Killing November

by Adriana Mather

  I frown. He’s not even looking at me and still it feels like he’s reading my every move. “Do I need to worry about Aarya now?”

  “Yes,” he says. “But not just because of that conversation. Attention from Aarya in general is a bad sign. What did she say to you? Maybe I can help you sort it out.”

  “Actually, right before we left, Felix whispered ‘I know.’ ”

  Ash nods. “Either he’s telling you he knows who you are, that he knows something you don’t want him to, or possibly he was just screwing with you in order to slip the fork into your pocket.”

  “Well, he can’t know who I am because I’ve never met him before,” I say.

  Ash looks doubtful. “That’s the most naïve logic I’ve heard in a long time. He could know who you are because he knows your family, or because he somehow knew you were coming to this school. There are lots of reasons people might deduce who you are here, and never having met you has nothing to do with it.”

  I stare at him for a second. I want to tell him that I’m nothing like the rest of these students and that he’s dead wrong that people here could know me, but I’m sure I’d only be revealing information about myself if I did. “When did you know I was coming?”

  The corners of his mouth turn up slightly. “Layla found out the night you arrived, just a few hours before you got here.”

  I stare down the hall, trying to make sense of his answer. The only thing it tells me is that the school knew I was coming, which of course they did. I find it hard to believe they would take me if I were dropped on their doorstep. But it doesn’t tell me how long they knew and how much my dad didn’t tell me.

  “Did Aarya say anything else?” Ash asks, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “She wanted me to tell her how I got into this school so late.”

  He stops in front of a door, and for some reason, he looks amused. “Do you always tell the truth?”

  Great, how do I answer that? “Do you always stare at people with those laser eyeballs?”

  He laughs, but it doesn’t lighten him.

  We both stand there for a beat. I reach for the door latch, but he gets to it first.

  He holds the door open for me. “The advanced students’ parlor.” He sweeps his hand in front of him.

  My shoulders drop by an inch. It’s the friendliest room I’ve been in so far, with its roaring fireplace, piano, and huge window streaming light. There are cozy couches around the fireplace and big armchairs with footstools next to reading tables. It’s as lavish as the rest of this place, but it also feels lived in.

  I walk right up to the picture window, which is larger than any I’ve seen in this castle, and place my hand on the cold glass. Below, a handful of cows graze or sleep lazily in dappled sunlight under the oak canopy. They remind me of the cows Emily’s boyfriend, Ben, and his family kept.

  Emily and I enter Pembrook’s town square, which is pretty much the quintessential Connecticut postcard with its Victorian homes and brick storefronts with hand-painted signs. It’s late Saturday morning and people are out walking their dogs, shopping at the farmers’ market in the middle of the square, and sifting through treasures at the antiques store.

  “What are you and Ben doing today that’s so important you can’t go to the movies?” I ask Emily.

  She shrugs and doesn’t look at me. “Not much. Hanging out at his house.”

  I stop in front of Lucille’s—which boasts it’s the best diner in Pembrook. It’s also the only diner in Pembrook. “Not much? This coming from the girl who for the last two weeks has harassed me with details about every possible everything having to do with Ben?”

  “I think he wants to show me something.”

  “What?”

  Emily’s cheeks turn pink. “It’s nothing.”

  I smirk. “His ability to unhook your bra?”

  Emily’s cheeks go from pink to crimson and I can’t help but grin. “No, idiot. You know he hasn’t even kissed me yet.”

  I wag my eyebrows at her. “I can keep guessing.”

  She glances around at the other pedestrians, all of whom we know, and she gets hostile. “You better not.”

  I put on my thinking face. “Hmmm. Let’s see here. Maybe Ben Edwards wants you to—”

  “He wants me to milk cows with him, okay?” she yells at me.

  I stare at her in shock. “Wait. Let me get this straight. Emily Banks, whose worst nightmare is getting dirty, and who wore high heels to last year’s graduation bonfire in the middle of the woods, is going to do farm chores?”

  “Shut up,” she says. “It’s not funny.” But she’s grinning.

  “I beg to differ,” I say, the beginning of a laugh shaking my words.

  She attempts to keep her composure but cracks, and just like that we’re both laughing loud and hard.

  “Are you two going to keep acting like fools in front of my door, blocking my paying customers, or are you going to come inside and have some strawberry shortcake?” Lucille says, opening the diner door. Her silver hair hangs in a loose braid over her shoulder.

  “Strawberry shortcake!” Emily says, and squeals.

  Lucille hides her grin. She’s Emily’s godmother and she knows full well that strawberry shortcake is her favorite dessert. “Get inside before you let out all my heat.” She shoos us through the door.

  “Miss us?” I ask her, and kiss her on the cheek.

  “About as much as I miss hemorrhoids,” she says, leading us to our favorite table next to the window and plucking the RESERVED sign off it.

  I feel Ash watching me as I stare at the cows. “Layla told me you weren’t prepped for coming to this school.”

  My smile disappears and I immediately scan the room. The only door is the one we came through. “And Layla thought I was playing a game.”

