by A. L. Knorr
“Who?” three of my teammates asked together.
“Babs’ secretary, or partner. I don’t know what he is. Her minion.”
Looks and murmurs were exchanged as Basil and Christy took seats at the end of the table. All eyes were on them as they took their first tentative bites.
Dr. Price put her spoon down and held a napkin to her lips.
Basil tore off a piece of bread and dipped it in the soup, pausing as he brought it to his mouth before taking the plunge and popping it inside. He chewed thoroughly, clocking our eyes on him as he swallowed. He sucked his teeth, then took a quick swish of water.
“I’ll have a word,” he said, getting up and heading for the kitchen. I heard him suppress a burp on his way.
Felix returned with a bag of candy and a can of Coke. Tagan saw it and disappeared a moment later. Peter had finished his vending machine snack, but looked far from satisfied.
Suddenly I missed the days of ordering takeout.
After the evening ‘meal’ the team, none feeling top notch, gathered in the third-year lounge, eyeing the vending machine as we entered.
“So, what’s our strategy when we meet the competition tomorrow?” Peter asked the room at large as he collapsed into one of the plush sofas. He looked less upset about the disappointing dinner than anyone else did.
My stomach gave a growl, but I reminded myself that chocolate would only make me more hungry. I took my phone out of my pocket and opened the delivery app as I took a window seat.
“Takeout, anyone?”
The mood lightened considerably as everyone took a turn scrolling through the options. We eventually settled on pizza and my phone went around the room so everyone could add their order. Pocket money was dumped into a pile on the window seat beside me. By the time I submitted the order, I realized not only had no one fleeced me, I might have turned a small profit. I didn’t know my teammates well, but in that moment, I decided that I liked all of them. Good people, Arcturus grads.
When that was done and everyone had found somewhere comfortable to sit, Peter asked his question for a second time.
“What do you mean, strategy?” Harriet crossed her delicate ankles and tapped a slender index finger against her lips.
Peter shifted forward, putting his elbows on his knees and talking with his hands. “I was thinking, the first thing we do is shake hands with all of them, listen to their voices, see which of them are Burned and which aren’t.”
“Why shake hands?” Felix stretched his long arms out and interlaced his fingers behind his bald head, in a much better mood now that pizza was on its way. “Shaking hands only reveals bonds, not who is Burned, and Basil said we should keep our distance. I don’t want to know if I’m bonded with any of them.”
“Basil said to be polite,” said Brooke from a wingback chair, which was so large she looked like a child sitting in it. “Shaking hands is good manners. I’ve had bonds with people I despised, so I don’t have a problem with it. It’s never meant much to me.”
“You say listen to their voices.” Cecily spoke thoughtfully in her warm Scottish brogue. “But not all Burned get voices like Saxony’s. Look at Basil.”
I blinked rapidly at this, realizing just how unobservant I’d been. She was right. Basil didn’t have a hoarse voice. His voice was a little throaty, but not nearly as husky as mine.
“I always thought the voice was the first clue,” I blurted. “You’re saying you can be Burned without having scarred your voice box? It happened to me and it changed Ryan’s voice, too. Basil’s voice is on the line, so I just accepted it as a symptom.”
Harriet was nodding. “I’ve read that it has to do with whether the fire goes up high enough to affect the throat before the lungs and heart have been roasted. The major organs are the most important part to burn, you give water after that. If the throat hasn’t been reached—and maybe the way the mage is positioned has something to do with it—then the voice isn’t affected.”
“I don’t know if the position makes a difference,” I said. “When I found Ryan, he was slouched against a wall. His organs were low and his voice box was high.”
“Yeah but this is fire, not water,” Tomio said. “Heat rises.”
I felt my cheeks heat. “Good point.”
At the mention of the incident with Ryan, all eyes were on me.
Peter turned his head to look at me. He was so far into the couch I wondered if he might have trouble getting up again. “Is there a way a Burned mage can tell another Burned mage on sight?”
