Killing November

by Adriana Mather

  “Halt!” Liu says, and Brendan stops just before he collides with me. As the sparring at the ropes subsides, a few frustrated groans escape the fighters’ lips. Did Liu stop the challenge because I ran? I look from Brendan to the professor. I doubt Liu is going to let it pass without broadcasting my fear in detail to the whole class. And after the confrontations I’ve already had with Brendan, this might be one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. I can almost feel myself shrinking.

  “November is the winner.”

  Hold on, what? My head whips toward Professor Liu so fast, I’m lucky I don’t wrench my neck. I open my mouth but quickly shut it again before an admission of complete confusion comes tumbling out.

  Brendan looks at me like I just solidified my role as competition, and I get the sense that the last place I ever want to be is between Brendan and his glory. I would back up another step, but the table and the wall make that impossible.

  “Make a sound in the east, then strike in the west—from the Thirty-Six Stratagems,” Liu says. “We will be studying them closely over the next few months. These psychological tactics aren’t new. In fact, they were compiled somewhere around 500 BCE. What is interesting here is that you all are still falling for the same tricks people used twenty-five hundred years ago. People don’t change, the props around them do.” She smiles an amused smile. “I spoke so much about the flag that the only thing you focused on was how to beat each other, not on what I was actually saying. Think about it: I never said you needed to capture the flag to win. I said you needed to touch the table. However, I must admit that I’m shocked that only two of you were truly listening.”

  I want to laugh at my pure dumb luck, except it’s not funny. Had I actually participated the way I intended to, and the way most of the students had, I would be knocked unconscious right now.

  “And I’ll hand it to you, November,” continues the professor. “You acted naïve, and the way you protested about getting an advantage was brilliant. You demonstrated tactics in keeping with this class’s lessons. I look forward to seeing what else you’ll contribute.”

  The other students’ frustrated expressions intensify, and I’m now getting openly nasty looks. I wish I could crawl under the table and pretend this never happened.

  I try to catch Layla’s eye to see if she’s okay. But she won’t look in my direction. Brendan does, though, and he winks at me. But it’s not a friendly, flirty wink. He’s throwing down a gauntlet—he’s powerful, he’s smart, and he’s after me.

  I DIDN’T IMAGINE anything could be worse than stumbling upon a dead body in the middle of the night, but as I stare at the fireplace from my sprawled-out position on the couch, my conversations with Blackwood and Ash have started to cast the situation in an ominous new light. The only thing is, I can’t think of a single substantial reason someone would want to frame me for the murder of another student. Unless maybe someone had wanted to kill Stefano for a long time and I just happened to come along and get into a fight with Matteo, making me an easy target. Matteo. I reflexively touch my bruised eye.

  Of course, there’s always the possibility that Ash’s in on whatever happened. He did tell me to take that hallway. And if he is, and I give him the personal information he wants, I’ll be making it so much worse. This is an absolute nightmare situation.

  The door slams and I roll off the couch and into a standing position to find a fuming Layla marching into the room.

  “Get ready,” she demands. “We’re apparently going to the parlor.” There is so much frustration in her voice that I know it’s the last thing she wants to do.

  “I’m ready,” I say, watching her with caution. I’m well aware of the signs indicating someone is about to erupt. I’ve learned that lesson with Emily a few too many times.

  “Well then, get your damn cloak if you want it,” she snarls.

  “If you don’t want to go to the parlor, we don’t have to go. Though I’m guessing Ash suggested it,” I say in my most mellow voice.

  Her eyes spark at his name. “Not want to go?” She laughs and it sounds sinister. “I hate that place. You know what else I hate right now?”

  She points her delicate finger at me. “You, and my stupid brother. How dare you two drag me into this catastrophe! You know you could die, right? Or he could die? Maybe I’ll murder you both myself and save everyone the trouble of a trial!”

  I stay perfectly silent and as still as possible.

  “It’s bad enough I have a twin who begs and borrows trouble every time I turn around. But then I get saddled with a roommate who encourages him! I’m only one person; I can’t watch you both at once. And I don’t want to. Do you hear me?”

  I nod with purpose.

  “You both have some nerve.” She huffs. “You do realize they held me all afternoon, don’t you? Endless hours in a room without windows, only to be assaulted with five thousand questions about the two of you. And to be told like a child that if I cover for either of you there will be serious consequences. I had half a mind not to, and to let you both stew in this absolutely abominable disaster you’ve gotten us all into. But I know Ash didn’t kill him, and as much as I wish I could say otherwise, I know you didn’t, either. So there you have it, screwed by my own conscience. And you know what really gets me?”

  I shake my head.

  “Stefano was my friend.” Her voice softens, and I can tell that she has nearly worn herself out. “And instead of being able to mourn him and process how I feel about all of this, I have to worry about you two idiots.” She plops down on the couch.

  I carefully sit next to her. Who knew this fiery girl was under all that studious perfectionism? For once she doesn’t seem a million miles away behind a wall of ice, but vulnerable. I reach out and touch her hand and am pleasantly surprised when she doesn’t pull it away.