  “Were you?” he asks, his invasive gaze intensifying.

  I shrug and look back out the window, trying to appear casual, but my heart beats a mile a minute.

  “Interesting,” he says.

  “Interesting, what?” I say with a little too much emphasis on what.

  “You weren’t prepped,” he says.

  I make eye contact with him. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You did,” he says. “If you were prepped and being strategic by pretending you weren’t, you would never call my attention to that fact. You would keep up that game. Also, your pulse quickened when I questioned you, and you looked away from me.”

  My eyebrows push together. “How could you possibly know my pulse quickened?”

  “The vein in your neck.”

  “You stay away from my neck,” I say, channeling my inner Emily.

  He smirks. “You also very subtly shook your head, telling me your answer was no. And you took a fast breath through your mouth instead of your nose, indicating stress.” He pauses, waiting for me to pick my chin up off the floor. “What you can do with names—piece them together and identify people with them? I can do that with body language.”

  “Okay?” I say, not really wanting to use any more words than that after his analysis.

  “You’re my sister’s roommate,” he says, his seemingly happy expression never wavering. “Don’t lie to me, or I will know.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Not unless it needs to be.”

  I rub my hands over my face. “You know what? I think I’m going back to the cafeteria.”

  “Dining hall,” he corrects me.

  My chest rises a little higher when I breathe, which I’m sure he notices. I turn away from the window.

  “You don’t like being here,” he says, and I stop in my tracks. His ability to read me is annoying as shit. “If you weren’t showing everyone your hand all the time, you’d probably like it more.”

  “I�
��d like it more if everyone in this school were less creepy,” I say, frustrated, which only widens his grin. “And stop smiling like that. If anyone should make something less obvious, it should be you and your gloating.”

  He laughs, which seems to surprise him as much as it does me. He pauses. “It wasn’t smart, what you did with Aarya.”

  I huff. “I was defending your sister.”

  “You think that’s what you did?” He shakes his head and his expression turns serious. “You showed Aarya that you’re loyal without being discerning. That you aligned yourself with your roommate after less than a day. That you’re emotional, and that by threatening the people around you, she can get a reaction out of you. Maybe even hurt you. You didn’t defend Layla, you made her a target.”

  My jaw tenses. “It’s all head games with you guys. Deception. Why would anyone even want to hurt me? I’ve been here for one day. This school sucks. I can’t wait until my two weeks are over.”

  His composure breaks ever so slightly, like I’ve startled him. “Two weeks?”

  “Yeah, until the holidays.”

  “Holidays,” he repeats with a look that again tells me I’ve said something revealing.

  Do I even want to ask? “You know, Aarya looked at me the same way when I said that.”

  Ash lets out an “oh boy” whistle. “We don’t go home for the holidays. Aarya now knows you don’t have a clue how this school works or know anything about the culture here.”

  “Hang on. We, as in you and Layla, or we as in everyone?”

  “Everyone,” he says, and it’s like someone stole all the air from the room. “Holidays—any of them, really, with the possible exception of New Year’s—aren’t celebrated. And New Year’s falls on a variety of days for people at this school, so here we celebrate nothing.”

  This can’t be right. My dad distinctly said a few weeks. I’ll miss the lighting of the tree in the town square, the Pembrook carolers, the terrible play our local theater puts on every year, and Lucille’s menorah lighting followed by her homemade spiced cider and fresh donuts. I rub my forehead and press my lips together. A lump forms in my throat. I got in when no one else could, so maybe I can get back out. Ash notices my upset, but for once, he doesn’t rub it in my face.

  He looks at me like I’m a Rubik’s Cube. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t want to be here, who didn’t consider it an honor.”

  I snort. “I find that really hard to believe. There’s no laughter here. No easy attitudes. No fun.”

  “Oh, there’s fun, all right. I’m just not sure you would think so. Or that you could keep up.”

  I study him for a second. “Try me.”

  He takes his time. “Let’s see here. On Friday and Saturday nights curfew is extended to midnight. And from twelve to twelve-ten the guards change, reducing the active stations to about one-third. If you think you can handle it, meet me outside in the vines tomorrow night.”

  I study his face. Sneaking out to go climb some trees? He’s got my number. Layla must have told him how I reacted to that courtyard.

  “Or don’t,” he says with a smile.

  I try to mask how much the idea appeals to me. “Why on earth should I trust you?”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  I grunt.

  “But my guess is that if you weren’t prepped to come here, then you have some questions.”

  I look at him sideways. Damn he’s good. “Are you saying you’ll answer those questions?”

  The door creaks and Layla walks through, her graceful steps not making a sound.

  I barely blink and Ash’s demeanor has shifted. He’s farther away from me and leaning lazily up against the window like we didn’t just have that conversation.

  “Hey, Ash,” Layla says, holding up the braided pine needles. “One to zero.”

  I LIE ON my bed and pick at the end of my braid. The candle on my bedside table flickers, causing the shadows on my ceiling to move around like cartoon ghosts.

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” I say for the second time to no one.

