Chapter Text
Steph almost never studies. And it’s not just because she’s lazy or stupid or spoiled, like her dad says. It’s because she’s a fucking sorcerer, and her (stupid, untrustworthy) magic is innate.
But not studying doesn’t mean she’s not getting tested. So Steph finds herself, like every single Thursday, crammed into the arena for her “Practical Applications of Spellcasting” class with half of the spell-casting freshman at the Hatchetfield Adventuring Academy, facing her weekly exam. And, just like almost every single stupid Thursday, Steph is going to fail.
It’s just not fucking fair. That’s what she tries to explain to Miss Mulberry every Thursday. Sorcerers shouldn’t be tested the same way as Wizards or Warlocks or whatever. She can’t just spend hours pouring over ancient tomes or channeling the power of some otherworldly entity; either the magic comes to her, or it doesn’t. And her stupid magic doesn’t always come to her when she needs it the most. The odds of her spells working today are even worse than usual: she was up late on Fantasy Twitter last night in an argument about a problematic kobold, and her spells get less reliable when she’s tired.
“This is good practice for what it will be like on your adventures, Ms. Lauter,” Miss Mulberry says sanctimoniously. “Not everything is going to be geared towards your…special skillset.” She points over to the purple chalk square where Steph is evidently supposed to stand. “Now hurry along, dear.” Steph glares at her for a moment, trying to determine if there’s any way she can charm, convince, or intimidate the wizard teacher into leveling with her. But Miss Mulberry’s gaze is as calm and condescending as ever.
“Fine,” Steph says, rolling her eyes. “But if I need to be revivified my dad’ll cut down the school’s funding.” It’s a bluff and they both know it, but it helps Steph feel a little less hopeless as she slouches over to her square.
Miss Mulberry uses a prestidigitation spell to amplify her voice, then speaks, in her annoyingly sweet voice to the group: “Now, spell casters, the last few weeks we’ve been making our way through the 0-challenge rating creatures. Today, we’re going to be moving on to a 1/4 challenge rating creature: a giant weasel!” There’s a murmur throughout the crowd, a mix of dread, fear, and even excitement. “You have five minutes to prepare.” All around d her, warlocks close their eyes to talk to their patrons and wizards flip through their spell books.
Steph rolls her eyes again, this time at no one in particular. She knows exactly how this shit will go. She’ll try Friends or Silvery Barbs, and they’ll work or they won’t. If by some miracle she placates or distracts it, then she’ll try to stab it with her dagger. And then, most likely, it’ll get mad and bite her and Miss Mulberry will have to step in, and she’ll have to join the other inept spell-casters in the long line at the nurses’ table. And she’ll fail. Again. And then her dad will fucking kill her. Or, worse, he'll take her crystal away.
Steph glances around, suddenly desperate. Her eyes land, almost accidentally, on the half-elf wizard kid in a blue chalk square next to hers. He’s got longish brown hair and suspenders and glasses and a bow tie. He looks like a cartoon drawing of a wizard nerd.
“Hey,” she says, voice low but loud enough so he can hear her. “Hey, geek.” The kid looks up from his spell book, looking startled.
“Me?”
“Your name is Peter, right?”
“Yeah?” He sounds kind of unsure.
“Well, Pete, I just realized I never introduced myself,” Stephanie. “I’m Stephanie—“
“Lauter, I know,” Peter says. “The mayor’s daughter.” How kind of him to remind her.
“Yeah, well, my friends call me Steph,” she says. “We’re friends, right Pete?” Peter just stares at her, looking almost horrified to be caught in a conversation with her. Steph checks the clock. Time is running out. And then, even though it’s against school policy to use spells against a classmate, and even though it’s kind of fucked up, she casts Charm Person. “We’re friends.”
“We are?” He asks. He looks confused, and Steph is about to curse herself for using up a spell slot for a spell that didn’t even work before a look of clarity washes over his face. “We are,” he says, more confidently. Steph smirks at the wizard who just failed his wisdom save.
“I’m gonna be real with you, Pete. I’ll probably fail this test—unless you help me cheat.”
