by Nya Jade
“I doubt you’ll be judged harshly, sir,” Gabe said sympathetically. “As you said, there have been no prior incidents.”
Professor Yori said nothing. He brought his mug to his lips and drank deeply. “Unfortunately, our visitors won’t see it that way.” After a moment’s pause, he added, “Is it possible to extend our Eye to the perimeter?”
“Yes, but it will take time to cover the acreage and—”
“Make it happen. Have your custodians work in shifts if you have to.”
Phoebe heard the door open and close with a slight creak. She let her mind wander, images flickering before her eyes like confetti: Hayley’s dimpled grin, Colten’s eyes, a picture of the sky she had captured with her camera a few days before, the girl with an arrow protruding from her chest, the Vigo’s jaws. . . . About fifteen minutes later, after allowing what she felt was a good amount of time to pass so that the headmaster wouldn’t think that she’d overheard the conversation, Phoebe stretched and opened her eyes fully. With a stab of honest shock, she saw that Professor Yori now stood by her bed. Close up, she could see that he wore a black robe open over a navy suit. Everything about his face looked tired; it was as though sleep had escaped him for days.
“Sorry to alarm you,” he said, peering down at her. “I’ve been waiting for you to come to. I wanted a moment for us to speak before the meeting.”
Phoebe squinted at him, yawning. “Where am I? What meeting?”
“You’re in a suite in the Pre-Con Clinic,” he said, answering only one of her questions.
The Pre-Con Clinic. It was one of many wings of the city-like Campus Below that Phoebe had not been to yet, but she had heard plenty. She took a quick glance about the suite, a sizable room home to two leather sofas and a round table set with six chairs. It seemed absurdly plush for what amounted to a hospital room, and despite the room’s inviting décor, she felt a wave of nervousness.
The headmaster sat in the bedside armchair, his right leg at an awkward angle. He regarded Phoebe over the rim of his mug, studying her rather intently. Then his face softened. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I slammed into a truck.” Despite her exhaustion, Phoebe sat up clumsily against the headboard. Arm still aching where the Vigo had bit her, Phoebe peeled back the layers of bandages to assess the damage. The wound was tender to the touch, but her skin had knitted back together, leaving raised scars only at the individual teeth marks. She counted ten of them. Large square marks interspersed with smaller round ones.
“All I need is a pen to play connect the dots,” Phoebe said, laughing humorlessly while flexing her fingers to make sure she could still feel them.
Now gazing directly at his right leg, Professor Yori said, “It’s a shame the injuries we incur prior to Conversion never entirely heal. But”—he looked up—“Osiah and Gavya willing, yours will come very close.”
Phoebe rubbed her arm gingerly; these new scars were nothing compared to the ones she already had. Even so, she bemoaned the fact that pre-con Shapers had limited access to their supernatural powers—especially the regenerative ones. It was a peculiar limbo. And she felt like a half-charged battery waiting for the catalyst of Conversion to reach full capacity.
Professor Yori’s heavy sigh interrupted Phoebe’s thoughts. “You do realize that we cannot inform your grandfather about this,” he said, echoing what Phoebe had overheard earlier.
Phoebe nodded. “Even if you could,” she said with a fond smile, “you’d have a hard time finding him. His last postcard said he’s birdwatching somewhere in Argentina.” Shortly after she’d decided to go to boarding school, her grandfather, a retired cardiologist, announced that he’d signed up for a yearlong birdwatching trip. Neither of them had acknowledged it at the time, but they both knew that he didn’t want to be stuck in an empty house, mourning their loss alone.
“Ah yes,” Professor Yori said. “I understand he’s become a world traveler.” He sipped from his mug, his eyes becoming serious. “You were truly lucky to survive such a vicious attack, Cadet Pope,” he said.
At once, an unpleasant thought slithered through Phoebe’s mind and took hold. Her mouth went dry. “Did the other girl not make it?”
