But not Lilah. Typically, one of those days Lilah spends with Verna, but it is simply too difficult and dangerous for them to spend time together. They meet in one of the bigger cities in the Lux territory, find a quiet coffee shop, and sit all day together, talking about the whole school year. Sometimes Lilah writes letters, which allows her to tell Verna things more freely, but she doesn’t like to do this, since Verna has no way of sending her a letter back.
It would be a vast understatement to say that Lilah enjoyed these days more than all the others. In Lilah’s mind, it is a day where she can be someone different. Someone completely new: the person Verna thought she was and can be.
The door of the dining hall bangs shut, and Dagmar Frost, Ronny Hull, and Larue Reis all come tumbling in, laughing. When they see all eyes are suddenly on them, they break into another fit of laughter, which carries down the long hall and echoes back at them.
Larue and Ronny walk up the aisle together, their shoulders touching slightly, broad smiles across their faces like they’ve just done something they ought not to have.
Dagmar ambles down the aisle behind them, stopping when he reaches Lilah and Alicia. He sits down. “So, I heard you pulled quite the number on Beau this morning.”
Lilah cocks an eyebrow. She can count on one hand the amount of times Dagmar has spoken to her in the course of the year.
“Lilah doesn’t do well with weaklings, you should remember that, Dagmar. With this girl, you’ve got to have stamina,” Alicia says, reaching over and poking Lilah’s nose.
Lilah shoots a murderous glance at Alicia, who smiles like a lunatic back at her. She composes herself and turns back to Dagmar, who rests his chin on his hands. “Yes, it’s true—I mean, the part about Beau.” Alicia roars with laughter.
Dagmar stands from the bench and rubs the side of his cheek like he’d just been smacked, before getting a plate and rejoining Larue and Ronny.
Lilah scowls at Alicia. “You didn’t have to say that.”
Alicia rolls her eyes. “You can’t be that oblivious, Lilah. The guy’s been eyeing you all year.”
Her eyebrows furrow, and she shifts on the bench, her eyes darting to Dagmar standing with Larue and Ronny. It isn’t that Lilah doesn’t find him attractive, quite the opposite. With his back turned to her, she lets her eyes linger. His shoulders slope down to a strong chest, and he has short brown hair. He isn’t a warrior, and Lilah can’t recall what he studies. She makes a note in her mind to ask him. He wears a loose green long-sleeved shirt that flatters his coloring. Dagmar turns slightly and his amber eyes meet hers for a moment before he looks back down at the food.
Lilah takes a sip of water from a glass that she doesn’t remember getting. “Did you . . .”
Alicia waves her hand in a dismissive gesture and sighs. “Oh, the things I do for you and never get credit for.”
“Thank you, Alicia. I don’t know where my head’s been.” Lilah tears at the bread roll.
Alicia nudges Lilah’s shoulder. “But, honestly, if you don’t make it happen with him, you’re a fool.”
“I never took you for a traditionalist.” Lilah purses her lips. She’s never paid attention to guys in the same way that some of the other girls did; she found they all end up feeling inferior around her, which they make obvious by their obnoxious bravado.
Alicia shrugs. “I’m not saying you have to marry the guy . . . don’t you think we should enjoy our youth?”
Lilah’s mouth forms a straight line. Somehow, that seems much worse in her mind. When she opens her mouth to respond, Tara kicks the bench out from under Zane and storms out of the dining hall. “I’d rather not waste my time. I have more pressing concerns.” They laugh.
Lee, Tad, Olin, and Nu all make their way to the front where the feast is. The last one to enter is Beau. Lilah would have missed him but for the thump the door makes as it closes. He glares at her, then stalks up the aisle with the look of an injured wolf.
Alicia whispers, “Damn, Lilah. What did you do to the poor boy?”
Lilah shakes her head slowly. With so many ears listening in, Lilah doesn’t feel comfortable talking about what happened and wishes that Alicia hadn’t brought it up. “Don’t worry, nothing is wrong—per se. I talked to Instructor Petrovna about it, and she was supposed to talk to him.”
“So, I only need to be concerned when the instructors are?” She dashes her knife into the lamb on the table, and from the force, her water glass falls from the table.
