Ahead of them, Merridy got to her feet to address them once again. “Please be sure to—to—”
She had to cover a yawn with her hand; the momentary weakness made her look much younger and less severe.
“Please bring all of your belongings with you. You will not want to return to the plane. The school is still a good distance from here.”
Unbuckling his seatbelt, Tristan leaned over Leila to peer outside. He could see nothing but heavy gray fog and the ghostly outlines of trees.
“There’s nothing to see,” Leila said. “I can barely make out the runway.”
As Tristan descended the ladder from the plane, a chill breeze raked through him. Shivering, he joined Leila and the other students milling around on the runway.
The last person to appear through the hatch was a white-haired, round-faced man who had to be the pilot. When he turned to face the students, he was beaming.
“So nice to meet you at last,” he said cheerfully. He would have looked like Santa Clause if he grew a beard and put on a few pounds. “My name is Gerard Quinsley, and I’m part of the school’s faculty. That is, if we ever manage to get there.”
Chuckling, he sidled over to Merridy.
“Well, that was a boring flight, eh, Darla? I always hate flying over clouds. But the headmaster seemed to think it was for the best...”
“Gerard!” Merridy said sharply, cutting the pilot off midsentence. “Enough.”
Winking at the students, Quinsley turned and began leading the way down the airstrip.
As Tristan and Leila started forward, the kid who’d spoken to him earlier turned once more.
“Hey!” Rusty said brightly. Tristan noticed that one of his front teeth was cracked so it looked like a fang.
“What are you talking to us for?” Leila’s tone was unnecessarily cold.
Rusty shrugged. “I think Eli was getting annoyed at me.”
“So you thought you’d come bother someone else?” Leila said. She didn’t complain when Rusty fell into step beside her, though.
Tristan rubbed his eyes and turned up his collar; the air seemed to be growing colder already.
“Maybe we’re gonna walk to the school,” Rusty said.
Tristan groaned.
“We’re still in the airport, stupid,” Leila said. “And I don’t know why you’d want to walk anywhere.”
“It’s like an adventure,” Rusty said. Taking a running start, he leaped over a patch of grass between the airstrip and a dirt path.
“Through a dumb airport,” Leila said, rolling her eyes.
Tristan glanced back at the two students behind him. “I don’t think this is an airport.” As far as he could tell, this was no more than a lone patch of concrete in the middle of a forest.
One of the kids behind him was the red-haired beauty, and when she caught his eye she glared at him again. Lowering his voice, he said, “Who’s that?”
Rusty looked over his shoulder and made a face. “That’s Cassidy McKenna. She’s not very friendly.”
“Most of them aren’t,” Leila said, exasperated. “What were you doing before Tristan got here, playing musical chairs?”
Rusty didn’t answer. Now Quinsley was leading the way down a narrow dirt trail, the mist growing colder and wetter with each step. When the icy air nibbled its way into Tristan’s skin, he tucked his chin into the collar of his shirt.
“What d’you think this school’s gonna be like?” Rusty asked, his spirits not marred by the cold or the unsettling silence. “Seems awfully secretive, doesn’t it?”
Though Leila was still scowling at Rusty, she seemed to decide after a moment that his question wasn’t too stupid for her to answer. “We’re all criminals, remember?” she said. “Except Evangeline, of course. The school had to be somewhere remote, because we’re not supposed to be allowed back into regular society yet.”
“Yeah, but how come this place wants a bunch of kids like us?”
Leila shook her head. “No idea.”
The three of them were quiet for a moment. When Rusty bounded forward to rejoin the kid with the oddly dyed hair, Tristan fell back, pressing his hair more firmly over his face. It was incredible to think that he’d left the detention center only hours ago—this eerie, ancient forest seemed worlds away from that reality. Maybe he could just pretend that he was someone new, that Marcus would be waiting for him back with his parents...
Again craving distraction, Tristan hurried to rejoin the group ahead of him. “You’re the one with all the knives, aren’t you?” Leila was saying to Eli. “I can’t believe Professor Merridy found them all.”
