by A. L. Knorr
He came up to sitting. Some of the blush in his cheeks had begun to fade. “Your face is so red. Are your lips numb?”
I nodded and sat up, facing him. “I can’t feel my tongue either.”
“Same here.” His voice broke.
All of a sudden I wanted to cry. My breath hitched and I felt my lower lip tremble. I ran a hand over my face to hide my feelings, brushing away at the moisture in my eyes. It was silly, but … It hit me like a wrecking ball. I was in love with Gage. Truly, madly.
He was one of the kindest, most loving people I’d ever met. The selfless, unconditional love for Ryan which made me want to throttle him, also made me love him even more. I wanted to be loved like that: blindly, unconditionally, completely. I wanted to be closer to Gage than I’d ever been to anyone else. I was ready to give him all of me. The thought of being with him, of feeling his ardor rise to match mine sent a wash of desire through me so powerful it left my hands shaking.
So why had our fires sounded the equivalent of an alarm? It was like our fires had their own consciousness and they didn’t want us to be together. Which was crazy, wasn’t it? But it was also crazy for a fire mage—who could stand inside of a blast furnace without any discomfort at all—to feel overheated.
We looked at one another as our breathing slowly returned to normal. He didn’t smile, and I couldn’t either.
What might at first blush seem novel and exciting, was revealing itself to be a serious problem. If we couldn’t be together physically, what did that leave?
It left us with a friendship, an unsatisfying one at that.
My fire swept back into its usual place, pulling all the heat tentacles into itself as if it was pleased with a job well done. My fever receded. I felt mutinous about my fire for the first time since before my Burning. Why are you doing this? I love him.
There was no answer from within.
Maybe he read the doubt on my face or maybe he needed reassuring, but Gage skootched closer and put his hand on my thigh, answering an unanswered question. “I do want you.”
I looked at him, feeling miserable and confused. “I want you, too.”
His voice lowered to a near whisper, even though we were alone. “What happens when we try to go all the way? Will we spontaneously combust?”
It sure felt that way. I lay my hand on top of Gage’s, feeling the heat there, already threatening to build.
“I don’t know.” I wiped at my eyes, embarrassed.
But Gage saw the edge I was on and pulled me into his arms. We sat there on the floor, hip to hip, arms around one another. I let my cheek rest against his shoulder, looking away from him so my lips didn’t ignite heat in his neck. I noticed he was careful to keep his hands on top of my clothing.
“We’ll try again when I get back from Naples. Okay?”
I nodded and closed my eyes, wondering what the odds were that anything would have changed by then.
Seven
Team Arcturus
I was seated on a sofa in the lobby with a book I was failing to read as I waited for Basil and Christy to return from the Dover train station with the Arcturus competitors. Dr. Price had co-ordinated their travel to ensure they arrived within 30 minutes of each other, including Cecily. Basil and Christy had gone to pick them up with the school’s seven-seater van and Basil’s Range Rover Epoque.
It had been a long two weeks since the committee decided on the tournament, even with a trip up north to see Georjie, who didn’t seem to have any intentions of leaving Blackmouth anytime soon (and with a fellow like Lachlan around, I couldn’t blame her). Then I’d returned to Arcturus planning to spend half of every day honing my fire-skills as best I could using only the CTH. Basil had worked with me a few times, but he was also busy with his dad’s affairs and seemed to spend a lot of time in private conversation with Dr. Price. Both had been very secretive, so I suspected some agency work was also distracting them.
Dr. Price never had let me in on who the rest of the competitors were. I wasn’t sure why the extreme secrecy. Maybe she was thinking that I’d text Arcturus students with the gossip. I had to admit, if I had known, I would have been tempted to get April or Jade on the line to speculate about how things were going to go down. Not having anyone to talk to about what was happening had built up a level of anticipatory anxiety reserved for kids going into kindergarten.
When Basil and Christy pulled up outside, I leapt from the sofa, dumping the book onto the coffee table. I went to the window, my heart skittering around like an excited mouse as I watched the competitors exit the van and the SUV.
