Foretold Page 12

“Just the—”

  “Maybe some mugwort and elderberry jam? Enhance your scrying ability before the Agon. No? Alright. How about a toadstone ring? Detect poison, protect your home from burning, help with bowel obstructions?”

  “Just a mirror, thanks.”

  “Are you sure?” He glances around and whispers, “Something more illicit? One of the last known pairs of adderstone glasses? Holes crafted by venomous snakes of their own free will! Guaranteed no scrying manipulation went into their making.”

  “Just a mirror. Please.”

  “Well, have it your way. If you show me what you have to trade with, I can tell you what mirrors fall in your budget.” He smiles, flashing a gold tooth and looking like a landlocked pirate.

  I rummage around in my bag, but I’m fresh out of things to trade. The bangle Bree gave me as a gift catches the light from my wrist. No sentimental tug to Bree’s gift surfaces. “This bracelet.” I hand it off to him.

  “Gold… appears… yes, the maker’s stamp is right here. Wonderful! Scryer-forged in Lethe water. Very expensive. This will get you anything on this cart, and then some.”

  I grin and eagerly survey the stock. A small silver mirror catches my eye. Its handle is a carving of a hunched man holding the mirror up on his back; the pained expression on his sculpted little face speaks to me. “I’ll take this one.”

  “Ah, my friend Atlas. Talk about work stress, holding the world up on his shoulders. Good choice. What else would you like?”

  “He’s holding the heavens up, actually, not the world,” I correct. I’m a trivia nerd. I know it, but I can’t help it. It’s the one thing I’m good at. “And that’s all, thanks.”

  He pulls at his beard. “That’s an uneven trade. Do you know what Magpies are known for?”

  I inch away. “Collecting weird stuff and making meat pies?”

  He frowns. “Well, yes. But we’re also known for even trades!”

  “Okay, then… you can owe me? Or whatever. I have to get to this intern welcome party now though.”

  He brings himself up as tall as he can muster. His earring dances from his lobe. “A favor! Excellent idea. I, Bacchy Liddell, will owe you… what’s your name?”

  “Cassie. Cassandra. Morai. Sorry, I really need to get to the party.”

  “Cassandra Morai. I, Bacchy Liddell, will owe you, Cassie of the Cuff, one favor.” The man grabs a goblet from the cart and sloshes some red liquid into it. He spits into it and holds the goblet out to me. “Spit, then we drink.”

  I rear back. “What? No. Why?”

  “Sacred agreements require sacred—”

  “Diseases? I’m not spitting in it, and I’m definitely not drinking from it.” He moves the cup closer and opens his mouth to say something. The thought of his germs released from the prison of his mouth and floating freely in that cup… “I’m not. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not. I’m not,” I quake. I didn’t mean to give in. I pick at the flayed skin of my thumb.

  Bacchy slowly sets the cup back on the cart and holds up a hand. “No need to get upset. Silly way to seal a deal. Technically, I’m supposed to use red wine, but I never touch the stuff anymore. Two years sober. This is some god-awful bitter plumberry concoction. Before wine, they used to use blood! Imagine that! Talk about disease. Handshake instead?” He holds out his hand.

  I lift my hand tentatively, then pull it back quickly, hiding it behind my bag.

  “How about we forget the handshake and have a very formal, very serious, nod? No touching. People nod at each other all the time. I’ve never been able to pull off a serious nod, but I’m willing to cultivate the talent. Let’s give it a go. Ready?”

  I huff out a timorous breath and give him a serious nod and a small smile. He nods back.

  “Now, then! I, Bacchy Liddell, owe you, Cassie of the Cuff, one favor, to be redeemed at a time and place of your choosing. It cannot include the killing or maiming of another person or animal. Little disclaimer there. This contract shall only be null and void in the case of one or both of our deaths. When you’re ready to redeem, you’ll find me here or in our camp; ask about, someone’ll point you to where we rest our heads. Even trade, to be continued.”

  “Thank you,” I say, with a voice that barely wavers.

  “It’s simply what’s owed.”

  “I mean for being kind.”

