"Technically, it's a grotto. There's a half-siren woman who lives there. She teaches water-based spells and combat, but when there aren't classes, we're allowed to go for a swim. Assuming we plug our ears with wax first. She's not supposed to drown anyone, but accidents happen."
"Sounds safe," said Zayn with a shudder, memories of cold, brown water flashing through his mind. "Can you tell me where our room is?"
"Better than that, I'll show you," said Vin.
"So where is this part of the Honeycomb?" asked Zayn.
"Seventh ward," said Vin. "Crazy, isn't it? Supposedly, the Academy is spread out across all the wards."
This section of the Honeycomb seemed larger than the other two he'd visited. It took them a few minutes to reach their rooms, during which Vin babbled about his summer, which sounded like it was his best ever. Despite his imposing size, Vin claimed that he'd been an outsider at school, but he'd felt like the town hero coming back as a member of the Hundred Halls.
"What about you? How was your summer? Was it as kickass as mine?" Vin asked excitedly.
Zayn didn't have the heart to tell him that in Varna, members of the Hundred Halls were more common than teen pregnancies, so he just smiled. He was saved from further questioning when they reached the apartment.
"Look who I found!" said Vin.
Skylar was sorting her clothes in the closet while Portia, who was only wearing her shorts, was folding laundry. They both ran over to give him a hug. Zayn blushed when the half-naked Portia squeezed him around the middle.
To hide his embarrassment, Zayn made a show of examining their new digs. It looked like someone had built a three-story building, but forgotten to add the first floor. There were "huts" where the second and third floors were, but no ladders to reach them.
"We figured this room would feel the most like home for you," said Skylar.
"That's great, but what about a way to get up there?" asked Zayn.
Skylar winked and bounded up the wall, grabbing minor imperfections in the textured stone as she scurried to a hole leading into one of the huts. She disappeared inside, then stuck her head out and waved enthusiastically.
"Getting up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night is going to be fun," said Zayn.
"Late nights at the bar should be interesting," said Portia, "not that we'll get any time this year, with our classwork and the Second Year Contest."
They caught up on the last three months. It felt good to be back with the team. His face was warm with emotion. They'd all changed so much in a year. Portia's accent was completely gone, except for when she evaded questions about her summer in Mexico City, then her r's began to trill. Skylar, on the other hand, sounded like a news anchor with her near perfect diction. She'd opened a boutique with her younger brother and was selling high-end clothing to rich people in Los Angeles.
"Are you in trouble with the patron again?" asked Portia.
Zayn repressed a shudder as the memory of that woman's head rolling against the potted plant came back to him. "Not at all. There was a murder near the pickup location, and we happened to be witness to it. Just had to go down to Protector headquarters and tell them what we saw."
Skylar put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. "Just happened to see a murder? And we're supposed to believe this?"
"I swear," said Zayn. "I guess I have bad luck or something."
"Luck has nothing to do with it," said Skylar.
"Enough about that," said Vin, who was staring at the huts on the second-floor loft. "Since we only need four beds, I was thinking of taking this down, you know, give us more room."
"Could we wait on that?" asked Zayn, thinking about his cousin. He hadn't given up on trying to get him on the team. "I heard we might have an opportunity to add a fifth later."
Portia, who had just slipped a shirt over her head, raised an eyebrow. "I haven't heard that."
No one appeared to believe him, but they didn't press him on his request and agreed to leave the fifth bunk up. His first year, he'd just been trying to survive. But after what had happened with the Goon, and with Keelan's newfound attention from the Watchers, getting him in his group was his highest priority.
Chapter Three
Varna, May 2005
Staring at an odd vehicular fossil from the previous century
"What is it?" Zayn asked as he leaned against the corner of the trailer, staying in the shade on the abnormally hot day.
Uncle Jesse worked under the hood of a long, strange car with a truck bed for a rear end. A patina of rust covered the vehicle. It smelled like grease and spilt gasoline.
