Pretending that he hadn’t heard Damian, Brikkens reached down and produced a teetering stack of clay flowerpots and two enormous blue buckets. “Take a pot, a handful of dirt, and a few seeds each,” he said.
By the time the flowerpots and seeds made it around to Tristan, Amber’s flowerpot was already bristling with green shoots. As he watched, the first of the stalks swelled into a delicate bud, which shivered and then flared open in a brilliant pinwheel of yellow.
“Oh, marvelous,” Brikkens said, clapping his chubby hands like an excitable child. “The ballroom is going to look splendid this weekend!”
With a thumb, Tristan patted down a small hole in the dirt and poured in his seeds.
Rusty, meanwhile, was rummaging in his bag, one hand clenched by his side.
“Rusty!” Leila hissed, leaning over Tristan. “Don’t steal the seeds, you idiot. What are we supposed to use them for?”
Flinching guiltily, Rusty returned the seeds to his flowerpot and tossed his book bag to the floor. “I was just trying to help,” he muttered.
“Yeah, well, try harder next time,” Leila said, rolling her eyes.
At the end of the class period, Quinsley stopped by to deliver the first set of valentines. As he finished handing around flowers and sweets, he lowered his voice and said, “My list of jobs gets longer by the day.” He winked at Leila.
By this point most of the flowerpots boasted at least a few blooms, and Brikkens happily doled out extra credit based on how many flowers each of them had managed to grow.
Quinsley continued to deliver valentines through the rest of the day—Tristan received a cookie from Rusty and a bag of creamy chocolates that was probably from Leila. When Evvie and Amber opened his valentines, he wished he could tell them how awful he felt.
The next morning, when Tristan stumbled up to breakfast, he stopped in the ballroom doorway, startled. The floors were a riot of color—in addition to the fifteen flowerpots the students had planted in Brikkens’ class, someone had brought in a set of planters that were crowded with tulips of every color, so many that the marble floor was carpeted with brilliant petals.
“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Brikkens called.
Tristan shook his head and followed Leila to their usual table. He was already growing tired of the hearts and the pink everywhere.
“Just wait until the feast this afternoon,” Leila said wryly. “I was helping Gerry with dessert last night—I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much pink in my life.” She looked as exasperated as Tristan felt.
After breakfast, Rusty suggested that they go sledding, and Zeke’s gang decided to join them. Rusty had never been sledding before, and he was acting more childlike than usual in his excitement. Tristan didn’t feel like spending hours out in the cold, not with so much he was already worried about, but Leila and Rusty persuaded him to join them.
“Gerry found a couple of real sleds,” Leila said. “I have no idea what the teachers were doing with sleds, but apparently they were stashed in that old room with all the other junk.”
“They used to be kids too,” Rusty said. “Hey, Tristan, we’re gonna sled down that big hill to the lake. The one we hiked up, remember? It’ll be great!”
Tristan shrugged and pulled on his jacket. “I guess it’ll be more fun than homework.” And maybe it would keep him from dwelling on Drakewell’s ultimatum. He grabbed his gloves before hurrying back up to the ballroom with the others.
The air outside was clear and icy; Tristan’s eyes watered in the sharp breeze as he trudged along through the snow. This was the first time he had returned to the edge of the hill they’d climbed at the start of the year, and he was surprised at how small and distant the lake appeared from up here.
Leila grabbed the first sled. Waving to the others, she took a running start and went flying down the hill, yelling happily. Then Zeke yanked the second sled from Rusty’s grasp and jumped onto it, shooting off before Tristan could even think to stop him.
“Uh-oh.” Tristan took a half-step forward. Zeke meant trouble.
At the foot of the hill, Zeke tumbled out of his sled to stop. Then, abandoning the sled, he bounded forward and tackled Leila.
“Hey!” Tristan yelled.
They were too far away to hear Tristan’s shout of warning. Cursing, he started running down the hill, skidding and tripping as his feet tore a path through the powdery snow. “Get off Leila, you bastard!”
Leila was shouting and flailing her fists at Zeke; after a moment they both crashed to the ground, struggling furiously.
