“Go,” she ordered.
The bullies turned and fled. Emily looked down the corridor—Marian had vanished while she’d been focused on the bullies—and then up at their victim. He was easy to read, even for her; he was torn between relief that she’d saved him and shame that he’d needed help. At least he probably wouldn’t be ashamed of being saved by a girl. The magical community wasn’t particularly sexist.
Because sorceresses can be just as good as sorcerers, Emily thought. She remembered Julianne Whitehall and smiled. Teaching Lord Whitehall’s daughter the basics of magic had planted a seed that had flowered into something great. And we have an even playing field.
She cast a series of charms, lowering the victim gently to the floor. He rolled over the minute he landed and stood, looking as though he wanted to bolt too. Emily didn’t blame him for being unsure. No one respected weakness at Whitehall. And no one would care that three on one was obviously unfair.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered.
Emily snorted. “You would have preferred to fall to your death?”
He looked sullen. His eyes flickered around, as if he wanted to look at anything but her. “They ... they just picked on me.”
Emily studied him for a long moment. He wore firstie robes, of course, but he didn’t look as though he’d grown up wearing them. Coming to think of it, wearing robes outside class was a pretty solid indicator he didn’t have anything else to wear. And the pockmarks on his face suggested he hadn’t had access to any magical healing. His build and general demeanor was only the icing on the cake. She would have bet good money that he’d grown up in a mundane community.
“Dickheads like that don’t need an excuse to pick on people,” she said. She’d known too many people like the bullies in grade school. They’d find a social outcast and drive him to despair—or suicide. “They just want to have fun.”
He wilted. “Is that what it’s always going to be like? People picking on me?”
Emily swallowed hard, trying to think of an answer. She’d known too many people who’d been on the brink of despair too. They were isolated and alone, ignored by those in power ... there was nothing they could do to fight back. All the stories about victims learning martial arts and thrashing their bullies were just ... stories. And yet, hadn’t she done it? She’d learnt enough magic to defend herself ...
“It depends,” she said. “You have magic, don’t you?”
“I can’t get it to work properly,” he said. “It just refuses to work!”
“It takes practice,” Emily said. How long had it taken her to cast her first spell? “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have magic.”
She reached out and patted his shoulder. He cringed away.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have magic,” she repeated, silently kicking herself. She hadn’t liked to be touched either, back when she’d been his age. “I know—they know more spells than you. But you can master other spells and use them to fight back.”
She took a step back and studied him. “Let me guess. You grew up in a village, perhaps on a farm. Your parents were peasants or landed tenants. Right?”
“Yeah,” the boy said.
Emily met his eyes. “And you didn’t really have any hope of climbing up the ladder. To you, there was no ladder. You were never going to leave the farm, let alone marry the local lord’s daughter ...”
He stared at her in disbelief. Emily hid her amusement with an effort. The peasants and aristocrats were so far apart, socially, they might as well live in two separate worlds. No lord would ever consider giving his daughter to a peasant. Hell, he’d be reluctant to marry his daughter to a wealthy merchant, even if the merchant had enough money to pay the family’s debts.
And I once tried to explain Sofia the First to Alassa, Emily reminded herself. She didn’t get it.
“Things are different here.” She felt her head starting to throb again and gritted her teeth. “You can rise, if you work at it. Learn magic and use it. I guarantee you that the gulf between you and them is not impossible to cross, if you work hard.”
“No one will help me,” the boy said, mournfully.
It’s been two days, Emily thought. They can’t have poisoned everyone against him already, can they?
She pushed the thought aside. She’d seen bullies do just that, back on Earth. It was rarer in Whitehall, but not completely unknown. If she hadn’t been lucky enough to share a room with Imaiqah ...
I could teach him, she thought. But I don’t have time.
The thought caused her a stab of guilt. He needed help. But she barely had time to do everything else she needed to do. And besides, he didn’t need a guardian angel. No one would respect him if the Head Girl or his mentor was constantly watching him, protecting him. He needed someone who would show him how to develop his powers and master enough spells to defend himself. Someone like ...
“There are people in Second Year who will help you,” Emily said. She’d been meaning to have lunch with her former mentees. “Ask some of them for help. They’ll remember going through the same experience themselves. Believe me, they won’t be impressed by any of the dickheads.”
He looked up. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” Emily said. “Take my word for it.”
She leaned forward. “How many spells do you think I knew when I came here?”
“Hundreds,” the boy said.
“None,” Emily corrected. “My father didn’t teach me any spells.”
He didn’t look as though he believed her. Emily didn’t blame him. Magical parents would often teach their kids the basics, just to give them an edge when they reached Whitehall. Everyone had certainly expected Void to do that for Emily. Very few people realized that he’d never had the chance.
“But ... you’re the Necromancer’s Bane!”
“Yes,” Emily said. “And I didn’t learn any magic until I was your age.”
He swallowed. “They’re not going to be happy, are they?”
Emily shrugged. “They’re going to have problems sitting down for a couple of days,” she said. The Warden wouldn’t go lightly on firsties. “But it could have been worse and they know it.”
She took a step backwards. “You have a chance to rise in the world. Yes, they have an advantage. But it isn’t a big enough advantage to keep you from rising to meet them—or going higher. There’s a boy I know—a master magician—who married into royalty. And he’s powerful and skilful enough to kick my ass. You could do that too.”
The boy looked doubtful. “Really?”
“Yes.” Emily nodded towards the stairwell. “Go to the library and start studying. Find someone who can and will teach you. Or let them walk all over you for the rest of a very short and miserable life. Good luck.”