by Anne Zoelle
I made my move on a Wednesday morning. I had noticed that she was a habitual breakfast eater and had just run out of Bran Flakes, or whatever her dry looking stuff was.
“Um, so, do you want to go to the cafeteria to get something to eat?”
She didn't answer.
“It's time for breakfast,” I tried again. “ And, well, we have to eat, right?”
Her lips pinched together. I was about to let it go, when she closed her book with a thump. “Fine.”
“Great!” I was entirely too excited sounding. “Wednesday is pancake-extravaganza. And they have tubs of melted butter and powdered...” Right. Bran Flakes. “And the cereal is always well-stocked.”
She pulled on her sweater and gave me a flat look.
I kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way over, trying to repress any stray guilt-ridden thoughts about how I should be thinking of my research instead of chatting. Her eyes stayed narrowed on the building that housed the cafeteria. As if at some point it had done her a grave injustice.
We had come at the right time. We had the place pretty much to ourselves. People came in and out much faster at breakfast than with the other meals, and were generally either groggy or ultra-focused.
I didn't see any of the people I normally sat with in our usual second tier section of the cafeteria. Nephthys wasn't a huge pancake eater. Will and Mike were on opposite ends of my wake up scale—with Will rising earlier and Mike far later.
“So...I'm going to get pancakes,” I said.
Olivia gave me an arctic look in response.
“I'll meet you once I get my tray. But if you find a table, I'll find you.”
She nodded stiffly, and we went our separate ways.
I loaded up my pancakes with chocolate chips and powdered sugar, then drenched them in hot melted butter.
I was surprised to find Olivia at the end of my line holding her tray stiffly.
“Great! Let's find a seat,” I said.
She followed me to a small empty table, and we sat on opposite sides. She gave my plate a disgusted look, but I just smiled.
“Pancake extravaganza day is not a day on which one should ever feel bad,” I said, then swallowed and nodded to myself. Christian had loved pancakes. Celebrating pancakes was not an activity that necessitated guilt.
Finding joy in life was good. I repeated that sentiment to myself twice, forcing myself to believe it. If I couldn't find joy in life, then why was I trying to bring Christian back to a joyless world?
We dug in—me to my decadent, luscious pancakes, and she to her cardboard flakes.
Ok, so Olivia didn't dig in so much as take a ladylike taste after her spoon skimmed the opposite side of her bowl. And I wasn't totally without manners—or nerves—so I cut my pieces into small bites.
“So, do you have a focus, Olivia?” I could have tweaked my translation charm with Will's help to make “focus” into “major,” but I liked the way focus sounded. The translation charms worked both ways, with the person speaking in a way best designed to be understood by the listener.
“I'm studying law.”
“That is great.” It confirmed what I had seen around her desk. Law was a very...mature focus. I had no plan yet as to what I was going to study as a focus. That I was studying necromancy at the moment was not for public exposure. I was pretty sure I was on the hook for some sort of art focus. “Law is great.”
Olivia's eyes narrowed. What had I said? Did she take my nervous ramblings for insincerity?
Joyful world or not, I still sucked at communicating with my roommate. But law—I wished I'd had her to advise me before I'd been sentenced to a billion days policing the student populace.
“I think that is a great career,” I stressed. “Are you going to declare?”
Disdain. “I declared the second day I was here.”
I gripped my fork and took another bite. I knew I was an oddity who asked weird questions. Being reminded of it sucked, though.
Feral. God, I hated that term. It made me feel like some rabies-infested raccoon. Will had said three years studying in the magical world would wipe the title of feral from my record.
“The second day? The first day was full?”
Olivia's face grew cooler. “I have had no issues knowing what I wanted to do.”
The implication was clear.
“Well, I have no end of issues. What's one more?” I tried to keep my tone light, but I just felt exhausted all of a sudden. I sighed. “Listen, I honestly admire that you have your career chosen and know your path.”
Olivia said nothing, so I ate my pancakes in silence. The world was a joyful place. I tried repeating it twice more.
~*~
It shocked the hell out of me, when Olivia joined me for a late dinner the following night. We arrived fifteen minutes before closing time and quickly picked out our food.
Our conversation was...about the same. And there was more than a little of the sense that I had dragged her with me. But I had had a good day with Professor Stevens, I had learned how to manipulate space vectors in my secret lair without blowing anything up, and my blob was aging into a very fair imitation of a four-year-old. I could tweak that up thirteen years within a few days. I was riding a nice burst of confidence—my magic happily humming under my skin and riding through my veins.
So I chattered and Olivia relaxed a tiny bit—I hoped—and I considered the whole day a step in the right direction.
The workers had started to magically close down some of the kiosks and lines—flipping chairs and freezing machines.
I considered my roommate as she forked the last bits of her salad. “Would you like some ice cream? I know it's not a smart food, but it's a nice treat. And they keep the machines running until the last student leaves.”
Her fork paused as she lifted it to her lips. “Perhaps,” she said, with a touch of uncertainty—the first I had ever observed in her. “If one of the flavors is good.”