With a groan and a crack that was loud even from a distance, the ice beneath them gave way. Water splashed up as the ice splintered, and they both sank into the dark lake, yelling hoarsely. They were near the shore, though, so they hit the lake bottom before they’d sunk past their shoulders.
As Tristan reached the foot of the hill, Zeke stumbled to his feet and extended a hand to Leila. His clothes were dripping, and his entire body shook.
Leila got to her feet without Zeke’s help. Then she shoved him in the chest so hard that he fell back into the lake. White-faced and trembling, she edged towards the shore. “I’m going to murder you, Zeke, I swear,” she spat, clutching her arms to her chest.
Tristan yanked off his jacket. “Here,” he said, pulling it over Leila’s shoulders. “Let’s get you back to the Lair; can you make it up the hill?” He rubbed her shoulders to warm her, frightened by how purple her lips were becoming.
“I have to make it back, don’t I?” Leila snapped. She pulled away from Tristan’s hands and stomped towards the hill, chin tucked into the neck of Tristan’s coat.
Behind them, Zeke stalked to the bank and shook out his hair. “I’ll get the sleds,” he said shortly, speaking to no one in particular.
“See you later,” Tristan told Rusty once he and Leila reached the top of the hill. “I’ll be waiting inside.”
“Are you okay, Leila?” Rusty’s eyes were wide.
Leila was now shuddering uncontrollably; she appeared beyond speech. Shaking her head, she staggered forward through the snow, Zeke trailing close behind.
Once Tristan saw Leila safely to the showers, he returned to the Subroom to start on his homework. Alone in the room, Tristan couldn’t force himself to concentrate. For a while he paced from end to end, watching the fire cast leering shadows across the walls. He began thinking yet again of Drakewell’s ruthless deal, counting the months until the semester ended. It was nowhere near enough time to learn the secrets of this school. And a hundred years wouldn’t be enough for him to decide which of his friends to send to their doom.
Evvie or Amber?
Aiming a kick at the frayed rug, Tristan resumed his pacing.
As he made another circuit of the Subroom, Tristan spotted Evvie’s backpack and clothes stacked neatly beside her mattress. He crossed towards the bed and crouched beside her open pack; maybe her belongings would give him a clue. He hadn’t forgotten the diversion he’d created all those months ago, nor the reason that Evvie had begged for his help—she had been helping some strange person hide in the tunnels. Could that person be dangerous?
Maybe he had long since fled. Or maybe he was involved in the secret of the school.
Keeping one eye on the door, Tristan began removing books from Evvie’s backpack, handling everything with extreme care. There were schoolbooks and notebooks, pencils and loose papers. He even found a plain sketchbook at one point. That must have been the one item from home she’d chosen to keep.
Tristan thought back to the beginning of the year, to the plane ride when he’d first met Evvie. She had looked so sad and vulnerable when she’d first stepped onto the plane. Of course, that had also been the day Evvie decided she hated him. Tristan didn’t blame her—he was ugly and scarred and mean, and she was a pretty little orphan who had no business spending her time with criminals.
Tristan clawed his hair over his scars. “Damn you,” he muttered, hurling the sketchbook across the r
oom.
The rest of Evvie’s belongings were no more promising than her schoolbooks. Tristan didn’t really want to go through her clothes, but he shook out a sweater and rummaged through the empty pockets of her black uniform jacket.
“Did you drop this?” a soft voice called from the doorway.
Tristan jumped to his feet. “Who’s—”
He relaxed as he recognized Amber, her cheeks red from the cold and her pale hair windswept. She was holding Evvie’s sketchpad.
“Thanks,” he said, crossing the room and taking the sketchbook from her. “Are the others coming back now?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Amber said. “I was alone in the woods, tracing a lost bird. Eagles have incredibly powerful auras, you know, so strong they can be sensed rather than seen.”
Tristan felt a bit dazed. “And... er... why do eagles have such strong auras?”
Blinking, Amber lowered her eyes, suddenly shy again. “It’s because of the way they fly,” she whispered. “They feed on magic as they soar, on the pure elemental air.” With great concentration, she unwound her scarf and folded it over her arm.