“Cheat?” Peter asks. “How?” He still looks kind of nervous—Charm Person doesn’t necessarily give its target more courage—but he’s not outright saying no.
“Easy,” Steph says. “You kill your weasel, then you help me kill mine. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Pete blinks at her. “You’ve got an attack spell or something, haven’t you?”
“Sure,” Pete says. “Fire Bolt. My brother says every wizard needs a good offensive cantrip. I’ve been working on it for a few weeks but I think I finally perfected the somatic components by—”
“I don’t need the details, Pete,” Steph says. “Just kill my weasel for me. I’ll hide it from Mulberry.”
“O-okay,” Peter agrees. “You got it, Steph.” Her newly coined nickname sounds oddly right coming from Peter’s lips. She resolves not to worry about that.
In the end, Peter keeps up his end of the bargain. Stephanie doesn’t.
Or, rather, she tries, casting Prestidigitation to make it seem like the fire Peter summons is coming from her hands. And then Grace fucking Chasity, that insufferable Cleric rule-follower, shoots her hand into the air and screams “Miss Mulberry! They’re cheating!”
Stephanie tries to talk them out of it, but a quick Zone-of-Truth spell from Miss Mulberry ends that quickly. The story comes spilling out, in as few words as she can manage. “I convinced Peter to help me kill my weasel. He was just doing me a favor.”
“Anything else you want to share?” Miss Mulberry prompts.
It’s not his fault! Steph considers shouting. I put a spell on him! But Miss Mulberry’s wording gives her just enough room to force her jaw shut. If people knew…they’d all be so disgusted. Even Brenda and Stacy, her bard friends, would judge her, and their magic was almost entirely charisma based. Peter would hate her, which is surprisingly displeasing to her. And her father would be so disappointed.
“No, Miss Mulberry, there’s nothing else we want to share,” Peter cuts in smoothly, tone so much calmer and more confident than she’s heard it before. Steph opens her mouth, about to spill the truth, and catches his eye. The very corner of Peter’s mouth turns up, and she sees the truth: Peter knows she’d spelled him. Possibly he’d even failed his wisdom save on purpose. But he’s not selling her out. What gives?
“Well then,” Miss Mulberry sighs. “Cheating is against the rules, which means detention for both of you.”
Detention, as Steph already knows, is held in the cafeteria in the hour following the end of school. She takes her time getting there though, just because she can, stopping by her locker to swap out her flannel (for another, nearly identical flannel), and then by the vending machine for a Fantasy Coke. She holds the cold red can in her hand for a moment, considering. Then she pops in another few silver pieces, and the machine spits out a second.
Sodas in hand, she finally makes her way to the cafeteria. She finds that she’s not the last one there; there’s no teacher there yet, which means it’s probably Mr. Houston, which is the best case scenario. Mr. Houston is an artificer teacher, but he’s also the chillest teacher in school, which means that detention under his watch is pretty low-key. After noting his habitual lateness, Steph scans the rest of the room.
At the table closest to the door was Max Jagerman, with whom Steph exchanges a cool/delinquent kid nod of mutual acknowledgement. Max is the star of the Bloodrush team and overall kind of an asshole, but he and Steph were on good terms.
“What’d you do this time, Jagerman?”
“Punched my teacher,” Max says moodily. “Like, don’t ask me to rage if you can’t handle my fuckin’ rage.”
“Word.” Without further ado, Steph turns to the rest of the room. There is Peter, sitting with a bunch of notebooks spread out in front of him and his head in his hands. He looks absolutely miserable to be here, which makes Steph feel pretty miserable herself, and she’s opening her mouth to say something when she sees—“Grace?” Grace smiles and waves like she and Steph are the best of friends. “What the hell are you doing here, Chasity?”
“Oh, I asked to be here,” Grace answers cheerfully. She looks like all she wants in the world is for Steph to ask her why, but Steph refuses to give her the pleasure. Instead, she walks over to Peter and plops down cheerfully on top of the table, narrowly missing his textbook.
“Hi Pete,” she says. “Here.” She thrusts one of her sodas at him. He looks up at her blearily, and a wave of relief washes over his face when he sees the can.
