Discern (Mosaic Chronicles Book 1)

by Andrea Pearson

  “Sounds like he didn’t lock his office when they were collecting junk for the table.” Lizzie looked at the stairs. “And did you notice Austin checking you out? He thinks you’re hot.”

  Nicole ignored her. “It took Coolidge two years to find a focus? That’s insane. I would never have guessed it, with how powerful and well-known he is.”

  If he’d meant to impress Nicole, it worked. But it also encouraged her. Nothing would contain her abilities once she found out how to release them.

  ***

  Nicole’s first class the next day, Wednesday, was world history. Since it didn’t involve Aretes—except where necessary—it wasn’t as interesting as it could’ve been.

  The class after, Introduction to Wind, was the one she was dreading, yes, but also looking forward to. It was a required course for blond freshmen, but most students only had to attend the first class, since nearly everyone could already Channel when college started.

  She glanced at her schedule to verify the room number as she walked past other students—who, again, stared at her. At least now she knew why. The swirling light would probably be pretty hard to ignore. She wondered if they were concerned she would suddenly explode, which led her to wonder if that was possible. That would definitely be a problem.

  Intro to Wind would be held in the same room where the symphony rehearsed. Fitting, since many Wind Aretes used instruments to channel their powers, and lucky for Nicole, because her audition for symphony was immediately following class. She picked up her pace as she thought of her audition, unable and unwilling to wipe away her silly grin. She was going to be in an orchestra again!

  The door to the huge room was open, and folding bleachers had been set up all along one wall. Nicole joined the other students on the bleachers and stared at the vast display of instruments, household objects, stuffed-full garbage bags, books, and various wind chimes.

  A slim lady with straight, shoulder-length blond hair entered the room, carrying a garbage bag, which she placed next to the others. Nicole could see fabric peeking out of the top. She assumed the other bags contained cloth as well.

  The teacher turned to the students and clapped her hands. Everyone quieted, and she grabbed a piece of paper and glanced at it.

  “Welcome to Introduction to Wind.” She looked up at the students. “This is section five. If you are signed up for any of the other classes, you’re in the wrong place. I will not allow students to attend who are not on the roll.”

  Nicole quickly did the math. She knew there were five sections for Wind Aretes, and judging by the number of students here, each section had about one hundred registered. Five hundred Wind Aretes, all in one university. And those were just the freshmen.

  The professor turned and started rummaging through her purse. “Excuse me for a moment,” she said. “I seem to have misplaced my tablet.”

  Nicole leaned against the bench behind her.

  Even considering the fact that there were only three Arete universities in the States, that was still a lot of naturally blond people. Maybe there weren’t many Wind Aretes at the college in Maine or at Armitage University.

  She ran her fingers through her hair, grateful it hadn’t darkened much. When she was younger, she had hoped it would. Being an Earth Arete had always appealed to her so much more. Moving mountains, not having to use her hands to dig in the dirt . . .

  But as she got older, she began to appreciate the things Wind Aretes could do. Control weather. Make things stink—to keep her older brothers out of her room, if they still annoyed her when she got her powers—or smell better, like pumpkin pie and warm apple cider.

  People with naturally blond hair weren’t common. Neither were people with hair that was truly red, like Lizzie’s. Most had light brown hair, making them Water Aretes, or dark brown or black hair, making them Earth Aretes.

  The professor cleared her throat, a tablet now in her hands. “Please pardon the wait. My name is Professor Peterson,” she said. “Most of you will find the tool you’re looking for in this classroom or will confirm that what you’ve already found indeed is your true focus. And those of you who don’t, I’ll end up working with one-on-one.”

  Peterson glanced at the tablet. “We’ll do this alphabetically. When I read your name, come join me and show me your focus. If you don’t have one yet, I’ll get you started. As soon as we figure things out, you’ll be excused to go. You may then drop the class.”

