Key week update:

Monday night while we were all in bed, Saint Niveus launched an attack on Willowa to get the key back. Now, I wasn’t there, but by breakfast, the whole story was all over school.

Apparently, Willowa put the key under a spell that made the next person to touch it burst into song, which was why Terrance Clifton was singing at the top of his lungs in the grove all yesterday. Which would be funny enough regardless, but apparently the only way to break the spell was to let it run its course, so he literally had to just stand out there, singing. He’s also classically trained, so he spent all day working his way through various operas. He has a lovely baritone, but it was definitely a little bit spooky to hear his voice drifting up from the grove on my way to class hahaha.

But I think my favorite part is that despite Terrance’s brave sacrifice, Saint Niveus was ambushed by Bellhoof students on their way back to the dorms and now Bellhoof has the key.

We found this out at dinner when Sally Snyder, a Bellhoof senior, arrived at the cathedral with a live poison mink draped around her shoulders, the key proudly displayed on the mink’s neck. There was an actual groan from the Saint Niveus table, which I didn’t understand until Bass convinced a Bellhoof sophomore to explain that the particular poison mink wearing the key is named Polecat and both loves shiny things, and has an infamously terrible temper.

I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that as skeptical as I was on Monday, I can’t help it: key week is a little bit fun. Like I know, I know, enjoying school events is totally against my brand, but I can’t help it. I want Bellhoof to keep that key. Suck it Saint Niveus.

Now, my enthusiasm is probably directly related to the fact that this whole event is strictly forbidden hahaha. This morning at breakfast Lana reminded us all in no uncertain terms that participating in key week will result in serious consequences blah blah blah. I’m honestly sort of doubtful because if it was really that big of a rule, people sure have been flaunting breaking it.

The real solution seems to be to just load us up with so much homework that even if we did wan to try our hand at impressing the colleges and making some helpful upperclassman friends, we simply wouldn’t have the time.

The worst is Protsman — we started studying chosen one spells in history this week, and he’s got us reading and summarizing like 80,000 pages about them which is on the one hand so annoying and on the other hand actually something I want to know about.

We started with the Guardian spell yesterday — which is Lana’s spell.

“The Guardian is one of the best recorded chosen one spells,” Protsman said, clicking through an old-school slide projector. The image was of a young woman, scowling, her Victorian skirts tied up to the knee. “The spell was cast in 1121 by a group of alchemists working in conjunction with the Knights Templar, presumably in an effort to protect Christians on their way to the holy land.”

Ew.

Protsman clicked and the slide changed to photo of a medieval scroll, on which was drawn a group of what looked like a bunch of dead knights and one… page? Maybe? It was a smaller person, with a berries and cream haircut, and their heart appeared to be on fire.

“Evidence suggests that the alchemists struggled to get the initial spell to catch, but eventually the spell took root, in a young woman who’s name has been lost to time,” Protsman said. “We believe it was something of an accident that it was this woman who ended up with the abilities, and her achievements went largely undocumented. But as the generations progressed, and the spell passed from one person to the next, we see evidence of the Guardian’s abilities being used to manage magical issues all over the world. By 1203 there had been 3 Guardians, and we see the official birth of the Councilors. Now you all should know by now who the Councilors are, but just in case, who can break them down for us?”

Andie raised their hand immediately, and when Protsman smiled slightly and gestured that they should go ahead, they said, “The Councilors are the organization responsible for founding Palefish, as well as the older schools in the UK. They collect knowledge, track Chosen One Spells, and do their best to manage whatever magical issues arise in the western world without drawing attention to their own existence or the existence of magic.” They hesitated for a moment, before adding, “until recently they had almost full control over the Guardian’s behavior.”

Protsman smiled. “Very good Mx Maddox. And who can tell us why the Councilor’s power has faded somewhat of late?”

And to everyone’s surprise, not least of all my own, I raised my hand.

“Go ahead Miss Tamblyn,” Protsman said at once, clearly pleased that I was volunteering.

And then I must have panicked or something, because I said, “Because Lana told them to fuck off.”

Which is such an insane thing to say in class, in front of everyone. Just like, on so many levels, what the fuck was I thinking? First of all, told them to fuck off? That’s the language I decided to use in class? And that’s not even accounting for referring to the literal like president of the college, a legendary warrior in her own right, by her FIRST NAME. Several people giggled. Marina twisted in her seat to look at me full on, the expression on her face totally unreadable. Rook and Bass just smothered laughter, but Andie gave me this confused, searching look, like they were seeing something about me for the first time.

I’m such an embarrassing fucking idiot, but that’s not news really.

On the bright side though, at least I was right.

“A colorful way of putting it,” Protsman said, and though his tone was disapproving, his eyes were definitely twinkling. “Professor Sorely did essentially break away from the Councilor’s authority, in order to have a bit more autonomy both in her own life, as well as in the way this school is run.”

I think we’re turning our attention onto the Dog Saints tomorrow, which is going to be interesting. Lol can’t wait to wow Neal and Julian with my in depth knowledge of the #1 torment of their lives. If I have time to talk to them around all the fucking reading we have to do, anyways. Drowning, literally drowning.

Which is almost enough to keep us from trying to track down Adrian Prescott.

We have not forgotten about Adrian Prescott.

He’s a surprisingly tricky character to track down. Willowa students — especially Willowa grad students — spend a lot of time studying in parts of the Grove that are off-limits to underclassmen. Which makes a certain amount of sense, given everything about magic.

We didn’t catch up with him until tonight. It was kind of an accident. We were trying to get our chapter summaries written for Protsman and lost track of time, so we ended up going to dinner right before it ended, and there was Adrian Prescott, head bent over a book, picking his fork inattentively through a plate of shepherd’s pie.

“Do we just… go ask him if he knows anything about what Robert and everyone were studying?” Andie said.

I glanced at Rook and we silently agreed that we were going to handle this like a good pair of hunters, and then Bass, without even a moment of hesitation, strode off across the cathedral and slid into the seat beside Adrian.

Rook and I exchanged a bewildered look, and then hurried off after him.

Adrian seemed predictably suspicious to find us there.

“I’m a grad student,” he said, somewhat sulkily. “I’m not participating in key week.”

“Oh no, that’s okay,” Bass said brightly, grinning. “We’re not really playing key week either. We just wanted to ask you about something.”

“About Willowa?” Adrian asked, suspiciously.

“No, actually,” Bass said. “We were just wondering what you know about those kids who died out on the henge. Robert, and Katharine and all them.”

Adrian’s face went carefully blank.

“We weren’t close,” he said, in a tone that said very clearly, fuck off.

We didn’t take the hint.

“You see,” Rook said, in his low, knowing voice, “we were looking through their study space and they’d cast —” he hesitated and glanced at Bass who supplied,

“A ward, a pretty simply one, that told you to stop nosing around with their work, so we were just wondering —”

“I don’t know anything,” Adrian cut him off. “And I don’t know what you were doing in their cubby, but I recommend you stay away from it. Stay away from everything they were studying, do you understand?”

And before we could add anything, he’d slammed his book shut, slid off the bench, and was halfway across the cathedral.

“Damn,” Bass said, face falling as he walked away. “That’s a dead end.”

Sweet Bass. So good and trusting.

“He knows something,” Rook said, and I whole heartedly agree.

No idea how we’re gonna get any information out of him though. Especially since I’m so fucking tired — like I’m literally falling asleep on my keyboard right now, I can’t even begin to fathom a situation in which we’d be able to convince Adrian Prescott to tell us something he didn’t want to tell us.

Oh shit someone just knocked on my door hang on