Free Witch Fire by Laura Powell Page B

told her, as she pushed through a heavy set of double doors. ‘One of the maids will bring you your supper. Lights go out at ten thirty. The wake-up bell is set for seven.’
    ‘ Seven ?’ Glory didn’t have to fake her outrage. ‘Bleeding hell. I thought the whole point of boarding school was being able to roll straight outta bed and into class.’
    The guardian pursed her lips. ‘Principal Lazovic believes that early morning is the most productive part of the day.’
    Glory’s bedroom was furnished in varying shades of beige. Like in a hotel, there was a kettle with tea and coffee supplies, and a miniature set of toiletries laid out in the gleaming ensuite bathroom. There was even a vase of white flowers on the bedside table. The bars over the window were the only discordant note. Then she discovered there was no lock on either the bedroom or bathroom door.
    Her suitcase was nowhere to be seen. Someone had already unpacked for her and put everything neatly away. No doubt they’d taken the opportunity to search through her belongings for signs of witchwork and other deviancies. Pinned to the noticeboard was a long list of school rules. The timetable next to it was almost as depressing.
    The big white-painted desk was equipped with stationery and a laptop. Glory knew that emails had to be sent from a special Wildings account, and then only to previously approved recipients. All correspondence was checked by academy staff. But thanks to the MI6 geek-squad, Glory wasn’t without resources. Her favourite gadget was a lock-picking set: fourteen stainless-steel blades fitted into the barrel of a pen, whose pocket clip doubled as a tension tool. Then there was a tiny spy-cam disguised as a button and a bug-detecting device disguised as a lipstick. She also had a spare passport sewn into the lining of her washbag, together with a wad of Swiss francs and a debit card for a WICA-run account.
    Witchwork was supposed to be a last resort. Glory frowned when she remembered the MI6 techie’s words. ‘Who needs to grub around with mud and spit and such, now that nanotechnology gets things done far better?’ He had given a cheery laugh. ‘You lot’ll be out of a job before long.’
    Still, Glory had no intention of cutting off her nose to spite her face. She unscrewed the base of her ‘lipstick’ and switched on the bug detector. It was a tiny electronic scanner that swept the room for radio frequencies of the kind given off by hidden cameras and audio feeds. So far, so good.
    There was a knock on the door and she put the device in her pocket in a guilty rush. A maid came in with a tray of food. ‘Please put it outside the room when you are finished,’ she said softly.
    There was a chicken and rice casserole, fruit salad and a bottle of mineral water. Nothing too weird or foreign. Still, it was strange to eat in solitary silence, and Glory gulped her meal down without really tasting anything.
    After taking a shower, she remembered she was supposed to leave the tray outside the door. The corridor was dark and lifeless; presumably the accommodation was designed to keep students in as solitary a confinement as possible. Back in her room, Glory pulled faces at herself in the wardrobe mirror. ‘I board, yah,’ she said aloud, making her voice rich and drawling, like Lucas’s. ‘ This frightfly nice little place in the country. Going private keeps the scum out of the classrooms, don’t yew know. It’s super fun.’
    Suddenly, the room was plunged into darkness. A power cut? Groping, she stumbled towards the bed and found a switch. She thought it might connect to a night light above the headboard. Although she didn’t really expect it to work, the bulb glowed into dim life; just enough for her to check her watch. It was ten thirty. So lights out really did mean lights out!
    Starlight glimmered through the window. Glory closed the shutters with a bang. Who would have thought she’d miss the sickly orange haze of a London