  Nicole sighed, wishing her last name wasn’t Williams. It made for boring times while waiting for teachers to get through rolls. She glanced longingly at the one cello in the room, wanting to have something to do. Unfortunately for her, the instrument she’d spent most of her time learning while growing up had proven not to be her focus.

  As Professor Peterson called the first student down, Nicole remembered something. This wasn’t an average class with a boring roll call. She was going to see magic!

  Peterson gave the guy instructions, then when he asked a question, she turned back to the others.

  “When you’re with the correct focus, something will happen to the instrument or item you’re touching. Now, pay attention so you don’t miss hearing your name. Things will move quickly.”

  Professor Peterson was right about that. The guy went through the first half in less than thirty seconds. He barely had to touch the items in one area before Peterson moved him onto the next section and called down another student.

  Pretty soon, there were about twenty students mulling around the various objects as several others left after showing their focus to Peterson. Nicole kept her eyes on the first boy, wanting to see what ended up being his.

  He was halfway through the brass instruments when he touched a trumpet. The thing blared , making most everyone jump.

  Peterson clapped her hands. “Wonderful. I love the trumpet.” She motioned to the student. “Go ahead and gather your things. Congratulations, Brett.”

  Brett grinned, set the trumpet down, and jogged to where he’d been sitting. He jammed things into his backpack and practically skipped out of the room.

  Nicole turned her attention to the rest of the students, feeling a little disappointed. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting—a blast of colorful stars, a roaring wind, perhaps, but not a loud note that made people jump.

  Halfway through the alphabet, Professor Peterson stopped calling out names and turned all of her attention to a student who’d gone through every object without luck. She worked with the girl for several minutes, and Nicole watched with fascination as Peterson opened the bags and pulled out various types and colors of fabric. The student briefly touched them with no result.

  Then Peterson pulled out a box of paper. She quickly folded origami shapes and handed them to the girl to play with. Nothing happened. She showed the student how to build the same shapes.

  After all of this again resulted in nothing, Peterson finally stopped, her hands resting on the table in front of her, frowning thoughtfully. She raised a finger and tapped her cheek a few times, then pulled out a clean sheet of paper and folded an airplane.

  The girl took the airplane and let it soar. Instead of falling, however, it rose higher and changed from white to light blue. Peterson cheered and gave the girl a one-armed hug. Nicole could tell the student was disappointed, but was trying to be excited for Professor Peterson’s sake. Nicole didn’t blame her. Throwing a paper airplane was her focus? If it had been making a paper airplane, that would’ve been more discreet and less childlike, but throwing? How unfortunate.

  Peterson must’ve caught what the girl was feeling. She asked for everyone’s attention.

  “Many of you might not realize this, but your focus isn’t permanent. If you work at it, you eventually won’t need one at all—the magic will flow directly from you.”

  The girl smiled, obviously relieved, and Nicole felt herself relax as well.

  After forty-five minutes, the classroom had emptied of nearly everyone, and Peterson finally calle
d down the last three students—Nicole and two guys. Nicole jumped from where she’d been sitting and joined the others.

  “Okay, you know the drill,” Peterson said. “Go find your focus.” She sat on the bleachers to watch, obviously exhausted, and the students turned to the objects.

  Nicole already knew better than to begin with the stringed instruments—she’d touched all of them after Restarting and nothing had happened. Instead, she turned to the wind section, crinkling her nose. Please, focus, don’t be one of these. Even though she loved the sound of most of them, she couldn’t stand thinking about having to clean the condensation—or saliva, as string players called it—from the piping and valves.

  A few moments later, she exhaled in relief after touching all of the brass and wood-wind instruments. Nothing.

  She began sorting through the cloths that had spilled on the floor around the garbage bags.

  Again, nothing.

  One of the guys called out in shock when a newspaper he held folded itself. Apparently, he’d found his focus. That wasn’t a bad one, either. Why couldn’t something like that work for her?