“Oh thank the pantheon,” he croaks. He pops the tab and chugs the soda at a frankly unnerving pace.
“Woah, there, Pete,” Steph says. “I’m not, like, gonna take that away from you.”
“No, I know,” Pete says, once he’s drained the can entirely. “It’s just my blood sugar was like, crazy low, and usually I just go to Fantasy Beanies after school and get a hot chocolate but obviously I couldn’t today and I was feeling really ill and—” And then, all of a sudden, Pete’s eyes dart over Steph’s shoulder, and then he clams up. It’s like someone was playing a record at two-times speed, then slammed their hand down on the needle.
“And?” Steph prompts. But Pete won’t say anything else, eyes darting back to the point behind Steph and then back to his books. He starts rummaging through his pencil case, still not quite looking at her. Steph peeks over her shoulder—it’s only Max, who is leering his usual little Max leer—and then back at Peter. “Pete? Peter?” Still nothing. Peter finally finds whatever he was looking for in his pencil case, then leans further over his book and starts to whisper. She leans in to hear it, and then—
Sorry, a voice suddenly pipes up at the back of Steph’s head at a normal volume. Steph sits up, recognizing the pleasant tingle of a Message cantrip, and the item in Pete’s pencil case as the requisite material component: a short piece of copper wire. Please don’t talk to me while Max is looking.
Steph shifts her hands to her necklace, where a similar coper piece dangles.
Why?
Dweebs like me are not supposed to talk to popular people like you, and I’m not looking to get my ass kicked. Steph blinks at him. I’d rather be invisible, Peter explains. He gestures to the books in front of him. Steph stares at them long enough that she works out that he’s literally in the middle of learning the spell Invisibility. Damn, wizard spells are complicated. She’ll take her innate, imprecise magic any day.
The spell’ll probably work better than the bow-tie, she messages back. Peter looks like he has more to say about that, but she keeps going. Listen, I’m sorry about spelling you earlier. That was…not cool.
Thank you for saying that, Pete messages back, almost instantly. You know—
Steph doesn't know, and she doesn't get to find out where that sentence is meant to end, because the doors swing open again, and Mr. Houston finally walks in.
“No magic in detention, kids,” he says. “Not even Message. And, Stephanie, get off the table please.” Reluctantly, Steph walks around the other side of the table and sits. She wishes she could get out her crystal. Detention is boring.
At least, it usually is.
Here’s what happens: they’re sitting there, in silence, for about 15 minutes. Pete and Grace are studying. Max is staring blankly into the middle distance. And Steph—Steph is fucking bored. She considers studying, she really does. It’s just that it’s stupid, and pointless, and she doesn’t want to.
So Steph is just kind of…staring at Pete. His glasses are huge. A swoop of his hair keeps falling into his face, and he keeps tucking it behind his right ear. He’s biting absentmindedly at his lower lip. The lock of hair falls back into his face and he just leaves it there. Which gives Steph a thought.
She mumbles to herself, and uses Prestidigitation to create a light breeze, blowing the hair further into his face. Pete sputters, glances up—Steph pretends to be studying her nails—and pushes his hair back.
“Miss Lauter,” Mr. Houston says, sounding more irritated than Steph remembers him ever getting. “I said no magic in detention.”
“Sorry,” Steph says absently. Peter looks back up at her and mouths “busted,” and Steph finds herself unable to help but smiling back. Pete looks down, Steph checks to see that Mr. Houston isn’t looking, and then she does it again, this time blowing the hair back into Pete’s face.
“I said no fucking magic,” Mr. Houston explodes. His voice is loud and harsh, not just irritated but angry. Stephanie’s head snaps up, and it takes her a minute to adjust to what she’s seeing: Mr. Houston, the cool artificer teacher who lets anyone hang out in his shop if they need a break from their real class, is standing, fists clenched, staring her down. His eyes are glowing with a glaring green light.
“Oh fuck,” Max says, at the same time Pete yelps “holy shit” and jumps out of his chair.
