It was a long ride on two different streetcars to get all the way from Paxlight City over to the convent. There were dozens of people in the open-air cars, dozens and dozens, and they didn't seem to have any of the sense of courtesy or decorum that I had come to expect from the small-town people of Sunmount. I don't think we would have even been able to board the second one, much less sit down, except that Miss Wistree's black robes carried a certain intensity of aura that made even the most brazenly uncouth citygoer slide aside.

  With my heavy valise on my knees, I sat with this strange girl and tried to keep the names straight as she told me all about the various sisters who were currently living at Eastwall Convent. "You'll get to know them very quickly," said Josephine during a transfer. "They'll make sure of that. They won't let you forget them."

  I didn't know exactly what she meant. In fact, I didn't know what most of what she said meant, but I nodded along politely and did my best to take it all in like the good student I was.

  By the end of the second streetcar ride it was entirely dark. There were dogs barking in the hilly neighborhoods surrounding the castle-like convent, and in truth I would have been rather frightened, except for the utter confidence that seemed to radiate from Josephine. I suppose if you've lived in a place long enough walking about it feels just like being in your own bedroom, even if there's hardly a moon in sight and the sound of angry hounds bouncing through the alleys.

  My valise was growing quite heavy now, and I missed having Tom to carry it for me with his broad, pure smile. He often said things that seemed to suggest that I was the more innocent of the two of us, but it wasn't true. It was he, by far, who was pure, the purer of heart. I loved that about him. I loved the effect it had on me.

  Josephine, who did not have a bag, got a little ahead of me as we climbed the asphalt road up the hill to the convent. I saw warm light, electric light, inside on the second and third floors. I knew the building was far too old to have originally been fitted with electricity, and so I put together that this must have been a relatively recent renovation.

  With each step I took up out of the city, the din of people and dogs was replaced with an unearthly silence. Silence, I felt, was appropriate for such a holy place as a National Sorceress convent. I was used to silence at that. It was the prevailing sound in the temple where I had spent my formative years. Silence and I got along famously.

  As my eyes adjusted, I saw the large, rounded, wooden double doors of the convent entrance before me. Above it was a symbol of the deathsgate. People often ask me why I chose a deathsgate convent over a lifegate convent, those being the two prevailing schools of ritual that were present in Paxana at the time. I always tell them it was simply a matter of opening and convenience, and that when I had contacted the National Sorceress Corps they had told me that the most appropriate opening was with the Eastwall Convent, which only dealt in the deathsgate school. If there's a deeper answer, some perverse fixation with the afterlife that drew me to the left-hand school, I'm still not consciously aware of it.

  Josephine Wistree caught me staring at the deathsgate symbol, and she must have seen a look on my face that she interpreted as fright. "Don't worry," she said, although I was not frightened, "we don't go through death’s gate, we just reach in and grab what we need now and then."

  This confused me more than it elucidated. I hadn't even considered going through a deathsgate, and I didn't really know what reaching in to take things would entail. For all my familiarity with the folk faith of Paxana priests, true witching ritual was entirely alien to me on the night I arrived at the convent.

  Using a large, heavy key, she unlocked the front door and led me inside. There was electric light warming the huge medieval stone hall. Because the walls had not been made for cabling, all the electrical wires simply ran down the walls, along the gutters to wherever the generator lay.

  There were no other sisters about, and we had the place to ourselves, at least for the moment. Large castle staircases ascended into the dim of the dormitories above. "You can leave your bag there for when we go to the bunks," said Josephine, pointing to a spot at the base of one staircase. "You'll have to carry it yourself. We don't have any manservants. Headmother says they would be a disruption."

  I put my bag down and felt very grateful to be free of the burden, if only for a few minutes' time. This girl, Josephine, was blond, like my friend, Jack, but she had a sort of animal sharpness in place of Jack's good-natured ease. It was funny that despite this, she still had such a youthful cadence to her speech.

  "You're older than most of the girls who come in," she told me, "but that won't stop them going after you. You're still just an apprentice. Don't forget it."

  "Stop who going after me?" I asked, trying to figure out what ‘going after’ meant in this context.

  "The other sisters," said Josephine, making a beckoning motion to guide me into the dark of the first floor hall. "Don't dawdle."

  "Where are we going?" I asked. I felt trepidatious, leaving my bag behind and proceeding where the lights did not shine.

  "To the kitchen," said Josephine, "aren't you starving?"

