Page 21 of Foresyth Conservatory
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The Meister and I agreed that I would begin my research with a historical perspective on Tarot, which I was already familiar with, and then write a paper on how Tarot became affiliated with the occult. He asked me to present at Research Circle the following week. I agreed, if only because I could use the opportunity to garner more credibility with the other students.
Shortly after my conversation with the Meister ended, I made my way to the sitting room to meet Nina. She was there on the chaise thumbing through a book on mythical reptilian species.
“You were in there for an hour,” she said, closing her book.
“Yes, the required mentorship meeting.”
“The Meister never spends more than thirty minutes with me; he must really like you,” she said with a genuine undertone of envy in her voice.
“I doubt that. It’s just that, with me being new, I need a little more guidance.”
“Fair enough, though I don’t think you need much guidance. You spoke your mind pretty plainly last night. That takes a lot of courage to do—dispute, I mean. Not a skill a lot of first years know.”
“And what year are you?”
“I’m a second, so are Aspen and Sequoia. Leone’s a third, but he’ll probably do his postdoc here. He has none of the softer skills necessary to become an Advisor.”
“Right. Aspen alluded to as much. The Advisors?” I toyed with the line of my ignorance carefully. Maybe seeing my incompetence in some way would alleviate some of her envy.
“Yes, hired magickal Advisors, sourced primarily from Foresyth and other reputable institutions. They advise on all business and personal matters. They work for statesmen, executives, proprietors.”
“Presidents?” I interjected.
Nina arched a brow. “I cannot neither confirm nor deny. Besides, we aren’t supposed to know the identities of Advisors’ clients. But it’s possible . . . people come to us to ask which markets to invest in, whether or not to start an affair, if sending weapons overseas would create more unrest or forge a strategic alliance.”
“It sounds a lot like what I did as a Tarot reader. Minus the war,” I said without thinking too much of it. I immediately regretted it.
“You were a professional reader? That’s . . . uncommon. None of us have made any money with our peculiar sets of interests. I’ve tried to sell a bit of my taxidermy, but it’s not a huge market, as you can imagine.” She shrugged. “You’ll certainly be up for Advisor when you graduate.”
“What are you working on right now?” I asked, changing the subject. I didn’t want to reveal that I wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to graduate, let alone to be hired as the magick industry-equivalent of a Tarot reader.
“Let me show you. The lab is this way.” I followed Nina out of the sitting room and down the main hallway. She unfastened a key from her necklace and twisted it into the keyhole of an unassuming door. It opened to a staircase leading down to what looked like the basement level.
“Lab access is only for second years and above. But since you asked about my work . . . I’ll give you a tour.” She winked before she started down the dark staircase, her form completely disappearing halfway down. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Her voice echoed from below.
“Coming.” I took a deep breath and walked down into the darkness.
Seconds later, the room became illuminated by fluorescent lights, revealing a pristine laboratory with black marble countertops. It reminded me of my father’s forensic lab but was several times larger. Mason jars of all sizes filled the shelves, along with browning textbooks and empty glassware.
“Welcome to Foresyth lab,” Nina cooed. The bounce in her step told me she was fond of this place, perhaps even more than the library. I was equally torn over which I found more impressive.
“Everything at Foresyth is so . . . grand,” I remarked, noting the rows of benchtops. There were nearly a dozen; each student could have two of their own.
“Foresyth used to have more students. Before it was a Conservatory, it was a college. There were dozens of students here, apparently.”
“What happened? I mean, to make it smaller?”
Nina fell silent for a moment, and I read the pause for what it was—a quiet withholding. Whatever she said next would be a version of the truth, not its entirety.
“The school was grander once, if we’re borrowing your word,” she said at last, her voice measured. “But those days have faded. Keeping Foresyth alive now is . . . a political endeavor, as much as an academic one—or so I’m told.”
“Interesting.” The word slipped out before I could temper it. Did that mean the Meister had adversaries—perhaps even among the Council—quietly tugging at the threads of his authority? He had mentioned he’d beenelected, after all. That implied politics. And politics implied opposition.
I rounded the corner to the next benchtop, and a bulbous bird with two black eyes startled me backward. The creature was a mosaic of orange and red feathers but was missing feet.
“You’ve found Ashes. Just a Resurrection pheasant I’ve been working on. Took ages to ship from China, and the customs paperwork was a nightmare. I think he’s coming along nicely; just need to mount him onto something sturdy.” She scratched underneath his chin affectionately.