Tomio had ridden with Basil. He got out of the Evoque’s back seat as Tagan emerged from the other side. Felix Kennet emerged from the Range Rover’s passenger side like one of those foldable yardsticks, towering over the vehicle.
Feeling like it wouldn’t be cool to be seen fogging up the windows with my breath, I dashed back to the sofa and picked up my book.
Tomio was the first through the door, carrying a duffle bag on his shoulder. The black sack had the silhouette of two men engaged in a fight embroidered along the side.
I put down my book and got off the sofa. “Tomio!”
He set his bag on the carpet to give me a hug as the other students trailed in through the front door. Tagan and Cecily came over to greet me. The foyer buzzed with excited chatter and laughter as the Arcturus competitors trailed in through the front doors, dragging their luggage behind them.
Tagan’s eyes were fever-bright. “Should I feel guilty for being so excited? I used to lose my mind on track and field days back in grade school. I hardly know what to do with myself.”
“Can I bottle some of that?” I replied, laughing.
Feeling a presence near my elbow, I turned to see a woman with dark curly hair, large brown doe-eyes and tanned skin. I recognized her as a recent graduate but had never spoken with her nor seen her in action. I held out a hand and introduced myself.
Her cheeks dimpled as she took my hand, answering with an accent that hinted she was likely fluent in Spanish. “Everyone knows who you are after that surprise assembly. I’m Brooke Ortega. Nice to meet you, finally.”
Her shake was firm and her hand warm and dry, but no fire flared between us.
“You too.” I felt my cheeks warm beneath her probing gaze.
The rest of the competitors gathered to introduce themselves since Brooke and I had kicked things off. A slender blonde girl in a camel-colored leather vest and brown wool pencil skirt stood by the fireplace. A silky blouse encased her torso, the sleeves billowing out fetchingly from the form-fitting vest. She lifted a hand, giving me a friendly smile. “I’m Harriet Ashby.”
“Nice to meet you.”
Harriet looked like she’d make a better librarian than stiff competition, but there was a fierce energy in her eyes which suggested she was not a book to be judged by its cover.
Felix took my hand, towering over me as he introduced himself. No bond revealed itself when we shook, but if he cared he didn’t show it. I fought the urge to run around making contact with everyone, just to figure out who I shared a bond with and who I didn’t. But I was still relatively new to the supernatural world and fire magi had a subtle culture all their own. Sharing a bond appeared to be no big deal to most magi.
But between Gage and me, it changed everything.
I relegated thoughts of Gage to a rear corner as the last competitor stepped forward. He’d been standing just outside the circle with his hands jammed into his jeans pockets. Hair cut short on the sides and long on top, he had pale gray eyes and a dimple in both cheeks even when he wasn’t smiling. In a plain canvas jacket and well-worn sneakers with an oil stain on one toe, he was the kind of guy who might not catch your eye on the street, but once you did notice him you’d have a hard time looking away. He offered a handshake.
Fire whooshed up my arm as we touched and I couldn’t keep from grinning at him in surprise. He grinned back, dimples deepening into craters.
“Peter To
ft, pleasure to meet you.” He looked like a mechanic but he spoke with an accent posh enough to be straight from Downton Abbey.
Brooke leaned in and gave a stage whisper. “Peter looks like a choirboy but watch him. He can be very … handsy.”
I flushed to my roots and everyone laughed. I relaxed. During the academic year there’d been invisible walls between the students of the different years, the widest gap being between first-years and third-years. But it was summer now and we were here for the same reason. The feeling that we were a team had already begun to take shape.
“Everyone’s acquainted, then? Good.” Basil gestured that we should find a seat while Dr. Price closed the front doors. He moved to stand in front of the fireplace. Dr. Price joined Basil but stood off to the side, looking ready for business.
Christy—while having taken every opportunity to express how insane she thought the games were—had settled into a grim determination to ‘win the bloody thing.’