The room went quiet as I thought about this. “I might be able to if I use evanescent vision, but it throws off so much heat that it would be obvious I was up to something.”
“Dang.” He raked a hand through his dirty-blond hair, rubbing the top of his head. “We have to know who’s Burned so we’ll know who to pitch Saxony against.”
Harriet disagreed. “We might not have the option. We don’t know how the game-makers will determine who goes against whom, all we know is that it’s a one-strike system.”
“I heard Babs offers opportunities for her students to go through a Burning, but that can’t be right,” Brooke murmured, pinching her bottom lip between two fingers.
“That’s exactly right,” I said.
The room went quiet as unspoken questions hung in the air.
I cleared my throat. “I overheard the headmaster and Dr. Price talking about it.”
Cecily looked horrified, her cheeks lost some of their color. “How could he have agreed to pitch us against Burned mages?”
“We don’t know how many, if any, of them are Burned.”
“He should have made sure none of our competition was Burned. Shouldn’t he?”
“Maybe he tried,” Tomio said, sitting back in his chair and crossing tanned arms. He’d been able to enjoy some sun before coming back here. “Maybe there are no Unburned at Babs’ school. None at all.”
“That’s a sobering thought,” Felix muttered. His pale eyes swung back to me. “You pretty confident you got this, then?”
“What?” I shrank into the drapes behind me. A cool breath brushed the back of my neck, lifting my arm hairs and making me shiver.
“That’s our strategy.” Harriet brightened. “Our goal is to help Saxony to be the one who survives to the final round.”
“What? No—” My throat closed up and my sinuses followed. I felt a stress headache begin to form in my temples, just above my eyes.
“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Cecily said gently. The level of compassion in her voice did nothing to assuage the feeling that she was throwing me to wolves.
I found my voice. A version of it anyhow. “You can’t put that expectation on me. Just because I’m Burned doesn’t mean I’m automatically the best bet to win this thing. The game-makers are opening with something physical, but even if I do well in that one, there’s going to be two intellectual challenges. Ones that won’t focus on brawn or flashy fire-skills. That levels the playing field. Everyone will have a chance.”
My teammates thought about this, I could see them mulling things over. My headache eased and I thought maybe I’d weaseled my way out of these unrealistic expectations of theirs.
But then Tomio said, “What if the final challenge is all physical? It’s still a good strategy, Saxony. It still makes sense.”
Peter made a fake expression of empathy, shooting out his lower lip in a quasi-pout which nettled me. “Be realistic, Red. It’s likely going to be all down to you.”
“I don’t know.” Tagan spoke for the first time since ordering food. “Shouldn’t we all do everything we can to win, regardless of anyone’s status? In single-elimination, there isn’t much teamwork involved unless we have to face them in pairs or triplets.”
“Of course we have to all do our best,” Brooke said. “But our objective isn’t personal glory, but to keep Arcturus and all its assets in Basil’s hands. Whatever gives us the best chance of making that happen, that�
�s what we have to do.”
Tagan murmured: “I wouldn’t mind a little personal glory.”
“So, we agree?” Harriet looked around, straight blond strands of hair swinging. People were nodding. “We do whatever it takes to keep Saxony in the running. Whatever its possible to do without breaking the rules.”
“Unless our enemy starts breaking rules,” Peter chimed in. “Then it’s a free for all.”
Everyone laughed, except me.
Nine
Team Firethorne
I’d forgotten all about our temporary chef until I arrived in the cafeteria in the morning with a grumbling stomach and saw a lot of moping faces gathered at the same table as the prior evening. Approaching the serving station with caution, I returned the smile of Mr. Hoedemaker, who manned the station alone this morning.
Breakfast appeared to be an assortment of sliced breads, cheeses, cold cuts. That wasn’t so bad. I wasn’t sure what to think of the collection of brightly colored toppings at the end of the station, though.
