Read Online Dark Mirror 1.5 - Fallen from Grace by M.J. Putney - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: M.J. Putney
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furious magic seared through me like lightning as I untied the cravat holding Blakesley Minor’s wrists to the post. As soon as he was free, I smashed a fist into Crickle’s ugly face. I felt his nose break. God help me, but I was glad.
I managed to resist the desire to pound him again. Instead, I half-carried Blakesley Minor across the room to the corridor.
Crickle was screaming threats when the massive statue hurtled through the window and crashed down on the bed where he lay bleeding like a pig. Glass and pieces of stone exploded through the room like musket balls.
For an instant, all I felt was fierce exhilaration from the rush of power. That was followed by horror as I recognized how utterly uncontrolled I was.
Dear God, I could have killed Crickle without meaning to! Magic truly is dangerous. I’m dangerous. My hands are still shaking.
I’m grateful Crickle wasn’t killed, though he does deserve the broken leg. He’s too stupid and vicious to learn a lesson from this, but at least he’ll be slowed down if he goes after any more of the younger students.
The statue’s flight and crash into Crickle’s room were unmistakably a result of magic. The debris had scarcely settled when the chamber filled with other students and the hunt for the mageling was on. I’m ashamed to admit how close I came to letting Blakesley Minor be named as the mage. Since he was the one being beaten, he was the obvious suspect. No one seemed to think it might be me.
But poor Blakesley Minor was sobbing terribly and so gallant in trying to suppress his tears that I couldn’t let him be wrongly accused. So I raised my chin and said in my best “damn your eyes” manner that I was the mage.
I’ll never forget how the other boys gasped and drew back as if I were a leper. It was…chilling. This is what my life will be like from now on—those who were once friends avoiding me as if I’m some kind of monster.
One of the prefects had been drawn by the commotion. After I confessed, he ordered me to return to my room while he reported what had happened to the headmaster. I was tempted to ask if he wanted to try to make me obey just to see him flinch, but I didn’t. I am too afraid of myself to want to strike fear into others.
I’ve been writing in this journal ever since returning to the room. Describing what happened helps keep me from falling apart.
Dear God, what will my parents say???
There’s a knock at the door. It’s time to face my fate.
October 13 th , 1801, in the coach taking me home
The carriage is bouncing so much in the rutted road that I may not be able to read my handwriting later, but no matter. I’ll never forget how I left Eton.
Though I knew I’d be expelled, I had no idea how quickly . The headmaster kept it short, saying it was a demmed shame that the noble family of Falkirk had been reduced to a demmed mageling, and that it was a demmed pity I didn’t have any normal brothers. For an educator, he has a limited vocabulary.
He said servants were packing my things and a carriage had been summoned to take me home immediately. I wasn’t even to return to my room. The sooner my poisonous person left the sacred precincts of Eton, the better. As I left his office, he muttered what a demmed pity it was, I’d seemed so promising.
I was escorted to the carriage by two burly footmen I’d not seen before. As they flanked me down the corridor, I sensed they had magic. Eton must have them on staff in case students like me turn out to be unruly magelings.
It’s perfectly acceptable for commoners to be mages. They like having power because it generally assures them a good living. My father’s weather mage at Kemperton earns a small fortune for maintaining good growing conditions in our area.
Down the stairs, out to the school yard, to a shabby travel coach waiting at the opposite end. And filling the yard was what looked like every student, master, and servant at Eton. There were hundreds, and I
I managed to resist the desire to pound him again. Instead, I half-carried Blakesley Minor across the room to the corridor.
Crickle was screaming threats when the massive statue hurtled through the window and crashed down on the bed where he lay bleeding like a pig. Glass and pieces of stone exploded through the room like musket balls.
For an instant, all I felt was fierce exhilaration from the rush of power. That was followed by horror as I recognized how utterly uncontrolled I was.
Dear God, I could have killed Crickle without meaning to! Magic truly is dangerous. I’m dangerous. My hands are still shaking.
I’m grateful Crickle wasn’t killed, though he does deserve the broken leg. He’s too stupid and vicious to learn a lesson from this, but at least he’ll be slowed down if he goes after any more of the younger students.
The statue’s flight and crash into Crickle’s room were unmistakably a result of magic. The debris had scarcely settled when the chamber filled with other students and the hunt for the mageling was on. I’m ashamed to admit how close I came to letting Blakesley Minor be named as the mage. Since he was the one being beaten, he was the obvious suspect. No one seemed to think it might be me.
But poor Blakesley Minor was sobbing terribly and so gallant in trying to suppress his tears that I couldn’t let him be wrongly accused. So I raised my chin and said in my best “damn your eyes” manner that I was the mage.
I’ll never forget how the other boys gasped and drew back as if I were a leper. It was…chilling. This is what my life will be like from now on—those who were once friends avoiding me as if I’m some kind of monster.
One of the prefects had been drawn by the commotion. After I confessed, he ordered me to return to my room while he reported what had happened to the headmaster. I was tempted to ask if he wanted to try to make me obey just to see him flinch, but I didn’t. I am too afraid of myself to want to strike fear into others.
I’ve been writing in this journal ever since returning to the room. Describing what happened helps keep me from falling apart.
Dear God, what will my parents say???
There’s a knock at the door. It’s time to face my fate.
October 13 th , 1801, in the coach taking me home
The carriage is bouncing so much in the rutted road that I may not be able to read my handwriting later, but no matter. I’ll never forget how I left Eton.
Though I knew I’d be expelled, I had no idea how quickly . The headmaster kept it short, saying it was a demmed shame that the noble family of Falkirk had been reduced to a demmed mageling, and that it was a demmed pity I didn’t have any normal brothers. For an educator, he has a limited vocabulary.
He said servants were packing my things and a carriage had been summoned to take me home immediately. I wasn’t even to return to my room. The sooner my poisonous person left the sacred precincts of Eton, the better. As I left his office, he muttered what a demmed pity it was, I’d seemed so promising.
I was escorted to the carriage by two burly footmen I’d not seen before. As they flanked me down the corridor, I sensed they had magic. Eton must have them on staff in case students like me turn out to be unruly magelings.
It’s perfectly acceptable for commoners to be mages. They like having power because it generally assures them a good living. My father’s weather mage at Kemperton earns a small fortune for maintaining good growing conditions in our area.
Down the stairs, out to the school yard, to a shabby travel coach waiting at the opposite end. And filling the yard was what looked like every student, master, and servant at Eton. There were hundreds, and I
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