Sacrifices

by Mercedes Lackey

  Maybe you didn’t know until it was too late.

  She had just enough time to dump her coat and things in her room and run to the Refectory. She got inside just before the doors closed. She scanned the room quickly and winced. The resemblance between Oakhurst Academy and a teen slasher movie had never been stronger, Spirit thought. Every meal, now, there were a few more missing kids. Spirit might not know all their names, but she could count. So could the faculty, so there was never an empty chair to let you be sure someone was gone. Between lunch and dinner, everything had been shifted around even further—a quick count told her two of the tables had been removed. Spirit shuddered: that was thirty places.

  It didn’t mean that many students were gone (yet): the chairs had all been crammed so close together at the remaining tables you probably wouldn’t be able to reach for your glass without elbowing whoever was beside you in the ribs.

  She wondered how many more of them would have to vanish to make the staff remove another table.

  “Hey, White. Glad you could join us.”

  Spirit tried not to groan. If she’d had to make a list of “Oakhurst Proctors Most Likely To Become A Shadow Knight Upon Graduation,” Joe Rogers would have been near the top. Ever since Breakthrough took over, he’d made it clear he was willing to play favorites—and look the other way—for a price.

  “I had Dance Committee,” she said briefly. “I was in Radial.”

  “You should keep track of the time better,” Rogers said.

  Spirit smiled at him coldly. “I’ll be sure to tell Teddy Rider you said so, Joe.”

  She didn’t need his glare to tell her she’d scored a point. “Go get in line,” he said.

  Sighing, Spirit took her place at the end of the long line. She was still cold—the Humvee had been warm, but the walk from the car to the building hadn’t been—and the Refectory was chilly. As she waited, she glanced idly around the room, trying to spot the others, but didn’t see any of them.

  She frowned. Loch’s assigned seat was at the table at the far end of the room near the back wall—but tonight he wasn’t there. None of the usual kids were. Instead, Jenny and Kristi and Sarah were sitting where Loch and Noah and the rest of the “Platinum Spoon” kids usually sat.

  “Hey, Spirit. Joe give you your new assignment?”

  Kelly Langley, one of the Proctors, was walking up and down the line, casually ignoring the gun-toting Breakthrough thugs leaning against the walls.

  “Oh god, not more homework,” Spirit groaned before she could stop herself.

  Kelly smiled and shook her head. “New seating assignment. You’re at Joe’s table. Seat Five.”

  Spirit felt like protesting, but this wasn’t Kelly’s fault. “Thanks,” she said instead, and Kelly nodded and moved on.

  Joe could’ve told me himself. He was standing right in front of me. He was probably hoping I’d sit at the wrong table and get a demerit, or have to go wandering around the room looking like an idiot.

  When she’d come to Oakhurst, there’d been one Proctor for every ten students. There were fewer students now, but there were still ten Proctors (though if they all lived until June, about a third of them would graduate). When Breakthrough had stuck everyone with assigned seating, they’d assigned a Proctor to each table (and had some left over). She’d had Gareth Stevenson before, and he was okay. Joe was a creep.

  Just my luck, she thought sourly, and stopped. Was it luck? Once is chance, twice is bad luck, three times is enemy action, Dad used to say. She knew Joe was a member of the Gatekeeper “honor society”—he wore the pin on his jacket. And the Gatekeepers were Shadow Knights in training. So was it chance she’d been assigned to Joe? Bad luck? Or—

  I won’t know until I see who the others have, she told herself firmly.

  She’d reached the serving window. She set her tray down and did her best to smile at the server.

  * * *

  All through dinner, Spirit kept her head down and did her best not to be noticed, but it was hard, since Joe Rogers apparently thought the table was supposed to be his personal cheering section, and if you were quiet for too long he started badgering you to “say something.”

  How about: you’re a jerk and a bully and you’ve gone to work for Voldemort? Spirit thought crossly. She was more worried than she dared let on, because the only one of the others here at dinner was Loch. (Loch was at Kelly’s table. Lucky him.) She wasn’t worried by Muirin’s absence—Muirin only showed up for dinner about half the time these days—but what about Addie? And Burke?

