Sacrifices

by Mercedes Lackey

  Even though her brain really hurt right now, Spirit tried not to close her eyes and make a face. Somebody would be sure to see and ask why. Every time I think I’ve managed to disbelieve everything Oakhurst’s told us, I realize I’m still believing part of something we’ve all been told. And what if I’m still believing the thing that’s going to get us killed?

  She felt a little better about the Sunday Tea when she realized why the eight of them had been chosen. Six of them were on the Dance Committee, and Loch and Burke had been involved in the shooting—Loch directly, Burke as Mr. Green’s protégé. So it was probably just Doctor Ambrosius wanting to see if any of them were going to do something interesting (like freak out and gain access to their Reincarnate memories, because at least some of them had to be Reincarnates, and that was one more thing to worry about).

  Or maybe it was the staff he was watching. None of the Breakthrough people were here, not even Mark and Madison, and in comparison to the other time Spirit had been here …

  Last time there’d been twenty people besides Doctor Ambrosius and the students. Today there were six.

  She was starting to wonder if Breakthrough wanted any of them. At all.

  * * *

  Monday evening. Less than an hour until she found out if their attempt to bug Doctor Ambrosius’s office had gotten them anything that could convince the others he wasn’t to be trusted.

  Two months ago—a month ago—the events of the past thirty-six hours would have driven her to screaming hysterics. Today she just thought they were funny—in a really horrible way.

  Sunday afternoon Addie almost drowned during practice when one of the other Water Witches thought the pool was empty and froze it into ice. Sunday night Spirit used the Ironkey to log into QUERCUS’s chatroom, but QUERCUS still wasn’t there. Monday morning they found out they had Ovcharenko back teaching Systema again, and now Burke was his designated chew-toy. Burke was good enough to take the worst Ovcharenko could throw at him, and Ovcharenko knew it—but the implacable patient anger on Burke’s face when he looked at Ovcharenko was frightening. In the afternoon, Mia Singleton had the Endurance class doing jumps in the Paddock—and Spirit took what could have been a bad fall when the saddle on her horse just slipped off as he was clearing a jump. Just before dinner, Loch caught up to her to tell her Noah Turner had said the Breakthrough guy he was dating (wow, surprise) said there was a memo with a list of all the gay and lesbian Oakhurst kids that was going to be “accidentally leaked” this week to the entire student body. Noah wasn’t on that list. Loch didn’t have to say anything more.

  That’s how Breakthrough’s buying Noah’s loyalty, just the way it tried to buy Muirin with makeup and clothes and … freedom. Or Burke with friendship. They promise you whatever you want most. Whatever it is.

  I want my family back, she thought fiercely. Give me that, Breakthrough, and we’ll talk.

  But while even Breakthrough couldn’t give her that, it didn’t mean it couldn’t offer her something she wanted. She hadn’t had a moment alone with Burke since he’d snuck in through her window the night they’d gone to see Wolfman, and that hadn’t exactly been a romantic tryst. She’d been trying not to think about him too hard, so as not to give anything away if someone was watching, but when she did think about him, it was with an ache of want so bad it nearly made her cry.

  If Breakthrough could give her Burke? Safe and happy and free?

  Would that buy her?

  I have to make sure they never know it could.

  NINE

  That night, Spirit and Burke and Loch and Addie went up to the attic as soon as they could sneak away after dinner. Spirit hoped Muirin would be joining them, but she hadn’t seen Muirin all day, and considering what Muirin had told all of them on Saturday, Spirit was more worried about her than ever. Muirin was self-centered and occasionally spiteful, but she was also generous, brave, and loyal. Spirit could only hope Muirin was taking her own advice and keeping her head down, especially around Breakthrough.

  When Spirit got there, Addie had already lit the candles for light and for heat, but it was still freezing. But even shivering in a corner, Spirit felt better than she had all day.

  No, not better. Safer.

