A Snap-Dragon Stolen Chapter 2: (part 1)

Sea Serpents: Range in size from arm’s length to over one-hundred-fifty meters. They all have a combination of slippery skin and scales, typically in cooler hues, and have crests made of webbing. All appendages are webbed as well.

It was late that night when Lark found time to explore the Academic wing. She’d been busy all day, internally panicking about everything and getting yelled at by everyone. But despite the Academic wing’s reputation, she’d only encountered one odd thing that day, when she went to the library with the four o’clock tea.

As soon as she entered the place, a young, lanky man with a large mustache rushed at her from somewhere and muttered incomprehensible gibberish before stealing her tea tray and dashing off further into the library. It was all very strange, but Lark figured she couldn’t let it pique her interest too much.

No, right now, the most important thing was learning the layout. Already, Lark had built a rough outline for her mental map. First, there was the lobby, which took up an unnecessary amount of space and served as the main junction. From there extended six hallways, three from either side. Two were for lodgings: a guest hall and the apprentices’ dorms. The other four were for the disciplines, and held all of the heads’ rooms, and their labs, and work spaces, and personal libraries. And then, on the far end of the lobby was the main library entrance, which was very grand, and had squeaky double doors with brass, lion-head knockers that were only for show.

But while that seemed simple enough, the truth was that nothing was really so simple. The housing and library were easy enough; in each case there was only one hall to travel. However, the medical hall, which Lark was in right now, was nothing of the sort.

Candles with small, white bags of herbs tied underneath their holders flickered in the dark. Intersections were hard to see, and Lark was very sure she missed at least half of them.

Suddenly, Lark realized that the hallway was much darker than it had been. She looked both ways, expecting, like every other time this happened, that tiny little lights on either side would point her towards another hall, but there were none. Lark reached out a tentative hand.

Her fingers brushed plaster.

Keeping one hand on the wall, Lark stepped forward again. She kept looking right, wondering when the wall would break, and hallway lights would reappear, but they didn’t. Even ten steps later they didn’t.

Lark stopped and stared into the blackness in front of her. She really ought to go back, go back to her room and sleep and cower under her blanket while Cadence was around to let her vent. But at the same time, Lark was curious about where exactly this darkness led. She mentally chided herself for thinking it, but maybe it had something to do with Porter’s disappearance.

Gulping, Lark took another step forward. She put her left hand in front of her to make sure she didn’t run into anything, and stepped. And she stepped and stepped, still nothing appeared in front of her. No lights came up. Nothing.

Just one more step, then go back.

Lark took that step.

And the floor was gone.

Well, the floor wasn’t really gone. Lark’s foot landed a moment later, and her shoe smacked into wood, hard. She was off balance; her torso was too far forward. In a moment of surprise, her eyes widened and her breath caught. A hammer whacked her skull.

The next thing she knew, Lark was on the ground, aching everywhere, even in places she didn’t know she could ache. Darkness closed around her like heavy morning fog, thick and gloomy and suspenseful. Her neat, tidy bun had slipped from its hold and tugged on her head like someone had tied a sack of potatoes to it.

Regretting her decision already, Lark groped around the wooden floor for the staircase. She’d had enough exploring, and while her curiosity wasn’t exactly sated, but she didn’t want to end up like the cat. Her fingers slid along the floor in a circle, searching for a way up.

Thump.

Lark’s hand hit the bottom step. Tracing further, she crawled towards the stairs.

Thump.

She’d slid her hands up five steps and stood on shaky feet. Lark lifted one heel off the ground.

Thump.

She froze, her foot still in the air. That thumping wasn’t her. There was a soft click as Lark placed her heel back on the floor. Her heart thudded wildly in her chest, and her forehead felt wet and cold. Careful to keep her face even, Lark turned around. The hair on the back of her neck spiked, and Lark’s ankles threatened to collapse.

She scanned the area behind her, barely remembering to use slow, silent breaths. And then Lark saw it.

A magic spell, purple and cloudy and mysterious, fluttered to life. It was barely bright enough for Lark to see a hand underneath it, and she could almost sense magic flowing from the mage into the spell. Holding her breath, Lark waited. She knew how this would work; the mage would store up energy in that little purple ball until it was just ready to explode. And then, all that power would be directed at her. Running now would be a bad idea.