Professor Yori managed a small smile. “Katie Banks will be okay. They successfully removed the arrow at the Aviary Clinic. It did pierce a heart so she will need to spend the rest of the moonester at home to fully recover, but she should be fine. These flowers,” he said, indicating the table behind him, “are from her family. They send their heartfelt thanks to you.”
Phoebe’s stomach lurched at that. “I don’t deserve them.” The words spilled out before she could stop them.
“I see,” Professor Yori said, setting his mug on a side table. He brought the tips of his thick fingers together under his chin and considered her. “And may I ask why not?”
Because there were others who would have stayed to help if I hadn’t pushed them to leave, Phoebe thought to say. Because I’m a coward who would have run if I hadn’t froze.
“Bravery,” Professor Yori said, sparing Phoebe from answering, “means different things to different people. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about. No doubt, the entire campus is aware of what happened and the part you played in Cadet Banks’s survival.
“Naturally there will be questions and there will be adulation but at the end of the day, it is important to remember that, for you, it was also a traumatic experience. Unfortunately, in the quest for sensational information, people tend to forget that fact.” He paused for a moment, his eyes straying to the flowers. “With this in mind, I’ve taken the liberty of excusing you from all classes today. And as far as your instructors Above are concerned, you have come down with the stomach flu.”
No sooner had those words left his mouth than the door opened and the three mentors appeared, their black faculty robes rustling over the stone floor as they glided in; Scott, Lewis, and Mariko trailed in their wake.
“Way to make us look bad by playing hero,” Scott said. He pushed his hair off his face to wink at Phoebe from across the room.
Lewis, who was standing behind Scott, took a rolled up comic book from under his arm, and hit him with it. “Not cool, my man,” he said to Scott who winced dramatically.
Mariko stalked over to Phoebe’s side, but not before giving Scott a reproving look. “Are you okay?” she asked, her wide concerned eyes riveted on Phoebe’s arm.
“I’m fine,” Phoebe said. “It looks worse than it feels.”
Unconvinced, Mariko shuddered.
“Good to see that you all got the message to meet here,” Professor Yori said, rising to his feet. “Please, sit.” He motioned them to the assortment of furniture. Still scowling at Scott, Mariko sank into the chair beside Lewis. Scott perched on the arm of a sofa. The mentors remained standing as before.
Afua, her springy black curls pulled back into a high ponytail, spoke first. “Have you briefed her?” she asked Professor Yori who shook his head.
“I figured you’d prefer to address them as a group.” The headmaster sat back down heavily.
A palpable tension circulated in the room. Something in Professor Yori’s eyes bothered Phoebe, and then, without warning, she had a burning urge to read him. She bit the inside of her cheek as she let down her mental shield enough to sense his feelings; anxiety knotted all around him. But before Phoebe could begin to guess at a possible reason, Afua’s dark eyes locked onto hers with such intensity that Phoebe drew a breath.
“If you could, please give us your account of what happened,” Afua asked.
With everyone’s eyes fixed upon her, Phoebe’s face flooded with color. She took a ragged breath. Attempting to speak without emotion, she told them how the first Vigo had charged at her and Katie, how the second one had appeared soon after and fought with the first, who fled. As she spoke, Mariko, Lewis, and Scott listened intently, fear and interest gripping their faces simultaneously.
When Phoebe finished, Afua
pushed up her sleeves and crossed her arms over her chest, not removing her flashing eyes from Phoebe’s face. Phoebe was distracted by several black lines tattooed around Afua’s right wrist like bracelets. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but to Phoebe, it looked as if the lines were glowing.
“What she’s saying confirms an S and D triad,” Afua said finally, anger creeping into her voice. She looked at Yelena and Deborah-Anna who both nodded. Professor Yori emitted a brief strangled noise and Phoebe guessed that whatever Afua had just said had come as an unpleasant shock to him.
“A what?” Lewis said, his expression cycling through fear, curiosity, and dread.