“I just mean,” Lilah lowers her voice, “that you shouldn’t concern yourself with it.”
“Ah, because that’s what friends do?”
Lilah frowns at her. “That’s not what I mean either.” It’s exactly what I meant. It’s easier this way. She turns and watches as Beau and Tad sit over where Zane lounges on one of the benches. Lee wanders close to Lilah and Alicia, but on seeing their sullen faces, turns and sits down with Lou and Olin, a couple feet down the table.
“I think the real question is, what is she doing here? This academy is a place of eminent Nox, not psychos who think they can do anything they want without repercussions,” Zane’s voice carries from across the hall.
Lilah goes rigid. She’s been the topic of rumor before, but those were all times she could at least remember what she’d done to be the subject of talk. Ms. Petrovna said she’d tried to sear a hole in Beau’s chest. Never one to strictly follow the rules, Lilah was used to the looks of either reproof or respect she got from other students. Not once had she thought herself in the wrong for standing up for herself before, so then why does this event sit uneasy in her stomach, like a puddle of spoiled milk?
“Yeah, you’re right. We should talk to the director about—” Tad starts to say.
“Why don’t you say it to her face, you cowards?” Alicia stands, her hands in fists. For not being a warrior, she musters quite a foreboding figure. They slowly turn, as if they weren’t already passing snickering glances at Lilah and Alicia to begin with. Lilah pulls at Alicia’s arm. This isn’t Alicia’s fight. “Well? Suddenly you’ve all turned mute?” Alicia’s voice mocks.
With a smirk on his face, Zane steps up onto the bench and then the table. He raises his hands. “I think we’ve all witnessed Lilah’s mishaps, haven’t we? They’re pretty hard to forget. I must admit—”
“No one cares what you ‘must admit,’ you arrogant shit.” Alicia waves her hand in the same dismissive gesture she made moments ago to Lilah. She sits down, plodding the lamb back on the plate with her fingers.
“I propose to you, Lilah,” he points at her, “that you try and take all three of us. I mean, if you are so talented, it should be easy, shouldn’t it?”
Lilah turns and smiles widely. “Only you could make such a polite suggestion, Zane.” Zane is an arrogant brute with a face made of angles and wavy brown hair.
His own smile sours a bit. Lilah stands and motions with her hand, an invitation for them to come at her. Zane and Tad start, but Beau stays seated. Maybe he isn’t so heedless after all.
Another thump of the wooden door sounds, and the pair of Nox stop advancing. Everyone turns to see Marcus walk in. He glances from Lilah to Tad and then to Zane before he takes a seat at the end of the left dining table. Zane walks forward, but in a flash of movement, Marcus stands in the aisle in front of him. “Don’t be fools. Save it for the Ludi. Don’t ever let me catch you again—any of you—fighting outside of class. It is forbidden.” Alicia claps. Marcus turns to her, and she stops. Even though the teachers have their own dining hall, he goes to the front table and begins making his own plate.
Lilah wonders why he happened to be in the student dining hall at this moment. Before she realizes it, she scowls at his back. What’s he up to? Lilah sits and looks at the now cold plate of food in front of her. Somehow, it seemed spoiled by the display.
“I’m done,” Alicia says, pulling the napkin off her lap and covering her plate with it. “I can’t stand this lame demonstration of co
oking any longer.” She looks at Lilah.
“I think I’m going to finish this,” she says, poking her fork into a cold pea.
Alicia nods and leaves, her footsteps heavy—untrained.
As soon as Alicia is gone, Dagmar fills the spot she occupied. “I hope this is okay,” he says, turning the last word up in question.
“Go ahead.” Lilah slices into the lamb, and it oozes. “I’ve had an interesting day so far, as you can see.” She tilts her head in the direction of the three young men behind them.
“Yeah, I heard about the Beau thing.” He shifts, then makes the same gesture as before, rubbing his cheek like he’d just been slapped. Lilah realizes it must be a nervous habit. “I’m not really good at this.” She meets his amber eyes, and shyly, he looks down. He didn’t bring a plate. He came just to talk to her. “Would you like to go for a walk?”
Curiosity winning over her irritation, she says, “Sure.”
