Foretold Read online

  “It’s not ready yet, Felda!” Gelisa cries.

  “Ready enough,” Felda says.

  “What are they doing?” I ask Sebastian.

  “The coffee grinds. They coagulate on the bottom of your cup as you drink and drip down when you turn the cup over; they form symbols. They read the symbols.”

  “There’s a lot to unpack in this cup, but no time. They’re flocking!” Felda says, passing the cup to Emina. They all heave to their feet.

  “It was nice…” Emina begins.

  “It was a pleasure…” Gelisa over-talks her.

  “We need to go,” Felda offers bluntly. “Got to get this to Processing.”

  “Why don’t you use the ICARUSS to send it?” Sebastian asks.

  “We don’t trust technology. Never have. And you shouldn’t, either. It’s a fat lot of tommyrot no self-respecting scryer would ever use. No offense to your father. We didn’t even trust the pneumatic tubes,” Felda says.

  “Fair enough. Thanks for your help,” Sebastian calls out to their rapidly retreating forms. They each wave a hand over their respective gray heads on their way out the door.

  I count myself back from the edge, picking at my thumb. Sebastian bends to scoop a handful of sunflower seeds and leans back in his seat. “You alright?”

  I rub at my eyes, trying to soothe the pain camped behind them. “Why are you being nice to me?” I open my eyes, flushing when I take in his unmoved expression.

  “The dream was rough, so I’ll let that slide. Do you know what they were referring to? The sacrifice being too great?”

  “No.”

  He cocks an eyebrow, and I can see it in those peridot eyes the exact green of my summer birthstone: a wall is coming up, a drawbridge, that’s been missing for the last half hour.

  “Thank you, by the way. For bringing me here. For introducing me,” I say in a rush. I tell myself it’s to soften my churlishness and not to draw the real him back out. “I liked them.”

  “They’re sweethearts. Insane, but fantastic omen readers if you can pin them down long enough to get it out of them. They liked you, too,” he offers stiffly.

  It’s so petty, but I can’t stop myself from saying, “I think they got the wrong idea about me and you, though.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” He shakes up the remaining seeds in his palm.

  “They won’t spread…?”

  “They’ll tell everyone. Huge gossips.”

  “But you said not to worry!”

  “Most people believe what they want anyway. Why worry? Plus, Vencel’s entire class saw you holding my hand. The rumor was unavoidable.” Sebastian shrugs. “The old girls don’t mean any harm. They just can’t help themselves. All that coffee has them jacked up.” There’s a note of gruff affection in his tone.

  Regan had whispered that Sebastian looked “effing gorg” after spotting him in our dream Scrying class today. He was closing a far-flung window shade with a pole, and his face was illuminated by the sunbeam he was attempting to snuff out before our “Morphean Drop” (fancy Luke Nox-speak for nap). His shirt rode up with his reach, exposing a hint of rippling belly and a golden dusting of hair at the base of his stomach, and Regan insisted that—although she was firmly Team Colin “in all caps”—I had to be dead not to feel a flutter of something. I brushed her off at the time, but looking at him now, I begrudgingly have to admit she’s right. And if I’m being honest, competing with my upset over the dream and everything else going on is the teensiest bit of feverish glee that people might think someone like Sebastian could actually be interested in someone like me. Disastrous, OCD-pudding-brained me. It doesn’t mean I want him and don’t worship Colin. It’s just… I frown, feeling disloyal.

  Sebastian misinterprets my expression. “Your mom… she’s not with us?”

  I nod curtly. “She passed a couple of years ago.”

  Sebastian looks down. “Mine passed six years ago.” His expression doesn’t invite comment, so I don’t offer one despite how enormous his confession feels. His next comment rips the wind from those sails. “You probably already knew that. But the point is, once you’ve mastered your thoughts, your dreams will find someone else to use as a messenger. Mine did.”

  I swallow and pick at my thumb again.

  “What did you do to your hand?” he asks, nodding at my bandaged fingers.