Eli grinned ruefully. “She got every last one.”
Leila turned and whispered to Tristan, “Professor Merridy searched a few of us before you got here—she was confiscating weapons and drugs and electronics.”
Tristan narrowed his eyes.
“It was a bit creepy, actually,” she said. “It was like she knew exactly who to search—everyone she called out was hiding something, and the others say they weren’t.”
“Were you hiding anything?” Tristan asked. There was something very odd about this whole thing, something ominous.
“I had a knife.” She must have seen something in Tristan’s expression, because she snorted. “Really, Tristan, I’m not a serial killer.”
Eventually they reached the smooth stone beach of a lake, its surface shrouded so heavily in mist that it appeared ethereal. Tristan’s hopes that there might be a warm boat waiting for them were quickly dashed when the white-haired Quinsley emerged from the forest and began shepherding them along the shore. Their progress raised a clamor as they slipped and stumbled over the damp stones. Moments later, the mist had closed around Tristan and Leila again.
In the silence, odd thoughts and unformed illusions nagged at Tristan. Though he tried to suppress the idea, he couldn’t help but imagine that this was some sort of border between life and death, a lake where the dead passed into the next world. He was almost convinced he saw pale bodies floating beneath the water, reedy and emaciated.
A long time passed, the darkness growing deeper and deeper. The slap-slap of waves was hypnotizing.
Suddenly he caught sight of a ghostly white figure floating towards him on the water. It was standing motionless, its arms raised, almost translucent beneath a cloak of mist.
For a moment Tristan couldn’t breathe. The last of his warmth drained away...
Something caught his foot and he stumbled forward, grabbing Leila’s shoulder to steady himself. He shuddered as he wrenched free of the spell. “Sorry,” he said hoarsely, straightening. Now that he looked properly, he realized that the ghost was just one of the girls from the plane, standing motionless in a canoe that she must have stolen from the shore.
“Who’s that?” Leila asked sharply.
“No idea.” His voice sounded too loud. Now that he thought about it, Tristan was surprised that he hadn’t noticed her before. The girl was pale and wraithlike, with wispy white hair, and her large eyes were striking as the only color in her face. She didn’t seem to realize that Tristan was watching her—instead, she stared at the fog overhead with a curious sort of fascination. A moment later, she vanished once more into the gloom.
Not long after, the fog lifted slightly to reveal a tall, grassy slope rising from the lake’s edge. Without waiting for the others, Merridy turned away from the lake and started up the hill.
Glancing around the group, Tristan realized that the strange girl was missing. She was probably still floating somewhere on the lake.
“You go ahead,” he said. “I’ll catch up.”
Leila started to protest, but Rusty grabbed her sleeve and dragged her forward.
Quinsley jogged past Tristan to join Merridy. “I could’ve sworn I saw a boat drifting off across the lake,” he said, frowning. “But I must’ve imagined it.”
Merridy’s eyes narrowed. “You should have been keeping a better watch on the students. They we
re supposed to stay away from the water.”
Quinsley’s reply was too quiet for Tristan to hear.
As Quinsley and Merridy guided the students away from the lake, Tristan dropped to his knees by the water’s edge to wait for the wraithlike girl.
The mist was tinged with black now, signaling the approach of nightfall. It swirled in spirals over the lake, creeping closer and closer to the shore. Tristan could barely see beyond the small circle of rocks and water where he was perched, and when the students’ excited voices faded in the distance, the silence swelled around him.
He was utterly alone.
In the stillness, he felt Marcus’s loss more keenly than ever. If he just reached beneath the icy water, he thought he could drag his brother back to him. It was here that Marcus had come to rest, surely, not in that dusty old graveyard. Tristan pressed his palms to the damp rocks and hunched forward, remembering Marcus’s beautiful, solemn face and his dark curls pressed against the car window. Tears burned his eyes, but he made no motion to wipe them away. They traced hot lines down his cheeks, quickly going cold. Marcus was gone, gone forever, gone where he would never come back.