Lark eased herself off the stairs, keeping her eyes trained on the spell. She stood at her full height, ready to get a good look at the mage should he or she choose to use a spell with light.

A moment later, all sound stopped. Now.

The spell exploded forward, and Lark ducked. Her feet picked up, and she ran. Heels pounded. Breaths shortened. The candles were back on here, and Lark turned a corner. Her soles slid, and she reached out to the walls to keep her balance.

Something horribly pungent drifted past Lark’s nose like a dark secret hidden beneath the smell of herbs. Right. Herbs. Sparing a backward glance, Lark drifted towards the wall, her right hand outstretched. She snatched one of the herb bags, and a ball of purple magic smashed into the candle directly afterward.

Feet pounding and hands shaking, Lark opened the bag. What was in it? What could she use?

The feeling of a magic spell pricked at her skin, and Lark ducked. This was no good; she couldn’t actually look into the bag, not with these spells flying about.

Lark felt her gut churn, both from the running and from the knowledge of what might come when the mage caught her. Lifting the bag to her nose, she took in a deep breath.

Lavender. Honeysuckle. No, those wouldn’t do her any good. Another breath, more running, more concentration. Basil. Rosemary. Still nothing useful. One more breath…

There was nothing else to smell. Lark would have to use what she already knew was inside.

Dodging another attack, which smashed into the ground behind her heels, Lark stuck her hand inside. Her fingers grasped for something towards the bottom, something small and fragile. They found a pile of soft, ovular flowers and drew them out. Lavender. She smelled that sweet-tea smell and let its oils seep into her hands.

Lark stopped, using her momentum to pivot around and face the mage. She held her right fist to her mouth and whispered the word of power her mother had told her years ago.

And then she threw the flowers towards her opponent in a light, halting rain. They exploded mid-air, turning to clouds of pastel purple dust that floated aimlessly with the air currents. The spell would reach her, too.

Thank goodness she had honeysuckle. Holding her breath, Lark rooted through her bag for a flower. She picked one out and with trembling hands, crushed it in her fist.

She whispered another word, a different one. And then she took a breath and kept running, away from the lavender cloud, away from her attacker.

She felt like she’d run forever, turning down twisting passages and doubling back from dead ends and locked doors. But no matter where she went, Lark could not find a staircase back up. She wasn’t entirely sure when, but she’d even used up several mint leaves trying to keep herself going.

Lark fell against a door, out of breath and out of mind. She was tired, and her head hurt, and she could feel her insides, both her roiling gut and her wild fear, about to spill onto her face. If she didn’t find a way out soon, she’d faint. Using the door handle for support, Lark pulled herself to her feet. She didn’t hear the creak of turning gears inside the door, nor did she realize it when her support drifted sideways, opening.

Hands on her knees, hunched over, Lark took a few deep breaths. She pulled pins out of her hair, tired of how her loose bun kept bouncing with every step. She took a real look inside her bag of herbs, wondering if there were any less aromatic plants inside. There weren’t. All she could make out were the faint silhouettes of spiny rosemary leaves and jagged edges of mint.

Looking up, Lark sighed. Her exploration hadn’t gone very well. In fact, whoever was down here with her might’ve been the same person to make Porter…

She killed the thought. No use thinking about that. Steadying herself, Lark forced emotion off her face. Her head stopped thudding, and her spiraling train of thought started running straight. She half wanted to smile at how much control she had over own emotion.

And then something flitted in the corner of her vision, something red, something terrible. A pressure like that of a huge, disapproving crowd flooded the halls, smothering Lark’s control. She realized that the door was open, that she’d opened it, and that something was inside.

Lark froze, eyes trained on the room behind that door. She heard claws scraping, teeth gnashing. Scales squealed along the walls, shrieking and sparking with friction.

Before she even knew what she was doing, Lark slammed the door shut. Her face felt tense, and the black spirals and lines on the floor kept drawing closer. She was going to die, die like Porter, or disappear into the jaws of a beast underneath the Academic Wing. Lark’s teeth clenched, and her spine curled, and her head had elephants stampeding inside of it.

She fainted.