  I can’t go on like this much longer, she thought. She hadn’t had a lot of patience with Addie just wanting to leave, but now she realized she’d been unfair. You just couldn’t go on being this scared day after day. Eventually you’d do anything to make it stop. And the penalty for that was disappearing to wherever Breakthrough disappeared people to. And that made everything worse all over again. She wanted to think, to plan, to imagine what they’d find on Loch’s recorder and what they could do about it, but her mind just kept going in a tiny circle saying: escape, escape, escape …

  Maybe they could. Loch had Kenning and Shadewalking; those Gifts were enough to guide them if they decided to strike out cross-country. Burke could protect them, Muirin could make sure they got away undetected—they could even use her car, if they could figure out a way.…

  But this was the point at which Spirit’s imagination always failed. Where could they go? And who could they trust?

  Burke came in—glancing around the room watchfully before stepping inside—then crossed the room to sit beside Spirit. He put an arm around her.

  “I’m so sorry!” she blurted out, even though she couldn’t say what she was apologizing for. For not being sorrier about Beckett Green’s death? For being angry Burke had liked him?

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Burke told her quietly. “Not to me. Ever.”

  His words should have made everything better. Instead they just increased her silent panic. I’m not that girl, Burke! Whoever you think I am, I’m really not! I’m not brave, or noble, or—or—or smart enough to figure out a way out of this mess.…

  “Showtime,” Loch said quietly, at the sound of footsteps in the hall. To Spirit’s relief, Muirin walked in—but with Dylan right behind her.

  “What’s he doing here?” Burke rumbled, tightening his arm around Spirit.

  “Blackmail,” Muirin said brightly as she pulled the door shut behind her.

  “Nice place,” Dylan said, looking around.

  “Feel free to make it your own,” Loch said, gesturing grandly. “We won’t be using it again after tonight.”

  “Why not?” Dylan asked, sounding puzzled.

  “Because you know about it, moron,” Muirin said. “So. I brought you here. That was the deal. Where’s the recorder?”

  “Right here.” Dylan held out his empty hand, and the small silvery oblong appeared in it.

  Muirin reached for it, and Dylan snatched it out of her reach. “Uh-uh,” he said. “You’re spying on Doc A, and I want to know what you’ve found.”

  “The deal was you hand it over, Williams,” Muirin hissed.

  “So I’m changing the deal,” Dylan said. “Either I get to hear what’s on it, or I Jaunt it up to the roof, and good luck getting it back from there.”

  “Oh, let him,” Addie said wearily. “What can it matter?”

  Dylan took a step into the room and leaned against the doorway. Muirin walked past him and sat down on the floor beside Addie. After a long moment, Dylan stepped forward and sat down in the last empty space, between Muirin and Loch. He set the recorder on the floor in the center of the impromptu circle. Loch reached for it, and Dylan snatched it back suspiciously.

  “If you can figure out how to run that without power, great,” Loch said in a flat voice.

  “That model doesn’t run on batteries,” Dylan said. “You have to charge it in a USB port.”

  “Yes,” Loch said, with exaggerated patience. “And I have two identical recorders. And this is the power pack from the other one. Fully charged.” He held out his hand. On the palm was a small black square. “So let me change out the power pack, or Jaunt it to the roof. I don’t really give a damn.”

  Dylan blew out a shaking breath.

  �
�We’re just scared,” Spirit said softly. She thought Dylan was probably just as scared as they were. He’d been in the town library last Wednesday when the Shadow Knights attacked it. And they looked like characters out of that stupid game, the same one Muirin says they’ve put their whole plan into. But who’d believe anybody would be that crazy in real life?

  Dylan nodded sharply and handed the recorder to Loch. With deft motions Loch changed out one power pack for the other, then switched the recorder on and set it in the middle of the circle again.

  They all stared at it as if it was a television—or might explode. At first Spirit thought it wasn’t working, but then she heard the opening and closing of drawers.

  “It stops recording when there aren’t any sounds,” Loch said quietly. “So we shouldn’t have to listen to twenty-four hours of nothing.”

  Even so, they had to listen to at least ten minutes of chairs and drawers and Ms. Corby saying things like “Here’s the report you asked for,” before they reached something interesting.

  “I hope you’ve brought me good news, Mark.”

  Spirit glanced up at Burke, frowning. It was Doctor Ambrosius’s voice, but suddenly it sounded different. Not like him at all. It was deeper. Almost … younger.