“A Search and Destroy triad,” Afua said to Lewis matter-of-factly. “Your curriculum will cover this next moonester, but Vigos hunt in threes. There’s a Tracker, who is usually the team leader; a Sniper, which shot Katie down; and the third is the Closer who goes in for the kill. What you described”—Afua returned her attention to Phoebe—“was the Tracker sensing rescue coming and jumping in to have the Closer cut their losses.”
Phoebe couldn’t help feeling that there had been something more to the interaction between the two Vigos. She opened her mouth to say as much, but then thought better of it, catching Afua’s raised eyebrows. Instead she asked, “Why are you telling us this? I mean—why all four of us Hyphas, in particular?”
Professor Yori glanced briefly at Afua, an understanding passing between them. The headmaster scrubbed a hand over his face, and then spoke with less confidence than Phoebe had ever heard from him. “I’ve called this meeting to let you all know that they”—he gestured vaguely to the mentors and looked away despondently—“are Blackcoats and—”
“Blackcoats?” Lewis interrupted, his face slack with awe. “As in the Royal Security Corps?”
Afua nodded. “I’m a combat specialist and team lead. Deborah-Anna handles technology and Yelena, intelligence.”
Mariko paled. “I was only kidding when I wrote on my ShaperCity page that Princess Carol could stand to lose ten pounds,” she blurted. “I meant no offense to the Royal Court.”
Lewis and Scott barely stifled chuckles at that.
“We Blackcoats do not concern ourselves with the contents of your social networking profiles,” Afua said.
Suddenly, and with an accusatory bite to his tone Scott said to Professor Yori, “So if you lied to us about them being mentors does that mean we don’t really need any extra help?”
“Careful, Cadet,” Afua said warningly. There was such a ferocity in her gaze that Scott had to avert his eyes as he bowed his head in apology.
Professor Yori waved Afua down. “Your need for mentoring is a fact.” He sounded even more tired. “But instead of having our professors do it, the Blackcoats agreed to mentor you as visiting scholars. It’s a convincing way for them to be here undercover and not raise any alarm with the faculty or the student body.”
Mariko shot forward in her chair. “Alarm about what?”
The Blackcoats exchanged meaningful looks. At Afua’s deferential nod, Deborah-Anna reached a hand inside her robes and produced a small gray box. She flipped open the lid and removed a handful of small, silver C-shaped clips.
“Before we talk further,” Deborah-Anna said, passing the clips around, “we would like you all to wear these.”
Lewis turned the clip in his hand. “What is it?”
“A new piece of Blackcoat technology called Privaque. Please clip them to your uniforms.”
“What does it do?” Phoebe asked.
Deborah-Anna swept her two thick braids behind her. “It’s an active noise cancellation device that interferes with speech sound waves,” she explained. “Only those in your immediate company will hear you. Given that we are in a community with elastic senses, we need to take this measure to safeguard against eavesdropping.”
“We have reason to believe,” Afua said, once everyone had received a Privaque, “that you four may have been the specific targets of last night’s attack.”
Phoebe’s eyes scanned the other Hyphas; their faces displayed a horror that mirrored her own. “Are you sure? I mean . . . why us?” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
Lewis, who had become visibly undone, echoed, “W-why us?” He dug into his pockets, retrieved a coin and proceeded to knuckle-walk it across his hand at an alarming speed.
“According to intel,”—all eyes snapped to Yelena, who had remained silent until then—“Vigos have become aware of a prophecy that alleges:
‘Four to Convert under the same moon,
Shapers by blood born from a non-Shaper womb.
In one will awaken the power to wield more
than the earth and the air.
In the Year of Four,
all Vigos beware.”’
Yelena moved from her place against a wall and walked over to stand by Afua, her long hair fluttering around her face. “We believe that a Vigo by the name of Alexori has sanctioned a hit to eliminate the prophesied threats—”
“Hold on,” Professor Yori’s voice rose in aggravation, cutting Yelena off. “You did not inform me that this involved the New England Padrone.” His grip on his mug began to shake.