Mr. Hoedemaker watched with genuine interest and earnest hope as I shuffled along with my tray, adding slices of bread, cheese and meats to my plate. I paused at the array of small pots containing spreads, jellies, syrups, and what appeared to be the edible decorations you’d put on a child’s birthday cake.
Lars scooped up a spoonful of rainbow sprinkles. “Hagelslag?”
I murmured a polite decline but considered the jams.
Mr. Hoedemaker lifted a spoonful of a thick, dark syrup. “Stroop?”
He looked so hopeful that I hadn’t the heart to decline again. “Oh, go on.”
I thought his grin would split his face and decided that even if it was pureed liver, it was worth it for that smile. I held out my plate and watched as he put a dollop beside my cheese. “Thanks, Lars.”
He winked and went to assist Harriet, who was coming up behind me with a concerned look. Ever the lady, her expression transformed into pure sunshine as she said hello and good morning to Lars.
Carrying my tray of interesting food to the table, I set it down beside Cecily. I exchanged more than one dubious look with the girls, but Felix, Tagan, and Peter were almost finished. So Lars had a better handle on breakfast foods than dinner, if that was any sign.
“What’s stroop?” I sat down and bellied up to my tray, catching a whiff of parfum de old-nacho from the cheese slices.
“It tastes a lot like brown sugar,” Felix said with bulging cheeks. “It’s not half bad with a bit of Edam and a coffee chaser.”
“I thought Basil had words with Mr. Hoedemaker about the food,” Brooke whispered, her left cheek full of bread, again, which she endeavored to unstick from her molars, again.
“He’s a student. I guess we’ll have to deal.” I took a bite of bread and cheese. It was no Florentine omelet but it would do. Brooke was right though. It was sticky. If I got it all down I wouldn’t be hungry until dinner.
A series of popping noises followed by a loud bang coming from outside had us staring at one another. It had come from the front of the villa.
Tagan looked at his watch with the quick movements of someone very late for something, then looked up, grinning. “Firethorne!”
It was like someone had yelled that there were backpacks full of money falling from the sky. Breakfast abandoned, we scrambled from the cafeteria, startling poor Mr. Hoedemaker. I stepped on the back of Cecily’s shoe and she almost went down. Tagan and Peter were cackling madly as we took the hall to the lobby at high speed.
Recovering our sanity as we reached the front foyer, we slowed to a walk, putting untidy hair and clothing back into place like civilized young people. It could also have been the fact that Basil yelled at us from the second-floor balcony, reminding us that this wasn’t a haunted mansion and we weren’t a cauldron of bats.
“I don’t know what you’re expecting,” he said as he descended to the marble floor, tugging his cuffs out from under the sleeves of his tweed jacket.
Dr. Price followed him down the stairs. “They’re not movie stars, or even accomplished athletes. They’re just students or recent grads, like you lot.”
“Yes,” Basil added. “And if Babs has rubbed off on them at all, you’ll remember my warning.”
“Have you met them, Headmaster?” Peter asked as we spread across the foyer.
“I already asked him that,” Brooke huffed as she headed to the window.
“No. Of course not,” Basil replied, as if the very idea was preposterous. “Why would I have?”
“You ought to see this,” breathed Brooke to the lobby in general.
Everyone rushed to the window at her words. The crush of bodies all seemed to inhale together at the sight outside.
In the driveway, on the far side of the fountain, sat a short, orange school bus belching black clouds from its tailpipe. Quite an accomplishment considering the engine was off.
The doors opened and Team Firethorne stepped onto the gravel, partially concealed by the hazy, gray fug. Hands waved, people coughed and moved away from the vehicle’s nether-end to gather in a cluster.
I counted eight, all dressed in uniforms of an undetermined color. We’d have to wait for them to stand clear of the pollution for that. I expected numbers nine and ten to step off the bus as well, perhaps more, as I figured Babs might have an entourage, but the bus doors closed. The engine coughed to life, quite literally, spewing more effluent into the air, then rumbled up the driveway at an impressive clip for so sick a conveyance.
