“I’m afraid we’ll keep living this life, and that, one day—” Shailene began, breaking off my hazy thoughts.
“—it’ll kill one of us, and we’ll be separated forever. We came into this world together, and we want to go out together, but there have been so many near misses. I’m afraid we might not grow old together,” Fay finished.
Mr. Abara nodded. “I’m terrified the world will never change, and I won’t be able to save children from being forced to take up arms. I’m terrified I won’t be able to make a difference.”
“I’m scared I’ll never amount to anything,” Oliver murmured.
Blanche ducked farther under the table. “I’m scared that I’ll die without achieving what I set out to do. More than that, I’m just terrified of getting older. I have so much life behind me and so many stories, and there’s less time between me and death than there has ever been. You feel mortality when you reach my age. I’m scared of that ticking clock.”
I glanced back at the eerie figure of Etienne, smugly observing in his gas mask. What was the purpose of this? My hazy mind kept changing the word into “porpoise,” making me think about dolphins. But that was the gas talking. Focus, Finch! Why would Etienne do this?
Realization struck me. This was a ploy to uncover potential spies or liars among us. Panic struck, like overly affectionate lightning hitting the same spot twice. How did I prove I didn’t have a hidden purpose? Had he already read into my gut-spilling? Technically, I was here to learn map-making, but I was also here for Erebus.
Maybe, for once, it’s a good thing he didn’t give me all the deets. What I didn’t know, I couldn’t reveal to Etienne. Not that it made me feel better about Etienne’s devious prodding and poking.
The laughing gas had hoisted us so high, we only had one way to go… on a slippery slope downward.
Sixteen
Finch
Laughter gave way to tears, and tears gave way to stony silence before the laughter started up again. Whatever this gas did to us, it came in distinct blocks of mania. And Etienne seemed to love every moment, chuckling away behind his gas mask like a psycho killer toying with his victims.
What’s that thing Harley used…? I rifled through my head. My brain felt stuffed with impenetrable fuzz. I grasped at thoughts and memories, but they spun away the moment I got hold of them. It was as if the gas only wanted us to feel what it wanted us to feel and say what it wanted us to say.
Come on, Finch! I’d gone through worse as a teenager. I’d been trapped in dark rooms that filled with gas before, without a speck of pleasantness about it. Poison gas, thick and smothering, with every intention of killing me. And a clock on the wall, ticking down the seconds before I passed the point of no return. A literal death stopwatch. This should’ve been child’s play in comparison.
I struggled to remember my training and the bits and pieces I’d picked up along the way. Just then, I had a Euphoria moment. Not a Eureka moment. That was what Harley had used, and the thing Katherine had trained me to use, to slow everything right down.
I squinched my eyes closed and forced myself to sink into that deep mental state, grasping for my best memories and holding them with everything I had. They had to be recent, since the older ones were blocked off. I pictured myself on the swing outside the Smith house, talking to Ryann. The next moment, I switched to me and Harley in the car, driving back to the SDC, my belly full of pie. Those would do. I just needed enough of a Euphoric state to take the edge off this gas.
“Why do you still wear the uniform?” I heard Oliver ask, but he sounded distant.
“Looking the part is the only way to protect the children,” Mr. Abara replied.
“Do you still work for the mines?” Blanche cut in.
Mr. Abara sighed. “Yes and no. I keep up a ruse, to gain access while I save as many children as I can. I pretend I’m taking them away to be punished for disobedience, then I take them to a sanctuary. There’s a cell of us, working together, but the work is slow.”
“That’s risky, isn’t it?” Shailene said.
“It is, but it is necessary.” I heard Mr. Abara take a deep breath. “If I have to give my life for this cause, then so be it.”
I focused harder on my memories, tuning the others out. Rising like a zombie, I felt my way to my pottery station. I had a spare chunk of clay—one that I hadn’t splatted on the wall. Fumbling, I found the pedal to spin the pottery wheel and placed the lump of clay on top. I dipped my hands in water and pressed them to the clay, pushing the pedal to get things moving. My body didn’t want to listen, but the slightly Euphoric state helped. Soon enough, I fell into the rhythm of the pottery wheel, giving me a bit more autonomy over my limbs.