  “Yes, my lord. I’ve done a complete scrub-through of our computer systems. The girl didn’t find anything.”

  And Mark sounded almost … scared. The corner of Muirin’s mouth quirked up, but aside from that she did nothing. She was listening too intently. They all were.

  “Yet she could have. Tristan is a liability. You cannot afford liabilities, Mark.”

  “Tristan is my sworn knight. I will not cast him out for a meaningless mistake. We will need him.”

  “No mistake is meaningless, merely overlooked by our foes. You seem to enjoy surrounding yourself with fools. The other matter could have been settled by now if Agravaine did not have such a penchant for drama. If he’d handled things quietly, Spirit White and Lachlan Spears would be dead now.”

  Spirit flinched at the sound of her name. She heard Loch draw in a slow breath.

  “These things take time, my lord,” Mark said. “I assure you—”

  “You’re too used to living a masquerade for the mortal cattle I will soon rule. Do you really think it needs to look like an accident?”

  Listening to that voice, Spirit thought about the first time she’d seen Doctor Ambrosius, and what he’d done. He’d turned her into a mouse. He’d attacked her. And he’d gloated about it afterward. He was like this all along and I just—we all just—forgot about it.…

  She reached for Burke’s hand. He was reaching for hers, too. She wound her fingers through his and squeezed tightly.

  “If Agravaine just shoots them in their beds, Master, even the englamoured sheriffs will notice. There’d be an inquest. And worse, the others will talk. It is possible even my liegemen will let something slip where it should not be heard if Agravaine is so blatant. This is no isolated kingdom where you can shoot a messenger. There are telephones, computers, even mail—a thousand ways to reach the outside world.”

  “You overstep yourself, Mark of Cornwall,” Doctor Ambrosius snarled.

  “Truth serves you better than empty flattery, my prince,” Mark answered. “We aren’t ready yet. Some of your liegemen have not arrived. The rest of our supplies aren’t here. And aside from our most pressing obstacle—though Tristan assures me his vassals will soon have the information we seek—we have not yet located your great enemy. We’ve questioned Yseult as much as we dare—she doesn’t know anything about Merlin, nor does she know the identities of the Grail Knights.”

  “They must be near! There have been signs—portents. Have not the Palug Cat and the Boar of Triath returned to the world? Did not the Green Knight himself come to our court? That is the first luck we’ve had, for he came seeking Gawain—none of the others I’ve identified among the children here is possessed of such a strong allegiance: Nimue, Morgaine, even Gaheris can be brought to the Shadow. It is a great pity Agravaine slew the Green Knight before we discovered who Gawain is in this life—but I have my suspicions, and with luck, Gawain will lead us to Arthur…”

  “Does it truly matter if—when—your plan bears fruit, my lord?” Mark asked. “Arthur and his knights—and even Merlin—will have lost. Again—and this time, for all time.”

  “And do you think I can lie quiet while they breathe?” Doctor Ambrosius snarled. “The whole purpose of this place was so I might gather up all the Mages born into the world to sift through them for my ancient enemies reborn.”

  “And ancient allies,” Mark said.

  “You always preferred the winning side, Lord Mark,” Doctor Ambrosius said.

  “I prefer it to being the vassal of a weak do-nothing king. As you know,” Mark answered.

  “And I prefer competent help,” Doctor Ambrosius snapped. “See that your liegemen suffer no further lapses of judgment.”

  “As my lord wills,” Mark said.

  There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and after that nothing but the sound of doors opening and closing, scraps of sound sandwiched between the “dead air” sound of the recorder shutting down in the absence of sound.

  “Is this some kind of a joke?” Dylan demanded.

  Spirit jumped. She’d been listening so intently she’d forgotten he was here.

  “No … I can tell it isn’t. All this means something to you guys.”

  Loch grabbed for the recorder, then yelped, shaking his hand. Dylan bounced to his feet and backed away, brandishing the recorder he’d Jaunted out of Loch’s hand.

  “So tell me everything—or I take this to Doc A and tell him where I got it and what was going on.”