  Layla shakes her head and her eyes glisten slightly. “We better get to the parlor. Keep your eyes and ears open and don’t walk off with anyone for any reason.” She removes her hand from mine, but even tolerating five seconds of a friendly gesture is enormous progress in my book.

  “I have some questions—”

  “Of that I have no doubt,” she says, and stands. “But there is no time for them.”

  * * *

  A guard opens the door for us and Layla and I make our way into the parlor. Even though I’ve decided the kids in this place are seriously questionable and the present circumstances are as bad as they can be, I’d still rather be with people than be alone in my room stressing.

  The parlor is full, with more than thirty advanced students sprawled out on a rug in front of the fireplace or draped over velvet couches quietly talking. It reminds me of those cocktail parties you see in movies about old European families. One person who is noticeably absent is Matteo. I exhale in relief. Layla, however, is stiffer than usual.

  Charles, Brendan, and Nyx are playing cards at a round table and take immediate notice of us.

  “Well, this night just got better,” Brendan says, leaning back in his chair and pushing his platinum hair out of his face.

  Nyx lowers her cards. “Not so much better as car-crash fascinating,” she says. Even though she uses the word fascinating, her tone suggests that she couldn’t be less interested in us. Like she wishes we would just disappear.

  “What’s the occasion?” Charles smirks at Layla. “Did you ladies miss me?”

  Nyx frowns at Charles.

  Layla doesn’t spare them a glance. I open my mouth to respond, but she gives me a sharp look and I close it again. I hate that she lets them get away with that BS. Not that we don’t have bigger problems right now.

  The three of them watch us as we pass their table. Out of the corner of my eye I see Charles and Brendan exchange a few remarks that I can’t hear, and they laugh. No wonder Layla didn’t want to come here.

  Layla ta
kes a seat at an empty table near a big window that is now completely covered with a curtain.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to say something to them?” I ask, keeping my voice quiet and light. I know she doesn’t want to be in this parlor or in this situation, and I also know that it’s partially my fault that she is. “Because I will. They act just like dumb jocks in a locker room—only not dumb at all and with terrifying skills. But they don’t frighten me one bit.”

  There is a hint of a smile on her face. “More like arrogant royals, and they should frighten you.”

  I pull back to get a better look at her. “Aarya called them royals, too. How literal are you being when you say that?”

  She sighs, then says in a hushed voice, “Brendan, Charles, and Nyx are all legacies—they’re the firstborn children of the leaders in their Families and will eventually take over leadership when they get old enough. And Brendan’s British. Hailing from the most powerful Family in all of Strategia makes him act like a prince who can do no wrong.”

  I remember Ash told me that the UK-based Strategia were Lions. And their being the most powerful Family explains some of Brendan’s confidence and the way he always seems to be taking up more space than necessary.

  “Yeah, but this is a school. How powerful your Family is shouldn’t matter, your skill level should.”

  Layla looks at me directly, like I just said something important. “No. It shouldn’t matter. And it didn’t used to.” She hesitates and I can tell that she has more to say. I hold my breath, hoping she won’t decide to shut down.

  “Nyx and Brendan have been allied for as long as we’ve been here,” she continues. “Charles, however, only started hanging around the two of them this year. It happened a few months after he got close to Nyx.”

  “Are Nyx and Charles dating?” I ask.

  She gives me a curious look. “A lot of people think so. Why do you ask?”

  “Just the way she watches him,” I say. “And the way Charles always seems like he’s trying to win favor with Brendan, almost like someone would try to impress their girlfriend’s popular older brother.”

  “Nyx and Brendan are as close as any two allies can be. So you’re not that far off. And Charles is always trying to ingratiate himself, but more importantly, he wants to ingratiate his Family. He tries too hard, if you ask me.”

  I can hear in Layla’s voice that there is something she’s not saying about the whole situation with Charles, but I’m not sure I should push her, since this is the most open she’s been with me yet. She’s not gushing or anything; she’s mainly telling me things about people she doesn’t like, but it’s a good start.

  I lean back in my chair and attempt to casually take in the room. Only in doing so, I accidentally make eye contact with Aarya. She’s near us on a couch, sitting with Felix and Ines. Aarya is looking far too pleased with herself, Felix is doing his best to appear annoyed even though it’s obvious he thinks she’s amusing, and Ines is drawing on a sketchpad.

  “So…November,” Aarya says, and elongates the words for dramatic effect. “I heard something very interesting.” She’s using her American accent tonight, and her eyes sparkle with mischief. She projects her voice so that the people around us can’t help but listen. “Can you guess what it is?”

  Layla tenses next to me.

  “No, but I have a feeling there’s no way to avoid having you tell me,” I say.

  She laughs and leans back into the couch, like she feels certain she has everyone’s attention and wouldn’t want it any other way. “You’re fun. I’ll give you that. Way better than most of these pompous know-it-alls,” she says, and looks at a table of four girls, who avoid eye contact with her. “Now where was I? Oh yes”—she slaps her knee—“what I heard about you.” She pauses to draw out the reveal. “You, Miss November, were out last night after curfew. Very naughty, if you ask me.”

  The entire parlor turns to me as if on cue. Shiiiiit.