“What’s he doing?” Melody whispered, returning to giggle mode.
“Making something,” Luke replied.
“Is that what we’re supposed to do?” Melody paused. “I think it is. Someone told us… Make something? A… vase, right? Is that right? I can’t remember. My head is so cloudy.”
I heard movement but didn’t open my eyes. Not yet. I needed to ensure the gas wouldn’t overwhelm me again. The scrape of stools followed, Luke’s and Melody’s, from their positions next to me.
“We should do that,” Shailene chimed in.
“Help me back to my station,” Fay replied. More shuffling echoed in my ears. Two more stool scrapes, then three more. Everyone had returned to their stations, unless my ears were playing tricks on me.
I finally dared to look. Sure enough, everyone sat staring at the pottery wheels like they were alien artifacts. Mr. Abara set to work, copying what I was doing. I didn’t mind. We all needed to get through this. Blanche got on with it, then Melody and Luke, then Oliver and the twins. Satisfied, I glanced back at Etienne. He’d kicked his legs up onto a nearby table, his arms folded across his chest. Impressed, Monsieur? I couldn’t tell through his gas mask.
We weren’t out of the woods yet. On the other side of Melody, Luke stumbled onto a problem. Metal pottery tools whizzed through the air toward him, sticking to him like flies on crap. He had to duck a few of the sharp ones, though they spun, homing-missile style, and hurtled back at his face. His Magneton ability seemed to be glitching thanks to the gas. It was surprising that it hadn’t happened before, when he’d been totally out of control, but I guessed the gas worked in mysterious ways.
And man, was it funny.
“You need to calm down, Magneto!” I crumpled in a fit of hysterics, tumbling right off my stool and hitting the floor. I didn’t even feel the impact. I just drew my arms around myself and wheezed, my ribs aching as the giggle train pummeled me.
“It’s not my fault!” Luke shouted. “I don’t know how to turn it off!”
“You don’t have a switch for that?” I stared at the ceiling through blurry eyes, unable to control my body. The temporary Euphoria had worn off.
Melody reached forward and cupped Luke’s face. “Focus on me. Breathe with me. Ready? In… and out. In… and out.” He made a hilarious show of breathing with her, his eyes fixed open as he huffed and puffed.
“Why are you staring at me? You have to stop, or I’m going to lose it. Be natural. Take relaxed breaths,” Melody urged.
“I am being natural!” Luke protested. He took a few more breaths, and the stuck-on tools fell away, clanging to the ground.
The sound snapped me out of my hilarity. I focused on the whirr of pottery wheels, that soothing rhythm, and clambered back onto my stool.
My crooked pot sat lopsided on the pottery wheel. It wouldn’t be a beauty, but I was going to finish this clay bastard if it was the last thing I did. Etienne wanted to see us concentrate despite the poison gas. That brought a few interesting questions to mind—if he wanted us to get through this, what sort of situations did he expect us to run into while map-making?
I should’ve worried, but I kind of appreciated what Etienne was trying to do. He had pushed us to our limits. Every limit, so we’d never be in a scena
rio we couldn’t map-make our way out of. And, somehow, it was working. Paranoia nagged at the back of my head. He could have used this to learn our secrets, too, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t said anything damning.
I dipped my fingertips into the water and pressed them to the clay pot, letting the wheel move slowly under the pressure of my foot on the pedal. The clay wobbled and swayed as if alive, but that only made me press my hands more firmly, to stop it from running away. And, hey, it took my mind off the gas. Physical therapy of sorts. All I had to do was look at the pot and watch it take shape. A hollowed-out middle—good. A narrower lip around the top—even better.
I smoothed my hands around the center until the motion gave a womanly curve to the vase. I hadn’t intended to go saucy with my clay creation, but I’d take anything my hands could manage right now. Maybe this said more about me as a potter than it did about the gas, but I’d leave the psychoanalysis up to Etienne.