“Mr. Houston, are you okay?” Grace asks. “Is this normal for you?”
“I’m so sick of you fucking kids breaking the fucking rules,” Mr. Houston growls. “It ends now.” And then Mr. Houston is casting something, and aiming it at her. He flicks his hand and Steph—Steph screams. The spell scours her shoulder and chest, green and poisonous and horrible.
She registers, faintly, that she’s never taken acid damage before.
Surprisingly to everyone, it’s Grace Chasity who acts first. She casts something, and a flame-like radiant light seems to strike at Mr. Houston. He tries to dodge, but Mr. Houston is an older man with a bad leg and low dexterity—the flames strike him, and he shrieks, a horrible, inhuman sound.
“Fuck this,” Max growls. “Go Nighthawks!” And then he rushes at Mr. Houston and slams into the teacher. Mr. Houston howls, and punches Max Jagerman right in the face.
“Oh my gods,” Steph says, as soon as she gets her voice back. “Oh my gods.” She tries, desperately, to remember anything she’s learned in her Sorcerer or Party Tactics classes, and comes up absolutely blank. What fucking magic does she know? Oh, god, how many spell slots does she have? She used one of her two earlier to charm Peter, which means—unless an afternoon of classes counts as a rest—she’s down to one.
Luckily, Pete seems to have a higher initiative. He waves his hand, and blasts the same fire bolts he used earlier on the giant weasels at whatever monster has possessed Mr. Houston. The spell hits, and seems to do damage—but not much. It hits Steph that Mr. Houston is not just an adult but a retired, experienced adventurer, possibly imbued with the powers of…whatever thing is wearing his face. And Pete has just pissed him off.
“Please, Mr. Houston,” she pleads, trying for diplomacy. “Please stop. It’s just us. We promise to be good.” Desperately, she casts Friends. She feels it fizzle out before Mr. Houston even has to make his charisma check; her stupid, faulty magic glitching out when she needs it most.
“Oh?” Mr. Houston snarls. “You want to be friendy-wends, Steph-an-ie? I don’t think so.” He raises his hand, and blasts her with more acid—or, at least, he tries to. Pete pushes her aside and jumps in the way of the blast, then falls back with a scream of pain. He looks—well, he looks bad. Not quite a one hit kill, but close. Stupid, squishy wizards.
“Pete!” Stephanie cries, almost at a sob. She falls to her knees besides him, but his gaze is hazy. “Why would you do that?” She feels herself on the verge of falling apart. This is her fault. She’s the reason he has detention in the first place, the reason he’s even here to get hit by this stupid spell. Stupid, stupid Stephanie, always getting nice people hurt because she can’t take care of herself. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
“Trued to tell you,” Pete croaks. “You didn’t…need…to spell me to charm—” He breaks off with a groan, gaze drifting even further away.
“No, Grace, we need a heal, please!”
“Coming!” As Grace dashes towards them, Steph forces herself to get up and dart towards where Max is still trying to grapple their teacher. Max is strong, and raging, but Mr. Houston is bigger, and whatever is possessing him seems even angrier. But that’s okay. Steph just needs an in. Get him, Max. Max swings, and Mr. Houston raises his hand to block it. Steph yells, as loudly as she can:
“Do you really want your son to have a psycho dad and a dead mom?” Steph snarls. It’s cutting, and completely inappropriate, and causes Mr. Houston to falter dramatically, giving Max the perfect in he needs to fully tackle their teacher to the ground. Steph pants, In other words, Steph’s just perfectly cast Silvery Barbs.
It’s a good momentum shift, but it’s not enough. She’s out of any good combat spells, and Max won’t be able to take Mr. Houston down, especially not once he starts taking acid damage. Steph fumbles for her dagger, wondering if there’s any chance in hell she’ll be able to actually use it.
Behind her, Grace yells “Go Peter!” She glances back just in time to see Peter, already on his feet, cast a quick spell on himself, and dash out of the door at an incredible pace.
Good, she thinks. He’s going to get help. And then Mr. Houston bellows, and unleashes some sort of area of effect spell. Max curses, Grace actually yells “ouch,” and Steph—Steph goes down.