  “Or you could hand it over and keep your teeth,” Burke rumbled. He let go of Spirit’s hand and started to get to his feet. Dylan tensed, preparing to run.

  “No,” Spirit said, putting her hand on Burke’s arm. “Wait. We can’t fight among ourselves. That’s what they want. Dylan, if you take that to Doctor Ambrosius, you’ll die. He’ll kill you. And he’ll kill us.”

  “Oh come on,” Dylan said uncertainly.

  “No, it’s true,” Spirit said. “Didn’t you just hear him? He wants Loch and me dead! Ovcharenko planned for Loch to kill me, then to murder Loch—and that’s what would have happened if Mr. Green hadn’t interfered—and he died, Dylan! Doctor Ambrosius won’t waste a second thinking about whether to kill you, too—he’ll just do it. And … I don’t know if I like you, but … I trust you, Dylan. You didn’t have to save Zoey at the library. But you did.” And he’d saved her from giving too much away when Burke had been fighting Ovcharenko, too. QUERCUS had told her all along to trust and be kind, and even though she wasn’t entirely sure right now whether or not she trusted QUERCUS, there was no one else giving her advice to follow.

  “I guess I…” Dylan said, and stopped.

  “So we’ll tell you what’s going on,” Spirit said, plowing stubbornly onward even though she could feel the other four around her hating the whole idea of involving Dylan. “Just … don’t say we’re making it up, okay? Because we already know how dumb it sounds.”

  Dylan grimaced, but didn’t say anything. He leaned against the doorway, regarding her suspiciously, the recorder in his hand.

  Spirit took a deep breath. I hope I know what I’m doing, she thought. She spoke quickly, telling him about the Tithing, the Wild Hunt, Elizabeth Walker’s story about the Reincarnates, deciphering the carvings on the oak tree in the main hall. Dylan’s face was set in a sneer of disbelief, but Spirit didn’t let that discourage her.

  “—and it didn’t make any sense for everyone here at the school to have magic, because if we were all the Legacies of Oakhurst graduates, some of us would have to be non-magical. But then we found out we had it backward. You don’t come to Oakhurst if you’re an orphan. If Doctor Ambrosius wants you here, he makes you an orphan. He’s been using Ovcharenko to kill the families of t
he kids he wants. For years.”

  “It’s true,” Muirin said, speaking up—it was the first time any of them had said anything since Spirit had started her explanation. “Ovcharenko told me that himself. And I don’t think he just did it to impress me, you know, because he was really really drunk. Ovcharenko killed Burke’s family himself. And I don’t know if Ovcharenko personally killed yours, but I know for sure Doctor A had them killed and probably used Ovcharenko’s Bratva Family to do it.”

  “He…” Dylan said slowly, and there was belief in his face and his voice for the first time. “He killed my family. He killed my sisters.”

  “Yeah, welcome to the Dead Parents Society,” Muirin snarked.

  There was a moment of frozen silence, then—shockingly—Dylan put his hands over his face and began to cry.

  Suddenly Spirit heard Kylee’s voice in her memory.

  “—everybody ought to know about Mister Dylan I’m-So-Hot Williams. See, our last names are so close our files keep getting mixed up, so one day I got ahold of his. Family vacation right? Mom, dad, three kids … so they ditched him at an amusement park in Florida. Took the police three days to track them down. Found ’em all dead. They’d run off to commit suicide rather than have him around anymore.…”

  Dylan had always insisted they’d been murdered—but down deep inside maybe he hadn’t been sure. Maybe (Spirit thought) at least part of him had believed Kylee’s accusation, or part of it. Believed his own family hated him so much they’d ditched him and run away. And they’d died, and that had been horrible, but it still came after they’d already abandoned him.

  And now he knew that wasn’t what had happened at all.

  “Be smart, Dylan,” Loch said in a low voice. “If they know you know, they’ll kill you. You have to keep on acting normal. You have to.”

  Dylan lowered his hands. His face was blotchy with tears, but nobody said anything. “Normal!” he said, and began to laugh. It sounded almost like crying. “Normal!” he said again. Before anyone could say anything else, he turned and ran.