  Nicole approached the household objects section, feeling her heart pounding in her chest so strongly, it made her nauseated. She wasn’t going to find anything. She’d be focus-less for years and years—maybe even forever!

  She couldn’t help but wonder if the leather book from the night before was the right object. How was that supposed to work, though? Would she read her way through situations? Even though it hadn’t seemed foreign to Lizzie, Nicole had never heard of anyone using a book to create magic.

  After touching the various lampshades, books, pillows, shelves with doors, and blinds, she turned away, trying not to look stressed and hoping Peterson wouldn’t notice her fear. But a shout from the last guy drew her attention—she was the final student left. The only one with a no for an answer. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she be powerful? Talented?

  Professor Peterson approached, glanced at her roll, and back up again. “Nicole, why have you avoided the stringed instruments?”

  “Because I already know they don’t work—I’ve been around them several times since Restarting.”

  Peterson nodded. “Let’s try origami, then.”

  They spent the next five minutes folding and tossing paper, but nothing happened. Nicole’s eyes began smarting and she blinked quickly, willing the tears not to fall.

  Peterson sighed. “Come, dear.” She grabbed Nicole’s hand and led her to the stringed instruments. “You never know.” She motioned Nicole forward and folded her arms, watching.

  Nicole touched the violin and glanced back at Professor Peterson, who shook her head. She turned to the viola, the bass, the guitars, and finally, the cello.

  “Oh, did you sense that? At last!” Peterson said. She wiped her forehead. “Now that—” She hesitated, head cocked. “Wait. The draw on your magic isn’t strong. This is your focus, but something is still stopping you.”

  Nicole frowned, sinking into the nearby chair, holding the neck of the cello. “I didn’t sense anything—didn’t see anything. This can’t possibly be my—”

  Professor Peterson’s eyebrow rose, and she stared at Nicole. “You play, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Since I was five.”

  “Think back to the first time you touched your cello after Restarting. What happened?”

  Nicole shrugged. “Nothing. I mean—I played a solo in the school assembly right after puking all over in class. It was the most embarrassing thing ever. Throwing up, then having to be in front of everyone.” She looked up at Peterson. “I never get nervous—ever. But after something like that, who could blame me for having sweaty hands and the chills? I had the hardest time playing the song. It was horrendous.”

  Peterson nodded. “The reaction wasn’t strong enough to garner your attention, but that was your body telling you the cello is your focus. Something is definitely off. I’m still positive this instrument is correct, though. As I said earlier, you’ll have to work hard to learn to Channel.” She put her hand on Nicole’s shoulder. “The magic around you is practically begging to be let go. You shouldn’t be far from releasing it.”

  Peterson looked at her watch. “Well, time is up. You’re lucky you’re not one of the students who has to come back.”

  Nicole’s shoulders slumped. Yes, she was lucky. Lucky to have a focus that didn’t work. “What do I do now?”

  “Practice. A lot.” Peterson began gathering up the fabric and shoving it in the bags. “I’ll have you assigned to Professor Coolidge. He picks up the extra Wind Arete students, specifically the cellists. He’ll help you unlock your power.”

  “He plays?”

  Peterson glanced over. “Not exactly, but he’s had to learn things over the years. The nearest cello Wind Arete teaches at a university in Ohio.”

  Nicole started to help Peterson put things away, but stopped when the conductor for the symphony entered the room. It was time for her audition.

  ***

  Even as distracted as Nicole was, her audition on the cello went well. The conductor, Professor Harris, actually applauded her rendition of a number by Stravinsky. He gave her a schedule of rehearsals and information on the Christmas concert in December and welcomed her to the symphony. A feeling of relief washed over her. She’d made it!

  Not knowing what else to do and having no desire to return to the apartment, Nicole spent the rest of the morning wandering campus, thinking about what happened in Intro to Wind. She ate lunch in the cafeteria, ignoring the stares of the other students.