They walk out of the dining hall—to the snickering of those inside—and into the chilly night air. Lilah pulls her arms around her. Dagmar leads her to the lakeside, the water still beneath the soft glow of the moon.
“You shouldn’t let them instigate you.”
Lilah recoils at the correction. “They don’t,” she says coldly.
Silence.
“They’re only jealous that they aren’t as talented as you,” he mumbles.
“Thank you,” she says stiffly.
He stops walking, and Lilah turns to him. He’s only slightly taller than her, nearly eye level. She notices him make that same cheek brushing movement. “I’m sure you’re going to do well in the Ludi. Have you given any thought about what you’re going to do after graduation? What about the UTM?” UTM is what everyone calls the new United Territories Militia, another invention of the Order.
For a moment, Lilah feels her feet pull her away, to flee. Graduation looms over her. But to be in the UTM . . . More orders. In their latest pamphlet, the Order describes what a unified militia will do for the country, but Lilah can’t see any use forcing the two sects together in such a way, except to cause more trouble. They also detail what they are looking for in warriors interested in signing up. The weight of freedom to decide her path after graduating is surprisingly unbearable. She tries not to think about it.
“Lilah?”
The breeze chills her cheeks, and she rubs them for warmth. “I haven’t given it much thought, but that might be a good idea . . .” Her words fade and she gestures with her hand halfheartedly. “What about you?” For the life of her, she can’t remember what he studies.
“I’m going to be the new mathematics instructor over at Elk Creek Academy. It’s on the other coast,” he says, his eyes keeping direct contact with hers for more than just a breath.
“That’s great,” Lilah says with as much enthusiasm as she can muster. She wonders if he can sense her indifference.
“The Graduation Ball is less than three weeks away, and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?” He meets her eye and then glances away, his blush visible even in the dull light of night.
She tries to hide her surprise. Is he serious? “I honestly wasn’t planning on going . . .” His face morphs slowly, frowning. “But I also wasn’t planning on being asked.”
“Great, great.” He smiles and nods, then grasps her hand and places a kiss on her knuckles, narrowly missing her fresh brand. Where his lips touched her skin, a shot of warmth spreads up her arm.
I haven’t even given him an answer. “Uh, I didn’t say yes.”
His face falls; he drops her hand. “Oh.”
Lilah sighs and falls backward onto her bed. She closes her eyes, but instead of blackness, she sees the woman from the vision launching toward her and the dark blood on her hands, and hears the voice whispering sweet child in her ears. What’s wrong with me?
Lilah gets out of bed and paces; her pajamas stick to her body with sweat. Hilt blood . . . Who are her real parents? It is a question that has plagued Lilah’s life since she first learned of her guardianship under Verna. But a Hilt? She couldn’t have heard that correctly. Lilah decides to investigate herself; to find the answers to her own questions. My blood runs through your veins.
Sickened with thought, Lilah strips off her sleep shirt and shorts before lying on the cold floor. The mystery signa pulses brightly against her pale skin. It grows. Time for one mystery to be solved.
Chapter Five
Charlotte wipes her hands on her pants with mild disgust. There is no need to be so nervous. Her anima courses through her, lighting her up from the inside like a lantern. She remembers being raised by her mother to light a candle on the first day of the year when she was a child, a tradition that marks the birth of Aura, the Lux savior. Tears spring to her eyes and warmth almost foreign takes hold of her body. She vomits over a bush, her gut filling with dread. Ah, so this is what it’s come to? Looking around, she smiles—or at least tries to. This will be her last mission.
Charlotte covers her head, wrapping the scarf across her face and hiding everything but her eyes. The dimming narrow alley, where she has been waiting all day, chokes her out from behind the shadows. Growing more anxious as the long shadows lengthen with the lowering sun, she peeks around the wall. Two buildings over is Littlewood Orphanage.
She waits. She watches. She thinks nothing.
Verna should be leaving the building any second. Charlotte controls her breathing, carefully filling her lungs to their capacity, a balloon just about to burst. The sun hides just below the tops of the buildings, creating echoes of shadows around the street.
Charlotte’s heightened senses are keen to the creak of the entrance door as it swings open into the veiled night, and she creeps around the corner of the building. Verna’s trademark perfume, a light vanilla scent, wafts through the air. Verna’s shoes clip on the sidewalk. She has to walk home. Teleporting is illegal—always a stickler for laws.