  Dad must have known about this school, because as far as I can tell you’re either in the know or you’re absolutely not. He got me in after the cutoff age. Plus, this is the place he chose above all others to send me to while helping Aunt Jo.

  He said, I promise you that you know exactly as much as will keep you safe. Do I know something I don’t think I know? It’s possible this is a test, an extended version of one of our outdoor strategy games, but I can’t shake the feeling that I should be worried—worried about Aunt Jo and my dad, and very possibly about being here in general.

  I roll onto my side. When Blackwood suggested it in her office, I didn’t think it was likely Dad went here, but I’m not so sure anymore. And if he went here, then does that mean all his stories about growing up in Maine and being your typical country boy were basically bunk? Has my dad been lying to me my entire life? The thought makes my stomach do a small flip. But I’ll take the Maine lie any day as long as what he told me about fixing everything with Aunt Jo is true. There are a lot of things I can deal with, but my family being in serious danger when I have no way of getting to them quickly is not one of them.

  I get out of bed and open my door. Layla’s on the light gray velvet couch, reading a book with her legs tucked under her. I glance at the clock, which says 11:50 p.m., and head for the door. If I’m going to sneak out tomorrow night, I might as well get a sense of what kind of obstacles I’m in for.

  My hand touches the iron latch.

  Layla looks up from her book with its worn fabric cover and faded gold lettering. “It’s past curfew.”

  “I’m just going to step into the hallway.”

  Layla shakes her head and her hair swishes like inky water. “Not unless you want a mark against you.”

  “A mark?”

  “For being out after curfew, for trying to pick a lock to a restricted area, for opening a curtain at night and letting light out, et cetera. Get three and you get a punishment of their choosing.”

  “Like what?”

  “Depends on the person. But they’re always terrible.”

  I consider telling her that her brother suggested we meet in the vine courtyard after curfew, an offense probably worth twenty marks.

  “Layla?”

  She marks her page with her finger. “Yes?”

  I choose my words carefully. “If I’m asking something I shouldn’t, don’t tell me. You were right about Aarya. I made a mistake. And I don’t want to misstep again.”

  Her expression loses a little of its ice.

  I take a breath and pace myself. “I’ve never met anyone from a…Jackal Family before, and, well…I’m not sure how to say this…Is there anything you can tell me?”

  She purses her lips and levels her gaze at me like she’s trying to decide something. “Only that the stories are mostly true. We’re ninety percent sure that the Jackal Family was responsible for Franz Ferdinand’s driver taking a wrong turn in 1914, the turn that got him and his wife assassinated and instigated World War One. And we’re certain they had a hand in ‘accidentally’ leaving the gate open at Constantinople in 1453, leading to the city’s demise and the death of Emperor Constantine. Not to mention the ‘accidental’ bakery fire in London in 1666, which led to the destruction of more than thirteen thousand houses, and dozens of other incidents. I’m not saying Jackals only cause chaos, because as you know, none of our Families are perfect. We all have a long list of mistakes. But what I am saying is that Jackals are more likely to serve their own agenda than the Council of Families’. And because they are spread throughout numerous countries, it’s much more difficult to identify them. They speak every language, and they blend in everywhere. They are more true to their characteristics than any other Family here. Deceptive. Innovative. Clever. The
y will cause you trouble if they can.”

  I freeze, and not because Layla just alleged that Aarya is likely related to people who helped start WWI, but because the description she just gave is ringing like a bell in my mind. Deceptive. Innovative. Clever. And now I remember exactly where I heard about the Jackal Family. My mother.

  The latch moves under my hand and I jump backward. The door swings open and on the other side is the guard with the X scar above his eyebrow. His eyes narrow ever so slightly when he sees me. For a second we stare at each other, and just as I’m about to open my mouth to ask him what his deal is, he walks away without a word.

  I look at Layla questioningly, but she’s already off the couch and moving. “Get dressed. Fast!”

  I run into my room and grab my clothes off the floor. It takes me all of a minute to put them on, but even so Layla is standing by our open door when I finish like she’s been lounging there for hours.

  She tosses me my cloak and I follow her full-speed into the hallway, which is lit by the open doors that students are pouring out of. I want to ask Layla what’s going on, but I don’t need to advertise my ignorance in front of everyone.

  We follow the other girls from our hall down three flights of stairs and to the foyer that leads to the vine courtyard. It’s a mirror image of the one with the shields and the knight statue on the south side of the building, only it has nothing more than two torches and some faded tapestries hanging from its walls.

  The girls are sitting cross-legged in a U shape and Layla and I are among the last to join them. I do a quick count and come up with twenty-five girls, including me. Maybe it’s only the advanced students, then?

  Aarya sits on the opposite side of the U, smirking at me while her quiet friend with the red dreads fidgets with the hem of her cloak. I stare back at Aarya, wondering what her Family has to do with a make-believe game I played with my mom when I was little. At least, I always thought it was make-believe.

  “Welcome,” Blackwood says, emerging from the staircase. She wears the same ruffled shirt with a blazer and black pants she did last night. It’s eerie the way no one’s clothes ever change in this place. Even her hair remains in the same forehead-abusing bun.