  “Accident with my ritual blade.”

  “It was fine the other day.”

  “When I saw you in your dad’s office, you mean?” I decide to deflect, not wanting to discuss Mrs. O. “Your dad seems nice.”

  “He is.”

  “Were you guys always close? Or did you become closer when your mom passed?”

  “You don’t have to go back to class,” Sebastian says suddenly. “Skip. Go read. Take a bath. Or we can hang out.” He moves off his sofa with a squeak of plastic and holds out a hand.

  I stand without assistance. He’s close enough I can smell the crisp soap on his skin, his unique Sebastian scent. “I don’t need a pity hang.”

  “Pity hang?” he repeats, his lips quirking.

  “I can’t skip class. I need to get back.” Pity hang? I sound like I resent his lack of attention. Embarrassing.

  “Careful, Cassie. You always do what you’re supposed to?”

  “You think you’re going to neg me into coming?”

  Sebastian laughs, really laughs, and it changes his whole face. He looks much younger, softer. “I guess not.”

  “Why are you being so nice to me? Doesn’t seem like your thing.”

  He sobers, but a hint of smile lurks in his eyes. “You’re not special, if that’s what you’re asking. I comforted that girl in your mirror scrying lab. I helped you to your dorm that first day. Being nice is more ‘my thing’ than you give me credit for.”

  “Yeah, nice people always start a sentence with, ‘you’re not special.’”

  I spy Sebastian’s dimple before he turns on his heel, insisting I follow him to a Coil shortcut. He claims it’s to avoid a return trek through Vencel’s class, but I wouldn’t be shocked if it’s to get rid of me quicker. He dangles the promise of Coil Walk tips when I balk, and I relent in the hopes of learning something to help my friends during the Agon. When my Coil-induced shivering has subsided, and my good hand is warm in his own, he says, “You’re going to lead us to your class. But you can’t rely on your eyes in here. This place is always churning, and time and space are warped. The route you take, the scenery, will be different from hour to hour or second to second. You need to follow your scryer gut to make it through.”

  I can just hear Griffin saying something about Magpie meat pies and scryer guts. “Is that what that blueprint thing was? My scryer gut telling me where to go?”

  “You get a gold star.”

  I take in the placid English garden-like area around us. Stable. “Okay, so I just picture our class and—”

  “I’m taking your sticker back. I just told you you can’t rely on your eyes, and that includes past memories of what you’ve seen. When you’re thrown in here for the Coil Walk and told to find the Laurel Plain, how are you supposed to tether yourself to somewhere you’ve never laid eyes on? You don’t use your sight in here. You use your sight.”

  “Homonyms,” I mutter. I miss Trivonometry. I miss Dad.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. How do I use my sight to get to a place I’ve never seen, then?”

  “You concentrate on the feeling of being there. If your goal is the Laurel Plain, you’d feel what it is to belong. The feeling of victory. Control. The knowledge that you’re one of the few in the world who can do what you do. That’s how you chart your course. Your ICARUSS has a tether feature that’ll help, but the blueprints should be your backup.”

  “Alright. What else do I need to know to get us to my class, then?”

  “Lots, but experience is the best teacher.” He stops. “Start with the feel of yourself in Nox’s class. The mini airplane h
angar look to it is one thing, but there’s an airiness to the space, the way it echoes even though it’s filled with rows of bunks. Now will yourself there. And follow where your feet take you. Simple.”

  “Yeah, easy.” I roll my eyes.

  He pulls me in front of him and reaches one arm around me, covering my eyes. “Come on. Try.”

  I freeze, startled. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of his chest against my back. That taut tanned skin of his belly… I push it from my mind. I think about my classroom, Mr. Nox. I try to smell the lavender incense and hear the soothing music. I try, but all I can think is how Sebastian smells like summer nights. Like Ferris Wheels and outdoor concerts and a hint of wine. And I love Colin.