  After a couple of hours in the library doing homework, she still didn’t feel any better.

  She’d touched her cello hundreds and hundreds of times since Restarting. Why had she never sensed anything? Obviously, Professor Peterson could see it, so why not Nicole?

  When Lizzie got out of Fire Arete classes, they wandered together, jackets zipped up against the constant rain. Lizzie was empathetic about Nicole’s focus, swearing she’d figure something out soon.

  “You just need to practice more, I guess.”

  Nicole leveled a dark gaze at Lizzie. “You of all people know my problem isn’t lack of practicing.”

  Lizzie nodded, and they walked in silence for several minutes. Lizzie glared up at the sky. “I swear, if it doesn’t stop raining by Thanksgiving, I’m transferring to Armitage.”

  Nicole exhaled, but didn’t respond. Her head hurt from the day’s activities, and she was tired of wandering campus. She linked arms with Lizzie, deciding to put everything behind her for the time being. “Let’s go home and watch a movie.”

  ***

  A scratching noise at her window woke Nicole in the middle of the night. She looked at the glass pane, watching it shake in the wind from an approaching storm. What had caused the sound? There weren’t any trees directly outside her room.

  After staring at the window for nearly a full minute, Nicole rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. But the feeling that she was being watched made the skin on her back and arms tingle. She flipped over again and turned on the lamp. A movement on the wall nearest her caught her eye. She glanced that way and then screamed, nearly falling off her bed.

  The wall was covered in spiders. At least ten of them—most the size of a quarter—were frozen there, watching her.

  Nicole sprang out of the covers, bare feet on the cold wooden floor, hugging her quilt to her chest.

  Lizzie burst through the door, holding her cell phone out like a sword. “What happened?” she shrieked.

  Nicole pointed. Lizzie looked, shrieked again, and dropped her cell, jumping to stand next to Nicole.

  “Holy freak,” she said. “What’s going on?”

  Nicole shook her head. There was no way she’d be able to go to sleep again. Not like this.

  “Grab the vacuum,” she said. “Let’s pull the bed away from the wall and suck them up.”

  Lizzie nodded and raced out of the roo
m. When they’d moved in, they had bought a small, hand-held vacuum cleaner to help with the spider issue. Neither girl liked killing spiders with tissues or anything else that might make them feel the crunch, so they’d resorted to vacuuming up the creatures instead.

  As Nicole heaved and tugged the heavy bed frame, she remembered reading somewhere that if you put the legs of a bed into large cans of water, it would keep spiders from crawling on you. Or was that cockroaches? She couldn’t remember, but knew she had to do something or she’d never be comfortable here again.

  Lizzie returned and helped pull the frame the rest of the way. Once they finished, though, she shrieked again, pointing. “Oh, my gosh!”

  Spiders lined the baseboard.

  Nicole grabbed Lizzie’s shoulder, yanking her friend to face her. “I hate this place! We have to move.”

  Lizzie shook her head. “There wasn’t anything available—believe me, I called everywhere.”

  “Anything has to be better than this.” Nicole released Lizzie’s shoulder and grabbed the vacuum cleaner. “Make sure the ones on the wall don’t escape.” She pushed the “on” button.

  Holding the vacuum at arm’s length, she began sucking them up. Lizzie did her best to scare the critters back toward Nicole, emitting the occasional squeal.

  Finally, every spider had been dealt with, and Nicole handed the vacuum back to Lizzie. “Don’t empty it now. Let’s wait until they’re all dead.”

  “That could take months.”

  “I guess it’ll be a long and painful death. Serves them right for trying to take over the apartment.”

  Lizzie grinned. “You’re so evil.” She glanced at Nicole’s bed. “What are you going to do about this?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Nicole stepped out of the room with Lizzie trailing. While Lizzie put away the vacuum cleaner, Nicole opened up four containers of hot chocolate.

  “Um . . . thirsty?” Lizzie asked, joining her.