The Zero Blessing

When our father wishes to punish us, he sends us to school. Or so my sisters say after spending four years of their lives in the classroom. They complain all the time, whining and moaning about having to walk to the school and learn about everything but magic. Most magical children are homeschooled, but we had to go to school and learn. Alana hates it because she's not learning about magic. Bella hates it because she's not allowed to get away with not doing her work. And me, I rather like it. Not that I would have admitted it to them, of course. Alana blames me for us having to go, even though dad was the one who sent us there. She thinks that my lack of magic is why we go to mundane school. Dad can't teach us everything, can he? Mom taught us how to read and write, but they don't have time to teach us maths, history, and all the other things normal children learn as they grow up. And while I could never work a single spell, I enjoyed studying magic and magical history. I wanted to be a historian before I grew up. The school itself was a relatively small building, playing host to the children rich enough to afford an education, but lacking the magic or family connections they need to get an apprenticeship with a magician. Half of our classmates would leave at the end of the year, instead of going on to the upper school. My sisters would leave too, now we'd celebrated our 12th birthday. This was their last day. They would be going to Jude's Sorcerer's Academy, where they would learn how to turn their already impressive magic into real sorcery. Dad had already booked their places. I envied them, even as I looked forward to being without them. Having two powerful sisters is a nightmare when you can't even sense magic. I kept blundering into traps because I couldn't see them. The teacher, Madame Rosebud, was a middle-aged woman who eyed my sisters and me with dire suspicion, mingled with envy. I think she probably wanted to be a sorceress in her youth, but she lacked the talent to get some real education. She envied us for our easy magic. I don't think she realized I didn't have magic, and didn't hesitate to point out our failings in front of the class. Dad had told us, in no uncertain terms, that we weren't to use magic at school. But my sisters were good at intimidating their classmates. Hardly anyone dared laugh. The difference between an object of power and a device of power is that objects of power last forever, Oz droned on. He was 13 years old, kept back a year for failing the last set of exams. He was handsome enough, I suppose, but his voice was so boring that it put the class to yawning. They simply do not fail. I resisted the temptation to roll my eyes as Madame Rosebud's baleful eyes moved from face to face. Oz was right, but really, I'd learned about objects of power from Dad, and Dad's lessons were far more interesting. Dad's apprentices are very skilled at making devices of power, and yet nothing they make lasts longer than a year. I'd heard of swords, charmed to cut through anything in their path, that needed to be charmed again within months. Dad's clients found it a constant frustration. Some of them even think Dad does it deliberately, even though everyone else has the same problem. My sisters snorted rudely as Oz took a bow and returned to his seat. He flushed angrily, but he didn't say anything. Strong as he was, he was the biggest boy in class. He was still helpless against magic. My sisters could have hexed him before he could even take a step towards them, if they wanted. There were some desultory claps from the front row, the sneaks and swats who were working desperately for a scholarship, but nothing else. Half the class was trying hard not to fall asleep. Caitlyn, Madam Rosebud said, if you will come to the front, please. I picked up my essay and headed to the front row, ignoring the quiet snickering from behind me. For once, I was actually looking forward to reading my work to the rest of the class. I'd been told to write about the history of the Thousand Year Empire and the Sorceress Wars, a subject I found fascinating. Hundreds of secrets were lost in the wars, including the technique to make objects of power. My father had so many books on the period, including some that couldn't be found anywhere else, that I'd been spoiled for choice. Boiling it down to a couple of pages had been a headache. My sisters were smiling as I turned to face the class. In hindsight, that should have been a warning. My sisters spent as little time with me as they could. I rustled the paper for attention, then opened my mouth. Words came tumbling out. They weren't the right words. Madam Rosebud is fat, fat, fat, I said. My hands, moving against my will, started to clap. Madam Rosebud is fat. The class stared at me in stark disbelief, their faces torn between an insane urge to giggle and an overpowering urge to flee. No one, absolutely no one mocked Madam Rosebud. Fat she might be, ugly and smelly she might be, but no one dared mock her. I tried to clamp my lips shut as word after word spewed forth. The spell collapsed, far too late. Alana was covering her mouth to keep from laughing out loud, her eyes sparkling with malice. She must have hexed me on the way up, I realized. A hand caught my arm and swung me around. I have never experienced such disrespect, Madam Rosebud thundered. Her face was so close to mine that I could smell the onion she'd had for lunch. I cowered back despite myself. You! She marched me into the naughty corner, muttered a cantrip and then left me there, staring at the wall. My feet were firmly fixed to the ground, held in place by magic. I struggled, but I couldn't lift my shoe.