by A. L. Knorr
I snatched up my laptop and water bottle and tossed them in my backpack. Glancing both ways out my bedroom door, I turned left and headed for the combat hall. Though I wasn’t doing anything wrong, my stomach still had butterflies.
A couple of times I thought I heard someone behind me but when I looked over my shoulder, no one was there. I shook my head at my own paranoia. Everyone was either hanging out in their rooms or in the lounges on the first floor where all the games and snacks were.
Pushing into the combat room, the lights flickered on automatically. I crossed the space to the forge where the melting basins threw soft shadows across the floor. Drawing out my laptop, I set my bag down and put my computer on the edge of a basin. As long as I kept my computer far from where I was using my fire, there shouldn’t be a problem.
Leaving my laptop sitting open with the workbook up on the screen, I went to the walk-in closet and drew it open. Going inside, I scanned the samples in the drawer the headmaster had had open earlier that day, wondering which to pick first. I settled on starting somewhere familiar and picked a chunk from the pocket labeled zinc.
Remembering from high school that zinc had the atomic number of thirty and its symbol was Zn, I found the page for zinc and filled those details in. I also knew the melting point because the headmaster had shown me earlier, so I filled that in too. I was supposed to note down my observations as the metal reacted to heating and cooling but what I really wanted to try was reconstituting it.
I moved to the basin furthest away from my laptop. Holding the chunk of zinc in my hand, I sent fire into my palm and put all of my concentration into melting it down into a silver puddle. Once it was in liquid form, I lowered the temperature steadily and mentally begged the zinc to reform into the cylindrical shape it had started in.
A ripple passed over its surface but it did not reform the way it had in Basil’s control.
“Come on.” I narrowed my eyes at the blob, simultaneously quenching the heat and sending it a mental command to reform.
The zinc seemed to quiver as though it was cold, then pain lanced across the fleshy part of my hand, just below my thumb, as it suddenly hardened into a misshapen thing like a lopsided sea-urchin. Hot blood dripped from my hand as I threw the spiky object into the basin.
“Ow.” Clenching my teeth, I inspected the cut. It wasn’t deep but it stung enough to make my eyes water. The headmaster had warned me this skill was difficult.
Drawing fire down my arm and sending it into my hand, the cut began to glow. Red and orange sparks sizzled where the edges of skin drew together, cauterizing and closing the wound.
“How the hell did you do that?”
The voice made me whirl around, almost falling backward over the basin. Bracing my uninjured hand against the lip, my wound forgotten, I found Kendall staring at my hand with incredulity. His eyes flashed up to my face, his mouth open.
“You shouldn’t be able to do that! Maybe Ryan was right about you.”
His words hit my ears like hammer blows, not really penetrating. How had he even been in here without me noticing?
I stuttered. “Wh— what?”
Kendall bolted for the door.
“Wait!” My heart climbed up my throat as his words sank in. Maybe Ryan was right about me? But... cauterizing a wound from the inside was something I’d been able to do before I’d gone through the Burning. So, what was Kendall talking about?
I shot after him like a stone from a sling, only to skid to a halt and run back to fetch my laptop and my bag. I left the puddles and flecks of zinc in the basin. I’d have to deal with them later. Kendall was already out of view.
Exiting through the same door, I headed down the hall toward the students’ rooms, backpack thumping and eyes peeled for any glimpse of that bluebird-colored mop. A student came out of a bedroom just in front of me and I just barely kept from bowling them over.
“Hey, watch it Red,” snapped a girl’s voice. I didn’t even stop to see who I’d nearly brained.
“Sorry,” I called as I continued down the hall.
Up ahead was a lounge and I skidded to a halt at the open door, gaze flying around the room.
Kendall and Ryan stood in conversation in front of the fireplace, no one else was there.
“What did you mean?” I panted, eyes on Kendall as I stalked into the room. “Were you spying on me?”