  Oh please, please, please, he has to be okay. Breakthrough won’t do anything really bad to him. They want him. He’s a Combat Mage, and they’re rare. Everyone says so …

  She managed to get through the meal without attracting too much attention from Joe, but she was so worried that she risked approaching Loch after dinner was over.

  “Not here,” he said briefly, glancing at her face. “Library.”

  At least the Library was still a plausible destination even now. Most of their classes were either magic, folklore, or hitting things these days, but the one thing that had stayed the same was the crushing amount of homework. When she got there, Spirit took their usual table in the back of the Library, the one in the WiFi dead spot. Nobody sat there unless every other seat was filled.

  A moment later, Loch sat down beside her. “Muirin was invited to eat in the Faculty Dining Room tonight,” he said without preamble, his voice whisper-low. He didn’t look at her as he spoke, and his lips barely moved. “Addie’s got punishment drill—she’s in the pool right now. Burke’s in the Infirmary. I hear his magic practice today sucked beyond the telling.”

  “What happened?” She forced herself to speak calmly and quietly, even though she knew you only ended up in the Infirmary if something was really wrong—Healing was a Fire Gift, and Fire was the most common School. Even broken bones could be fixed in a matter of minutes by a Healer with a strong enough Gift.

  “I’m not sure,” Loch said. “I heard them saying something about a new Combat Mage. Burke’s never faced one. If they’ve brought one in…” He shrugged.

  “But he’s … Burke’s going to be okay?” she asked. She stumbled over the question, trying not to speak the one in her mind: But he’s going to be coming back?

  Loch glanced toward her for the first time since he’d sat down, and his expression was sympathetic. “Ms. Bradford says it’s just for overnight.”

  Ms. Bradford was the School Nurse, one of the few members of the staff still doing the same job she’d been doing when Spirit had come to Oakhurst. Spirit let out a shaky sigh of relief.

  “I never thought I’d see the day Adelaide Lake the Perfect would put a foot wrong,” she said, to keep from saying anything more about Burke. She wasn’t glad about Addie getting into trouble—she hoped she wasn’t—it was just that …

  “Maybe that’s the problem,” Loch said grimly. “Maybe they want her to screw up.”

  He looked so despondent Spirit impulsively put a hand over his. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He smiled bitterly. “The Spears family have always been survivors. It’s just … Is this the first time you’ve ever been in love?”

  Spirit stared at him. How could he?…

  “It’s kind of obvious,” Loch said gently. “You and Burke. And I’m happy for you. Please believe that.”

  Spirit managed to nod. “I didn’t expect…” she said. “I always thought, well, you were more my type. You know, before you— Someone who … Burke always seemed like he didn’t know what a problem was,” she finished helplessly.

  “He does now,” Loch said darkly. “I keep worrying he’s going to crack. He knows Ovcharenko killed his foster family now, and we all know Ovcharenko’s a Shadow Knight. And—Spirit—Burke’s under a lot more pressure than we are. He’s a Combat Mage. They really want him.”

  “He won’t go over to them,” Spirit said. “Not as long as we all stick by him.” An idea
struck her. “You should go see him, Loch. You’re a Shadewalker. You could sneak into the Infirmary. He could use a friend.”

  “Yeah,” Loch said, looking away. “I just … Spirit, you have got to swear to me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you. Promise.”

  “I promise,” she answered, feeling suddenly terrified. What could be so bad Loch felt he had to swear her to secrecy? And what if it was something she thought she needed to tell?

  “When I came to Oakhurst, I fell in love,” Loch said quietly. “And I know he isn’t interested.”

  She was so worried about Burke that it took Spirit a moment to work her way through to figure out what Loch meant. She knew he was gay. Clark Howard had thrown it in her face at the Sadie Hawkins Dance, but that was after Loch had already told her. Partly because he knew the Shadow Knights knew. Partly because the two of them were friends.

  “You should tell him, Loch,” she says. “Whoever it is. Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe he’s just scared of coming out … here. Like you are.”