Shaking his head, Tristan made his way towards the fire, where he settled into his favorite armchair. He should be putting Evvie’s schoolbooks back in order, but he was more interested in looking at her art. Running one finger along the top spiral of her sketchpad, he flipped open the cover.
At first Tristan was disappointed—the first page was blank aside from a very simplistic sketch of a leaf. He had expected something more exciting from someone who had chosen a sketchpad as her sole possession. Tristan turned the page.
Most of the sketches were of leaves or trees or small insects, though in the later pages Tristan found crude drawings of everyone in the Subroom except Amber. Tristan recognized himself immediately as the sketch with a grotesquely gutted face. Evvie’s representation of Rusty was more accurate than the others, and she had added a small heart beside his cheek—gritting his teeth, Tristan tightened his grip on the sketchpad until the pages crumpled slightly.
She’s stupid, Tristan thought savagely. Rusty’s an overenthusiastic fool.
No, that’s rubbish, he told himself angrily. Rusty was a much better person than Tristan.
Clenching the arm of his chair, Tristan started flipping pages again, faster than before. There was Drakewell, and Alldusk in his tailcoat with long vampire fangs added, and Merridy, and...
Tristan stopped. Here was a drawing of two children, a boy and girl he’d never seen before. Though he couldn’t tell from the sketch, they looked younger than five. Were they Evvie’s siblings?
Marcus.
Tristan’s hands went stiff and the sketchbook slid to the floor. In that unguarded moment, he was hit again with the memory, so vivid that he could feel the hot blood trickling down his face, and he doubled over from the shattering impact.... I trust you...
“What’s wrong? Tristan?”
Something touched his shoulder, and he jerked away. A cool hand smoothed back his hair—Amber was there, kneeling before him, and the sketchpad was once again resting on his knees.
“I’m all right,” Tristan said shakily. Taking a deep breath, he spread his fingers and then curled them into fists.
“What happened?” Amber asked. Combing her pale fingers through Tristan’s hair, she rose and perched on the arm of his chair.
If anyone else had asked, Tristan would have brushed aside the question. “It’s the memories,” he said, pressing his forehead into his hands. “I can’t tell where they end and the magic begins.”
“I know,” Amber whispered.
It was a long time before Leila returned from her shower, and longer still before the others came trudging in from outside, their boots and gloves caked with snow.
“I’m starving,” Rusty said, shaking ice from his scarf as he crossed to the fire. “Is the feast gonna start soon?”
Leila didn’t bother to answer him; she was still sulking. “I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again,” she grumbled. Though she was wearing two sweaters and a scarf, her lips were faintly blue.
“Cheer up,” Rusty said. “You’ve still got all your fingers, haven’t you? We’ll get you some hot tea and hot soup for lunch.”
“And some goddamned hot-pink cookies,” Tristan said, grinning ruefully.
Leila snorted.
Watching Evvie that evening, Tristan was irrationally jealous. The fact that she liked Rusty didn’t make his choice any easier, but Rusty ought to know the truth. If Evvie really was the vandal, she had been deceiving them all.
After the Valentine’s feast, no one was in the mood for homework. Hayley started folding origami hearts from her notebook paper, her eyes on Eli and Trey, who were playing a furious game of cards that involved a great deal of slapping and cursing.
Tristan just sat and stared at the fire, his stomach aching from too many pink cookies. By midnight, he had resolved to learn the truth about Evvie’s secret. If she went wandering in the tunnels again, he would follow her.
Evvie or Amber? He wished this holiday didn’t exist.
Chapter 19: The Secret of the Tunnels
Though Drakewell still gave Tristan dirty looks whenever they saw each other, the headmaster made no further mention of his ultimatum. Weeks passed with no attacks, until Tristan dared to hope the trespasser had decided to leave. Maybe it wasn’t Evvie, after all, and Tristan wouldn’t have to choose one of his friends to destroy.