Someone gave a soft belch—probably Felix because it sounded high up—and the smell of Edam wafted past my nose. No one turned away from the window or even commented, proof of how spellbound we were.
“Where’s Babs?” Cecily asked.
“And Mr. Bunting,” I added, feeling sorry for the still-coughing Firethorne team. Somehow, this short episode had banished all my nerves. Basil was right. They were just young mages, some of them looked barely out of their teens.
“This is our competition?” Peter’s voice drifted from the back of our huddle, sounding unimpressed.
Basil answered in a raised voice from the other side of the furniture, unwilling to appear as undignified as the rest of us. “If they don’t have adequate transport, it only means Babs has funneled every last penny she has into their training facilities.”
And her wardrobe, I thought.
The Firethorne kids—I had trouble thinking of them as anything else in those uniforms—began to spread out and come into focus as the cloud drifted away to poison the birds instead. Their matching outfits were revealed to be a dingy pastel shade a paint manufacturer might dub ‘mint gray’, and mostly ill-fitted. They spoke to one another but it was inaudible. Their gestures made it clear the topic of conversation was the building, features, and grounds of Chaplin Manor itself.
I caught a flash of bobbed hair so blond it was almost white and squinted for a better look, but she was lost from sight as the group drifted toward the arch leading to the fire-gym.
“Should we go outside to greet them?” I heard Harriet ask Basil. “Babs wasn’t on the bus and they look lost.”
Basil didn’t respond until the entire cluster of us looked back at him expectantly. The Firethorne team was out of view now anyway. I realized then how close Tomio was standing behind me, bumping chests with him as I turned.
“Sorry,” he murmured, stepping back, bumping into Cecily and giving another apology.
Basil gave a sigh of defeat under the pressure of our collective stares. “Fine.” Then he added something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Bloody Babs.”
Tagan went to the front door and opened both sides. Stepping out onto the front step, we heard him yell. “Oi! This way!” There was a pause and he added, “That’s it. These are the front doors, init? Welcome, welcome.”
We moved away from the window to stand among the furniture. No one was sure whether we should stand in a line or organize ourselves for introductions and
Basil wasn’t helping. So we just … occupied space and watched the doors.
Tagan came back inside followed by the Firethorne team, who entered into the lobby gazing around like they’d never been in a fine museum or visited an old English manor. Some of them carried duffle-bags, others sported backpacks. One pulled rolling luggage that was missing a wheel and squeaked loudly.
I began to feel even more sorry for them, exchanging uncertain glances with Brooke and Tomio as the team shuffled in to stand in a ragged line on the marble. They gaped at their surroundings more than they seemed to notice us. A couple of them had the haunted look of refugees. Which begged the question: what kind of set up did these mages train with and live in?
Someone whispered at an inopportune moment, “This’ll all be ours soon, can you b’lieve it?”
My pity vanished. I sat back in one hip and crossed my arms as Harriet and I exchanged a look. Hers said, it’s like that is it?
“Welcome to Arcturus Academy,” Basil said in a near bark.
A couple of the Firethorne kids actually jumped, like they only now realized they weren’t alone in this fine, upper-crust foyer.
“Is it safe to presume your headmaster meant to be here and has been waylaid?” Basil’s tone was thick with sarcasm.
They exchanged uncertain glances.
Now that Basil had addressed them, their eyes roamed across us like fingers over a rolodex, weighing us, picking us apart. Was it just me or had the temperature in the lobby dropped?
“Ms. Barbara said she’d meet us here.” A petite woman with a high, shining black ponytail lifted a hand in greeting. “I’m Liu Xiaotian. Shall we introduce ourselves?”
Basil invited her to proceed with a sweep of his hand.
I found the wheat-blond bob again. She stood at the far end. As Liu went down the line introducing her teammates, I found myself unable to look away from the young woman.
“Liam Walsh, Kristoff Skau, Serenamen Hall,” Liu was saying, but the names became a drone in the background.
