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way, miss.”
    The Retters rose to go with her. The porter shook his head. “Your job is done. Leave now.”
    After a moment of uncertainty, Mr. Retter said, “Very well. I’ll see that your trunk is brought in, Lady Victoria.”
    Expression sympathetic, his wife added, “Best of luck to you, my lady. I’m sure you’ll be home again soon.”
    Then they were gone. Tory had never felt more alone in her life.
    “The headmistress is waiting,” the porter said brusquely.
    She lifted her chin and followed him through another arched door into a dank corridor. Tory sought information with her magical senses, but her awareness was still crushed by the heaviness she’d felt since arriving at this blasted place.
    A short walk brought them to another heavy old door. The porter swung it open, revealing a small office. The gray-haired woman behind the desk looked up, her gaze narrowing as she studied Tory. “Summon Miss Wheaton and Miss Campbell,” she ordered the servant.
    The porter nodded and closed the door behind Tory. Though the walls and floor of the office were more of the pale local stone, a decent carpet warmed her feet. A rather nice painting of a meadow hung on one wall and a vase of late-summer flowers brightened a corner of the massive oak desk.
    The headmistress wasn’t as pleasant as the office. Her hair was knotted back from her sharp-featured face and her eyes were as cold as the stone. She did not invite her guest to take a seat. “I am Mrs. Grice, headmistress of the girls’ school. I see that you are Miss Victoria Mansfield.”
    Tory stood as tall as she could. “ Lady Victoria Mansfield.”
    “We do not use aristocratic titles here. As long as you are a student of Lackland Abbey, you are Miss Mansfield.”
    “Why?” Tory asked. “My father is an earl. I’ve been Lady Victoria all my life.”
    “Practicing magic is the one legal ground by which a peer can disinherit a child,” the headmistress replied. “A lord’s son can be mad, bad, or criminal, yet legally that son is still his heir. Only magic allows disinheritance. If your father is not satisfied with your progress, he can legally disown you so your title will be stripped from you.”
    “I … I didn’t know that,” Tory gasped, feeling sick to her stomach.
    “The law is not invoked often. Because of natural feeling, most men prefer to give their magic-tainted children a chance to redeem themselves. That is why Lackland Abbey exists.” Her voice dropped menacingly. “Your breeding doesn’t matter here. Some students boast of their exalted ancestors. Others say nothing because of their shame. I suggest humility. There is no place for pride of birth at Lackland, Miss Mansfield. Not for those who have disgraced their family names.”
    Tory wanted to explode in fury. Not only had she lost her home, but her very identity was being stripped away.
    Instead, she did her best to look meek and biddable. If escaping this horrid school meant humility, she would be the humblest girl in the whole wretched place.
    Mrs. Grice handed a pamphlet to Tory. “Here is a brief description of the school’s history, purposes, and rules. Read and remember them. Do you have any questions? Most students arrive here remarkably ignorant of what they will find.”
    Tory glanced down. The Lackland Abbey Schools was printed on the front of the pamphlet. “Schools, ma’am?”
    “There is a girls’ school and a boys’ school,” the headmistress explained. “The abbey was built for brother and sister religious foundations, and we maintain that separation. Male and female students are very rarely allowed to mingle.”
    “Why are the schools next to each other when having young men and women together can cause problems? Surely it would be easier if students were separated?”
    Mrs. Grice frowned. “Both schools had to be established here because magic doesn’t work on the abbey grounds. And don’t pretend you haven’t tried to use your magic here. Every new