Chapter 3
1694 Words
Chapter 3
Brianna and I both leaped to our feet and guided Sophie to one of the chairs, as she looked in danger of just crumpling to the floor. Brianna pushed the last of her tea into Sophie's hands. Sophie took the mug but didn't attempt to drink from it.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I suppose seeing him brought back a lot of homesickness."
"And you miss him," Brianna added.
Sophie was looking down into the cold remains of the tea in the mug in her hands, but she looked up at the two of us as if we had both gone crazy.
"You're not upset about Antoine?" I guessed.
"No," she said, then took a breath. Her eyes came into sharper focus. "Well, yes, but that's not it. Didn't you hear what he said?"
"About your mother?" I said.
"Yes," Sophie said forcefully.
"But why would you be upset about your mother?" Brianna asked. "From what Antoine said, it sounded like she's been gone a long time. Not that that isn't upsetting, but you seem closer to something like shock. An acute condition, not chronic."
"Oh, this is acute," Sophie said. She took a drink of tea, grimaced, then set the mug aside. "You don't understand. He said those words out loud, ‘your mother,’ and all of a sudden I realized, I can't remember the last time I even thought of my mother. Isn't that strange?"
"Is it?" I asked. I couldn't remember the last time I had thought about my mother, either. It didn't come up much. I looked at Brianna, who frowned and shrugged.
"It is," Sophie insisted. "Because I know Antoine is right. I came here for specific reasons, but one of the big ones was to find out what happened to my mother. And yet somehow, I just… forgot."
"We have been pretty busy," Brianna said. "We have more than a job; we have a calling. Even when we're not physically focused on working magic or practicing magic or researching magic, we're still focused on that calling. It doesn't leave a lot of time for other thoughts."
"But this isn't just forgetting to think about her," Sophie said. "Antoine mentioned her, and I remembered that I forgot, but…" She broke off, pressing the back of her hand to her lips as if holding back a sob. "I can't remember her even now. Only a few images, nothing important. And I can't feel anything about her at all." She took a deep breath, holding back another sob.
"Sophie," I said, putting a hand on her shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "Maybe it's just stress. You've been working so hard."
"It's not just Sophie," Brianna said. We both looked up at her, standing over us with her arms crossed. "I just tried remembering my own mother. I can remember a few facts like her name and when she died. I can get a couple of images, but they're blurry. I can't remember her face at all."
"And the emotions?" Sophie asked, wiping at her eyes.
"None," Brianna said. "Nothing feels missing. It's like this was all the memory I ever had. And yet, how can that be true? I wish I had a control to compare it to. Like a journal or something."
"Amanda?" Sophie said to me.
I sat back down in my chair and closed my eyes. "I never knew her name," I said. I was certain that was true. "She never spoke, I remember that too. My wand comes from the tree where my father died and where she birthed me, almost at the same moment."
"But do you remember her?" Sophie asked.
I pressed my hands over my closed eyes, as if more darkness would help. But finally I had to give up, dropping my hands and shaking my head. "No. I think she had long blonde hair? But I'm not sure. She only died a few years ago, not back when I was a kid. I should have more memories than this."
"What's going on?" Sophie asked. "Is this part of the calling? Now that we have to serve our purpose here, the rest of our lives just disappear?"
"No," Brianna said. "You remembered Antoine."
"Maybe we only forget the dead?" I suggested.
"But I don't know that my mother is actually dead," Sophie said. "She might be alive. That was the biggest reason why I came here when Cynthia Thomas invited me to come. I was hoping to find out what had happened to her."
"Maybe it has something to do with the school itself," Brianna said. Suddenly she was looking as distressed as Sophie and I were. "I can't remember. I can't make myself remember. But didn't our mothers all go here?"
"The same class," Sophie said.
"The last class," I added.
"Does that mean something?" Brianna wondered.
"Maybe Mr. Trevor would know?" I said.
"He doesn't really understand magic," Brianna said.
"Not magic," Sophie said, "but surely he knows something about our mothers."
"It can't hurt to ask," I said.
I don't think any of us had ever knocked on the door to Mr. Trevor's personal office before. I had only ever gotten a brief glimpse of its interior, that first day when he gave me a tour of the house. He certainly looked surprised to see us all standing there, especially as Sophie's eyes were red from crying.
