The Copper Gauntlet

by Holly Black

“Eighteen,” he told her, hoping he sounded confident. It seemed very possible that she wouldn’t believe him, but sometimes old people weren’t good at judging age. He tried to stand up in a way that made him seem extra tall.

  “Mmm,” she said finally. “Forty dollars for one adult nonrefundable ticket. You’re in luck — your bus leaves in a half hour. But there’s no dogs, unless that’s a service animal.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Call said, with a quick look down at Havoc. “He’s totally a service dog. He was in the service — the navy, actually.”

  The woman’s eyebrows went up.

  “He saved a man,” Call said, trying out the story as he counted the cash and pushed it through the slot. “From drowning. And sharks. Well, just the one shark, but it was a pretty big one. He’s got a medal and everything.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then her gaze went to the way Call was standing. “So you need a service dog for your leg, huh?” she said. “You should have just said.” She slid his ticket across to him.

  Embarrassed, Call grabbed the paper and turned away without answering. The purchase had taken almost all his money, leaving him with only a dollar and some change. With that, he bought himself two candy bars at the vending machine and settled down to wait for the bus. Havoc flopped near his feet.

  As soon as he got to Tamara’s house, he promised himself, things were going to get better. Things were going to be just fine.

  ON THE BUS, Call dozed on and off with his face pressed against the window. Havoc had curled up at his feet, which was cozy, and also kept anyone from trying to sit next to him.

  Restless dreams flitted through Call’s mind as he slept. He dreamed about snow and ice and the dead bodies of mages scattered across a glacier. He dreamed he was looking in the mirror at his own face, but it wasn’t his face anymore, it was Constantine Madden’s. He dreamed he was bound to a wall in shackles, with Alastair about to cut out his heart.

  He woke with a shout, only to find himself blinking at the bus conductor, who was leaning over him, his lined face concerned. “We’re in Arlington, kid,” he said. “Everyone else is already off the bus. Is there someone here to pick you up?”

  Call muttered something like “Sure” and stumbled off the bus, Havoc at his heels.

  There was a pay phone on the corner. Call stared at it. He had the vague idea that you could use them to call information and get people’s numbers, but he had no idea how. He’d always used the Internet for that sort of thing. He was about to start toward the phone when a red-and-black taxi pulled up to the curb, depositing a bunch of rowdy kids from a fraternity onto the pavement. The driver got out, unloading their luggage from the trunk.

  Call jogged over to it, ignoring the twinge in his leg. He leaned in the window. “Do you know where the Gables is?”

  The taxi driver raised an eyebrow. “Pretty fancy place, yeah. Big old house.”

  Call felt his heart lift. “Can you take me there? And my dog?”

  The driver frowned at Havoc. The wolf was sniffing the wheels of the taxi. “You call that thing a dog?”

  Call wondered if he should mention the service thing again. “Havoc’s a rare breed,” he said instead.

  The man snorted. “That I believe. Sure, get in. So long as neither of you gets carsick, you’ll be better passengers than the frat kids.”

  A few moments later, Call was sliding into the backseat, Havoc hopping in next to him. The cushions were torn, showing the foam padding underneath, and Call was pretty sure a spring was sticking into his back. The cab didn’t seem to have any seat belts or shock absorbers, either — they banged and rattled along the street, with Call being thrown from side to side like a pinball. Despite Call’s promises, Havoc was starting to look a bit nauseous.

  Finally, they reached the top of a hill. Before them was a tall iron fence, the massive and ornate gate standing open. A neatly trimmed lawn stretched out on the other side like a sea of green. He could see uniformed people hurrying across it carrying trays. He squinted, trying to figure out what was going on. Maybe Tamara’s parents were having a party?

  Then he spotted the house, on the end of a winding driveway. It was grand enough to make Call think of the manor houses on the BBC programs Alastair liked to watch. It was the kind of place that dukes and duchesses lived in. Call had known Tamara was rich, but he’d thought of her as having money the way some of the kids at his old school did — kids who had new phones or the good sneakers that everyone else wanted. Now he realized he had no idea what kind of rich she really was.

