Killing November

by Adriana Mather

  “I trust that when we search your rooms tonight, we’ll find that everything is in order,” Blackwood says, and scans the group of us. Everyone nods. I swallow, remembering the fork, and make a mental note to ask Layla if Felix could have somehow known they were doing a search tonight.

  “As you all know, we have a new student,” Blackwood says, and looks at me. “So I thought we would play a strategy game.” She shifts her weight and smiles a strained smile. “We often talk about this school’s best students, about their accomplishments and their awe-inspiring feats. But we seldom talk about their failures.” She pauses. “Twenty-five years ago, there was a girl at this school who won every single midnight strategy challenge her fourth year. Every. Single. One. What’s interesting, however, is that she lost so often in her first three years people would roll their eyes when they had to go up against her. How do you explain that?”

  “She spent three years strategically identifying flaws in other people’s strategies,” Aarya says, now speaking with an Italian accent. “And when she accumulated enough information, it provided a map to people’s strengths and weaknesses, allowing her to navigate them as she pleased. She also had the element of surprise after everyone assumed she would lose.”

  “Very true,” Blackwood says. “There is untold advantage to true observation. Take Ines, for example—she catches details most of you miss.” She looks at Aarya’s quiet friend, who recoils ever so slightly from the compliment.

  There’s a petite girl on the other side of Aarya who shoots Ines a look that I can only guess is a sort of angry jealousy. Aarya looks at her and the girl turns away, but there is definitely something going on there.

  “You all are trained in verbal and body language clues,” Blackwood continues. “You analyze masterfully, but you also have egos. And if you allow your need to win to compromise your ability to truly observe, then you have missed a great deal. This girl did not make that mistake.”

  Blackwood braces her hands behind her back. “Consider this example, too: In the mid-eighteen hundreds, twelve-year-old Margaret Knight witnessed a machine malfunction at a cotton mill that resulted in the injury of a worker. As a result, she invented a protective cover for that same machine that wound up being immensely popular. Unfortunately, she never got credit because she was too young to apply for a patent. But the patent wasn’t what concerned her in the moment of invention. It was the problem at hand. If you want to be truly great, you need to find solutions even when they don’t directly serve you. What else can we surmise about our former student?”

  Layla shifts subtly next to me. “To win every challenge for a year straight, she would have had to do more than accumulate information on the other students,” she says. “She would have had to know the way each student thought, and then think differently. We always expect that people will react the way we do—that when we hit them they’ll hit back, or that when we help them they’ll be grateful—and when they don’t behave the way we think they will, we’re surprised.”

  Blackwood looks at Layla approvingly. “Leonardo da Vinci didn’t limit his study to one thing. He was curious about art, anatomy, and engineering, to name just a few. He didn’t see the world for what it was, but for what it could be. And he combined his interests to tackle ideas like human flight. He knew that there were many ways to solve the same problem if you were brave enough to dream them. So yes, Layla, this girl did just that. She did what no one expected over and over, and just when you thought you knew her next move, she changed again. She was the most breathtakingly brave strategist this school has ever seen.”

  Judging by their expressions, the other girls seem to take this lesson quite seriously. There is a mixture of what I think is admiration and an ambition to be better. I can’t help but wonder if they know the identity of the girl Blackwood referred to.

  “Now let’s have a go at this challenge,” Blackwood says, and her eyes land on me. “Stand up, November.”

  My heart starts beating so loudly, I’m positive the vein Ash saw in my neck is going wild.

  Blackwood motions for me to approach her at the open part of the U. “Turn around.”

  I face the other girls, who all stare at me with blank expressions, except for Aarya, who looks amused. The girls appear to come from all over the world, yet I’ve only heard people speaking English. And I’m suddenly feeling grateful. The only thing that could make this place more baffling would be if I couldn’t understand anyone.

  “The rules will be as follows,” Blackwood says, untying my cloak. It swishes to the floor and the cold night air immediately seeps through my clothes. “No light, and no leaving this room.”

