Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Paul is frowning at me. “I beg your pardon. I won’t remember anything of this place?”
My brows go up. Oh. He doesn’t know?
“You don’t know what happens when you leave?” I ask, and he shakes his head. “You won’t remember your time here. Or you won’t remember what you learn.” I leave out the part where I do remember what I learn with Professor Crane for some reason. “When I go back home tonight, I won’t remember our conversation here, right now. Not until tomorrow when I ride through those gates again.”
Paul rubs his lips together, blinking. “Madness,” he says after a moment, flipping another page of the book until we land on an entry about the Five of Cups, a drawing of a weeping figure beneath. “How can they do that? I don’t recall signing up for memory erasure.”
“I have a feeling it happened when we took our tests,” I say. “Though I still can’t remember much of mine. Can you?”
“No. But they had said that was normal. They never said that would extend into other areas of our education.” He studies my face for a moment. “You must know why they’re doing this. You’re a Van Tassel.”
“Well, don’t let that fool you. My mother is very selective with what she tells me. But from what she said, it has to do with the school not trusting the students enough to keep their studies to themselves. They want to keep everything here as secret as possible.”
“And when we graduate? Then what?”
“She said the magic is ingrained. All you’ve learned will come naturally to you.” He gives me a disbelieving look. “Hey,” I go on. “I’m only repeating what she said. I don’t agree with it.”
“And yet here you are.”
“And here you are,” I counter politely. I tap my quill on the edge of the vessel to get the excess ink off. “Now, back to studying. You know Professor Crane is going to ask the hard questions.”
Paul sits back in his seat briefly, tugging at the ends of his grey suit jacket before straightening up again, newly focused on the book. “Alright. Write down five things the Five of Cups represents.”
This one’s easy, I think as I write down the word grief.
I wasn’t wrong when I said Professor Crane was going to make his test hard. The moment class started, Crane handed out the test paper and silently pointed to the chalkboard that had the questions scribbled on it, as well as the words: you may leave when you’re done. At least, that’s what I think it said. For a teacher, his penmanship is far worse than mine.
Regardless, I took my time with the test. I still feel like I have to prove I should be here, so the last thing I want is to rush through something and fail because I got too confident or lazy. I have been playing with tarot cards since I was young, but the little booklet that came with the stack (which I had stolen from a box in my mother’s closet) didn’t go into much detail. Some of the cards, I was completely interpreting the wrong way, not knowing all the nuances. The Death card didn’t always mean death? That was news to me.
By the time I finish, having taken extra care not to smudge the ink as I am prone to do, I look up and realize that I’m the last one in the classroom.
I look over at Crane, expecting him to admonish me for taking so long, but his head is in his hands, and his eyes are closed. His black hair is a mess like he’s been pulling on it, and I notice his socks don’t match. He’s usually so refined and put together.
I get up and walk over to his desk, delicately placing the test on top of the pile of others.
“Everyone’s done,” I tell him.
I expect him to jump like he didn’t know I was standing there, but instead, he slowly lowers his hands from his face and gives me a tired look. “Thank you, Kat,” he says. Usually his voice is smooth, low, and strong, but now, it sounds faint. Strained. Worried.
I’m about to walk away, but I can’t seem to leave him. “Are you okay?” I ask, peering at him.
He sighs heavily and sits back, running a hand through his thick hair. “Is it that obvious that I’m not?”
I give him a tiny smile. “You’ve looked better. Are we students not shaping up to be the witches you want us to be?”
He gives me an equally small smile in return. “It’s not that. It’s…actually, I don’t even know where to start.” He looks away, and I notice the purple hollows under his dark eyes.
“Would you like to go for a walk with me and talk?” I blurt out. I don’t know where that came from, but it seems getting him out of this room and talking might help him.