  “Is it paranoia if they’re really out to get you?” Loch asked with a sad smile. “I don’t have to tell him to know I’m right, Spirit. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

  That was when it hit her—the realization of who he was talking about. It’s Burke. He’s in love with Burke. She’d thought things sucked for her, but at least she had Burke. Poor Loch! Spirit felt overwhelming grief and sympathy. “Oh, Loch,” she says. “I’m so sorry. I would never—”

  “I know,” Loch said. “I know if it was the other way around you wouldn’t try to get between me and Burke just because you loved him. Same here.”

  She smiled at him uncertainly. This was the sort of secret she would have no problem keeping … but why was Loch?…

  “But you’re wondering why I’m telling you this,” Loch said, nodding as if she’d spoken aloud. “Because, as the saying goes, the best way to keep a secret is not to tell anyone. Simple. Radial’s going to be declared in-bounds for the Good Children sooner than anyone thinks. In practice, the people who’re going to get Town Privs will be just about anyone they’re still trying to get at—or get rid of. I’m not sure which list I’m on, but it doesn’t really matter: I’m pretty sure Oakhurst is going to set up something to … well … out me … and make sure word gets around in Radial. There’s some other guys here that … well, let’s say I won’t be the only one. Unfortunately. And between small-town America and whatever the Shadow Knights do, well … I know I’ve been acting weird around Burke these last several weeks. I just didn’t want … I hope you’ll explain for me.”

  “You think you won’t be here,” Spirit said with a cold chill of horror.

  “Do you think this whole ‘oh, hey, I’m in love with your boyfriend’ conversation is easy for me?” Loch said in exasperation. “Why the hell do you think I learned parkour in the first place? I’ve gotten really tired of being dragged off and beaten within an inch of my life! I’ve seen my friends— I saw David—” He broke off, struggling to control himself. “If it goes down the way I think, Spirit, I don’t think they’ll stop with a beating this time,” he finished softly. “Maybe Breakthrough just wants me to be scared enough to join them to save myself. But I won’t. So I just—”

  “You listen to me, Lachlan Galen Spears,” Spirit said fiercely. “We’ve gotten this far together. We’ll get the rest of the way together. You’re my friend, and you’re Burke’s friend, and … and nobody messes with my friends,” she finished awkwardly.

  “You tell ’em, Rambo,” Loch said with a painful smile.

  But she knew he didn’t believe her.

  * * *

  “We meet again, Guinevere,” Mordred said.

  His body was bound in a hundredweight of silver chains, and he stood in the center of a circle that had been drawn on the floor of her pavilion. The air was fogged with the smoke of sacred incense. Knights and priests and Druids stood along the walls, each poised to defend. The precautions were nearly enough.

  “You will give me my title,” Guinevere said austerely.

  Mordred Kinslayer sneered. He would have swept her a mocking bow, but when he shifted, his shoulder brushed against the bound of the circle. Lightning crackled and flared, and the air was filled with the scent of an oncoming storm. He straightened with an effort.

  “Shall I name you Queen? Arthur cast you out.”

  “Do you think so? Day after day you dripped your adder’s poison in his ear, hoping to cause him to set me aside, for you know that he who is my husband—whoever is my husband—holds Britain. You meant him to imprison me in Glastonbury Abbey—did you think I would be so grateful to leave it that I would go with you when you came?”

  “I think you would go with any man who offered you power … Lady,” Mordred answered, his voice dripping with contempt.

  Bedwyr stepped forward growling in fury, his hand on his sword. Guinevere raised her hand. He stepped back.

  “Do not measure others by yourself, Kinslayer. My husband was no fool. The Lady of the Lake took me into her care—I went to Avalon, not to Glastonbury, as Arthur and I both intended. And there I prepared my army to fight you.”

  “An army which came too late!” Mordred cried. “Now Arthur is dead, and my time will come! Imprison me as you wish, False Guinevere! I have been steeped in blackest sorcery since I lay in the womb! My power is greater than any other—I have conquered Death, and I shall conquer Britain!”