Tristan didn’t notice the approaching boat until it scraped gently against the rocks. The strange girl was still standing at its prow, eyes closed and arms extended like wings, her face glowing moonlike above the water.
Tristan jumped to his feet and scrubbed at his eyes.
At the sound, the girl’s striking turquoise eyes flew open. There was no revulsion or scorn in her gaze, merely surprise.
Tristan sniffed and wiped at his nose. “What’s your name?” he asked awkwardly.
“Amber.”
“Do you need help with your boat?” Tristan bent to take hold of the line bolted to the prow, trying to hide the evidence of his tears from her unblinking stare.
Amber said nothing, though she let her arms fall to her side. As a swell of water sent the canoe scraping farther up the shore, she stepped gracefully onto the rocks. The boat did not shift with her weight, as though she truly was a ghost. Tristan brushed his hand against her wrist in the pretext of helping steady her, just to reassure himself that she was solid.
After a moment, Amber turned and stared back at the water. “You waited for me,” she said faintly. It was almost a question.
“I guess.”
When Amber stepped back from the water’s edge, looking wistfully at the fog, Tristan reached down and dragged the canoe out of the water. He gritted his teeth, and with a reluctant groan the canoe slid forward onto the beach. At least he wasn’t crying any longer.
“Thank you,” Amber said, wonder in her voice. “That was very generous of you.”
“Why did you go across the lake?” Tristan asked. “You weren’t supposed to.”
He began walking towards the hill; after a moment Amber came ambling along behind him.
“I wanted to leave. The current is very strong—I tried to fight it, but it led me here.” Amber brushed her wispy hair from her face.
“You were trying to run away?” Tristan said. “You would die out there!” He glanced back at the empty canoe and frowned. “Besides, how were you supposed to go against a current with no oars?”
“There are other ways.”
Tristan blinked. “Well, let’s hurry and see if we can catch up to the others. The fog looks like it’s getting worse, and I don’t want to get lost.”
Though Amber made no reply, she started moving slightly faster.
When they finally reached the top of the hill, Tristan was clutching at his side and panting; he sighed with relief when he saw a circle of dark shapes just ahead. Beyond the small group, a carved wooden arch marked the start of a clearing that vanished into the fog.
“Thank goodness,” Merridy said somewhat breathlessly when she saw Tristan and Amber. “I cannot believe we nearly lost you.” As Tristan and Amber joined the circle, Merridy gave Quinsley a disapproving glare.
“It’s all right,” Tristan said, glancing at Amber. Her gaze was still distant, fixed on a point above the trees. She didn’t seem to notice when Tristan left her side and rejoined Leila.
“Hey, Tristan,” Leila said, her tone exasperated but grateful. “Thanks for not completely abandoning me.”
Tristan blinked in surprise. “What’s wrong? Weren’t you with Rusty?” He shoved his numb hands into his pockets.
“No, of course not,” Leila said coldly. “Rusty wanted to make friends with Zeke.”
“Well, sorry I left,” Tristan whispered as Merridy began talking again. “Amber decided to take a canoe, and she needed help with it.”
When Merridy turned to reprimand Quinsley, he interrupted her.
“Come on, Darla.” Quinsley was stamping the ground and rubbing his hand together. “We’re all here now, and that’s the only thing that matters. Let’s talk inside, where it’s warm and we can see properly.”
Merridy pursed her lips. “Indeed. The other professors should be waiting.”
“Oh, thank god,” Leila said. “I can’t feel my toes.”
Already the warmth Tristan had gained jogging up the hill was gone, leaving his hands stiff and useless. He hoped that the school wasn’t as drafty as the location suggested.
“However,” Merridy continued, narrowing her eyes, “you will each need to relinquish the majority of your belongings before you are allowed down to your beds.”
“What’s the matter with you?” protested a short-necked, hulking boy Tristan thought was called Damian. “Haven’t you stolen enough of our stuff already?”
Tristan didn’t even own the clothes he was wearing, so he hardly cared. He just wanted to get out of the cold.