He pulled away from the hood and yanked a towel from a back pocket to clean his hands. Uncle Jesse always looked like he should have been born in the 1950s. He kept his hair long and had a deep tan that he always claimed came from his Italian heritage.
"That's a 1972 El Camino," said Uncle Jesse. "A pretty little thing, if you ask me."
"It looks like a platypus, a car version of it anyway," said Zayn.
"A fair comparison," said Uncle Jesse with a wink. "Did you know the platypus is the only mammal that can lay an egg?"
"Like everyone knows that," said Zayn, rolling his eyes while keeping a big grin.
Uncle Jesse tapped a greasy finger on his jaw. "But did you know they don't have a stomach, they have poisonous claws in their feet, and they use their bill to sense the electrical fields in creatures like a damn superhero." He gave Zayn an exaggerated questioning look. "What, they don't teach you those kinds of things in fourth grade?"
"I'm in fifth!" said Zayn, laughing.
His dad liked to call Uncle Jesse the Human Encyclopedia, to which he would reply that he was an "autodidact," which was another way of saying he knew a lot of things—especially if they had to do with the animal kingdoms—but did crappy in school.
"Where'd you get your platypus anyway?" asked Zayn, receiving blown-out cheeks from his uncle.
"This is the fruit of a well-laid plan," said Uncle Jesse with a wink, then as he glanced around and realized he was standing in the middle of a trailer park, and nothing was secret or sacred in it, he looked a little sheepish.
At that moment, Keelan came running up. "Whoa, what is that?"
"A platypus," said Zayn with his arms crossed like a smug professor.
"Looks like a car to me, dummy," said Keelan.
"It's a bit of both, boys," said Uncle Jesse, giving Keelan a half-hug. "You two half-pints interested in taking a spin?"
They both whooped and ran to the car door. While they were fighting for shotgun (loser would have to cram into the middle since it only had a single bench), Aunt Lydia stuck her head out the back window of the trailer. She was letting her Afro grow out, and it barely fit through the opening.
"Jesse, where are you taking the boys?" she asked.
"A little joyride," he said, hooking his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. "Nothin' much to it."
"You ain't taken the boys on any errands, are you?" asked Aunt Lydia with enough skepticism to start a small fire.
"No way, honey. Just a joy ride," said Uncle Jesse, then he slammed the hood down and slid into the driver's seat.
Zayn had heard his mother say a thousand times that Uncle Jesse could "charm the tail off a whale," and he knew that whatever those errands were that they were most certainly going to be going on them.
The platypus fishtailed out of the trailer park, spitting gravel across the road, earning cheers from Zayn and his cousin. The only times Zayn got to take rides was on the school bus, and that didn't count, so even though he was stuck in the middle, there was enough wind coming in through the windows that he had a grin the size of Texas plastered on his face.
Uncle Jesse took them down the old highway, which he lovingly called the Seven Hills of Hell. Each hill was steeper than the next, and when they went flying over it, Zayn's stomach slammed into his throat. It was better than a roller coaster.
Once they'd turned back towards town
, Uncle Jesse reduced the speed of the platypus.
"Why you going so slow, Uncle Jesse?" asked Zayn, looking up at him with an unhealthy dose of admiration.
"That prick Deputy Clovis would like nothin' better than to bust my ass. We went to Varna High together, and he ain't never forgiven me for stealing his girlfriend," said Uncle Jesse.
"Who was that?" asked Zayn, wondering if he knew her. Since everyone knew everyone in Varna.
He chuckled as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "It was your Aunt Lydia."
"Whoa," said Zayn, sharing wide-eyed glances with Keelan. He couldn't imagine Aunt Lydia and Deputy Clovis ever dating.
"So what errand are we going on?" asked Keelan.
"I promised your mom I wasn't taking you on any errand," said Uncle Jesse.
"Yeah, right," said Zayn.
Uncle Jesse gave a leaning shrug. "Maybe I was. But if I do, you're both sworn to secrecy, not a word to anyone, especially not Neveah."