“You know why you’re here.” Basil’s expression was drawn, as it had continuously been since his father’s death. “I’m grateful to you for coming to the academy’s aid. I have a few bits of business to address before I release you to settle in. First, the Firethorne students will arrive tomorrow.”
He paused here as if wanting to give time for comments, but no one so much as coughed or shifted on the couch. There was an air of restraint from the competitors, as though we weren’t entirely sure how to behave. While games were generally viewed as enjoyable, these ones couldn’t be approached with as cavalier an attitude as we might like.
The headmaster cleared his throat. “I’d like you to be courteous and professional, but if you find yourself drawn to making friends, I’ll ask you to resist until the tournament is over. The outcome should be our focus. Anything that might jeopardize the goal should be treated with caution. That includes trusting our competition. I’ll come right out and say that I don’t trust my dear sister, therefore you shouldn’t trust your opponents.”
“You think they might cheat?” Tagan asked from the large sofa, sandwiched between Harriet and Brooke.
“Cheat? No. The consequences would be too dire for them to cheat, but they will try to unsettle you, intimidate you, even manipulate you. So be alert.”
“Have you met them?” Brooke leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees.
“No. But I know Babs.” Basil said this like it should be enough reason to be cautious. After having met her myself, I agreed.
Basil glanced at Dr. Price and she stepped closer. “We’ll be putting you all in the third-year men’s block. The Firethorne students will be given the first-year women’s block. We’d like you to be together as a team so you can support one another, but as far from the competition as you can be.”
No one complained, but I was disappointed that I’d have to move out of my room. I liked the view from my windows and I felt at home there. I wasn’t about to voice any displeasure though, since no one else seemed to mind, and the point of moving us made sense. It was a good thing I hadn’t unpacked everything after my return to Saltford was delayed.
“The fire-gym is off limits but you’re free to use the CTH and the forge. Internal detonations are now allowed in the dojos for you lot, just to be clear. Babs’ assistant, Mr. Bunting, has found us a new chef and temporary kitchen staff given Professor Palmer is not available. His name is Lars Hoedemaker. Dinner will be at seven tonight.”
“What can you tell us about the games?” Peter asked from an ottoman, one sneakered foot resting on top of his knee.
Basil adjusted his glasses. “Not much, I’m afraid. Guzelköy and Davazlar have kept the details confidential. What I do understand is that the first challenge will be physical in nature. You’re to be timed, and your strengths and weaknesses will be analyzed, which will allow the game-makers to adjust for the second challenge and so on and so forth.”
“If we’re eliminated, can we stay and watch if we want to?” Harriet asked in the kind of soft, sweet voice usually reserved for reading a bedtime story to a child.
Basil nodded. “Yes, if you like, you’re welcome to stay and support your teammates, but please keep in mind that outside of your family and a small circle of our friends and acquaintances, no outside observers are allowed. This is a private affair.”
There were murmurs of understanding.
“The day after tomorrow, you’ll be addressed by the game-makers together with your opponents, in Lecture Hall A. I know you’ll do me proud,” Basil said with finality. “That’s all I’ve got for now. Take the afternoon to move yourselves in. We’ll see you at dinner.”
With that and a nod from Christy, they left us to our own devices.
Eight
Slop & Strategy
Walking into the cafeteria for supper that evening, Tomio and I stopped and sniffed before approaching the serving stations with caution.
“What is that smell?” The aroma had my stomach on the edge of queasy.
Tomio wrinkled his nose. “Gym-sock and jock-strap stew?”
We were the last to hit the line. Brooke, Felix and Harriet were already seated at one of the larger tables, staring morosely into their steaming bowls of mystery food. Peter had left the line without a bowl and was making his way over to the fridge.
Behind the serving station was a sweating, red-faced lady wearing a plastic swim-cap instead of a hairnet. Beside her was an also red-faced but more jovial looking fellow adorned with a proper chef’s hat and a crisp, white apron. It was nice that we didn’t have to worry about him having clean duds to wear, but he also sported a seriously impressive Viking beard.