“I think I did it!” I gasped in surprise. A few minutes had passed while I devoted all my attention to Madam Vase. It was the ugliest damn vase I’d ever seen, squat and wavy and leaning to one side, but I couldn’t complain.
Etienne got up from his perch and came to investigate. “Very good, Finch. It will make a fine centerpiece on your countryside kitchen table.”
“You think I have a kitchen? Or a table, for that matter?” I replied. “And I’m a town mouse, not a country mouse.” I didn’t know whether to take his words as a straightforward compliment, or one with a backhanded bite to it.
“Mouse? Where?” Mr. Abara shrieked in alarm.
Etienne chuckled. “There is no mouse, Mr. Abara. I was just admiring Finch’s handiwork. It is a beautiful example of the ceramic arts.”
“Wait… that’s it?” I frowned. “I completed the second trial?”
“I asked you to make a vase, and you have… more or less.” Etienne patted me on the shoulder. Yeah, definitely a backhanded compliment. I’d take it. I had completed the second round.
I sat back proudly and watched the others, keeping the effects of the gas at bay with more Euphoria. Nobody seemed to have a background in pottery. My monstrosity looked almost skillful compared to some of the blobs on show.
“Done!” the twins chorused. Surprisingly, their vases hadn’t come out the same. Fay’s looked short and stumpy and would have struggled in a line-up of vases, while Shailene’s had turned out taller and more elegant.
“Me, too,” Oliver said a few moments later.
The twins scowled at him, casting withering looks at his limp vase, floppy and covered in dents.
“I am done,” Mr. Abara announced. His vase looked like him: big, bulky, and masculine. It also looked the likeliest to actually hold water.
“I’m done, too.” Blanche raised her hand. Her vase was conical, with a thin neck. Again, not a far-off clay equivalent of Blanche herself.
Melody nodded. “I’m finished. I’m not quite happy with it, but I think it should be structurally sound. The base is thick, and there are no air bubbles, so it shouldn’t explode in the kiln. I think it’ll hold water.” Her vase was Best in Show. She’d even put flourishes on the sides by carving thin lines and crimping the top.
We all had our ducks in a row, except Luke. The pressure felt palpable. All of us stared at him, watching him struggle to manipulate clay while tools flew at his head. It felt like sitting in an exam room, waiting for the last person to finish so we could all leave. Pottery might have come easily to Melody, but her skillset hadn’t rubbed off on her hired muscle. And the more nervous he got, the worse his control over his abilities became.
I noticed a carving tool jiggling on my workstation. A second later, it hovered. I lunged to try and catch it, but the handle slipped through my fingers. Targeting Luke’s vulnerable vase, it hurtled toward him, pointy side first.
Instinct brought my palms up, a tendril of Telekinesis spiraling out. The shimmering end caught the carving tool just before it destroyed Luke’s work, and I yanked back. At lightning speed, it spun back the way it came and clattered into the wall.
Why did I do that? I didn’t owe Luke anything. He hadn’t exactly been friendly toward me. But something about Melody’s frightened expression made me step in. She needed Luke; that was obvious. Maybe I was trying to stay true to my word, to be a better man. Or maybe I’d gone soft. Either way, I’d kept him in the running. He finally finished his vase and looked at it proudly.
Etienne applauded, the sound going off like a gunshot. “Bien, everyone. You have all succeeded in stage two of the trials.”
“We have?” Luke sounded shocked. I couldn’t blame him—his vase came out the worst, even without being destroyed by errant tools.
“Oui, you have,” Etienne replied, clearly amused. “You are dismissed. The doors are no longer locked. With that in mind, I suggest you take the remainder of the day to rest and recuperate while the gas wears off. I wouldn’t advise beginning the third trial while it is still in effect.”
“What’s the third trial?” I sounded like the teacher’s pet. All eager, bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed. My head felt anything but—the room still swam around me.
Etienne laughed. “You will find out in due time.”
I hated to admit it, but I liked this. I’d never been top of the class, and while my vase was a pretty sorry excuse, I’d finished first. Now that I’d had a taste, I wanted more. I wanted to find out what came next and get through that, too. This had started as a pain in my ass, but curiosity had taken hold, and that reluctance turned to determination without my noticing. I loved a challenge.
“I’d put that on my shelf.” Melody cast a shy glance at Luke.
“You’re just being nice,” Luke replied.
Melody shook her head. “No, I mean it. It’s interesting. Why have a boring, normal vase when you could have something personal and handmade?”
They were an odd pair, but they intrigued me. Everyone did, to an extent. Blanche had killer stories. Mr. Abara seemed less mysterious now that I knew what made him tick. The Basani twins reminded me of everything I hated about covens and magical elitism, but they wanted freedom. And Oliver… well, he was Oliver. Like a kiddie pool—not much depth.
And don’t even get me started on you. I looked at Etienne, who returned my gaze with a cool one of his own. Did he have it in for me? Was he just biding his time?
“Do you have a concern, Finch?” Etienne asked.
I shook my head. “Just thinking about what I said.”
“Ah yes, the inevitable hangover from this gas.” Etienne removed his gas mask and smirked. “There will be regrets.”
“You can say that again,” Luke muttered, embarrassed.
I couldn’t believe I’d talked about Ryann to these people. Then again, I hadn’t exactly expected a sneak attack of mind-altering poison. That girl definitely had a firmer hold on my heart than I’d thought. The whole experience renewed an incessant itch to see her again.
Ah, Ryann… why did it have to be you?
Seventeen
Kenzie
After leaving me with a whole bunch of instructions for Finch, and revealing some more about the monastery and what went on there, Erebus vanished with a rush of air that knocked the blue bottle off the kitchen table. I vaulted from the sofa, reaching the table with a second to spare. My hands gripped the slick glass tightly. It almost slipped through, but I held it to my chest and twisted my body around, my back hitting the ground with a thud.
I lay there, panting. Rage coursed through me. I hated Erebus. I’d never hated anyone more. But he’d pulled all the right strings to force my obedience. Namely, Mom and Inez in this bottle. He’d snatched away any choice I might’ve had, despite the fact that I’d already given that up when I made the blood pact.
Asshole… total asshole.
I took the bottle to the TV, tucking it behind the screen where it’d be safe. It felt weird to be alone in the apartment. Even when Inez went to school, Mom was always here. T
echnically they were still here, the light of their souls swirling inside the glass.
Erebus had barely answered any of my questions about the monastery mission; he’d just made sure I had the details he wanted me to know, then vamoosed.
A knock at the door echoed through the apartment, making me jump. Erebus wouldn’t bother knocking.
I crept toward the door and picked up my shotgun. “Who’s there?”
I peered into the spyhole and a wave of relief barreled through me. Ryann stood on the other side, glancing over her shoulder like she expected gang members to jump her.
“Kenzie? Is that you?” she asked nervously.
I put down the shotgun and opened the door. “What are you doing here?”
“Harley sent me to bring you into the SDC.”
I frowned. “Not going to happen.”
“What? Why not?” She tried to look over my shoulder, but I blocked her view.
“I’m busy,” I replied. “Why’s Harley calling in the troops?”
“Everyone’s freaking out about Finch. The whole SDC is looking for him. She’s got security magicals all over the place, searching for Davin, too. He’s already at the top of the most-wanted list, but she’s drawing in more and more departments now, including the Magical Secret Service. And Harley’s worried that someone might be targeting people who know Finch. She thinks you might be vulnerable.”
I smiled bitterly. “She’s worried about Erebus, huh? Or just Davin?”
“Both, I guess.” Ryann looked at me curiously. “You know about Finch and Erebus, then?”
I shrugged. “I’ve recently learned more than I wanted to know.”
“What do you mean?”
I gestured inside. “Come in. There’s a lot to explain.” An idea popped into my head. “But you might have come at the best possible moment.”
Harley Merlin 11: Finch Merlin and the Lost Map Page 13