Success! No one disliked ice cream. Though someone who was allergic to ice cream might not like it because it made them sick. And if someone—
“What are you frowning about?” she demanded.
“Just thinking about ice cream.” I pushed back from the table before I could do something else embarrassing. “I’ll return with information about the flavors.”
I was checking the labels on the machines where you didn't magically have to mix the ice cream yourself—Banana Swirl again—yes!—and Strawberry—also, yes!—when Delia Peoples bounced up next to me.
“So, it took me three weeks to narrow it down to twelve candidates. But there is something about you.” She looked at me, then nodded. “You're newly feral.”
I forced some laughter, my excitement dropping completely. I had no idea what to expect from this girl or her knowledge of what I was—other than something bad. Something told me that she only found the information interesting in what she could spin with it.
“So how did you Awaken?” she asked.
“Like a troll finding himself under the wrong bridge,” I muttered. I might have to stop getting ice cream. This was my second such encounter. Who knew the machines were fraught with such peril?
Thankfully she was only half paying attention. Her eyes were scanning the dwindling crowd, and she was throwing a little wave to someone else every few seconds. She was one of those people who was always on the lookout for someone more interesting.
I cleared my throat. “I'm new because I transferred from Four Corners Academy.”
“Hmmm.” She cocked her head at me, obviously doubting that claim. “Well, where are you living?”
“I'm in Dorm Twenty-Five.”
“Oh, you got stuck with Olivia Price?” The girl seemed to rally back on this piece of information and chortled. “I wondered, when I saw you sitting with her. You poor thing. We went to primary together. Her last roommate here magicided. Ran screaming from this school and that cold, bitter fish. Living ordinary now.”
; Putting aside the notion of “magicide” for a moment, I was pretty sure I should be actively and personally offended by at least some of the insinuations there, especially with her derogatory tone about the ordinary world.
“She is a complete troll,” she continued, only half looking at me again. “I heard even the law professors can't stand her. You should request a transfer immediately. She's had five roommates in five seasons. Five! I hear some of the Dorm Twenty-Five crowd take bets when she gets a new one.”
It was a blink of color out of the corner of my eye. A sense that I had relied upon as the pass receiver from a prankster brother. That extra bit of intuition that told me that something in my peripheral vision deserved my attention.
I looked to the people standing near us at the other machines. They were talking and laughing amongst themselves. Or filling cones and cups. No, that wasn't it. I wondered if it was my intuition—my magic—telling me my ice cream machine was about to explode. Stranger things had happened around me. It was actually kind of relieving that I now had something to blame the strangeness of my life on.
But I was getting sidetracked. I let my eyes wander farther and saw the tip of a Mary Jane sticking out from the far edge of the row of ice cream machines. I kept my eyes focused above that shoe, while Delia Peoples continued her catty recitation, and was rewarded with the end of Olivia's nose, then the rest of her face as she peered around. As her eyes met mine.
She stared at me in cool, uncaring disdain. The way that she had since I'd met her—her sole expression. Totally without one care that she was being gossiped about or that I was hearing it.
I wondered if that was what she was actually thinking. Was that how she felt?
My magic, still happily thrumming after a good day's work, took that moment to kick in full-force and I struggled for a moment with visions of the entire cafeteria blowing up in a glittering display of glass, pork chops, and Banana Swirl. I wrangled with my magic for a moment, my gaze still on Olivia.
The magic pointed, swirling around and latching onto my focus. My intent. It was like casting out a net, letting it settle and then pulling it in, hand over hand. I had no clue what I was doing, but I did it anyway, half-hoping that I wouldn't blow the place to bits.
I wondered if this was a side-effect of my soul rituals, with me now tasting a bit of her soul. Unnerving. But my brain, my heart, and my magic told me that I was doing something right. And I knew better than to mess with that feeling.
So I drew the net toward me. Some sort of essence—eau-de-Olivia. And I inhaled. Sadness. Anger. Loneliness. Dark intentions. Hope. Black certainty. The hope was a tiny flame, a mere wisp of light, and all of the darker emotions suddenly grabbed it and pinched, leaving only snuffed smoke.
Olivia whirled around and disappeared from my sight.
That cool, haughty, unaffected girl was a fraud.
My God. The old echo of my own loneliness and sadness gripped me. I felt the edge of the loneliness and sorrow I had experienced after Christian's death, especially in my darker moments, coming from Olivia. But I had always had my Mom and Dad to lean upon, even when they hadn't believed me about Christian's death, and even when I felt they couldn't understand the relationship I had had with my brother, my twin.
They had lost their son and that was something they shared together, without me. But regardless, we still had each other. It was something special. I realized in that moment just how special. I felt the urge to run up to my room and send a note to my parents telling them how much I loved them.
But Olivia felt...completely alone. Brittle and angry under that cold façade.
“What amount should I place on you?” Delia said, obviously still talking about the bets of a dorm full of people who, even though unaware, were making someone feel even lonelier.
The thread of my roommate, and whatever I had done to gather it, withered and released. Leaving me with only the memory of the feeling. Of the realization, for that moment, of the ache hidden by someone so seemingly cold.