  “Never you mind that. As I said, been on the wagon for two years. Tells you I know a thing or two about troubles, right? Now, are you sure I can’t interest you in this tortoise? Goes by the name of Betsy…”

  I miss my dad. I miss Colin. I miss Mrs. O. I want my bed. But I couldn’t find Regan at the Rotunda, and now I’m positive I’m going in the wrong direction. I stop and rub at my eyes. The stone cathedral-like path to my left looks identical to the one on my right, and both have a weird summoning feeling that reminds me of the Coil description from Pict’s book. I plant my hands on my hips.

  “Fuck!” I shout.

  I turn around, then yelp. I’m not alone.

  Sebastian Welborne frowns and arches a brow.

  “Sorry. I don’t curse,” I stammer.

  “Must’ve been the fucking wind, then.” He studies me, the expression on his handsome face unreadable.

  “No. I mean, I know I did, but I don’t usually—”

  “The Astromancy lab is down that way,” he says, gesturing the way I came.

  I give him a blank look.

  “For the initiate party?” he offers.

  “I’m not going to the party. I’m looking for my dorm.”

  “No party?” He furrows his brow and crosses his arms. “You’ll miss out on all the drinking and embarrassing hookups.”

  “Sounds awesome.”

  The dimple in his cheek makes a reluctant appearance and disappears just as quickly. It’s a siren’s call, making you want to chase it when it retreats. Making you want to do or say anything to bring it back out to play. But then his expressionless shell reappears as he drawls, “I wasn’t planning on playing Theseus today, but initiates shouldn’t wander alone.”

  “Oh, so you weren’t just following me around?” I quip. I blame his frigging dimple.

  His mask doesn’t crack. “No.”

  My cheeks heat. “You mean Ariadne, by the way. Theseus would’ve never gotten out of the labyrinth without her.” I think of Constellation Cass, wishing myself back to that moment. Back to Colin, teasing colors out of my faint light like a prism.

  Sebastian narrows his green eyes. “Why do you know that?”

  “Why do you know the part about Theseus, but not know that?”

  There is an appraising light in his eyes when he says, “Come on. We’ll shortcut through the Coil.”

  “I read the Coil’s not safe until initiates walk it during the Agon.”

  He shrugs. “It’s not safe until after the Agon if you’re alone. You’re safe enough with an escort. But if you’re scared…”

  The Coil. What if… I try and stamp out my intrusive thoughts. I want my room, and the growing boredom in this boy’s eyes irks me. It can’t be that bad if he’s so blasé about it. “Which way do we go?”

  “Either way. You have to hold my hand, though.” At my skeptical look, he says, “You think I’m so hard up I corner initiates to try and cop a feel of their sweaty palms?”

  I slowly lift my hand and slide it into his—after wiping it dry on my pants.

  “Don’t let go,” he says. “And don’t move backwards once we’re in. Understand?” He pulls me along into the shadowed hall, and I gasp at the sensation of plunging into cold water despite being bone dry. It takes a few seconds for the shock to dissipate. “Crossing in and out of the Coil is like that.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I mutter.

  He jerks at my hand. “Clear your mind.”

  My steps are halting, reluctant. It’s as if someone has filled my skull with magnets, and all around us are their opposites tugging at the ones inside my head. The walls here swel
l and crest, changing in waves, solidifying into an arching red brick tunnel. Sebastian barrels into it, threading us through the blinding dark. I hear him breathing, and I trot along to keep near. The hand holding mine is warm, even if his attitude is frosty, and it feels weirdly intimate, the two of us touching in this close space.

  A hand brushes my face tenderly, startling me. Sebastian? Another hand. I open my mouth to protest, but a whisper of a palm grabs for my free arm. Four hands on me now, touching. More. I yelp. Sebastian tightens his grip, but I can’t see him.

  “Don’t pull back. You’re the one doing it. Control your thoughts. The Coil is using your energy against us. Visualize your dorm.”

  Oh God. What is this? More whispered touches stroke my hands, my arms, my legs. My throat works, and I force myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other, to ignore the pounding of my pulse in my ears. I close my eyes since it’s no darker behind my lids than it is in this space. I think of my dorm. I imagine myself there. When I open my eyes, ghostly blue lines appear in front of me, moving, shaping into a watery map before evaporating.

