A New Tale from the Shadowhunter Academy

13. Concealing

Dean Penhallow stood but a few steps away wearing disconcertingly bright yellow slippers and clutching a matching woolen nightgown around her slim form. Her eyes widened when she became aware of Cara kneeling on Edda.

"By the Angel, Miss Ross, please don't suffocate Miss Overbeck. I didn't plan on sending any more condolences this semester. Let her go." Cara carefully rose from Edda letting go of her shoulders last. Edda immediately struggled to her feet and hurried at the Deans side casting them murderous glances.

Dean Penhallow's gaze wandered over the boy's faces as if she couldn't trust her own eyes that they were really here. When her gaze found Max, realization flooded her features: "Mr. Lightwood-Bane, I should have known it was you, who stole the Mortal Cup from my office. Who else could pass the wards of the High Warlock of Brooklyn?"

Max grinned and said: "Yes, I'm quite experi-..." but too fast for the eyes to follow Rafe stood next to him and closed his mouth shut. Again! Max thought. Why does he keep doing that?

Visibly trying to regain her stand as the Dean, she straightened her shoulders, frowned and stated in an exerted authoritative tone: "Be assured: this will entail serious consequences for all of you!"

----

"I hope you're aware that your actions leave me no choice on what to do now," Dean Penhallow said in a serious tone, after they all had gathered in her office. The Dean had been woken up by an alarm that was set off when Max had removed the Mortal Cup from its safe and had followed the lights of the banishing. On the way back to the Academy she demanded a detailed report of the events of the night. Even Rafe was not able to find a harmless excuse as the two pentacles were to be seen plainly on the ground. Now the Dean sat behind her massive desk, the five students in front of her, the Mortal Cup to her left, and made a sally.

"By your unauthorized actions in this threatening situation you put everyone here in immense danger. I'll not even speak of your theft of an invaluable, ancient artifact. I cannot risk the lives of my students by letting magic run wild. I'll write fire messages to your parents to inform them that you'll be expelled from the Academy immediately. You can go to your rooms now and pack your belongings. Tomorrow you'll leave."

Max's knees went weak. He had yearned to go to the Academy for so long and only a few weeks after his enrolment he should be expelled! But before his mouth could articulate any protest, Rafe spoke up with his usual calm and persuasive voice: "If I were you, Dean Penhallow, I would overthink this decision."

"Of course you would, Mr. Lightwood-Bane," the Dean looked up to the ceiling, clearly annoyed. "And why would you come to a different conclusion than me?"

"Just think of what the Consul, who happens to be our father, would say, if he knew that a demon got loose in the Academy, where his sons should be safe and sound. And that you got rid of said demon, because a bunch of underaged students did the work for you. As he is well known to be immensely protective of his family, he wouldn't be pleased and consider removing you from your position, to install someone more capable. Perhaps Ragnor Fell, who is a dedicated teacher and, as a warlock, has the means to deal with 'magic run wild' as you state it."

The Dean had become paler and paler with each of Rafe's sentences. Max frowned and wanted to throw in that to his father it would be clear as day that his sons had somehow contributed to this chaos, so he would never blame Dean Penhallow, and Uncle Ragnor wouldn't dream of taking the position of the Dean, which was more that of a manager than a teacher, but before he could say word, a hand closed his mouth, damning him to silence. To his surprise it was not Rafe's, but Alex's hand. He looked at Max warningly.