Charlotte checks her scarf, its silk fabric clinging to her features, and steps into the square, following Verna. She waits. They pass through two, then three crossroads before Verna turns down an unmarked path. Charlotte copies her. Now, she zigzags down alleyways. Verna must know she is being followed, but still she continues home.
Charlotte stops following Verna and doubles back to the main road. She catches her reflection in a puddle on the sidewalk, and it causes her to stop, bend over, and examine the face she finds. Dark evergreen irises complement cherry brown hair. Sickly skin glimmers with sweat. She smiles wider and watches as the corners of her mouth lift full pink lips up into the center of her cheeks. Charlotte shifts her eyes and looks at the street. A couple passes her by without a second glance. Crossing the road, she continues on the path to Verna’s home, which lies only moments away.
Charlotte sights the golden number of her target’s home and pulls on the golden door knob. She blinks away the unbidden images that spring to her mind. Her dagger, raised in her own clutches, arcing down as Verna’s body goes limp. Cherry brown hair swings madly with the strike, blood splattering her face. No. I . . .
A bead of sweat rolls softly down the side of her forehead. A weight sits heavy on her chest; she gasps for air. Her sight grows weary. The circular bind on her hand sears her skin. Charlotte reaches her arm out to the white wall, but her effort is too late. She collapses to the floor and starts heaving. Vomit splashes the edge of the floor and the wall, getting stuck in the crease between it and the door. Pushing herself off the soiled floor, Charlotte runs—lungs burning in protest—to reach the street. Then, her feet freeze.
“Charlotte?” Verna whispers.
Words, so many words, start falling out of Charlotte’s mouth.
“Okay, slow down.” Her mother approaches and lays her wrinkled fingers on Charlotte’s shoulder. “What’s going on?”
Charlotte takes a breath, closes her eyes, and opens them. Her mother’s face crimples with worry, while tears gloss her eyes. “You took a different way home.
I—you never go home that way.” All the times I’ve watched her over the years . . .
Verna’s expression hardens—her lips no longer droop in a frown, but sit in a straight line. “I changed my course after your attack.”
Charlotte’s eyes widen, and her pupils dilate in the fading light. She cocks her head to look at the silver moon. A sudden memory of something Alessandra says pops into her mind.
“Charlotte?”
Charlotte locks onto Verna. She grabs Verna’s arm and squeezes tightly.
“She’s going to attack her at the Ludi,” Charlotte lets the tears roll. As they drip down her chin, they carry with them the last of her hope. “I want to tell you so much, but . . .” Her crying turns into hysterics. “I’m sorry for what I did to you! You must be ashamed of me!”
“No, no, don’t say such nonsense.” Her mother reaches out, pulling Charlotte into an embrace. Their joint tears crash down, until the moon shines high in the night sky and the hoots of an owl echo against the tall building. When they release each other, Verna smiles at her. “I can hide you. We’ll move away from here and live like we did before you left me.”
Charlotte looks thoughtfully up at the sky and a smile rounds her face, touching her eyes. “Yes, I’d like that.” But it cannot be. The signa on her hand sears her skin, and she knows the incantation that Alessandra paired with it will silence her with its punishment. In this, she understands well. She hopes for Alessandra’s success and wishes she could have seen it through, but nothing that requires the sacrifice of a life is worth protecting. It is odd, she thinks, that she feels nothing but sadness. She had wanted desperately to see the new world Alessandra had promised, but not at the cost of her mother’s life. It satisfies her to think that she played a small part in its creation, even if it is but a seed.
Charlotte coughs and coughs again. She lets her heart warm at the thought of being with her mother and of being an older sister to a stranger whom she will never meet. She lets the joy effervesce through her entire body until it overwhelms her. She breathes out and tries to breathe in, but the air won’t come. Her lungs shrivel. Charlotte gasps and reaches for her mother, but her muscles contract and glue her to the spot. She opens her mouth, but the only words that form drown in the eruption of blood pouring from her throat. Her body crumbles to the ground like a tree cut from its base. Charlotte’s features turn purple, while a red river flows from her mouth and down the concrete.
Premonition Page 6