“Eat shit,” I told Delia, and shoved my empty ice cream bowl into her hands, not bothering to catch her reaction, as I hurried to follow the path of my roommate.
I wouldn't let that loneliness continue. Determination gripped me. The desire to be occasional allies was gone. I would be Olivia's friend, and she would be mine.
~*~
I found Olivia bent over her giant tome when I entered the room. Even over that large book her back was ramrod straight.
“You didn't get dessert,” I said as I closed the door.
“I was not hungry anymore,” she said in her precise, clipped voice.
“I'm never hungry when I eat dessert,” I joked. “I brought some cookies to share.” I set a few down on her desk, wrapped in a napkin.
She didn't say anything for a moment. “Thank you.”
“You left abruptly.”
“I saw no need to engage in further conversation.” She opened another book.
“You didn't wait for me.”
“Why should I have? You were speaking with someone with whom I had no wish to engage.”
Delia had said they'd attended primary together. “You two have history?”
“No.”
I wasn't sure I believed that statement, though it was delivered without ire, but my magical mojo wasn't helping me out this time, so I could only rely on what made sense.
“She said unkind things. I hope you don't think I believed them.”
“Why not? The things she said were true.”
“Ok. So what happened to your other roommates?” Better to just get it out in the open.
“Why? Worried that you might catch the disease?” She started darkly underlining something in her book with magic.
But now that I was listening for it, I could catch the subtle darkness in her voice. The complexity of tone that indicated high confidence battling a thread of insecurity.
I needed to stop thinking thoughts to myself though and voice them out loud with this girl. I was not very good at expressing myself, but determination was going to make me good. “No, I think it is better that we get everything out in the open.” There. That was a good start.
“So you can feed the rumor mill?”
Ren Crown = -1. Olivia Price = 0.
“No, because I want to be your friend.”
Olivia gave a short laugh. “Why? You don't know anything about me.”
I thought about saying “I sucked out your essence, so I know you a little bit,” but then thought maybe I should keep some things close to my chest—like the things that could cause someone highly skilled in magic to freak out and obliterate me.
“That is part of wanting to be friends. We talk and get to know each other. You know, make friends with each other.”
Wow, lame.
“That sounds stupid.”
I had to hold onto the memory of her loneliness for a moment. “Yes. That is the first thing you will learn about me. I can be quite infantile at times.”
Olivia looked less dark at that. I readdressed the mental tally. Ren Crown = 0. Olivia Price = 0. SAT practice = +1.
“It is a fault you can correct with practice,” Olivia said. “I have a primer on proper manners.”
Loneliness, loneliness, remember the loneliness. “That sounds great.”
I congratulated myself on changing her expression. Only I wasn't sure that suspicion was better than disdain at the moment.
“Sooooo,” I said, searching for something to bridge the gap. Or at least to lay down a first plank. Previous roommates were obviously off limits. So I dredged up what I knew of her, which was minute. “I'd actually love to know about the magical legal system. Is there a good book? Or...would you like to help me?”
“You don't want to do the work yourself.”
I am working to be friends with you right now...
“I don't mind hard work. Though I would rather everything be easy—who wouldn't? But it would be nice to have someone to quest
ion and talk to. Discussion, you know? Discussing ideas? Books can't do that.” I stared at her giant book and thought of the reading rooms. “Or, can they? I can't believe they let me in to this school. I am so screwed.”
She examined me for a long time. “You do study a decent amount.”
Decent? I was studying all the time. What was her measurement here?
“Fine. Ask,” she said.
“Er...ok.” The pressure... “What kind of legal recourse do mages have when people insult them?”
Telling a delinquent gossipmonger, who was probably ready to tell everyone that I was feral, to eat shit had probably not been so smart.
“Are you serious? You want to know how to sue someone who insults you?”
Actually I wanted to know if I was going to be sued, but like usual my thoughts ran faster and tumbled, fractured, from my mouth. “Sue? So that type of thing is like the normal, er, ordinary world?”
She squinted, then turned and sifted through books on her desk. “Feral mages are never given enough information. Which is only a good idea if the system is going to actually use them for their power.”
“Er, feral?”
She gave me an unimpressed look.
My shoulders dropped. “Am I wearing a sign?”
She shrugged. “People are generally unobservant and stupid, but there has been talk about feral students and rare mage types on campus, so people are looking. And frankly, it wasn't difficult to figure out in your case.” Her eyes pointedly took in my desk and me.
“Great.”
“Here. This is a book for ordinary-born mages. To help them catch up.” She pinned me with a dark stare. “Fold a corner or scuff an edge and die.”
I carefully took the book. “Thank you,” I said softly. “I really appreciate this.”
“It used to be that you'd find a lot of the Old Magic users related distantly, but once the Magic designations opened up, things freed immensely. Now, it is a growing group. Which is good, no matter what the Provenanciers state, or else we would likely be finished off by magical narwhals at some point. Simple logic, there. For the last ten years there has been a system in place so one can be considered Old Magic.”