"Is something the matter?" he asked.
"We wanted to ask you about our mothers," I said.
"Your mothers?"
"Yes," I said. "We were hoping you remembered them."
"But I told you all when you came," he said, looking at each of us in turn. "I started helping my father out here in the school several years after your mothers left the school."
"Left," Brianna said, "not graduate?"
"Well," Mr. Trevor said, chewing at his lip. "There is no graduation per se."
"So you don't remember them at all?" I asked.
"Well, as I said, I never knew them," he said. "But I remember things about them."
"Like what?" Brianna asked.
"Oh, Miss Zenobia would tell me stories of her former students from time to time," he said with a soft smile. "Some clever thing one girl said. An ingenious invention by another. That sort of thing."
"You don't remember anything specific?" Sophie asked.
"I don't know I ever knew much to begin with," he said. "Miss Zenobia was fond of them, that I know. That's why you three were called on to take her place. She was very clear about that. No other students had the potential your mothers had."
"Then why did she ever let them leave?" Sophie asked.
"That I don't know," he admitted. "But she kept their class photo in the place of honor outside her office. I often caught her looking at it. There was always something wistful in her face when I would find her standing there in front of that photo. Well, you can see it yourself, just down there."
We looked at each other then walked back down the hall to where a photo in a simple wooden frame hung on the wall opposite the locked door to Miss Zenobia's office. I glanced at Brianna then at Sophie. I could tell they were thinking the same thing I was.
How many times had we walked past this portrait and never once glanced at it, let alone given it a proper examination?
And now we were standing in front of it. There were only twelve girls gathered on the front porch for the portrait. And yet I had no idea which of the three with long, blonde hair was my mother. Perhaps none of them. Perhaps I was wrong even about the hair.
"Girls?" Mr. Trevor asked, concerned. Sophie was crying again, and even Brianna looked like her confusion was about to spill over into tears.
"Can you tell us who is who?" I asked.
"The names are written on the plaque over here," he said, pointing to a slate propped up on a stand on the left of the picture. "Here is your mother, Amanda. Kathleen Stinson. And yours, Brianna. Lula Collins. And right in front is Marie DuBois."
Sophie raised her hand, brushing the image of her mother's face with a stroke of her fingertip.
"I don't know what you two are feeling," Brianna said, "but I feel very strange. I look at her face, and it matches up with the name in my head, but the connection is so… clinical. Like I'm remembering what actor played a part in a movie I had never even liked. And I still don't remember anything else about her."
"My name isn't even Clarke?" I said, then gave myself a shake. That wasn't relevant. "I think I'm in the same boat as Brianna. The analytical part of my brain is making the connection, but there's no emotional subtext to it at all."
"Sophie?" Brianna asked.
"That's her," Sophie said, "and yet, I still don't remember her. Even as I'm looking right at her." Then she gasped and retracted her hand as if the glass of the picture frame had scalded her.
"What is it?" I asked, but she just pointed at the slate.
I scanned the names, certain she must have reacted that way because another of the names was familiar. Evanora, perhaps. But they were all perfectly ordinary, perfectly anonymous.
I was about to scan it a third time when I finally saw, and I too gasped out loud.
"What is it?" Brianna asked, tortured to be left out.
I turned to Mr. Trevor as I planted my fingertip on the photo. "Class of 1966? There was no way my mother was that old."
"What's going on?" Sophie moaned, clutching at her head. She was putting her hair in total disarray, and for the first time since I'd met her, it was staying that way, a chaotic swirl atop her head.
"What is going on?" Mr. Trevor asked.
"Something not right," I said. "We've all just realized we've not once thought of our mothers since we came here, and now that we're trying to think of them, or memories are gone. Like they were wiped, but imperfectly. Fragments remain."
"But no feelings," Sophie said.
"But what could do such a thing?" Mr. Trevor asked, shocked.
"Magic," Brianna said, a determined look to her face.
"Does this happen to students here?" I asked.
"No, never," Mr. Trevor said. "Why would it?"
"Why, indeed?" Brianna pondered.
"That's not the important question," I said.
"What is the important question?" Sophie asked.
"The important question is who," I said.
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