“I wasn’t spying,” Kendall snarled. “I was just passing through. It takes less time for me to cut through the combat hall than it does to take the corridor that goes around it. I always use it as a shortcut after hours.”
Oh. I hadn’t even known there was another bank of bedrooms on the far side of the combat hall.
Ryan turned his shoulders to face me as he scanned my body.
“Let’s see your hand.” Ryan held out his own hand, calm as a winter’s morning.
I froze, mind sorting through the options. If I protested, it would look like I really did have something to hide and I had done nothing to reveal my secret, even if Kendall thought so.
“Fine,” I said, holding out my hand. “I don’t know what Ken-doll has got his panties in a bunch over. You cut yourself, you cauterize it. No big deal.”
Ryan went to take my hand and I almost pulled it out of his reach, not really wanting him to touch me. I didn’t need a reminder of our mage-bond.
He snagged my hand and found my new scar, tracing a finger down the white seam in my skin and sending flares of fire along my hand and wrist. “Is this it?”
“Yes,” Kendall replied, coming in for a closer look. He looked up at me with something like respect. “How did you do that?”
“What do you mean?” I looked into overawed eyes, feeling dismayed. “We can all do this.”
Kendall glanced at Ryan. “Can you?”
Ryan let go of my hand, frowning. He studied my face as he answered Kendall. “I’ve never tried.”
I relaxed my arm, still feeling mildly dazed, my stomach in a twist. “Haven’t you ever cut yourself?”
“Of course, but no one has ever told me to try cauterizing my cuts from the inside.” Ryan’s gaze raked my face.
“Not even your dad?”
In response, Ryan threw an arm over my shoulders and steered me for the door. “Come on, Cagney. Let’s get to the bottom of this.”
I was so bewildered that I allowed him to walk me halfway to the headmaster’s office with Kendall trailing behind before I tossed his arm off, muttering, “This is ridiculous.”
The headmaster’s door was open and Ryan rapped a knuckle on the door. Basil looked up and took in our unusual trio. I shot him an apologetic look. I had to hand it to him. If he felt any concern about why Ryan and I could possibly have popped into his office together, he didn’t show it.
“First-years,” he said, sitting back in his chair. “What can I do for you?”
“Just a small matter,” Ryan replied smoothly. “Kendall had an opportunity to catch Queen Cagney here doing something unexpected with her fire.”
I rolled my eyes at the nickname and mimicked Ryan’s tone. “Jester Wendig here seems to think that self-cauterizing a wound is some kind of rare talent.” I crossed my arms and shot Ryan a glare, finding some of my self-possession now that the shock had worn off.
Basil’s brows pinched. “Did you cut yourself, Ms. Cagney?”
I tried not to shuffle in place or do anything else that made me look guilty. I held out my hand and pointed to my new scar. The pink had already faded and the scar looked several years old already. “Just a small one.”
When Basil saw how miniscule the scar was, he relaxed. “I fail to see the problem.”
“Neither Ryan nor I know how to do that,” Kendall piped up behind me, stretching to peer over my shoulder. I could feel him breathing down my neck.
“That’s not Ms. Cagney’s fault. I still fail to see the issue.” Basil adjusted his glasses, looking more impatient now.
“Is self-cauterization a second-
degree skill?” Ryan asked.
“No,” the headmaster replied. “Most mages learn that skill from their parents before kindergarten. It’s a life-skill, like tying your shoelaces or riding a tricycle.”
A blush stained the skin just above Ryan’s collar.
Our fearless school leader took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. He closed his eyes as if praying for patience. When he opened them again, he pinned his cool gaze on his godson.
“Do you mean to tell me that your father never taught you how to self-cauterize, Mr. Wendig? Nor your mother, Mr. Fair?”
The boys shared an uneasy glance and I bit my cheek against a smile.
“I don’t suppose that should surprise me about Chad,” the headmaster murmured. “He has always been disdainful of the simple gifts of being a mage.” He whipped out a handkerchief and cleaned his spectacles. “Now that we’ve got that sorted out, can I do anything else for you?”