  The mundanity of the word ‘kitchen’ reassured me. Surely, I thought, nothing bad could happen in a kitchen. I picked up my step, and keeping close behind my new sister I followed her around a corner.

  The kitchen was pitch black, and I expected her to fetch a candle to light, but instead she pressed a switch on the wall and electric lights flashed on with such incredible quickness that I couldn't help but jump at the turn from black to white. "They don't have electric lights where you're from?" Josephine asked, clearly laughing at me. "You're not a farm girl, are you?"

  "No," I said, and I was proud to make the distinction clear. "Sunmount is an artisan town. We just like the old ways. I'm sure we could plenty afford to buy electric lights if we ever saw a need for them.”

  It seemed, even in just a couple sentences, I had already bored Josephine with my stories of home. She was ignoring me, rifling through the contents of the pantry. "Well, good," she said, half listening. "Farm girls can't cut it here. What do you want to eat? We have day-old bread, pickled carrots, pickled fish, pickled pickles."

  I clasped my hands and tried not to be too much of a fusser. "Whatever's convenient."

  Josephine laughed again. Nearly every other thing I said got a snarky chuckle from the sister, and I didn't know why. "You really will starve if you're that much of a push-around."

  I wasn't sure what to say, so I stayed silent, and the blond girl in the black robes began making two sandwiches with pickled fish and carrots. One, I optimistically assumed, was for me.

  "Do you read Blue Lotus stories?" she asked me as she worked.

  I noticed she had not washed her hands since coming in from the street, but I did not want to protest.

  "Sorry?" I said.

  "You know, Faith Goodhouse? Edna Youngspring?"

  I scowled and attempted recollection. "I never studied them in school."

  Josephine made a noise. "What boarding house did you go to?"

  Now it was my turn to chuckle. "I didn't go to boarding school," I said. "I went to a professional state school and lived in the Sunmount Temple with the old priests."

  "You went to school with boys?" asked Josephine, astonished. "And you went home every day to the temple?"

  "Yes," I said. I was unashamed of this.

  Josephine shook her head. "Then you have a lot to learn."

  Before I could ask for clarification, she handed me a sandwich. We stood together, eating greedily at the counter, and I only then realized just how hungry I had been since afternoon.

  "We can't leave a crumb or Headmother'll lash us," Josephine said with a mouth full of food.

  "Lash us?" I asked back while chewing. It felt like a funny little secret between the two of us to both be talking with our mouths full. The priests and the teachers back home would never have allowed it.

  "Not literally," said Josephine, "well, not for crumbs anyway."

  I nodded and swallowed. "So should I start with Goodhouse or Youngspring?"

  "Hm?" said Josephine.

  "You said I have a lot to learn, so where should I start?"

  Josephine chewed, laughed, and talked all at once. It took skill for her to not spit crumbs onto the floor or the counter as she did so. "Oh, you sweet little thing. Um, Goodhouse." She swallowed her bite. "But not her new stuff. I think the Culture Office got to her. She tries to pretend now like what happens between girls is all about friendship."

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  "Oh," I said, further confused by her rambling.

  "I have a printing of Virgins in a Woodshed," Josephine went on. "I'm going to lend it to you, and when you're done, you can give it back, and we can go to see the Inparlor Revue. Then you can consider your unofficial NS education to be off to a proper start."

  After we finished our makeshift little sandwiches and made perfectly sure there were no crumbs left as evidence of our deed, we returned to the main hall and ascended the large stone steps to the convent dormitories. I knew just from their height that the steps had been cut for men, although they were old, which meant the men had been small, which meant they weren't too terribly inconvenient for us girls to scale. It was only the heavy valise in my arms that made the ascent at all precarious.

  On the way up, Josephine told me that the convent had used to be a fortress back in the days before the illumination. It had been a convent for quite a while, though, even before the founding of the NS had been founded to bring the witches under state dominion. It had a reputation, as she told it, for being one of the best.

  Just as we were nearing the top of the stairs, exhausted and spent, she let out a little grousing huff. "Oh," said Josephine, "if you went to a crummy state school, you probably had a boyfriend there, didn't you?" She said ‘boyfriend’ as if it was chicken pox.

  "Yes," I said.

  Josephine mimed gagging. "Eugh."

  "We're still together," I said, trying to get out ahead before she said too many other awful things.

  Josephine made a show of glancing around me. "Where?" she asked, mocking. "Is he a ghost? I don't see him."

  "He's going to be an Army engineer," I said.

