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CHAPTER FIVE

WHEN THE BELL rang for rst period, Zanna was lost. Even
with Dr. Mumble’s map, she got turned around as soon as she
left the administration tower and its surrounding English rose
garden. She had just found the spot where the architecture
changed back to the classical Greek style and knew she must
be heading toward the center when a pair of oil lamps detached
themselves from the wall and blocked her way. She jumped back
a little, afraid of getting burned, but then she saw that nothing
was actually burning inside their metal bowls. Instead, the re
seemed to just spring out of the air. ere wasn’t any warmth,
either. Just light.
“Hall pass?” the lamps asked in a surprisingly gru and
Scottish voice.
“I don’t—Dr. Mumble wanted to see me before class.” She
didn’t know how to address a pair of menacing oil lamps. ey
sounded a bit like a woman, but she wasn’t entirely sure. And
she didn’t feel like risking a polite “ma’am” and getting it wrong.
“Name?”
“Zanna Mayeld.”
“Hold, please.”
Nothing changed in the lamps, but she had the same feeling
as when someone on the other end of a phone call puts it down
for a moment. Zanna took the opportunity to test the illusionary
re with an inquisitive nger, but she had barely reached out

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