"We promise," they both said in their best talking-to-adults voices.
This wasn't the first time that Uncle Jesse had taken them on an adventure, but this seemed different than the others. Uncle Jesse didn't say anything at first, staring straight ahead at the road, his jaw pulsing with thought.
When he spoke, it had the weight of concerned reluctance, as if he were explaining how disappointing the world could be. In that moment, Zayn saw how restless his uncle was, how if he could, he'd have joined the Foreign Legion or been a war journalist.
"You boys both know how things work in the town, with the Lady and everything, right?" They both nodded. "I knew you did, but just making sure. You see, Varna's its own little environment, a closed ecological system, if you will. Since no one can leave, and we don't really let newcomers move here, certain roles have been predefined for everyone. You can move up, and you can certainly move down, but for the most part, everyone stays where they're at.
"At the top is the Lady, the alpha predator. She surrounds herself with other predators, the Watchers, the Goon, the city council, anyone who can keep her in power. Then there's the rest of the town, the prey, who they feed on without regard. Sure, they make a good show of it, and rarely does anyone die, but make no mistake, they're prey."
"They?" asked Zayn. "What does that make us?
Uncle Jesse clucked his tongue. "A little of both. Your dad likes to think he's separate from the system, like he's found an alternative category or something, but I think he's deluding himself.
"In this town, there's only so much to go around, so you gotta take advantage where you can. Only suckers pay full price."
If Zayn had heard that once, he'd heard it a hundred times. He'd also heard his dad say that shortcuts would be the death of Uncle Jesse.
After a few minutes, Zayn asked, "Why doesn't anyone take care of the Lady?"
"Because then two thousand people would die." He tapped on the steering wheel, looking thoughtful. "Unless you have a way around her particular conundrum."
"Do you?" asked Zayn.
Uncle Jesse didn't answer at first. "Even if someone did, which I don't, how do you risk that many people? Because if you're wrong, that's a whole lot of death on your doorstep."
The way he said it made it sound like it was a question he'd considered before. As if the ruts of the conversation had worn deep in his soul.
They reached the edge of the town of Varna, which was made up of a half-dozen crisscrossing streets. A quintessential city hall with a steepled clock tower provided the false center, as everyone knew where the real power lay.
Unlike most small towns, there was no Wal-Mart, just Harry's Grocery and Hardware, which was on Fifth and Main. Uncle Jesse dropped them off two blocks up.
"There's a collection box outside the store with a sign that says Varna Historical Preservation Society. I want you to open up the box, remove the cash, leave the change, and meet me at the church," said Uncle Jesse.
"What? We can't steal from that. It's the Lady's," said Zayn, incredulous at his uncle's brashness.
A key appeared in Uncle Jesse's hand, along with a smirk on his lips. "And that's exactly what I'm exploiting. Everyone thinks it's the Lady's, which is why they give money, because they want to be in her good graces."
"But won't someone see? One of the Watchers?" asked Keelan.
"They don't care, and even if they did, they're busy on the other side of town. Plus, it doesn't say it's the Lady's, so I have a bit of plausible deniability on my side." He checked his watch. "I need to go, I have another errand that needs a lack of Watchers. So go on, getchu that money. And if anyone messes with you, just own it."
He drove off before anyone could object. They walked side by side, neither one wanting to say anything as they approached Harry's. The parking lot was empty except for a couple of foreign cars.
They stopped thirty feet from the box. It was on a table with a banner in front of it announcing 'Varna Historical Preservation Society' complete with a picture of a plantation house.
Zayn felt a nudge in his ribs.
"You get it," said Keelan.
"It's your dad, you do it," replied Zayn.
He'd been excited about the "errands" when they first set off, but now he just wanted to be back at the Stack.
"Five Elements for who has to go," said Keelan, then added, "No faez."
Zayn nodded quickly. He wanted to get this over with.
They faced each other.
"One. Two. Three."
Zayn threw fire at the same time as Keelan.
"Damn, again. One. Two. Three."