  “Greater than any, Kinslayer?” Guinevere said softly.

  A figure stepped through the doorway of the tent. His hair and beard were white, and though he wore the dark plain robe of a scholar, he was still muscled like the blacksmith he had once been. In his hand was a staff hewn from the wood of the Sacred Oak, and at its top was fixed a shimmering green thunderstone.

  He was The Merlin of Britain.

  “You’re dead!” Mordred shrieked.

  The Merlin smiled coldly. “Did you not wonder where your wench Nimue went when she abandoned you? Do you not wonder into whose hands she gave your secrets? The trap you meant for my tomb could not hold me—but I—I will craft a prison that will hold you until the end of Time.…”

  * * *

  Spirit woke to the shrill wail of her backup alarm. She felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. Her head felt heavy and achy, and everything hurt. Only the sight of the time displayed on her laptop got her out of bed—she had twenty minutes to get to the Refectory if she wanted breakfast, and didn’t want demerits.

  But even as rushed as she was, she logged in to her email account first. Missing the morning Motivational Message would be dire. She grabbed an armful of clothes and dressed as she skimmed it quickly (important, leadership, the future, sacrifice, milestone, capacity, discovery, challenge, guidance, reward, triumph, yadda). She was about to dash out the door when she saw the next email in the queue was a memo from FACULTY. There hadn’t been one of those in quite a while (since Oakhurst had given up telling them whoever wasn’t at breakfast this time had “left to pursue other opportunities”), and it wasn’t to STUDENTS but to SPIRIT WHITE, so even though she was running late, she opened it. The first paragraph was the usual puffery about Oakhurst students being the leaders of tomorrow; she skipped it. The next paragraph congratulated Spirit for being on the Approved List due to her exemplary (more boilerplate; she skipped ahead).

  —in pursuit of our ongoing mandate to leverage our core competencies and reach out to the people of McBride County in an ongoing spirit of embracing the unique opportunities—

  Radial was being declared in-bounds, just as all the rumors had said. Just as Loch had said. Students could work with their teachers to earn “Deportment Points,” which could be used as skips for their academic classes—and to go into town.

  Meaning we’re all still going to be used as punching bags, but by working around the clock we can earn the chance to go to Radial and spend money we don’t have on things that aren’t there, she thought in exasperation. If th
ey were “under siege” the way Breakthrough kept saying they were, giving them Town Privs was close to the stupidest thing she’d ever heard of. (At least next week’s Dance Committee meeting was at Oakhurst so she didn’t have to freeze to death while she argued with Juliette Weber about what colors the Spring Fling bunting should be.)

  She slammed the lid of her computer to put it to sleep and headed for the door at a dead run. She got to the Refectory just as they were closing the doors. She skidded inside, panting just a little, and headed for the breakfast line. When she got there, she saw Addie was a few places ahead of her. She looked completely exhausted. She was talking to Maddie Harris (another Water Witch), and from eavesdropping, Spirit found out she’d been in the pool being drilled by Madison Lane-Rider until almost one this morning.

  Spirit felt a spark of jealousy that Addie was talking to Maddie about her horrible night instead of to her, but she knew it was unfair. Addie could talk to Maddie without risking having her vanish. Or worse.

  She got her tray and walked to her table. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Loch at his new table. He looked as if he’d dressed in as much haste as she had. He was talking to a dark-haired boy Spirit knew slightly. Both of them seemed intent on their conversation, and Spirit felt a pang of … not jealousy this time, but worry. Oakhurst didn’t like it if you made friends; Breakthrough positively loathed it.

  She’d just picked up her fork—she had no appetite this morning, but if she didn’t eat she knew she’d regret it—when Ms. Corby came in with her clipboard. Ah, it’s the morning announcements, Spirit thought wryly. She took as much pleasure as she could from Ms. Corby’s sour expression. She’d always acted as if dealing with a building full of teenagers gave her about the same level of thrill as cleaning up toxic waste, but since Breakthrough got here she looked about ready to spit nails. Spirit started to tune her out—anything really important would be in email—when the phrase “class reorganization” caught her attention.