  “That’ll be thirty bucks,” said the cabbie.

  “Uh, can you take me up to the house?” Call asked, intent on finding Tamara. She could definitely afford to loan him the money.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” the cabbie said, heading up the driveway. “I’m keeping the meter running.”

  A few other cars were pulling in behind the taxi, gleaming black and silver BMWs, Mercedes, and Aston Martins. There was definitely a party going on — people milling around in the garden at the side of the house, separated from the long stretch of green by low boxwood hedges. Call could see twinkling lights and hear far-off music.

  He slid out of the car. A broad-shouldered white man with a shaved head, wearing a black suit and shiny shoes, was consulting a list of names and waving people inside the house. The guy didn’t look anything like Tamara’s father, and for a moment Call panicked, thinking he’d come to the wrong place.

  Then Call realized the guy had to be a butler — or something like that. A butler who looked at Call with such hostility as to remind him that he was only wearing pajamas under his jacket, that his hair was probably still sticking up from the bus ride, and that he was being followed by a large and unsuitable-for-garden-parties wolf.

  “Can I help you?” the butler asked. He wore a name tag that said STEBBINS on it in elegantly scripted letters.

  “Is Tamara here?” Call asked. “I have to talk to her. I’m one of her friends from school and —”

  “I am very sorry,” Stebbins said in a clipped way that made it clear he wasn’t sorry at all. “But there is an event going on. I can check to see if your name is on the list, but otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”

  “I can’t come back later,” insisted Call. “Please, just tell Tamara I need her help.”

  “Tamara Rajavi is a very busy young lady,” Stebbins said. “And that animal needs to be on a leash or you need to remove it from the premises.”

  “Excuse me.” A tall, elegantly dressed woman with completely silver hair stepped out of a Mercedes and came up the steps behind Call. She flashed a cream-colored invitation in one black-gloved hand and Stebbins was suddenly all smiles.

  “Welcome, Mrs. Tarquin,” he said, swinging the door wide. “Mr. and Mrs. Rajavi will be delighted to see you —”

  Call made a break for it, darting around Stebbins. He heard the man shout after him and Havoc, but they were busy racing down the huge marble hallway, lined with gorgeous carpets, toward wide glass doors that opened onto a patio and the party.

  Fancy-looking people covered a square of lawn surrounded by high hedges. There were rectangular pools and massive stone urns full of roses. Hedges were cut into the shapes of alchemical symbols. Women wore long flowered dresses and beribboned hats, while the men were in pastel suits. Call couldn’t pick out anyone he knew, but he slid past a bush in the shape of a large fire symbol and tried to get away from the house, to where the knots of people were thicker.

  One of the servers, a sandy-haired kid holding a tray of glasses filled with what looked like champagne, hurried to intercept Call.

  “Excuse me, sir, but I think someone is looking for you,” the waiter told him, jerking his head back toward the doorway, where Stebbins stood, pointing right at Call and speaking angrily to another server.

  “I know Tamara,” Call said, looking around frantically. “If I could just talk to her —”

  “I’m afrai
d this party is invitation-only,” said the waiter, looking as if he felt a little sorry for Call. “If you could come with me —”

  Finally, Call caught sight of someone he knew.

  A tall Asian boy was standing in a small group of other kids about Call’s age. He was dressed in a crisp cream-colored linen suit, his dark hair perfectly styled. Jasper deWinter.

  “Jasper!” Call yelled, waving his hand around frantically. “Hey, Jasper!”

  Jasper looked over at him and his eyes widened. He headed toward Call. He was carrying a glass of fruit punch in which chunks of real fruit floated. Call had never been so relieved to see anyone. He started reconsidering all the bad things he’d ever thought about Jasper. Jasper was a hero.

  “Mr. deWinter,” said the waiter. “Do you know this boy?”

  Jasper took a sip of punch, his brown eyes traveling up and down Call, from his tangled hair to his dirty sneakers.

  “Never seen him before in my life,” he said.

  Call’s positive feelings about Jasper evaporated in a whoosh. “Jasper, you liar —”

  “He’s probably just one of the local kids trying to get in here on a bet,” Jasper said, narrowing his eyes at Call. “You know how curious the neighbors tend to get about what goes on at the Gables.”