  "Army this, Army that these days," Josephine complained. We had now reached the dim hall at the top of the stairs, and I saw that there were still some candles in sconces in the places where electricity had not yet been installed. The candles were all unlit. "One day they're going to put boots and helmets on the NS and put us in the trenches with our spellbooks," she said, “mark my words.” Then she turned back to me with her arms crossed. "Has he put it in you?"

  "Hm?" I said, surprised.

  "You know," said Josephine.

  I did know. I had heard enough about such things from Jack—his exploits and encounters. I had never experimented with such things, even by myself, and certainly never with Tom. There was a great joy, the older priests told me, in doing things the proper way, and I looked forward to it.

  "No," I said to answer her question, although I really didn't want to give her the pleasure of an honest answer. I thought it was quite presumptuous the way she thought she could ransack all the private little details of my life.

  "That's good," said Josephine. "There's still hope for you."

  "Why?" I asked.

  "It makes things harder, for certain ritual, if you’ve done it."

  We reached the western dormitory room, which was full of five younger NS sisters and one NS apprentice. Despite the evening hour, everyone seemed very much alert and awake. The electric lights were on, and I could see the twinkling city of Paxlight to the west through the round-topped medieval windows. It was, admittedly, a marvelous view.

  The dormitory room consisted of five bunk beds, meaning ten mattresses. It did not seem to be at full capacity, as at least two of the mattresses were bare and unmade, and I only saw six girls in total. One of them, with red hair and freckles and a strong sort of face, leapt up when she saw me. She couldn't have been older than nineteen herself.

  "Oh, way down on the old wheat farm, I love my daddy and I love my mom," she crooned, singing a more popular farm song in an exaggerated provincial ccent.

  "Hey, hey, Marina, they're not farmers, they're ar-ti-sans," said Josephine.

  She said this before any sort of proper introduction, and I was very displeased to see her resort to mockery of my hometown as a very first impression for my new sisters.

  The one apprentice, Luma, who hardly looked eighteen, laughed as well. "Ooh, ar-ti-sans," she said.

  I glanced at Josephine to try and figure out what in all planes could have spurred such immediate vitriolic derision and false accusations of peasantdom. "It's your gownrobe," Josephine explained to me as I set down my valise. "It's considered old-fashioned here in Paxlight."

  One of the older sisters, whom I later learned was named Mea Mull, called out from her upper bunk in the back of the room. She was darker-skinned than I was used to, perhaps mixed with some foreign persuasion. "But you can take it off," she shouted, bold and bawdy.

  As Mea shouted it, Marina the redhead dropped down from her bunk and approached my valise. "Here, let me help you with your bag," she said, and I was grateful that someone had finally offered to do so.

  "Don't let her take that," Josephine warned me, though I didn't know why. Perplexed, I put up a hand to bid Marina pause.

  "Everyone," said Josephine, "this is Apprentice Violet Shrineborne."

  Marina looked like she really did have eyes to take my bag, possibly for ill, but I kept her at bay. Seeing the stares of the group upon me, I felt some need to stand up for myself and my choice of attire. "I was raised to think Western clothing was scandalous for a lady," I said in my defense, observing the sheer white nightgowns of the girls. It was really quite a shock to see so much of so many strangers all in a common space.

  "A ‘lady?’" said Luma. "Hah! You got the wrong convent!"

  Marina turned her eyes from my valise to my hips and the drape of my loosely-tied gownrobe. "Maybe we think your clothes are scandalous," she said, fire-eyed. "After all, you can just reach up and grab everything."

  To my shock, Sister Marina slipped her hand onto to my knee and then quickly ran it up along the bare skin of my inner thigh, parting my gownrobe. I jumped back in surprise and gave out a yelp, too startled to immediately be furious.

  "Hey, Marina, she only wants that from her state school boyfriend," said Josephine, continuing to mock me.

  "Boo!" Luma cried from her bunk.

  "Boyfriend, boyfriend," Mea Mull chanted with derision.

  At that point, I was tired and fed up, and I wouldn't take one more second of all this disrespect. "Look, everyone," I said firmly, stamping my wooden-soled travel shoe and making quite a loud sound on the stone floor. "Sisters, with all respect for your convent, I've had a long day. All I want is to wash up and go to sleep, and I'm happy to tell you my whole life story in the morning."

  "You scared her off, Marina," shouted Mea, scolding the sister who had tried to take a swipe at my girlhood. "You're too touchy-feely."

  "Hey, touch is how she shows her love," said Luma.

