The Phoenix thought that since the children were the problem, and since Walden wasn’t getting any benefit out of them anyway—it still didn’t quite understand why she wouldn’t draw on them as part of the magical well of the school’s territory—she might as well kick them all out.

December 17 is the end of term, Walden told it. A little internal groan as she remembered the end-of-term Christmas party. The staff social committee had booked a London venue. Probably it would be fun when it was happening, but just the thought of catching the train down!

Bad there, the Phoenix said, and Walden sighed and took another mark off Aneeta’s third-order array question. The actual diagram and notation were fine, but she’d jumbled up the accompanying explanation. This was not like her. She must be prioritising revising her sciences—but a low C on a practice paper, this late in the term, was going to be demoralising, especially for a student who was counting on her excellent theory results to get her the grade she wanted. Walden turned over the page and skimmed, relieved, through the one- and two-word answers to a set of short questions. The handwriting was atrocious, but the detail was sound. Nothing left but the magical ethics mini-essay—

She paused, startled. She said, out loud, “How did you spot that?”

The Phoenix said nothing. That was suspicious in itself. The Phoenix was almost unbearably chatty at the moment. It lived in Walden’s head and had opinions on everything: questions, judgements, criticisms, and especially a fascination with any kind of human magic. Its thoughts on the thaumic engines were appallingly rude.

The chatter wasn’t dangerous. Just annoying. But—Walden flipped back a page. The red X mark and her scribbled comment—Revise this process again!—sat neatly in the margin next to Aneeta’s blue ballpoint paragraph. Her handwritten paragraph, in English. Walden said to the wood-panelled silence of her office, “Can you read?”

Maybe, said the Phoenix, a little guilty.

“How can you read?”

No answer.

It was unheard of. It was unprecedented. Demons didn’t have books. Walden picked up the next practice paper in the stack—Nikki’s—and flipped to the third-order array question. Nikki’s handwriting, even in the examination scrawl version, was better than Aneeta’s. She had the swirling Os and Is of a person who’d been very invested in making things pretty at the age of about nine. “What about this one?” Walden demanded.

A long suspicious silence in the back of Walden’s head. Finally, the Phoenix said, That’s fine.

It was, of course. Nikki’s diagram and explanation were so word-for-word precise you could have copied them into a textbook. Walden took the next paper: Will. “This one?”