Heaven, Steph is surprised to find, looks an awful lot like the Hatchetfield Adventuring Academy. And, weirdly, Pete is here too. He’s bleeding from a cut over his eyebrow, gripping her right hand in both of his.
“Hey Pete,” she croaks. He grins widely when he sees she’s awake, like he can’t help it. It strikes her, somewhere in the back on her mind, that Peter has an adorable smile. She blinks again, and sees both Max Jagerman and Grace Chasity appear, hovering over her and Pete with twin confused looks. That’s how Stephanie realizes that she’s not actually dead. She’s just here, bleeding, on the floor of the cafeteria, after being almost killed by the artificer teacher she used to think was cool. “What the fuck is happening?”
“We don’t really know,” Pete says, voice kind of hushed. “But I went and got Hidgens and he…he seems to be dealing with it?” Pete, Grace, and Max all glance to their left, so Steph does too. Across the room, Hatchetfield Adventuring Academy’s notoriously eccentric principal, Henry Hidgens, is crouched over Mr. Houston’s prone body, holding a large, green crystal. “I think he took out whatever was inside of Mr. Houston and, like, put it in the gem? It wasn’t green before.”
“Ohh,” Max says, like he’s just putting the pieces together. “That’s what he was doing.” Grace stares at him, but Steph has bigger problem’s than Max’s incomprehensible incomprehension. She sits up, slowly, wincing, letting Pete take some of her weight.
“Is Mr. Houston okay?” She asks. She feels bad for being so mean, even if he was possessed. The other kids exchange looks, and shrug. Steph lets Peter help her to her feet and then the four of them inch closer to Houston and Hidgens. Houston sits up too, rubbing his head.
“Henry?” Mr. Houston croaks. “What the hell happened?”
“What the hell did happen indeed,” Hidgens intones, posing the question like it’s a fascinating problem he wants to retreat to his office tower to solve. “Tom, did—” He doesn’t get to finish his question, though, because suddenly Mr. Houston is jumping to his feet, looking around wildly.
“The kids, where are the kids?” Mr. Houston spots them, relaxing slightly when he finds them all okay, if a bit fucked up. Grace waves at him.
“We’re glad you’re okay Mr. Houston,” she says, perky as ever.
“I, um, thanks, guys,” Mr. Houston says awkwardly. He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure I’m quite remembering all the details correctly, but you guys did good. I’m proud of you. And grateful.” She looks at Steph especially when he says this, and she feels a surge of relief.
“Yes, yes,” Hidgens agrees, as if he’s making a decree. “Excellent work by your whole party.”
“Oh we’re not a—.” The end of Steph’s sentence dies on her lips. There are certain experiences you can’t share without ending up in an adventuring party together, and fighting your possessed teacher, she thinks, is one of them.
“Well, I have much work to do, and I must ask Mr. Houston a few important questions,” Hidgens carries on. “And I suppose almost dying probably is punishment enough for…whatever you did to be here. So, I suppose, you’re dismissed.” He waves his hands, and Mr. Houston opens his mouth to say something else, but Hidgens casts Dimension Door and they’re both gone in the blink of an eye.
For a long time, the four of them stand there in a kind of stunned silence. Grace breaks the silence.
“Oh, golly, it’s after 5!” She chirps. “I better get home or Mommy and Daddy will worry.” Steph thinks, somewhat distantly, that there’s a chance her father might be worried as well. There’s an equal chance, of course, that he hasn’t noticed.
“Right,” Max says, sounding almost reluctant. “We should go.”
“We should exchange crystal numbers first,” Grace says. It’s less of an invitation and more of a demand, and just this morning, Stephanie would have laughed in her face. Now she looks at Grace, then Max, then Pete, and finds herself unusually open to the idea.
“Yeah,” she finds herself saying now. “I guess we should.”
"Neato," Peter says, and pulls out his crystal. And Steph, well, Steph knows that she fails and fucks up all the time. Hell, she did both multiple times today. But looking at Pete's smiling face, she gets the feeling that, for once, she's done something right.