  “Indeed,” murmured the waiter. His sympathetic look was gone, and he was glaring as if Call were a bug floating in the punch.

  “Jasper,” Call said through his teeth, “when we get back to school, I’m going to murder you for this.”

  “Death threats,” said Jasper. “What is this world coming to?”

  The waiter made a clucking noise. Jasper grinned at Call, clearly enjoying himself.

  “He does look a bit raggedy,” Jasper went on. “Maybe we should give him some popcorn shrimp and fruit punch before we send him back on his way.”

  “That would be very kind of you, Mr. deWinter,” said the waiter, and Call was about to do something — explode, possibly — when he suddenly heard a voice shouting his name.

  “Call, Call, Call!” It was Tamara, bursting through the crowd. She was wearing a flowered silk dress, though if she’d had a beribboned hat, it had fallen off. Her hair was out of its familiar braids, tumbling down her back in curls. She threw herself at Call and hugged him hard.

  She smelled nice. Like honey soap.

  “Tamara,” Call tried to say, but she was squeezing him so hard that it came out as “Ouuuffgh.” He patted her back awkwardly. Havoc, delighted to see Tamara, pranced in a circle.

  When Tamara let Call go, the waiter was staring at them with his mouth open. Jasper stood frozen, his expression cold. “Jasper, you’re a toad,” Tamara said to him, with finality. “Bates, Call is one of my very good friends. He is absolutely invited to this party.”

  Jasper turned on his heel and stalked away. Call was about to yell something insulting after him when Havoc started to bark. He lunged forward, too fast for Call to grab him. Call heard the other guests gasp and exclaim as they moved away from the bounding wolf. Then he heard someone shout “Havoc!” and the crowd parted enough that Call could see Havoc standing up on his hind legs, his paws against Aaron’s chest. Aaron was grinning and running his hands through Havoc’s ruff.

  The hubbub among the guests increased: People were babbling in alarm, some of them practically yelling.

  “Oh, no,” Tamara said, biting her lip.

  “What is it?” Call had already started forward, eager to get to Aaron. Tamara caught his wrist.

  “Havoc’s a Chaos-ridden wolf, Call, and he’s climbing all over their Makar. Come on!”

  Tamara tugged him forward, and indeed it was a lot easier for Call to make his way through the crowd with Tamara steering him like a tugboat. Guests were screaming and running in the other direction. Tamara and Call arrived at Aaron just as two very elegant adults, looking worried, also reached him — a handsome man in an ice-white suit and a beautiful, severe-looking woman with long dark hair studded with flowers. Her shoes had clearly been made by a metal mage: They looked as if they’d been cast of silver, and they rang like bells when she walked. Call couldn’t even imagine how much they’d cost.

  “Get off!” snapped the man, shoving at Havoc, which was kind of a brave thing to do, Call thought, even though the only thing Aaron was in real danger of was being licked to death.

  “Dad, Mom,” Tamara managed, out of breath. “Remember, I told you about Havoc? He’s fine. He’s safe. He’s like … our mascot.”

  Her father looked at her as though she had explained no such thing, but her interruption gave Aaron time to squat down and grab hold of Havoc’s collar. He sank his fingers into the wolf’s fur, rubbing his ears. Havoc’s tongue lolled out of his mouth with pleasure.

  “It’s amazing how he responds to you, Aaron. He becomes positively tame,” Tamara’s mother said, beaming at Aaron. The rest of the party had started oohing and clapping, as though Aaron had performed some miracle, as though Havoc behaving normally was a sign that their Makar would triumph over the forces of the Chaos-ridden.

  Call, standing behind Tamara, felt invisible and annoyed about it. No one cared that Havoc was his dog and had spent the summer being perfectly tame for him. No one cared that he and Havoc had gone to the park every Friday for the past two months and played Frisbee until Havoc accidentally bit the Frisbee in half or that, once, Havoc had licked a little girl’s ice-cream cone gently instead of biting off her whole hand the way he would have if Call hadn’t told him not to, which was definitely a point for him because an Evil Overlord would never have done that.