  Marina shrugged and rolled her eyes at Mea. "No problem, I'll just touch myself."

  At this, Marina's spectacled lower bunkmate, Lora, looked up from the book she had been trying to read in bed. "I know," Lora grumbled. "I can hear you, nightly."

  This was all far too much. Josephine, perhaps sensing that I was at my limit, showed me where to lock my valise beneath my bunk and gave me a key. "They're all talk," she said to reassure me. "Come on, I'll show you the washroom, linens, and nightgowns."

  Suffice to say, I was incredibly relieved when she led me out of that menagerie and back to the hall. "Oh, don't look like such a doe," she said, remarking on my expression. "You're probably the oldest one in there, save for Mea. Have a little backbone."

  I had half a mind to give her some nasty retort when we saw a third figure looming in the darkness. The figure was tall, wearing ornate black robes with trousers underneath in a similar fashion to Josephine. Like me, she was pale, although her eyes were smaller and she had a sterner construction to her nose and jaw. This was the headmother, Helena Heprose, and although she was clearly well into her fifties she was truly a statuesque sight.

  "Lot of noise after hours, Sister Wistree," said the headmother. Although her voice was quiet, it possessed a resonance that cast a chill across the whole upper hallway. I wondered if it might be supernatural in its strength.

  "Sorry, Headmother," said Josephine, suddenly respectful and deferent.

  I watched my guiding sister bow, and so I hurried to bow as well. "Sorry, Headmother," I said, aping Josephine.

  "Rise and present," said Helena Heprose.

  "That means name and station," Josephine murmured to me.

  "Violet Shrineborne, Apprentice, reporting, Headmother," I said.

  "You must need dinner," said the headmother, and I wondered if this was a test.

  I glanced over to Josephine, who remained silent and gave me no clue as to what to say back. "I really just want to wash up and get to sleep, Headmother," I said diplomatically.

  "No need for 'ma'am,'" said Heprose. "‘Headmother’ is fine."

  "Yes, Headmother," I said.

  "Present your transfer scores," said the headmother.

  I froze. I could still hear the titter of the sisters through the closed door of the dormitory, no doubt gossiping about me and sharing impure thoughts in electric lamplight. "My transfer scores are in my bag," I said, indicating the dormitory behind me.

  "Then recite them," said the Headmother.

  I swallowed. This was a test indeed.

  "Paxanan, ninety-first percent. Mathematics, seventy-eighth percentile. Sciences, ninety-second percentile. History, eighty-ninth percentile.” I had left the most embarrassing placement for last. “Classical Courtspeak, forty-second percentile."

  The Headmother made no noise at this, but she didn't seem to scowl, and it relieved me. "Well, let's not have you translating Midland poetry," she said.

  If that was the worst she was going to say about my low scores in the Midland language of Courtspeak, I could certainly take it. "No, Headmother," I said.

  "And your certification of ritual aptitude?" she asked.

  This was the real point of pride, and I must admit to you now that I took some relish in relaying the information. "Class Double-S, Headmother."

  Again, she made no noise, but I watched her eyes change. "You know," she said, "that alone puts you ahead of all those alley cats in your dorm wing. Even Wistree here isn't Double-S."

  Josephine seemed like she was in a hurry to explain away my high marks, as if they might otherwise make the blond sister seem unfit by comparison. "She was raised in a temple, Headmother," she stuttered, "by priests."

  "Is that so?" said the Headmother. She stood a good deal taller than me, and I looked up at her as she took a step closer.

  "From eleven onward, yes," I said.

  For reasons I did not know, Josephine Wistree looked uncomfortable, and she made a move to try and excuse herself from the conversation. "I'll get the basin running for you, Shrineborne," she said. "It takes forever for the hot water to reach the second floor."

  I nodded. "Oh, and don't forget the book."

  "Book?" said Headmother Heprose.

  "Nothing, Headmother," Josephine said quickly. She clearly did not want Heprose to know about what we'd been discussing in the kitchen. "A cookbook, but I forgot it at home."

  I was surprised by the boldness with which Josephine Wistree lied to the headmother. Anyone proficient in ritual, especially deathsgate ritual, was certainly at least somewhat able to detect an obvious untruth. Whether or not Headmother Heprose could sense the dishonesty, I could not tell.

  Josephine continued rapidly down the hall, and Headmother Heprose turned back to me. "Well, Shrineborne," she said, "you come to the National Sorceress Corps at a very interesting time. I hope you're not afraid of the heavy stuff."