“Erwtensoep?” He asked as Tomio and I approached with our trays, eyes bright and beard wagging dangerously close to the industrial sized pot of soup. A peek inside revealed a lumpy concoction with chunks of something that might have been sausage in another life. It was the source of the smell, I’d determined.
“Sorry?” Tomio cocked an ear.
“Snert?” the chef asked, just as pleasantly.
The lady interfered, thankfully. “Dutch pea soup,” she said, proudly. “So thick you can stand a spoon in it.”
Tomio and I shared a look of dismay but nodded and handed our bowls over. From the looks of it, there wasn’t much else prepared.
Lars spooned glops of booger-colored stew into our bowls before sidling a step to the left. Gesturing at a cutting board upon which were stacked slices of bread the color of chocolate, he said with that same hopeful expression: “Roggebrood?”
In spite of the weird smelling food, I bit my cheeks to keep from laughing. “Yes, please.”
Using a pair of tongs, Mr. Hoedemaker served us each a thick slice on a side plate. He slid another step to the left and indicated a pile of what looked suspiciously like raw bacon.
“Katenspek?”
My tummy did an unpleasant forward roll and my smile faltered. “I think I’ll pass, thank you.” I looked at Tomio. “Katenspek?”
He shot me a baleful look before pasting on a smile for the chef and putting up a palm in a policeman’s stop gesture. “I’m good.”
Looking into our bowls as we wandered over to join the rest of the team, I made sure to hold it away so the smell didn’t go directly up my nose.
Tomio went around the table and sat down beside Felix, who was lifting the slop up with his spoon and watching as it dripped back into the bowl. It had the consistency of over-milked mashed potatoes.
I set my tray down beside Brooke and settled into the chair. I rolled up my sleeves, not certain any of the food besides the bread would make it past my teeth.
“That’s Mr. Hoedemaker, I guess,” mumbled Felix.
“Did you know that Hoedemaker comes from ‘hood maker,’ and therefore ‘hat maker’?” Brooke added helpfully.
I watched Tomio cringe as he took a tentative bite and returned spoon to the bowl making a smacking sound. “I think a hat would taste better.”
Felix snorted, a half
-amused, half-distressed sound. He sighed and pushed his bowl away.
“The bread’s not bad,” Brooke said through a mouthful. She made odd shapes with her mouth in an effort to dislodge the roggebrood from where it stuck to her molars. “A little chewy and sticky, but not bad tasting.”
Peter appeared with a Bounty bar and a can of Dr. Pepper. He took the empty seat beside Tomio and tore the chocolate bar’s wrapper open with his teeth.
Felix’s eyes widened. “The vending machines are stocked?”
I was about to say that as far as I knew, the vending machine supplier hadn’t been here since the school year had ended, but Peter nodded, cracking open his can of soda.
The rest of us sighed at the sound.
Felix popped up from the table like a jack-in-the-box. He carried his tray over to the trolley for dirty dishes and deposited it there, a wrinkle in his nose. He left the room as Basil and Christy were coming in. They paused with a moue of distaste as they detected the smell.
I pressed my lips together and looked at Tomio with a jerk of my head in the professors’ direction. Brooke caught it too, put down her partially eaten roggebrood and watched as the headmaster and the good doctor approached the serving station with all the caution of alley cats. By the time they reached Lars and his assistant, our whole table was watching.
To their credit, Basil and Dr. Price took what was on offer politely and without complaints. Our temporary chef greeted them as cheerfully and sweetly as he’d greeted us, repeating just the name of the food in the lilt of a question.
“It’s probably quite tasty when done well,” I heard Cecily say, ever the gentlewoman.
“Where did they find him?” Harriet asked under her breath. She put a hand over her stomach, which issued an audible gurgle. “He’s sweet, but if he serves food like this every night we might as well forfeit the games. Sorry to be gross but my innards sound like a clogged drain-pipe.
“Lars is a chef-in-training. Mr. Bunting hired him,” I made air-quotes, “on the cheap.”