“Are you going to teach us this so-called junior skill?” Ryan asked, the blush now gone and his cocky stance back.
Basil let out an audible sigh. “No, Mr. Wendig. It’s not part of our school policy to slice up our students so that they can practice a skill they should have mastered by the time they were five years old. If you’re feeling betrayed that you weren’t aware of this handy ability which all mages have at all levels, then I suggest you take it up with your parents.”
After a heavy silence, Ryan hooked an elbow around Kendall’s neck, a little violently in my opinion. With one last glare at me, they disappeared around the corner.
I was about to step inside to talk privately with the headmaster when he said, “Good night, Ms. Cagney,” and looked back at his computer screen. “Close the door, would you?”
I closed the door and took a breath. Putting my hand over my heart I could feel it still pounding. The incident had a happy ending but I felt unsettled. Ryan was scrutinizing me, and not just that, he’d recruited Kendall to watch me too. Otherwise, why would Kendall have gone straight to Ryan to report what he’d seen? And which other students had Ryan alerted to pay attention to ‘Queen Cagney’?
Bitterness at the twin’s dad simmered in my gut, until it changed direction and leveled itself at Ryan. If he wasn’t so curious about the Burning process, I wouldn’t be in this situation. If it wasn’t for Ryan, I wouldn’t be staring down the barrel of a career of pulling punches and cloaking my true abilities. Trying not to appear to be too far advanced was one thing, actively appearing inferior was another. Stupid Ryan had already ruined my academy experience. I would never qualify to win the top marks award, I’d never have a shot at the agency, and I’d never be able to show the other students what I was capable of. It wasn’t fair.
Part Three
We All Fall Down
Nineteen
A Bloody Mess
“Define quenching,” I prompted April as we sat cross-legged on the floor in a corner of the fire-gym. I held an Arcturus Academy first-degree skills manual open on my lap. Basil was teaching me fourth-degree skills, which meant I actually wasn’t that familiar with the parameters of a first-degree mage. It was a good way for me to learn terminology, but still felt a bit like skipping kindergarten and then being asked in grade four to help a kindergartner learn their vowels.
April closed her eyes and recited: “Quenching is the cooling of hot materials by drawing the heat into one’s own body through contact with the skin, or through telekinetic power.”
“Yes, but you’re not meant to give that last part in your theoretical exam because it’s not taught at the first-degree level.”
“Shouldn’t I include it if I know it?”
“No. Remember what Wanda said? ‘Students should demonstrate full mastery of each degree before moving on to the next, including their understanding of where the lines are drawn between the different degrees.’ That means they don’t give you any extra credit for adding next level information in your answers, they might even penalize you for it.”
April rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around her knees. “That’s stupid if you ask me.”
“Maybe, but no one did.” I shifted on the hard floor, trying to ease some of the pressure in my butt. “Now focus. You’ve told me you have a photographic memory. Today, I want you to prove it, but don’t go overboard. Define ‘metastasis’?”
She rocked back, lifting her toes off the floor, her expression bored. “So easy, they use the same term for cancer, which is macabre if you ask me.”
“No one did.” I sighed. I liked April fine but I was learning that there was no such thing as a short and straightforward answer from her. Patience, Saxony. Patience.
“Metastasis is the act of moving the fire around inside the body while keeping it whole. A mage of the first-degree should be able to metastasize the fire from the tip of one finger to the tip of the opposite toe without breaking it or losing power.”
I nodded. “Good. And what’s the difference between ignition and combustion?”
She took a breath, eyes focusing up and to the right as though reading from a book hanging in the air. “Ignition is the simple act of producing a live flame in the hand, whereas combustion is the lighting of flammable materials. It’s the result of high-temperature redox, or reduction-oxidation, an exothermic chemical reaction between the reductant and the oxidant, which often but doesn’t always result in a flame. It involves a sequence beginning with endothermic pyrolysis leading elementary radical reactions which can be hot enough to give off incandescent light and provide enough energy to be self-sustaining.”
