Walden called crisply, “Stasis!”—not because you ever needed to announce a spell in order to cast it, that was a beginners’ misconception, but so that Lilly would know what she was doing, and wouldn’t interfere with her work by casting something else at a right angle. Then she slammed a slow-down onto both Alfie and Noor. True stasis was dangerous—a spell that could freeze human muscle could stop a human heart—but if either of the children tried to move, it would feel like swimming through jelly. It should prevent Noor from evoking any more gouts of fire. “Thank you, everyone. Miss Tibbett, I believe Lab Three is available. Please could you continue your lesson there? And just drop an alert email to the Marshals for me. Year Nine, I expect you to leave the room in good order and in silence. Do not collect your belongings. Consider this a practice for the next fire drill. I will speak to your whole class at afternoon registration. Thank you, Miss Tibbett.” She gave a firm, reassuring nod to Lilly, who couldn’t be undermined in front of her Year Nines with the actual words: I have this under control. I know it’s frightening, but keep calm, do your job, and leave me to mine.

A scattering of pencil cases and exercise books were left on the floor as the class filed out. They cast nervous looks at Walden, and at the two children still frozen in the middle of the room. Noor had her hands up in a casting gesture. Alfie’s expression was fixed in a look of terror.

Something was off. Even the most talented Year Nines did not cast spells as strong as that sheet of green flame. And Year Nines, on the whole, did not try to murder their classmates. Teasing, testing, challenging, undermining, outright bullying—these were the expected interpersonal conflicts of the middle school. Brutal magical incineration, even at Chetwood: no.

The children’s faces were finally, slowly, turning towards her. The slow-down spell made the motion into spooky horror-film stuff. Walden did not panic. She swiftly checked the incursion wards, and found them all in order. All the same … best to eliminate the worst possibility first. She quickly set up a diagnostic, drawn in blue marker pen on the whiteboard and fed with the tiniest possible trickle of power: Who’s here?

The array illuminated with silvery light and then sounded three quick, strong chimes: one, two, three humans. A fourth chime, almost as loud: the Phoenix, loud and clear. Nothing else. Walden held her breath.

A fifth note sounded, this one quiet, like a breeze sighing through a distant windchime. And then, almost on the edge of hearing, a sixth.