  I quickly glance around me. There is a guard by the courtyard door, one directly across from her by the bottom of the staircase, and one in each of the hallway exits. Behind the hallway guards, the torches have already been snuffed out.

  “Each participating girl will get one of these cloths.” Blackwood holds up two pieces of gray fabric. “They will be tucked into the back of your pants and will stay there. The idea is to steal the other girl’s cloth. The first person to do that wins.”

  Oh man. I look around again, this time making a fast mental map of the room. The staircase is directly behind me. There’s a tapestry to the right of it, and a hallway with a guard. Another tapestry, a chip in the wall a little lower than my waist, a torch holder above the chip, tapestry, door. And it repeats in a mirror fashion on the other side of the room, minus the chip.

  “We’ll need one more girl,” Blackwood says, and Aarya’s hand shoots up in the air. “Everyone else will stay seated exactly where they are. November, you’ll be paired with”—her eyes scan the group and land on the petite girl next to Aarya who gave Ines the jealous look—“Nyx.”

  Nyx, my brain translates, the Greek goddess of the night, mother of sleep and, oh, right, death. And by the light gasps and someone’s snicker, I guess her name is apt. She stands up without her cloak and joins me on my left. She takes one look at me and I can tell she’s already decided that I’m not a challenge. Well, we’ll just see about that.

  Nyx is so short that she only reaches my shoulder, and now that I’m close to her, I notice a thin black line along the top edge of her lashes, winging out at the corners, giving her eyes a catlike appearance. And since Blackwood doesn’t let us keep anything personal here, I can only assume that Nyx either makes her own eye makeup, or had the line permanently tattooed on. Makeup isn’t usually something I would look to in order to tell me who my opponent is, but in this particular instance it tells me she’s resourceful and stubborn and does not bow to other people’s will.

  Blackwood tucks the cloths into the back of our leggings. I glance at the chip in the wall again. I’d guess it’s just about as high as Nyx’s gray cloth.

  Blackwood takes our hands, pulling me to her right and Nyx to her left. She nods at the two guards behind us, and they move to the torches on either side of the foyer. The guard nearest me is the one with the X. Boy, that guy is everywhere I go.

  Each guard lifts a metal-cone-topped pole above a torch and snuffs it out. The room goes dark—blindfold game dark. And I’m positive it’s not going to get any lighter as my eyes adjust: there are no windows.

  From the direction of the hallways come knocking sounds, which I can only assume mean that the guards have returned to their posts. The room is unsettlingly quiet. I can’t even hear anyone breathe.

  “Begin,” Blackwood says, and lets go of my hand.

  My heart jumps into my throat. There’s nothing like the feeling of absolute darkness and being hunted by a probable Greek ninja to inspire nightmaresque fear. And if I don’t prove myself in this exercise, the entire school will get the memo that I’m a fly in a sea of spiders.

  I take a handful of careful steps until I’m just beyond the U. I must pass awfully close to the end girl, because I can feel her body heat as
I go. My boots don’t make a sound on the stone. The problem is, Nyx’s steps are silent, too. If I can just make it to that torch holder…

  I loop around the U near the backs of the girls until I think I’m about lined up with where the torch should be. I carefully put my hands out in front of me, trying to detect body heat from Nyx, but all I get is chilled air. Here goes nothing. I take a step toward the wall and something hooks my ankle, sending me stumbling forward and making all kinds of noise. And there’s a laugh, which I would bet money belongs to Aarya. That girl is seriously getting on my nerves.

  “Way to cheat, Aarya,” I say. Normally I would just continue without a blip, but I can’t have Blackwood and these girls thinking I’m so bad at getting around in the dark that I tripped over my own feet.

  “Who’s cheating? It’s not my fault you’re wicked clumsy,” Aarya replies with an American accent that’s a perfect imitation of my own.

  There is the sound of a match striking, and the room is illuminated.