Phoebe found herself feeling chilled. It was only because she’d done the recommended summer reading for her Understanding Vigos class that she understood the headmaster’s reaction. And judging by the expressions on the faces of the other Hyphas, they too had read up on Vigo political hierarchy. Italian for “master,” the Padrone was a Vigo that even Vigos feared. The ruthless head of all Vigos in a geographic territory, he set Alpha guidelines for pack leadership and resolved inter-pack disputes.
“We’ve only just received that piece of intel ourselves,” Afua said.
The headmaster’s mood was clearly not assuaged by her concession.
“But what does the prophecy even mean?” Mariko said, her voice close to trembling, her hands gripping the arms of her chair as she stared at the Blackcoats.
Deborah-Anna spoke for the trio. “We believe it means that at the time of Conversion, one of you four will come into a power of considerable strength that you can wield to help defeat Vigos.”
“What kind of a power?” Phoebe asked slowly. Given her secret ability, she’d been trying not to think it could be her.
“It’s unclear if this is even—” Deborah-Anna started.
“It’s purely speculation at this point,” Afua said speaking over Deborah-Anna, her eyes flashing a warning in the brunette’s direction, “but it will most likely be something you wield with your palms like our earth and air powers. We won’t know until you convert.”
Phoebe was careful not to release a relieved breath.
“Even if we believe the prophecy,” Scott said, speaking respectfully. “Aren’t there other pre-con Hyphas around?”
Yelena took over. “Yes, but not four born to human females on the same day.”
“December 14th?” Phoebe blurted.
Scott nodded, his tone dry as gravel. “December 14th.”
Mariko went rigid. Lewis sank lower in his seat, clenching and unclenching his hand around his comic book.
“How does the Padrone even know about the prophecy?” Phoebe asked abruptly, trying to quell the fountain of panic that threatened to burst through her. “How does he even know who we are?”
“We’ve told you all we can at this juncture,” Afua said, a note of finality in her voice. “Just know that our unit’s mandate is to protect the four of you until this Vigo threat is fully investigated and handled.”
“And in the meantime?” Lewis said. “What’s to stop the Vigos from just grabbing us while we’re Above?”
“Assuming we are correct about their motivation, it is unlikely that they will try again now that they know there are Blackcoats on campus. But should they attempt—”
“—but they got to us at the game,” Lewis pressed.
“Unfortunately,” Afua said, with a stiffness in her tone, and shi
fting her gaze to Professor Yori. “We were not made aware that there would be such an event.”
At these words, Professor Yori sputtered in outrage. “Had we informed the Hyphas of the potential threat to them in a more timely manner, as I had suggested,” he said, a vein in his bald head beginning to pulse, “they would not have even been at the game in the first place. Let me remind you that—”
But they wouldn’t get to hear the headmaster’s reprimand, because just then the door opened and a nurse walked in holding a handful of folded clothes Phoebe recognized as her own. The nurse’s head was down and she was humming, clearly in a world of her own, until she reached the first couch, saw Scott’s legs dangling over its arm, and jumped, clutching her chest.
“Why heavens of Osiah and Gavya!” she said, taking steadying breaths. “You scared me. So sorry to intrude, but I didn’t hear a peep from this room and figured Phoebe was still sleeping.”
All Professor Yori’s fury seemed to fade at seeing the woman’s fright. He almost looked grateful for the interruption.
“It’s okay, Mary,” he said lightly as if a heavy cloud of tension didn’t hover over the room. “We should be getting to the rest of our day.” He pulled a pocket watch from inside his robe and peered down at it while Mary hurried over to Phoebe, deposited the clothes at the foot of her bed and then scurried from the room.
“As I was saying,” Professor Yori said rising to his feet as the door snapped shut, “we should be on our way.”
“Before we disperse,” Afua said, as Mariko, Lewis, and Scott stood. “I must insist that you speak to no one about the information imparted to you today. We Blackcoats are only here as a precaution, and with the entire Campus Below already feeling the shock of the attack, we cannot have rumors spreading about a matter still under investigation.” Afua looked to the headmaster for support.
“That’s right,” Professor Yori said with a forced cheerfulness. “Think of this as your first official experience with information containment.”