  Holy crap. Love? I mean, I like him a lot, but—love is a heavy, big feeling and… I tuck the thoughts away to carefully dissect when I’m alone, when I can examine all the wires, the connections, like someone about to defuse a bomb.

  “I can’t concentrate,” I say.

  He steps ahead of me. “We’ll try again some other time. In the meantime… don’t get lost.” He takes off running and my confusion melts into terror. I race after him, my heart in my throat.

  What if you lose him? What else is in the Coil? No. Don’t think…

  He slows so I can keep him in sight, and when I reach him, I’m instantly furious. But laughter bubbles up through my relief, surprising me.

  “Being nice is not your ‘thing,’” I wheeze out. I bend over my knees, panting.

  He dimples and winks. “Tough love.”

  “Ready to head back to class now, thanks.”

  “Boring,” he drawls.

  I roll my eyes and slide my hand back into his outstretched one, thinking I’ve held this person’s hand way more than I’ve ever even touched the guy I like… love… maybe love. Sebastian’s smile shifts, a small twist of his lips, deepening his dimple as he runs his thumb over my skin. My heartbeat skips like a stone across still waters as that pad brushes the sensitive skin of my wrist.

  “Listen, Cassie, you should know… I’m not looking for anything serious.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “I want to be upfront before… well, before anything,” he says. “You’re a pretty girl, but…”

  “I hate candy canes.”

  It’s his turn to look confused. “What?”

  “I thought we were sharing random things about ourselves.”

  He smiles lazily. “What kind of monster hates candy canes?”

  “The kind that has a boyfriend.” I’d die if Colin heard me referring to him that way.

  Sebastian purses his lips, his expression unreadable. “Do you? That’s good, actually.”

  “Don't worry.” I snort. “I’m not going to be one of those girls that falls in love with you."

  “Happens more than you want to know.” His cocky look makes me laugh in spite of myself, and hopefully deflates his gigantic ego. “How about you try to get us to your class again?”

  “Fine. Whatever.” I sigh. “I’m all yours, professor.”

  “No, you’re not. You have a boyfriend.” His lip twitches, and there’s a lambent light in his eyes. “Close your eyes.”

  I close them promptly and listen to the whistling silence, the yawning quiet of the Coil.

  Sebastian’s voice sounds softly in my ear. His breath puffs on my neck, and goosebumps erupt up my arms. “Imagine you’re where you need to go. The feel of your head on the pillow. The slide of the sheets.”

  I shiver.

  “Come on,” Sebastian whispers.

  A spectral blueprint wavers, as if at the bottom of a crystalline pool viewed from above. I find a tether to the sleep lab. I feel the map inside me, everywhere, with every sense. I open my eyes and grasp Sebastian’s solid arm. “I know where we have to go.”

  He cocks his head. “Where to, Ariadne?”

  “This way.” I wind through passage after passage, turning down corridors with confidence, the walls rippling and changing in our wake as I pull Sebastian by the hand. We’re close, I feel it.

  Sebastian tugs on my hand, hesitating. “Cassie, this is wrong,” he says.

  “What? But I…”

  “The Coil is playing with you. You asked it to dance, but it’s not about to let you lead. How do you think it sucks people in? You need to be careful. It won’t give you anything without an effort. Your will needs to be stronger than what it throws at you.”

  I try to reclaim my concentration, but my trust in my instincts has been burned. You’re so gullible that sentient labyrinths dupe you without making an effort.

  No. I can do this. I bite at my nail. A blue cloud starts to gather again, crystalize. The cloud darkens, twists until I’m staring into the darkness of the hall in front of us.

  I’m lost in the Coil. No one can find me. Dad—he’s already lost Mom. Will Aunt Bree tell him? He’ll never know what happened to me. My bones. Ten Agons from now, someone will stumble on them. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay. I’m okay.

  My mother steps out of the shadows. “You’re safe now, Cassie.” She greets me with open arms and a crumbling smile.

  I scream and scream, falling to my knees, face to the floor.

