Analune watched the clock as if it were a bomb counting down the seconds until it belched ash and smoke and death onto the earth, like the plays with the villains and the witches she had watched as a little girl. Once, lifetimes ago, she had thought that neither witches nor villains existed, and the play was as real as a terrible dream.
Of course, only one of those things was true. Analune herself was a testament of that.
Analune had been enmagicked.
She tapped her desk crossly and tried to pull her attention away from the ticking, but it was loud. Impossibly loud. Like a snare drum, or a war cry, or a bellbird. And she couldn't make it any quieter. (Well, she could, but she didn't know how to, and it was against the rules, anyway.)
It had become obvious that nobody else could hear it; the ticking used to be so soft. She must have accidentally enmagicked it to only peirce her ears when she was first checking the time.
Well, it could be worse, she supposed. She was the only one suffering.
It let out another loud tick, and Master Aldrin jumped from the front of the classroom, cutting his history lecture short. He closed his book with an audible snap, and Analune eyed the cloud of dust that escaped from its yellowed pages.
Well. She was the only one suffering.
"Who did that?" He demanded, squinting at them over his glasses. His eyes were oddly large and wide through the prescription, something the students snickered about for a week before he delivered them a whap to the backside of their heads and a firm scolding.
The children glanced at each other, whispering. More than a few glanced at her. Analune stood before any accusations were made. "It was me, sir."
The man studied her, lips twisted in a sharp, displeased curl. "Analune again, is it? My, my. Very crude of you. Well, off to the Headmaster Abalard's headquarters." He flicked his fingers dismissively toward the door without waiting for an answer.
Analune frowned. "But–"
"But nothing," he snapped. "Go. Leave. And no magic in the hallway."
Analune felt her face darken, but she silently grabbed her bag and slowly wound her way around her desk. That man was as sharp as a viper's fangs.
She looked around at the other students in the room before she left, and her stomach sank with guilt. This shouldn't have happened. It never happened with anyone else. Ana felt the heavy, sweet tingle of magic on her hands as they connected to the cold doorknob, but she stuffed them in her pockets quicker than the beat of a hummingbird's wing. Not again.
Analune opened the door and blinked away the brightness from the windows and shiny floors outside. The air was much more breathable in the hall, away from Aldrin's dusty antiques.
She approached Master Abalard's office and knocked. An assistant with blond hair and a soft, cheerful face opened the heavy wooden door and smiled. "Why, hello, Analune. Master Abalard's this way."
"Thank you," Analune said, ducking through the door to greet the kindly, also-enmagicked principal and plead her case, which she'd prepared with her mother for situations such as these. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt the class. I'll do better next time. Yes, of course, I'm sorry. It was just an accident.
Abalard, thankfully, let her off easily. His eyes shone humorously as she retold the predicament as if she was missing out on some elaborate joke. She chewed on her lip as they dialed her mother's phone number. And then she and Abalard walked outside together.
"Now stay out of trouble, eh?" he said, opening the door to Mildree's car.
Mildree frowned. "'Trouble?' Analune doesn't get into 'trouble'. Just accidents, the poor dear."
A red-faced assistant busted around the corner up to the kindly headmaster. Her eyes were wide as the moons, and she gasped for breath before speaking.
"What on earth is this?" He asked, eyebrows knitted together in concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost, my dear."
"It's Mater Aldrin, sir," she said, gulping. "He's grown fangs."
Analune paled, and Abalard turned toward her, brows now lifted suggestively. "Child? What have you to say about this?"
"That... may also have been me. Sir," she admitted.
"What was all that about accidents, again?" He asked, though he meant it as a joke. She didn't take it that way.
Mildree waved for Analune to enter the car. She lowered herself into the front seat, pale cheeks burning. "I..."
"Oh, off with you, Analune. We'll fix this ourselves, thanks."
Analune shut the door, wishing desperately for the hundredth time that she could get something right. Make it all up, perhaps. She told herself she would, someday.
She would.