Keelan's earth beat his air.
"Damn," said Zayn.
Keelan pushed him towards it. "Hurry up, I don't like being here."
Zayn took the key and marched to the box, expecting an adult to chase him off at any moment. When he reached the box, he tried putting the key in the lock, but his hand was shaking. He got it on the third try.
When he opened the little door on the side, bills pushed out. He couldn't believe how many were inside. He also realized the flaw in his uncle's plan. He didn't have pockets in his shorts. It was too hot for jeans.
"Come here," said Zayn, waving his cousin over.
Keelan stayed put, shaking his head.
"No, I need you, like now."
Keelan came over and whistled when he saw the amount of money.
"Shove these in your pockets," said Zayn, grabbing handfuls and handing them to Keelan.
Before long, his pockets were bulging as if he were carrying baseballs. Zayn was grabbing another handful to shove in Keelan's back pockets when an older man with pale, wrinkly skin came teetering out of the grocery store with a cane.
"Get away from there, you thieves!" he said, swinging his cane through the air.
Zayn froze and then moved to run, but he remembered what his uncle had said.
"We're not thieves," said Zayn.
"Then why the hell are you stuffing money in that boy's pockets?" asked the old man.
"We forgot the bag," said Zayn.
The old man leaned over his cane. "That sounds like a cock-and-bull story to me. Why would you two boys be collecting for the society? And don't make me remind you whose money that is."
"We know," said Keelan. "We do errands for the mayor. She sent us down, but we forgot the bag."
Zayn held the key up. "See, official key and everything."
The old man stood straight. "Hmm, well then. I guess I'm mistaken."
"It's understandable, sir," said Zayn, remembering that old people liked titles.
The old man reached into his wallet, pulled out the lone twenty dollar bill inside, and handed it over. "You can have this one as well, and make sure and tell them who gave it to you."
Zayn looked at the old man's threadbare tan pants, the rattiness of his wallet.
Before he could say anything, Keelan said, "You should keep that. The society's doing alright."
"No, no. I must insist," said the old ma
n with a hint of desperation. "This bill is a down payment on good fortune later. Trust me, boys."
Zayn could see the old man wasn't going to take no for an answer, and he didn't want to linger around the box much longer, so he reluctantly accepted the bill.
"Thank you," said Zayn flatly. "We'll pass on your name."
"Winston Appleton."
"Got it," said Zayn, making a face as if he were memorizing the name as he locked up the box.
The old man watched them until they went around the corner. Keelan met his gaze, and it matched how he felt.
"I feel like an asshole," said Keelan.
"We are assholes."
When Uncle Jesse showed up in the platypus, they climbed in, forgoing the normal jockeying for shotgun. Uncle Jesse patted Keelan's pockets in appreciation before pulling into the road.
"I see on your faces that it wasn't as pleasant as you thought it was going to be."
Zayn could only muster a tiny shake of the head.
Uncle Jesse clucked his tongue. "Just remember, as painful as that was, it's better than the alternative. You don't want to be a Watcher, and you don't want to be one of the fools that lick their boots. In my opinion, it's better to be a son of a bitch than a sucker."
Chapter Four
Thirteenth Ward, October 2014
Tramp stamps not allowed
"I want it on my butt."
The words hung in the air before Percival, assaulting the picture of meticulous Englishness that he wore like polite armor. One leg was crossed over the other and his hands rested on his knees. He blinked twice, his eyes fluttering as if he were a blushing maid.
"Of course, Miss Portia, I will place the imbuement on whatever part of your body that you wish, including your derrière," said Percival as he collected the tattoo gun from the stainless steel tray. "Please remove your knickers and I shall begin."
With a mischievous grin held tightly on her lips, Portia dropped her yoga pants, panties included, and leaned over in front of Percival.
This behavior was of no surprise to Zayn and the rest of the team because they lived with her. It didn't bother her one bit to sit and read in the common area of their apartment in the nude, spell tomes propped on her knees.
The Sorcerous Spy Page 2
