Civics

After exchanging numbers and confirming them, John and Erica split up to go to their respective courses. For John, that meant climbing the stairs in the main building to a classroom he badly did not want to visit. He'd forgotten in all the chaos of the morning's vision and spending time with Erica who taught his next class. Mrs. Wentworth.

He was among the last students to enter the room, pulling his textbook out of his inventory a moment before he walked in. The rest of his classmates were already grouped up at the front of the room to get the last week's tests handed back. Another thing that John had forgotten about. He trudged up to the front of the class and tried to bury the renewed fear that rose with every step.

When he reached the front, his teacher glanced at him and then handed him the test without anything dramatic happening. She didn't grow fangs and try to eat his head, or any of the other nightmares he'd been building up. Maybe she was like Erica, he thought as he headed back to his seat: powerful, but benevolent. The saner parts of his mind shut those thoughts down. It was far more likely that Mrs. Wentworth wouldn't go after him in the middle of class, not with all the civilians around. It was a bit strange, not thinking of himself as one.

He looked over the paper, groaning internally at the score, a big fat "F". The words 'see me after class' were written in neat handwriting next to the stamped-on letter. As class started, he flipped through the pages and checked his answers. What he found surprised him. Everything had been rewritten. It was still unquestionably his handwriting, but all the correct answers had been replaced with different ones. Looking through the multiple-choice section, John was sure that everything had been shifted by one or two spaces, but there were no eraser marks to validate his theory. There might be a different kind of evidence, however.

Using Astral Observe on the paper partly validated his fears. The whole page glowed faintly and anywhere the text or answers had been changed, the writing glowed with magical energy. He could even see the original writing underneath the alterations. He looked up and around the classroom to see if anyone else's papers had been 'adjusted' and immediately regretted it.

A blaze of light, so bright it was blinding, dominated the room. In the heart of the miniature sun was the silhouette of a woman, Mrs. Wentworth. He **** the sight closed and stared in renewed awe at his teacher. Whatever she was, and he wasn't entirely sure she was human anymore, he had to admit he was impressed. That faint admiration faded as he remembered she wanted to see him. Alone.

John thought about casting Hearth, just to get out of the situation, but... if she was as powerful as she seemed, that probably wouldn't be enough. In fact, nothing might be 'enough'. His heart sank. He'd have to hope that whatever Mrs. Wentworth wanted, she wasn't planning to obliterate him just for not paying attention in class.

For the duration of civics, John made an attempt to focus on the materials Mrs. Wentworth was presenting. It was kind of funny that all it took to get his attention was an unspecified threat, but it worked. Mostly worked, at least. In the back of his mind, John ran through possible scenarios and means of escape. Every one of them ended badly. He just didn't know enough about what Mrs. Wentworth could do... or what she wanted to formulate a plan. For better or worse, his Planning didn't kick in either. No visions of him facing her down appeared.

Too soon for his liking, the class wrapped up and ended. Students stood up to leave, and John considered making a run for it in the crowd.

"Mr. Newman, if you would see me in my office?" his teacher's voice cut across the room.

John sighed and gathered up his things. It was time to face the music.

Mrs. Wentworth's office was connected to her classroom, a smaller room that was as immaculately precise as its owner. Every paper was neatly tucked into a tray or file, and what few knick-knacks there were had been arranged carefully to allow for a balance between display and functionality. John was certain if he opened one of the cabinets he'd find everything alphabetized. It would have been bland, if not for the disconcerting skeleton of a bird that took up part of her desk. The woman herself was putting away the notes from class, ignoring him standing before her desk until she finished. When she did, she sat and looked up at him.

"Mr. Newman, I assume you know why you are here?"

"It's not the test, is it?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Mrs. Wentworth smiled, and John was reminded of a shark. He suppressed a shudder. "Clever, I value that." She picked up a small crystal from her desk and looked at it while continuing to speak to him, "Let me be straightforward, I could not care less what you do here in this Academy... as long as it does not impact me.

"You are a wild card, and as much as chaos can be valuable, it must be controlled. Keep your chaos away from my interests, Mr. Newman."

John considered her request, if he could really call it that. The good news was that Mrs. Wentworth hadn't done... whatever probably fatal thing she did to... people. He still needed to figure out what that was, without having it happen to him. For the time being, however, "Alright, but I need to know what those are then. You can't reasonably expect me to avoid... what I don't... know."

Mrs. Wentworth had looked up from her crystal with an unexpected expression. She seemed surprised, almost. "Well rationed. I am almost led to believe you pay attention in my class. Very well. Vanessa Hawthorne."

"What-" John's instinctive question was literally silenced by a gesture from his teacher. He tried to form words, but nothing came out.

"Mr. Newman, I approve of curiosity but have no intention to indulge yours. Do not waste my time with frivolous questions either. Consider her off-limits."

His tongue started working again, and John swallowed. He knew what answer he had to give, but it felt like a pact with a devil. Maybe it was. "Okay. Vanessa's off-limits. Got it."

Mrs. Wentworth smiled, and he desperately wished she wouldn't.

"Good. Now, let me give you a word of advice, from teacher to student." She leaned forward onto her desk and looked up at him over the rim of her glasses. Even though John was standing above her, he couldn't help but feel small. "Do not trust the Order of the Golden Rose. Doubtless they will require you to sign one of their... pacts. It is a necessary evil for one such as you, but do not mistake the intent of their protection. They will be far more concerned with your allegiance than safety."

John thought back to the conversation he'd had with Erica. She'd mentioned the same group... Moira's group, but her appraisal had been different. Who could he trust? The girl he'd just met or the teacher who'd just threatened him?

"You may go."

He blinked and looked back up at his teacher, who had pulled out a paper and was going through it with a highlighter from her desk. "Sorry, what?" he asked.

"I said, you may go. This interview is over, and as long as you stick to the rules I've outlined, we shouldn't need another," Mrs. Wentworth replied, without looking up from the page in front of her.

Wait, this is it? No other threats or spooky stuff?

John was kind of disappointed. He'd half expected her to disintegrate something, or at least do something magical, but the whole time they spoke, Mrs. Wentworth had just been... normal. Terrifying, as always, but normal. He started to ask another question and then-

He was outside the office, the door closing in his face with a loud click.

Ok, I should really stop pushing my luck.