What with magical tasks for homework on top of the written workload, the students had no free time to speak of. Tristan grew accustomed to seeing his friends sitting in silent, strained concentration, clearly trying to work a tricky piece of magic. Despite being overwhelmed with homework, the students in the Subroom continued to steal marbles; their pile in the corner was quickly becoming a formidable hoard.
Unfortunately, they still had no idea what the teachers were doing, or, indeed, what they could do with their own growing stack of marbles. As far as anyone knew, the marbles could only be used one at a time, and a single marble didn’t contain enough magic to be particularly powerful or threatening.
The beginning of April passed, and then Easter, and suddenly the end of the year was looming.
“Are you going to tell Drakewell about Evvie?” Leila whispered. Merridy had spent the past half hour lecturing them about the importance of their upcoming finals.
“I’m not saying anything until I’m positive,” Tristan replied, keeping his eyes fixed on Merridy. “Imagine what Drakewell would do to Evvie if she really was the vandal.” He didn’t want Leila to realize how sick he felt just thinking about the end of the year.
The truth was that he’d been watching Evvie carefully for the past several weeks; twice he’d attempted to follow her into the tunnels, though both times he had quickly lost her.
Class was over, so Tristan and Leila got to their feet and made their way towards the door. “I wish you would make more of an effort,” Leila said, frowning at Tristan. “Do you want to be locked at the end of the year?”
Tristan sighed. “That’s not the problem.” Evvie or Amber? He knew who Leila would choose, and it didn’t help. “Besides, it’s hard figuring stuff out about Evvie. If you come up with a way to stalk someone in the dark, let me know.” Annoyed, he readjusted his book bag and started walking faster.
“Hey, what’re you guys talking about?” Rusty asked happily, squeezing past Finley and Ryan to join Tristan.
“Stalking people,” Leila said at once.
They had to pause in their conversation then, since Evvie was walking directly behind them; once they reached the empty Subroom they resumed speaking in whispers.
“Okay, you’ve gotta tell me what’s going on now,” Rusty said.
Leila settled onto the sofa and began digging through her bag. “We’ve talked about this before,” she said shortly. “Tristan has to find the vandal, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Rusty said, “or else bad stuff wil
l happen, right?”
Slouching back in his chair, Tristan smoothed his hair over his face. “It’s hopeless. I wish I could just give up.”
“Brilliant plan,” Leila said sarcastically. “Come on, Triss, you have to let us help you.”
“I’d love it if you could help me,” Tristan said, exasperated. “But unless you know how to find something that can’t be f—”
He sat up suddenly. “That’s it!” Why hadn’t he thought of it before? “I can use Intralocation—or Extralocation, or whatever the hell you’d call the spell—to track Evvie!”
Leila nodded slowly. “That could work. You’d have to be careful not to run into any teachers, though, because it would look awfully suspicious if they caught you roaming the tunnels in the dark.”
Rusty was bouncing up and down in his chair; Tristan was tempted to smack him with his textbook. “This is so exciting! Besides, why would the teachers be in the tunnels? Let us come explore with you!”
“I’ll be following Evvie, not exploring,” Tristan said impatiently. “And I don’t even know if the spell will work.”
At Leila’s urging, Tristan began attempting the spell that night. When Eli and Trey returned to the Subroom and began working on homework, Tristan, Leila, and Rusty gathered handfuls of marbles and went in search of somewhere to practice.
“I just need to hide in a place you wouldn’t think of looking,” Leila said. “Too bad it’s dark outside.”
Tristan laughed. “You want me to follow a ridiculous marble all around the Lair? That’ll look even more suspicious than wandering in the tunnels. Besides, what if we run into Drakewell?”
“Just say you’re playing hide-and-seek,” Leila said, giggling.
Rusty decided to follow Tristan while Leila went off to hide, and they spent the next several hours working on the spell. It took more concentration than regular Intralocation, especially once Leila started moving around just to complicate things. Tristan kept dropping marbles and losing his grip on the spell halfway to wherever Leila was waiting, though he was much better than Rusty, who was too distracted to even get a marble to hang in the air.
Metal and Magic: A Fantasy Journey Page 55