Ignoring Damian, Quinsley stomped around to the front of the group and began hustling the students forward. As they drew near, Tristan realized that the arch was made up of hundreds of carved, stylized creatures, reminiscent of a totem pole.
Past the arch, the school buildings loomed—they were hulking structures in the style of old Native American longhouses, encircling a clearing that seemed in danger of disappearing into the fog.
Just after she passed beneath the arch, Merridy turned left and drew back the doors of the nearest longhouse. Tristan hoped there was a fire inside. Past the creaking doors, though, the structure was completely empty. The longhouse smelled musty and sweet, like an old barn, and there was nothing inside apart from a flight of stairs gouged into the dirt floor.
Without pausing, Merridy continued onto the stairs and started down, her figure disappearing almost at once into the darkness.
With a skeptical glance at Leila, Tristan put a hand to the dirt wall of the stairs and followed. Even at the top he could barely see where to place his feet; three steps down, he could see nothing at all. He trailed his fingers along the packed dirt, searching with the toe of his shoes before trusting his weight to the next step.
Then the outline of Leila’s head disappeared altogether. “Leila?” he muttered. “You still there?”
There was no reply.
Swallowing hard, Tristan looked back up the stairs. He was completely alone in the darkness. Grasping for purchase on the dirt wall, he hurried down the next few steps.
Suddenly everything changed.
The stairway filled all at once with blinding light. Tristan stumbled and clutched at the wall, but even that was wrong—the cold dirt had become smooth stone. Warm air rose around him, lacing its way through his frigid shirt, and he shivered as the cold began to relinquish its grip.
He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He had passed through—what, solid air?—and ended up somewhere warm and bright and completely unreal.
Leila was just ahead of him on the stairs, staring at him as though he’d just dropped out of the sky. Blinking in surprise, Tristan looked back up the stairs. One step above where he stood, the stairwell was blocked with a curtain of black streamers. Stranger still, the light ended abruptly just beyond the streamers. Not a single beam of light p
assed through—if Tristan hadn’t just walked through the space, he would have sworn it was a solid wall.
“What the hell was that?” Leila asked in a hushed voice.
Tristan shook his head. Whatever had happened, it was so strange, so unnatural, that he couldn’t begin to comprehend it.
Looking down the stairs, he noticed for the first time where he was.
The stairs ahead were carved from white marble, and at their base, the steps widened before giving way to a gleaming marble floor.
Gripping the bronze rail with one hand, Tristan walked carefully to the foot of the stairs. From here he could see the full room spread out before him. It looked like an enormous ballroom, its tall ceiling radiant with light from five chandeliers that dripped candles like dew-encrusted flowers. The center of the floor was marked by a many-pointed star, each tip cut from stone of a different color. Directly across from where Tristan stood, the marble floor rose two steps up to form a sort of platform cut into the wall.
“I didn’t realize we’d come down so far,” Leila said in awe.
Tristan, still wide-eyed in shock, couldn’t think of a reply.
Merridy and Quinsley were both standing at the edge of the platform, in front of a cluster of chairs and tables set for dinner. As Quinsley shrugged off his coat and slung it over the back of a chair, Merridy’s face softened into a smile.
“Welcome,” she said, “to the Lair.”
Chapter 3: Professor Brikkens’ Show
Eventually the students were all seated at the round tables on the platform—Tristan and Leila joined a pair of unfamiliar girls, while Rusty sat with Eli and Trey.
As the students glanced around expectantly, Damian voiced what everyone was thinking. “Where’s the food?” he asked loudly. “We’re starving.”
Quinsley smiled indulgently. “We’ll eat soon enough. Abilene Gracewright prepared the feast tonight, since I was off fetching you lot. I hope she’s a decent cook.”
“Yes, but when are we going to eat?”
“As soon as—ah, here they are,” Quinsley said.
On the far side of the ballroom, a pair of enormous double doors swung open, admitting a group of five professors. Their leader was tall, thin, and dark-haired, with a narrow face and sunken eyes. As he strode forward, his gaze flicked between the students, glaring at each in turn.
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 34