  Blackwood holds a candle in front of her face. “Enough. Aarya, you have no place in this challenge. I specifically said to stay where you were. And November, surprises happen. People don’t follow the rules. Were you under the impression that this challenge was about being fair?”

  We all look at her, including Nyx, who’s standing next to me with my cloth in her hand and a grin that appears to say “I knew I would kick your butt”—not as a gloat, but as an obvious statement of fact.

  Damn it all. I not only lost, I get the added benefit of looking foolish. “Let me try again,” I say.

  “You lost, November,” Blackwood says.

  “I know. But you just told us a story about a girl who lost in order to win,” I say, and smile. “Let’s see if Nyx can beat me when she doesn’t have Aarya’s help.”

  “No one needs Aarya’s help to beat you,” Nyx says, and I can tell that she’s miffed I even suggested it. She’s Greek, I’d bet, based on her accent.

  The room is completely silent as everyone looks from me to Blackwood. Blackwood moves her mouth like she’s rolling the idea around on her tongue, then gives a perfunctory nod. I immediately scoot back to my starting position before she can change her mind.

  Blackwood resets our cloths and I glance at Nyx, who gives me a withering look that makes me wonder if I just made a very bad choice. After all, she came right for me; she didn’t even try to go around the circle the other way.

  Blackwood blows out the candle and throws the room back into blackness. My heart beats three times and she releases my hand.

  I run for the wall, not even attempting to silence my footsteps. My hands slap against the stone and there are snickers from the girls. I pat the wall in fast circles, trying to find the chip. Got ya. I reach above me, yank the unlit torch out of the holder, and throw it with all my might across the room and away from the U of girls.

  There are surprised gasps as it skids along the floor, and I yank at the edge of the heavy tapestry, pulling it toward me. Then I push it hard, sending it swishing in what I hope is the direction of the X guard in the hallway. There’s the sound of squeaking leather that I believe is the guard attempting to readjust himself, and I’m grateful I hit my mark. In the midst of all the noise, I grab the now-empty torch holder above my head with both hands.

  I can hear the girls whispering, and I pull my legs up to where my hands are on the torch holder. I get my boots firmly wedged between the wrought-iron rings for balance and to take some of the weight off my hands. The iron is surprisingly sturdy and easy to grip, but even so I won’t be able to hold myself in this inverted position for very long. Blackwood shushes the room and I have to smile: Dad always said that if you can’t do something without being noticed, create confusion.

  I carefully place my braid between my teeth and let my right arm hang down along the wall, finding the chip in the stone. And I wait.

  It takes only two seconds before the air near my hand warms. I hold my breath. Nyx came directly after me again. Boy, this girl doesn’t play games. If she’s after you, she’s after you, simple as that. Judging by the fact that I can’t hear her breath and our heads should be fairly close together, I’m guessing her back is to me. I move my hand forward, miscalculating her height and grabbing her shirt just above the waist. Thankfully I catch the edge of the cloth, too, and secure it between my fingertips. I yank.

  She lets out a surprised yelp.

  Blackwood lights a candle and the entire room looks at us, blinking in the pale light. The shock on their faces is obvious. I unhook my feet from the torch holder and jump to the floor.

  Nyx’s eyes narrow. “Winning second is still losing,” she says under her breath.

  I grin at her. “But didn’t we just learn that it’s the most recent win that everyone remembers?”

  “Nicely done.” Blackwood nods at the cloth in my outstretched hand. From the tone of her voice I can tell that something in her has relaxed, like she’s just decided not to throw me out.

  “You can’t win second if you’re already dead,” Nyx says so quietly that I almost miss it. I stop smiling. She’s determined, focused, and straightforward and it’s obvious she doesn’t like me. I get the feeling that by winning tonight, I’m going to lose something in the near future.

  I PULL OPEN my bedroom curtains and light dapples my room, giving it a soft warm glow. But the floor is like ice and the moment my bare feet hit it I jump, snatch up my discarded socks, and practically fall over trying to put them on.

