Enrike Fluence - God Loves Angels

This is the moment when I sign my magic contract. The moment from which I am under the tutelage and protection of the castle and at the same time I am responsible for my actions to the school and its director. My grandmother used to tell me about the importance of her signature. It was a long time ago. I didn’t take her words seriously. And now, when the thick book lay in front of me, I felt cold inside. Feeling the stern gaze of Brutilde on me, I obeyed my choice. My grandmother’s choice, first of all. I will study at Nordlig and become a strong sorceress, a tall lady.

I took a long and fluffy feather floating in the air above the book and wrote my first and last name. I tried to print the letters more beautifully, but it didn’t work. First, the plumage was constantly moving and blocked my view. And most importantly, the tip of the pen was scribbled over the paper. The result was like a chicken’s paw. I looked at the signature with disappointment and resentment and hardly recognized my name in them. It was impossible to fix anything.

– well! – exclaimed Brutilde. The pen and the book spontaneously flew to a small desk cabinet in the corner of the room. The director handed me a folded sheet of paper. – This is your schedule. It lists all the assigned hours. Do not be late, we are strict with this. You can check the exact time of Nordlig with the clock in the front hall. We all live and work for them.

I nodded.

– Your new school uniform is in your suitcase. And Madame Rector, Mrs. Argento, will show you to your chambers.

Brutilde looked at the door. I turned around, but there was no one there. And it couldn’t have been, I would have heard if someone had come in. I turned back to the director.

– Good luck in your first year of knowledge at Nordlig.

Brutilda smiled. Her eyebrows rose a little, and the gesture changed her face. It became kind and caring. Brutilda now looked more like my grandmother. A smile appeared on my face too. I feel better. I do not know what I expected from the meeting with the director, but my spirits improved.

– Thank. – I answered and left the office.

They were already waiting for me in the corridor. A tall, thin sorceress in a dark green robe; with a fashionable, miniature, the same emerald color, a hat shifted to one side, which did not hide the shiny bronze-colored hair, but emphasized their extraordinary splendor. Madame Argento.

«I am Madame Argento, rector of the Nordlig School. Follow me. I’ll show you where the women’s hostel is. Boys and girls live in different wings of the castle. And meals and some lessons are held together. You yourself will learn everything about this and many other things later. «And Madame Argento took me to the women’s hostel. It was located right there in the castle. Great!

I turned around and noticed that my suitcase and small duffel bag were gone. This worried me. My stuff! Someone took them. By themselves, they could not evaporate. Or could they?

«It’s afternoon.» Lessons will start in half an hour.

– Ah … – I gave a voice. He sounded uncertain, aloof, – My things… Bag and suitcase. They…

I didn’t know how to say Gone. Wouldn’t that seem like an accusation of theft?

– Do not worry. They are already waiting for you in the hostel. – answered Madame Argento, turning her face to me. Then she raised her hand and snapped her fingers.

– Voila!

I guess my mouth opened with confusion. Voila?

At the mention of dinner, my stomach rumbled. I immediately felt hungry. And I was ashamed to admit this to Madame Argento. I decided that I would survive one missed lunch. I also figured out how I could have skipped lunch: after all, I went in a balloon with Franklin at about eleven o’clock in the afternoon! And the flight itself took several minutes. So it seemed to me. What if the travel time actually took longer? This would then explain my awakened feeling of hunger. Yes, I didn’t really have breakfast. But I would be hungry in a few hours. Or do they dine here much earlier?

Then the hurricane of thoughts about hunger, my suitcase, old Franklin disappeared. I was amazed at the beauty of the castle.

The heels of Madame Argento’s footsteps thudded on the stone floor. Even thick red carpets could not drown out the rector’s confident gait. I almost ran after her to keep up with her. Sometimes I stumbled because I didn’t look at my feet. All my attention was absorbed by the castle. These corridors and walls, architecture and decoration. This was the pinnacle of creative thought. I guessed baroque styles and notes of older architectures. My eyes darted. I turned to the paintings, canvases hanging in the corridors and huge colored tapestries. A whole museum could be assembled from all these paintings. Stern faces in huge wigs. Ladies in lush dresses. The artists depicted in their creations in great detail gorgeous balls, festive meals, faces of significant persons of bygone times and art workers and perfectly reflected the spirit of the past era.

They depicted hunting scenes, and simply landscapes, and much more, than people lived many centuries ago. But for me it all seemed like a fairy tale, not connected with reality, the fiction of an unknown artist. How can a lady of advanced age wear such a cap on her head, more like a rubber bathing cap, together with such an expensive dress, and a choker around her neck? I think no. But at the time, it might seem fashionable.

High ceilings were propped up by semi-columns with lush bas-reliefs. Huge stained glass windows, bright patterns on the curtains, in which I dreamed of unusual colored embroidery, and mystical stories dedicated to important events of magical life.

I reluctantly left it all behind and stepped onto the flight of stairs, followed Madame Argento to the second floor. Here the splendor has diminished. The ceilings were of normal height, the paintings on the walls were not visible. The half-curtained windows threw in a faint light, but still chased away the melancholy twilight. There were few doors. This was more like a school in the world of ordinary people, if not for the exquisite carvings on wooden doors. I was sure that behind these doors were classrooms, devoid of the expensive decoration of the main hall of the castle and the adjacent galleries.

Madame Argento led me down a quiet corridor, opened the door, behind which there was a spiral staircase, and we climbed even higher. The steps went further, where above through an invisible window, blinding sunbeams lay on the stone wall. I smelled a hint of floral scent. Our path passed this welcoming sign. Now he was walking along a narrow dark passage, and my anxiety was growing. I was afraid to appear in front of other students. I’m new and I don’t know anyone yet. How will other girls accept me?

Then the thought came to me that just as I am now walking along a castle that is new for me, one day my grandmother was walking. The young woman, probably unsure of herself, was heading to the women’s hostel, and did not know what awaited her outside the door. And my mom? My grandmother did not tell me where she studied. But I’m sure it’s also in Nordlig. Perhaps it was here that she met her dad, and they fell in love. These walls mean more to me than I thought. Here I can touch the past of people dear to me.

I clenched my fists for a second, trying to give myself confidence. The rector opened the door, entered, and stopped. I immediately bumped into her and stumbled on the threshold, taking a step back. I hastened to squeeze out an apology and stopped short.

We stood in a spacious room with about twenty girls of different ages. Their faces immediately turned to us. The din of conversation subsided. All girls were in school uniforms. And I stood alone, unlike everyone else in my usual clothes. A second later there was a loud greeting: