Light of Equality (Hawthorn Academy Book 5)

by D. R. Perry

  The artwork was striking, no doubt. Red and orange flames flickered above a landscape of purple ice, tinged blue where the firelight touched it. Somehow, the ice and fire together created a heat more intense than the inferno I'd banished last year. It was terrifying and beautiful at the same time, the art even more masterful than the glass on the other door.

  That didn't explain why it had so much impact on our professor. He was faculty, so surely he'd seen it before. I almost wished the Evil Inside Voice would chime in and throw me some trivia about this mural, but it was silent about the art.

  "Fire and Ice?" Dylan read the title, then shook his head. "Impossible."

  I died a little inside. Only the Evil Inside Voice noticed.

  What did you expect?

  "Why do you say that?" I cleared my throat, wishing I hadn't sounded quite so strangled.

  "It's by a Morgenstern in 1979. That was before your grandma's time, but after her parents."

  "It's by her late brother." Professor Luciano's voice was low-pitched and quavered. "His name was Noah."

  "How did you know about my great-uncle?" The professor didn't reply or even bother looking at me, but his strix did.

  Her head turned all the way around, and she blinked at me twice. I wondered what that meant until the strix trilled in the voice she used to calm other critters. She pressed her head against my temple and tried to help me understand. It hurt the professor to look at me, but the reason was either lost in translation or a mystery to the professor's familiar.

  "Why's the ice purple?" Dylan shook his head. "It looks like poison. Still impossible."

  "We are the masters of untold elemental forces, Mr. Khan. More things are possible with love and magic than not, beyond imagining for some, at the edge of memory for unfortunate others."

  With that cryptic sentiment, Professor Luciano pulled the door open, holding it as we walked through. I glanced up to see his eyes watery, focused on something far away in either distance or time. Possibly both.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The doors led into an auditorium, where the fresh scents of wood soap and polish permeated the air. The entire place had recently been cleaned, likely for the talent show after Thanksgiving. But while the stage lights were up and the curtains open, only one row of seats stood in the front, with two chairs empty.

  That Board of Trustees, no doubt.

  We arrived last. None of the seven trustees, my mother, or the headmaster had prior commitments that day. What caught me by surprise was the iron dais on the stage. It wasn't just a platform, though. As we approached, light reflected off the clear sides of an enclosure around it.

  Whether it was made of glass, crystal, or something else, I didn't know. Dylan found out, because Nurse Smith led him up to it, opened a panel at the back, and locked him inside. My mother had grossly understated things, calling this process rigorous.

  It looked downright draconian. Locking anyone in a cage was wrong, extramagus with unknown powers or not.

  You don't know the half of it, my sweet summer child.

  The Evil Inside Voice never made a physical sound, but my mind usually perceived it as a drolly sarcastic baritone. Now it seemed throaty and hushed. I couldn't fathom what was different just then, how it could carry more than the vague foreboding sitting in my gut. Wasn't the voice part of my brain? Didn't it come from me, some fragment of personality given autonomy by the extra power flowing across the barrier between my body and Faerie's Under?

  "Aliyah, take a seat, please." My mother patted the arm of the chair next to her.

  I sat between her and Blaine Harcourt. I couldn't muster happiness at seeing him again or a greeting. His presence was ancillary to Dylan's plight, and all of my mental and emotional energy focused on my friend. That was my charge, my reason for being here: as his peer and witness.

  One thing was missing, something I should have realized. Somebody had to administer the test, and though I knew little about it, no individual present had authority with the Extrahuman Registry. Headmaster Hawkins rose from his seat, then turned to face the rest of us with his back to the stage's apron.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, to ensure this process follows guidelines set forth by the United States and by extension the International Registry, I invite Director-General Rockport of the New England Regional Extrahuman Registry branch."

  I almost turned around to look back through the door I'd come in by. If I had, I would've missed the director's entrance from stage left. He must've waited in the wings all that time, watching everyone arrive.

  Instead of addressing us or even acknowledging the existence of an audience, Director-General Rockport paced across the stage with his eyes on Dylan. A charcoal suit covered his tall, rangy body, but it did nothing to diminish the wolfishness of his frame. A fringe of salt-and-pepper hair ringed his otherwise-bald head. His expression was so neutral, I couldn't determine his age. I made a mental note to ask Cadence if he'd ever shown up in the social papers.

  Blaine Harcourt tightened his right hand on the arm between our seats. The wood creaked, which made me nervous. If a powerful dragon shifter who could take on a form the size of a football field was scared of this guy, Dylan was in serious trouble, and I couldn’t help him. This was a test of his elements and abilities as an extramagus. Interference might force him to repeat the entire process.

  "It's okay, Blaine." Kim put her hand over his, but it trembled. After their fingers interlaced, their knuckles went white.

  I blinked, unsure what had them on edge. And then I remembered that dragon shifters could see magical energy and tanukis could see the flow of luck. Was it the box that frightened them or Dylan? Or him being inside it? Did Director-General Rockport inspire all that terror?

  Be glad you're seated beside your mother.

  "I am."

  "I will brook no comments from witnesses." The director spoke without turning to face me, but his words hit like a blow to the stomach.

  He reached for his interior jacket pocket and produced a pair of metallic spectacles. I sensed they weren't ordinary, but before I got a good look, he put them on, his head obscuring them from view. After that, he put his left hand in his outside pocket. I watched it move under the fabric. The iron and glass box on stage made a noise.

  It sounded like the air conditioning compressor outside Bubbe's office. As Dylan's eyes widened with alarm and his hands went up to his neck, I understood. The Director was creating a vacuum in there.

  "Use your registered element," he said in an impossibly level monotone. How could any sentient person address another so calmly in a situation this dire? How many times had he done this?

  Trust me, you don't want to know.

  Dylan set his jaw and responded instead of panicking further. He raised his hands like a mime pressing against an invisible ceiling, then I watched him open his mouth and practically gulp in the air he created around himself. The compressor noise stopped and the director nodded, his hand moving in his pocket again.

  "Now, the temperature rises."

  This time Dylan nodded, expecting what was coming. I breathed a premature sigh of relief, confident he'd keep cool.

  But either he was too unaccustomed to ice magic, or he lacked confidence. It had taken me months to control solar, so I couldn't blame him, especially with how his school year had gone so far. This test was designed to be rigorous, challenging, and exacting. And worse, as it turned out.

  Admit it. This is pure cruelty.

  I watched as the clear enclosure glowed red. The Director even pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and dabbed his forehead with it. Sweat beaded on Dylan's brow, but finally, he managed the concentration to call on his second element. Rockport nodded again, adjusting whatever control hid in his pocket.

  "Additional element ice, confirmed. Now, the temperature drops."

  The process repeated with a new element. Did he intend to run him through the entire gamut of magic elements? How could anyone consider this test within human
e parameters? Was it new since the Reveal or something that had been in use for ages? How many extramagi had they done this to? Dylan shivered until his teeth chattered, but nothing happened. Before long, that segment ended.

  "Fire element negative. And now, darkness."

  I felt numb, detached from everything. Everybody still saw Dylan; nothing looked different to the witnesses. But his eyes went wide and wild, and he wrapped his arms around himself, seeming to shrink in fear from nothing.

  Being immersed in impenetrable darkness was a primal fear, one shared by most sentient beings on the planet other than vampires, Umbral Magi, and their kindred critters. But none of us had to endure that terror today, only Dylan.

  I glanced down the line of people, four of whom I’d never seen. I recognized Mrs. Onassis, Mr. Pierce, and Mr. Fairbanks. They yawned like Dylan was up there method-acting instead of being punished.

  Punishment for being what he is? Horrific.

  I'd promised to be his witness, so I couldn't look away. Dylan quaked and quivered in there, terrified but unable to mitigate the absence of light around him. I grasped my mother's hand.

  "How long?"

  "Another minute." My mother laced her fingers through mine and squeezed. I wished I could get into her lap and curl up there the way I had as a small child, but I was seventeen, and a formal witness for an official Registry test. And an extramagus. No comfort could erase my horror at this cruel procedure. It shouldn’t have been an approved global standard for anybody, even Uncle Richard.

  "Make it stop." Blaine trembled in his seat, shoulders hunched.

  Kim put her arm around him. "Ten seconds."

  That small humane act made me feel impossibly guilty. Someone should have been here for him. Not as a witness in a chair, but inside the box beside Dylan, so he wasn’t alone. Maybe a shifter or a psychic. Why wasn’t that allowed?

  "Solar element negative. And now, light."

  Who does he think he is, God? Lucifer, more like.

  Dylan covered his eyes with his hands, fruitlessly from the way he screamed. This was not a test. It was torture and utterly inhumane. That was why the Registry didn’t designate a support extrahuman inside the box.

  I'd go through this exact ordeal in less than a year. Everyone with more than one magical element had to, suspicion of crime or not. No wonder Uncle Richard had lied about his abilities.

  I’d grown up in Salem and had known the history of witch-trials here for as long as I could remember. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined they still existed in an internationally-sanctioned form for any percentage of magi.

  "Umbral element negative."

  The test progressed, and yes, Director Rockport went through every magical element known to extrahumanity. He ended by testing for the rarest ability in existence, mind magic.

  "Now, Mr. Khan, ask to be released without using your voice or body language."

  Dylan leaned his forehead against the front of his prison. The tawny skin of his brow was pressed flat and his eyes were closed. Every one of us watched tears pour out, roll down his face, and splash against his already sweat-stained shirt. His hands balled into fists at his sides, and that small act of defiance guillotined my last scrap of composure.

  I no longer felt far-off or detached, instead breaking into a series of wet sobs that shook the entire row of chairs, along with my body. My limbs felt stiff and weak all at the same time, my face blazing like the sun, feet as frigid and heavy as blocks of ice.

  The seven Trustees at the other end of the row leaned forward to peer at me. One, a very elderly man I didn’t know with a thick white beard, sniffled and wiped away a tear. The fox in his lap whined.

  Mom had her arm around me, but it did no good. She couldn't offer me any comfort. She could never understand how horrifying this was, watching my friend, already in anguish, endure even more. Knowing I’d be in his place soon enough.

  Kim Ichiro got it. Not caring one bit what anybody thought, the tanuki rose from her seat and ushered me out of mine, leading me off to the side and giving me a bear hug I wouldn't have thought possible from someone so short and slight.

  "This is the most horrible thing I've ever seen in my life," she whispered in my ear. "My father’s a lawyer, and I’m telling him everything. This can’t continue."

  "Even after Richard Hopewell?" I managed.

  "Especially after Richard Hopewell." She patted my back. "He was terrible, but we have to do better than this."

  Finally, it was over. In the end, Dylan had aptitude for only the two elements he'd initially admitted to. They could've taken his word for it, but either the system distrusted us or considered us too mentally unstable to give an accurate accounting of our abilities.

  Dylan and I might have been born with extra magical power, but the world did its best to make sure we had plenty of other disadvantages.

  Chapter Fourteen

  We went to Yom Kippur service in Beverly, the same as every year. Crossing the bridge felt different, heavier somehow. On the way there and during the service, I wanted forgiveness more than ever.

  At first, I wasn't sure what I'd done wrong, but failure to act hurt others as much as direct harm. I wanted to take a stand and change how extramagi were treated, but it all felt hollow and false because I hadn't spoken out about it.

  When the shofar blew, my heart opened along with my mind and cleared away all fear of what my family might think. There was something I could say, maybe even something to do.

  The idea couldn’t change the past, but it could help tip the balance toward equity for extramagi. I couldn't change the system, but maybe I could expose it.

  The ride back over the bridge into Salem felt like hours instead of minutes. When we went upstairs and prepared to break our fast, the last thing on my mind was food despite how good all the dishes looked, how amazing they smelled, how hungry I was. No drop of drink or crumb of food would pass between my lips, not until I told my family about my plan.

  "Mom. Dad. Bubbe. I'm taking that test." They paused, hands over chairs, a pitcher poised over the glass in my father's hand—my family, frozen in time. Noah broke the spell.

  "What do you mean?" He scratched his head. "Exams aren't until spring, Aliyah."

  "Not that." I looked at Mom, pinning her gaze with mine. "You know what I mean. The extramagus test. The one Dylan took today."

  "Wait." Noah blinked. "They test extrama—"

  "No."

  I whirled, startled by Bubbe's voice behind me. The tray of babka in her hand sagged, nearly tipping over. I rushed to her side and set it on the counter, then I put my hands on my hips and planted my feet in front of her.

  "No?" My nostrils flared.

  "You heard me. There's no way you're taking that test until you have to, Aliyah." Bubbe narrowed her eyes. Her hair, cobalt blue this time, trembled. Was she angry or scared? For what felt like the second worst moment of my life, I realized I didn't care.

  That's not true. You care too much. That's always your problem.

  "I'm way more dangerous in a wooden school than a boy with ice and air." My voice cracked. "I want Mom to call Director-General Rockport tomorrow, and then I'll take that test."

  "What you want is irrelevant, child." Bubbe looked over my head at my parents. "Neither of you will consent to this foolishness. It's out of the question."

  I turned slowly, measuring my movement because I didn't want to see what I knew would be there: resignation on both my parents’ faces.

  "You're right, Mom," Dad agreed reluctantly.

  "I'm glad you said that, Aaron." My mother put her hand to her throat, her only tell when frightened. "I'm in total agreement with Bubbe. Minor extramagi need parental consent. That rule's in place for a reason. I won’t give mine in a million years. And if you do, Aaron, so help me—"

  "I hear you both,” Dad said, “but my uncle took it as an adult. The love of his life volunteered just like this when he was younger than Aliyah is now. In June, she’l
l have to take it. The test is the only way for extramagi."

  "It shouldn't be." I crossed my arms over my chest.

  "If that's how you feel, Aliyah, why push?" Noah shuddered. "I don't know jack, but that fucking thing sounds catastrophic."

  "Noah, language!" Mom made a zipping motion over her lips. He winced and hung his head.

  "It looks like evil to me, and torture is wrong. I want them to test me in public, so everyone knows how bad it is. To make it stop."

  "You're not responsible for every extramagi on this Earth." Bubbe stepped forward and put her hand on my shoulder. Her tone softened, but her eyes remained hard and angry. "My brother’s powers came in at age twenty, and that test made him suffer every day. What do you think will happen to you?" She sighed. "This isn't revolution, it’s self-harm. You’re not Moses. You’re Jacob, and we’re refusing to be Isaac."

  "I’m Judah, lighting a lamp." My throat tightened. Ember wrapped around my shoulders, her tail pressed against my cheek. "The test is desecration. If magi have to see it, they’ll know we need another way.”

  "You're still a minor," Bubbe insisted.

  "I’m not giving up on this plan."

  "You will until you’re eighteen and we can’t protect you any longer. I was my brother’s witness." Bubbe pressed her fingertips to her breastbone. "I sat in your place and saw what you saw, and I've tried to change it all this time because I love you all so much. I failed. What makes you think you'll succeed?"

  "Bubbe, I know how hard you can fight." My eyes overflowed. "But you're not an extramagus."

  "Is that supposed to mean I don't understand?" Her fingertips paled against her white shirt.

  "No, you get it, but you can't speak for a group you're not part of, Bubbe. Not for something like this."

  "I only exist because enough gentiles stood up for Jews during the Shoah, Bissel." She sighed. "Like everyone else in this room."

  "This test doesn't happen where people can see, but caring for one person is the key to opening your heart. All they know about us is Richard Hopewell in an orange jumpsuit. I’m asking you to let me be seen."