  I blink rapidly. “What was that? I saw something. It was like a blue—”

  “Blueprint?” he says, sounding genuinely surprised. “Not bad.” The backhanded praise sounds wrung from him, and it’s a balm after the meeting with Pict.

  The Coil washes the tunnel away, leaving just the red brick walkway and strangely translucent bleached brick walls at our sides. Light shines down from somewhere in the high flung ceiling. I grab for the leash to my thoughts, struggling to forget about those hands in the dark, to stop worrying the tunnel will be replaced with worse, as I command my heartbeat to settle back into a normal rhythm. I’m okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. “What was that in there?” I ask. My voice shakes more than I thought it would. “Why can’t you go backwards?”

  “You can, but there’s a price for it. But scryers should only ever look forward anyway.” Sebastian keeps his eyes focused on the path ahead. The space around us hasn’t pulsed since the tunnel dissolved around us. A static patch of Coil. Stable, I realize, remembering Regan’s words.

  “Have you ever tried it? What’s the price?” I sound like I’ve been running.

  “It’s different for everyone. And the cost to me or anyone else isn’t for you to know. All you need to understand is that it can be dangerous and you shouldn’t do it.”

  He leads me up some brick steps, and I feel that cold wash again. Suddenly, it’s like someone turned up the oxygen. I can breathe easier, move with less of an effort. I didn’t realize I was struggling to do either. We stride down a narrow hall silently.

  “Did I interrupt anything important?” I ask, finally, when I’ve reined myself in. “You were going somewhere before you Ariadne’d me here.”

  His look tells me all that I need to know. Or I think it does anyway. I don’t ask him to expound. There’s an ick feeling to knowing I interrupted his visit to some random someone’s room though.

  “Oh.” My cheeks are hot. The quiet grows up between us again.

  “I don’t know your name,” he says, like someone reciting facts from a textbook instead of asking a question.

  “Cassie.”

  “Cassie. Short for Cassandra? A scryer named Cassandra,” he muses. “If you know your myths…”

  “Yeah, I know how the myth goes.” I spent last night staring at the backs of my eyelids, worrying my name was an omen of something terrible.

  “You can let go of my hand now.”

  I blush and yank my hand away from his, noticing with no little relief we’ve come to the tiled white hall housing my dorm. A few people have decorated their doors. I spot Tessa’s construction paper cutouts and the colorful ribbons Regan tied to her knob and realize my own door is a few blissful steps away.

  “This one is me.” I rush ahead and wrench open my door, eager to shut him and everything that isn’t my pseudo-bedroom-from-home out. “Thanks for the help.”

  He gives a short nod and rubs at the back of his neck, drawing his shirt tight across his chest. I avert my eyes, refusing to stare. “I’m Sebastian, by the way,” he says.

  “I know.” I grasp the handle of my door.

  His eyebrows rocket up in surprise. “Been asking around about me?” My eyes snap to his mocking green ones.

  The door clicks shut on that deadly dimple. I stare at my reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of my door and groan.

  Chapter 12

  The gauzy blue and green silk hangings of Constance du Lac’s classroom undulate in the flickering candlelight, giving the bewildering impression that I’ve been transported to the bottom of a clear, exotic sea. Which would be just as believable as my current situation, I guess.

  I shift on my floor pillow and shake my head, still not quite digesting this is all real. But at least I’m not in the denial I was this morning. In my defense though, how could I not think it was all a dream? Waking up in my bedroom from home? Turning over and seeing my star projector night light on my desk… the quote pinned to the top of my corkboard (“The only courage that matters is the kind that gets you from one moment to the next.” ~ Mignon McLaughlin)? With the sheer insanity of this supremely weird and wonderful place… a place that trains people to see and control the future, I’d have worried about my sanity if I didn’t wake up and question it all. It took the combined confusion over discovering a bathroom where my closet back home usually is, paired with a quick, disbelieving peek into the hallway, for the events of yesterday to all come rushing back.