I frowned and flipped back and forth through the Fire Skills manual and tried to find where April was repeating this from. “All you’re supposed to answer is that ignition is producing a flame in the hand and combustion is lighting flammable materials. What’s all that other stuff?”
“It’s from Fire Science.” April looked smug. “You wanted me to prove that I have a photographic memory. There you go.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine. I’m impressed. But can we please focus on the requirements of your skills class?”
April nodded and rolled onto her back on the floor. She splayed out her legs as she scrubbed her face with her hands. “What’s next?”
I flipped back to the basic definitions page. “Detonation.”
“Exploding the fire within the body to enhance a movement such as running, jumping, throwing or hitting.” She lifted her head and shot me a sly look, mouth open and ready to go further.
I pointed my finger at her. “That’s perfect, stop there.”
She grinned. “It’s actually a type of combustion involving a supersonic—meaning faster than sound—exothermic front accelerating through a medium, in this case a mage’s body, which drives a shock front directly ahead of it.”
I shot her a glare. “That’s—”
“It differs from deflagration, which is a subsonic combustion that propagates through a heat transfer where a burning material heats the material next to it and ignites it.”
I closed the manual and tossed it to the side. “I give up. Clearly you’re going to pass the theoretical. On your feet, Lisbeth Salander. You’re freaking me out. I need to be reminded that you are in fact imperfect. Show me your slow-burn skills in the bouldering cave.”
April got to her feet and dusted off her fireproof training gear. She followed me over to the cave where the highest placed holds were twelve feet off the ground and the mats were thick and soft; a harness wasn’t needed. “Lisbeth Salander is far too angsty a character to compare me to, even if she did have a photographic memory.”
“Who should I use then? Lex Luther?” I threw a smile over my shoulder. My feet depressed the mats as I scanned the colored holds for a good route for a beginner.
“Mike Ross, Fox Mulder, Buffy the Vampire Slayer…” April wandered onto the mat and looked up, doubt clouding her eyes. “Are there any characters with photographic memories who are afraid of heights?”
&n
bsp; I glanced at her in surprise. “You’re afraid of heights?”
She frowned. “I’m afraid of everything except reading.”
I tested the first few holds of a route, scaling up the wall a few feet before dropping back down. “Everyone has to start somewhere. Why don’t you do the yellow route? Make sure you let your fire show so I can see what you’re doing.”
She snorted as she walked up to the wall and tested the first yellow holds. “You’re assuming I actually have a choice in the matter. I haven’t yet mastered the art of concealment slash internalizing … in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I like to give the benefit of the doubt. Who knows what you master in your classes between our coaching sessions. Now quit stalling and climb.” I moved back so I could observe.
The glow of April’s fire appeared through the back of her t-shirt, right in the center of her torso. As she hooked the first hold with her right hand, the glow traveled down her arm and into her fingers.
“Metastasis, April,” I reminded her. “This isn’t just about slow-burn.”
“Right,” she muttered under her breath and hung her head in concentration. The glow oozed from her right hand back down her arm where it hovered at her shoulder for a moment as if not sure where to go. Then it began to reach across her shoulder to her other arm while holding the position at her right shoulder. Slowly, the glow reached her left hand.
“Jolly good.” I mimicked Basil’s upper-class accent. “Don’t forget your right hand.”
The glow in her right shoulder spread slowly down her arm, rolling about the same speed as a thick pancake batter. Now the glow dominated her upper back and both arms. Hooking both hands, April lifted a foot and pulled herself up. Her arms trembled. Looking up for the next hold, she eyed it and reached.
“Don’t neglect your legs, Brown,” I reminded.
She nodded and blew out a breath. The glow began to move down her back toward her right hip. There was a sudden flash and the light under the skin of her arms went out, snapping back to her torso like a broken elastic. April dropped off the wall, landing awkwardly.