  The chill sobers me up and the events from the night before come rushing into my thoughts—the challenge, Nyx’s threat, and the Jackal conversation I had with Layla. I don’t see how it could be a coincidence that she used deceptive, innovative, and clever to describe Aarya—the same words my mom used to describe a family of stuffed animals in a game we played when I was small. It was a childish game—at least I thought it was. My mom said she used to play it with Aunt Jo and their mother back in Italy. Each animal family had three words to describe them, all of which are emblazoned in my memory like nursery rhymes.

  I freeze and my stomach does a fast somersault. It didn’t occur to me last night, but when Dad came to my room to break the news about going to this school, he picked up one of my old stuffed animals and said, “Do you remember that game you used to play with your mom? I could never get you two to take a break from it.” Then he smiled at the memory, the way he often does when my mother comes up in conversations. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but now…

  I open my bedroom door, caught up in my thoughts, and nearly jump out of the socks I just put on. On the other side, with a hand raised to knock, is a young woman who looks to be in her twenties, carrying freshly pressed clothes. She’s wearing a maroon wool dress and a crisp white…I guess it’s a bonnet? Her cheeks have a natural pink flush that reminds me of a rose.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss November,” she says. “I was just coming to tell you that I’ve brought morning tea with bread and jam at Miss Layla’s request.” She takes a look at me like she’s trying to log every detail, but not in the threatening way the kids and teachers in this school do. Her look is warm and curious.

  I put my hand over my heart, like somehow this will slow down my pulse. “No, no. It’s not you. Sorry. I just didn’t expect anyone to be there when I opened the door.”

  She does a quick curtsy and gives me a huge smile. “I’m Pippa, your and Miss Layla’s chambermaid. If you need anything, please let me know,” she says, and I detect an Italian accent. She moves past me into my room and lays the clothes she’s carrying over the trunk at the end of my bed.

  Pippa, I think. Could be a nickname for Filippa, the Italian feminine form of Philip, meaning…“friend of horses”? Which I suppose suits her. Her upbeat demeanor reminds me of being outdoors in the sunshine.

  “Thank you,” I say as sh
e begins to straighten my blankets. “But I mean you don’t have to…I’d rather just…Thanks.”

  “Not a problem,” she says, and makes her way back into the common room with me at her heels.

  Layla is already sitting at the table near the arched window, and the sight of the freshly baked bread makes me want to hug everyone.

  “Oh my god, Pippa, you just made my whole morning,” I say with wide eyes.

  I slide into my seat and put my napkin on my lap with enthusiasm.

  “I got you the very freshest loaf,” Pippa says with pride. “Grabbed it just as Cook was taking it out of the oven.”

  I break off a piece of the bread and steam escapes into the cool morning air. “You might be my new favorite person.”

  “Thank you,” Layla says crisply before Pippa can respond and in a way that tells me it’s an invitation for Pippa to leave.

  “Yes, thank you!” I chime in as I scoop some golden butter onto my knife.

  The door clicks closed and Layla’s eyebrows push together.

  “What?” I say as I chew.

  Layla sips her tea. “Are you always that friendly with people you don’t know?”

  “Actually…yeah,” I say. I would tell her that she sounds like my dad commenting on me being too trusting, but that would be violating rule number one.

  “Well, don’t be,” she says.

  I wipe my mouth with my napkin and take a good look at her. “Pippa seems sweet. And don’t you think it has to suck to take care of a bunch of secretive people out in the middle of nowhere in some castle with no electricity? I’m sure she would appreciate a kind word or two.”

  Layla pauses like she’s not sure what to make of me. “All Strategia serve their Families in one way or another, November. No one gets a pass. And besides, Pippa won’t be here for more than a few years unless she chooses to be.”

  I pause, my bread halfway to my mouth, and my skin starts to prickle. I’ve definitely heard that word before. “So Pippa’s Strategia?” I say, trying to make the word sound casual and natural.