  The other initiates, like me, are seated in a circle, cross-legged among the heaps of plump turquoise pillows strewn about. Noah gives me a little wave from my twelve o’clock, and I smile in return until my eyes slide past his to connect with our class prefect’s… Sebastian. I hate myself for blushing before I look away.

  Regan told me each class would have a prefect assigned to help the instructors with whatever they might need. And at breakfast Tessa, whose room is next door to Regan’s, informed me that those spots are all filled by the top-performing Agon grads from the past year. But what I just learned, to my abject misery, is that prefects rotate between classes and meeting times, and on top of that, they’re constantly swapping schedules amongst themselves, too. So I get to contend with the anxiety of seeing Sebastian whenever and wherever without warning.

  Whatever. I don’t know why he sets me on edge, but I don’t care what he thinks of me. If he even thinks of me at all. There wasn’t a hint of recognition in his eyes when he saw me today, only what I’m quickly learning is his usual aloof vigilance. And, of course, there’s also the matter of the girl with the waist-length blonde hair currently being bustled out the door by our instructor. She snuck in to try and PDA it out with Sebastian while our class was settling down. He let her get a few kisses in, but I’d swear he almost looked grateful when du Lac came over to put an end to the shenanigans. Was the blonde the one he was off to visit last night?

  It’s fine. I have Colin. I wish I had worn his sweatshirt to ward off this chill, but I cheesily want to preserve his scent for as long as I can. I miss him. Him and his quick-to-smile lips and that adorable nose—which I now know he broke at the age of ten after trying to peddle his bike wearing his dad’s huge shoes. Colin with his arms around me, his accidental kiss. Saying it’s going to suck when I leave for camp…

  “Hydromancy comes in many forms, as vast and varied as the sea,” du Lac says in a melodic, whisper-soft voice, having closed the door on the protesting blonde with decided force. Theban’s hydromancy instructor barely makes a sound as she moves around the room, her blue chiffon dress and curtain of long hair floating behind her. “Water is the most basic of all scrying methods. It was the first reflective surface we had, after all.”

  “You know there was booze, too?” Regan whispers to me, picking up her pre-class diatribe about my decision to skip the Orientation party.

  “Forced fun,” Griffin whispers from the pillow next to h
er. He struggles to pull his left foot onto his right knee. “You didn't miss anything. Except Regis giving me dirty looks over a glass of wine for two hours.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t even see you there.”

  “Sure you didn’t.”

  “Get a room,” the girl on the other side of Griffin hisses.

  “Water is also the most mysterious, the most mercurial,” du Lac continues. “It’s elemental. We’ve worked to harness that power, to make ourselves into vessels worthy of receiving the messages the waters and our abilities wish to bring to us. We’ve cleansed our minds, readying them to be filled.”

  “The only thing I want to be filled with is a meat pie. I’m legit starving,” Regan whispers.

  “Regan, please,” du Lac says.

  “Yeah, Regan. Please,” Griffin says.

  “Shut up.” Regan glares at Griffin.

  “None of that. Negative energy builds and destroys like a tsunami. You’ll need to exert control over your emotions for the Agon and beyond,” du Lac tuts. “Now, I want you all to stand and pick up your water witching rods.”

  We each pick up our Y-shaped hazel rods and grasp them the way du Lac demonstrates, with each hand clutching one of the Y’s ascending branches and its thick stem pointed outward. Du Lac moves to the long edge of the class, its mirrored mosaic wall shimmering like a mermaid’s tail. A long trough runs the length of the wall, and above it, tucked amidst the haphazardly placed glittering shards, a dozen golden faucets are lined up like a Roman legion. Du Lac turns an ornate handle and tugs on a lever, and a steady drip appears from one of those faucets. The she flips a switch and the room is filled with the sound of rainfall, although every other faucet remains dry.

  “I want you all to close your eyes, spin around, and concentrate on finding the dripping water. The drip will move periodically from one spout to another. You need to clear your minds and use your witching rod to find the spout. Begin.”

  Giggling and grumbles sound as kids run into each other with their witching wands. I clutch the edges of my rod and close my eyes, spinning and feeling like a dunce.