  To my utter shock, Layla scoffs. “Good one, Aarya. Nice presentation. You must be really bored these days.”

  “Well, now, you’re covering for her, Layla? How did you ever manage to let someone get on your good side that quickly? You must be slipping.”

  “Or just desperate to have a friend, since she can’t seem to make any that matter,” Brendan chimes in, and I see a flash of anger in Layla’s eyes. Aarya’s eyes, however, are brightened by this whole exchange. And I have to wonder what he means by matter. All I can think is that it has something to do with the Family alliances Ash was talking about, but I’m not sure.

  “Layla’s laughing because you’re ridiculous, Aarya,” I say to her, and then turn to Brendan. “And whoa there, Brendan. Let’s not talk about desperate unless we also talk about your embarrassing knife skills. Or did you just get into this school because you’re the firstborn of a leading family?” I’m taking a shot in the dark here, but how dare he come at Layla like that?

  By the way his eyes narrow, I know I’ve struck a nerve. But the surprised and tense glances from some of the other Strategia make me think I may have gone too far.

  Aarya claps and hoots. “This is the best time I’ve had in months. Look at Brendan’s face.” She laughs. “Look at Layla’s.”

  Layla stands up like she’s had enough of this whole night, and I get up with her. Whispers vibrate through the room like a swarm of locusts, though I notice Ines drawing uninterrupted in her sketchpad, like nothing at all is happening.

  “But my real question is”—Aarya pauses to bite her lip and raise her eyebrows—“who were you meeting? You must have been meeting someone, right? You just got here and haven’t had time to learn the guards’ schedules.”

  “Ah, that’s a good point, Aarya,” Charles says, and he puts his cards down, eager to jump in. “Why don’t you enlighten us, November?” He steals a glance at Brendan.

  I shake my head and smile, like their assumption couldn’t be more absurd. I only hope a roomful of deception experts can’t tell that my actual thoughts are anxiously racing. Even I know that denying something outright makes you look guilty.

  “It just strikes me as odd that on the same night Stefano was killed you were out of your room. Details. Details,” Aarya says, and sighs.

  The room gets noticeably quiet at the mention of Stefano’s name, and even Ines looks up from her sketchpad.

  “So many details,” I say. “Why, just a few days ago at lunch someone mentioned that you had lost your knife. Do we know yet how Stefano died?” I keep my tone casual.

  Layla shoots me a look that is somewhere between admiration and horror.

  “Touchée, mon amie. Now you’re in the arena,” Aarya says, switching to a perfect French accent. Then she growls and slashes her fingers at me like she’s a big cat.

  Brendan hasn’t taken his eyes off me, and now I stare right back at him. I can feel the danger there, only it’s not the vicious playfulness I get from Aarya, but a cold power that is prepared to crush me. I refuse to bend, though. There is nothing I hate more than an idolized bully.

  Just then the door to the parlor opens and Ash walks in with a girl and a big grin.

  “Come on,” Layla mumbles, and I don’t miss a beat. I can feel everyone’s eyes on us as we walk toward the door.

  Ash opens his mouth to say something, but Layla cuts him off. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  Layla and I walk right past Ash, who makes no attempt to follow us. We pass the guard and are most of the way down the hall before Layla speaks again.

  “He did that on purpose,” she says with an edge to her voice.

  “Who, Ash? Do you mean showing up late?”

  “The whole thing. Sending us there to see what kind of trouble it would cause, probably knowing that Aarya was going to call you out, showing up late with that stupid innocent look on his face. Ugh,” she says as we ma
ke our way up the stairs.

  “So he set us up?” My mind reels at how Ash could have orchestrated a fight when he wasn’t even there. I’m not sure if I’m impressed or disturbed.

  “Yes, of course. He put us in the hot seat to see what kind of information he could pick up in the aftermath.” By her tone, I can tell Ash is going to get an earful from his twin tomorrow. She stops in front of our door. “November?”

  “Yeah?” I say.

  “You did well in there. You held your own and you didn’t let them force you into guilt.” She opens the door and walks in.

  I smile. “Thanks, Layla. That means a lot.”

  “But they also pried information out of you and out of me. And everyone is now wondering if you did kill Stefano. That wasn’t a win by a long shot,” she says, and pauses. “Also, if you ever again publicly spout a piece of personal information I give you, we’re going to have a serious problem.”

  I lock the door behind me. “What personal information? The firstborn thing? Isn’t that something everyone knows?”

  She frowns. “Everyone but you, which means the only way you could have found out is if I told you. In their eyes, it means we now have some sort of alliance. You also took a shot at Brendan’s ego. There’s no way he’s not going to retaliate.”

  LAYLA AND I walk through heavy wooden double doors into an ancient-looking library. Rolling ladders are perched against walls of bookshelves, balconies that zigzag along the second floor contain small seating areas, and the ceilings arch high above, plastered in intricate patterns. The filtered light coming from the enormous stained-glass windows highlights the dust from the worn fabric and leather books and makes the air sparkle, giving the whole room a magical feel.

  I’ve been trying to talk to Layla about what happened in mind games yesterday, but every time I attempt to bring it up, she just tells me to wait.