  No one cared unless Aaron was involved. Perfect Aaron, in an even crisper suit than the one Jasper was wearing and a new, stupid-looking haircut that meant his hair was falling into his eyes. Call noted with some satisfaction that there were dirty paw prints near one of the fancy jacket pockets.

  Call knew he shouldn’t feel the way he did. Aaron was his friend. Aaron didn’t have any family, not even a father who was trying to kill him. It was good that people liked Aaron. It meant that Havoc got to stay at the party and that someone would probably lend Call thirty dollars without much fuss.

  When Aaron grinned at Call, his whole face lighting up, Call forced himself to smile back.

  “Why don’t you find your friend some party clothes?” Tamara’s mother said, with an amused nod at Call. “And, Stebbins, do go pay for the taxi he came in. It’s been idling by the gate for ages now.” She smiled at Call. He wasn’t sure what to make of her. She seemed friendly and warm, but Call thought there was something about her friendliness that wasn’t quite real. “But hurry back. The glamours start soon.”

  Aaron shooed Havoc toward the house. “Call can borrow some of my clothes,” he said.

  “Yeah, come tell us what happened,” Tamara said, leading the way. “Not that we’re not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call to say you were coming?”

  “Is it because of your dad?” Aaron asked, giving him a sympathetic look.

  “Yeah,” Call said slowly. They walked through the huge glass doors and through a marble-tiled room filled with rich, jewel-colored rugs. As they climbed up a ridiculous, marvelous ironwork staircase, Call spun out a story about how Alastair had forbidden him to go back to the Magisterium. That part was true enough; Tamara and Aaron knew Alastair had always hated the idea of Call going to mage school. It was possible to embroider it until it became the reason they’d had a big fight and even the reason that Call had been afraid his father was going to lock him up in the basement and keep him there. He added that Alastair hated Havoc and was mean to him, for extra sympathy.

  By the time he was done, Call had almost convinced himself it was true. It seemed like a way more believable story than the truth.

  Tamara and Aaron made all the right sympathetic noises and asked dozens of questions so that he was almost relieved when Tamara left so Call could change. She took Havoc with her. Call followed Aaron into the room where
he was staying and flopped down on the giant king-size bed in the center. The walls were covered with expensive-looking antique objects that Call suspected Alastair would have killed to get his hands on: big carved metal plates, tiles painted with angular patterns, and framed scraps of bright silk and metal. There were grand windows looking down onto the lawns below. Above the bed was a chandelier dangling blue crystals in the shape of bells.

  “This is some place, huh?” Aaron said, clearly still a bit dazed by it himself. He went over to the imposing wooden wardrobe in the corner and swung it open. He pulled out white pants, a jacket, and a shirt, and brought them over to Call.

  “What?” he said self-consciously, when Call didn’t move to take them from him.

  Call realized he’d been staring. “You didn’t mention that you were staying at Tamara’s house,” he said.

  Aaron shrugged. “It’s weird.”

  “That doesn’t mean it has to be a secret!”

  “It wasn’t a secret,” said Aaron hotly. “There was just never a time to bring it up.”

  “You don’t even look like you,” Call said, taking the clothes.

  “What do you mean?” Aaron sounded surprised, but Call didn’t see how he could be. Call had never seen him in any clothes as fancy as the ones he was wearing now, not even when he’d been declared the Makar in front of the whole Magisterium and the Assembly. His new shoes probably cost hundreds of dollars. He was tan and healthy. He smelled like aftershave despite not needing to shave. He’d probably spent the whole summer running around outside with Tamara and eating really balanced meals. No pizza dinners for the Makar. “Do you mean the clothes?” Aaron tugged at them self-consciously. “Tamara’s parents insisted I take them. And I felt really weird wandering around here in jeans and T-shirts when everyone else always looks so …”

  “Rich?” said Call. “Well, at least you didn’t show up in your pajamas.”

  Aaron grinned. “You always know how to make an entrance,” he said. Call figured he was thinking of when they’d met at the Iron Trial and Call had exploded a pen all over himself.