  “Who is that? Wait. It’s okay.” Bastian props me up by my elbow, forces me to remain where I am. “No, you can’t go back! Stop.”

  “I saw my mom. Right there. The one from my dream.” My chest rises and falls. I fight back the urge to screech at him.

  “I did, too. It’s the Coil. I didn’t think… the Coil will use anything swimming in your head against you. Most of the boogiemen here are the ones we create. I’m sorry. I should have… I didn’t realize you weren't ready.”

  I numbly let him lead me to my dorm instead of my class and sink against the door wearily when he’s gone, picturing that monster wearing my sweet mom’s face. The dry rot of my self-doubt creeps back. I’m kidding myself, thinking I’m special. That I can change anything. That I can save Colin.

  Chapter 18

  The sky outside Pict’s office window is blindingly bright, but the rain comes down in sheets.

  “Fairy wedding,” I say.

  “What?” Pict barks.

  “Sun shower.”

  “Congratulations, your powers of deduction astound. Now if only we could get your second sight to operate as well as your first.” Pict climbs his ladder, reaching for a thin red text on a high shelf.

  “This second sight helped save Ford, but whatever,” I mutter.

  “Your mumbling is tiresome. You were lucky in your efforts to save Sidney. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re not truly prepared.” He shakes the book in his hand at me as he descends the ladder. “The Agon is coming up, and at this rate, we’ll be lucky if you rank high enough to end up a chimneysweep, even with the individual competition exemption.”

  “You scry it in that book?” By now I’m pretty used to Pict’s insults.

  “I’m sure I’m mistaken and that passive aggressive tone masks a real question. The Agon’s results are obscured. There are things even scryers can never know.” Pict pushes back his jacket flaps and sits across from me. “Ms. Morai, you will not have scryers who have completed the Coil Walk in there with you, so the Coil’s influence will be amplified. It will bring out the worst in all of you. Civilization is but a thin layer obscuring what people are truly capable of.”

  I won’t be walking the Coil, but Pict doesn’t know that. Worry for Regan, for Griffin, for Noah, whips through me.

  Regan, her curls tangled and matted, dirty clothes hanging from her emaciated frame, lurches out of the Coil like Samara Trefoil. There’s a hunted look in her eyes.

  “There was a girl. Samara Trefoil. She was lost in the Coil,” I say.

  “She was missing for almost a year, but to her it felt like a great deal more time. Time doesn’t operate in the Coil the way it does outside, which is why it provides an expedient method of navigating this building. Your Coil Walk will feel like a
few days, but it will be less than a day out here. More would mean that something has gone wrong. It’s exceedingly rare, but some do elude the rescue teams. Samara Trefoil survived on her rations, and when those ran out… Well, what one will do to survive is a fascinating study.”

  “But I thought you can’t eat anything you dream up in the Coil. We can’t eat anything we think up in the dorms.”

  “You can. But you’d starve once you leave Coil-connected spaces. There’s a reason Ms. Trefoil is receiving extensive medical treatment as we speak, and a reason she is receiving that treatment in an area much like your dorms to keep her stable.” He leans closer. “You need to take this seriously. I’m not trying to frighten you when I say the worst that can happen to you and your friends isn’t what happened to Samara Trefoil.”

  I feel a chill. “Okay, I got it.” My leg starts moving on its own, bouncing. I bite at my fingernail. “Everything sucks, and I’m terrible at everything, and my friends are going into this thresher and, you know, maybe they’ll all die by getting eaten by a Coil goblin or whatever.” I give Pict a thumbs up and go back to biting my thumbnail. My chest rises and falls fast, so fast. The familiar tingle runs along my spine. Oh God. Not in front of him.

  One.

  Two.

  This compulsion is not me.

  “You’ll watch your tone when you address me. What on Earth is wrong with you?”

  Everything.

  Three. Four.

  I grab the book out of Pict’s hands and knock it against my knees. Five times. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” That was six times. It needs to be even. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  “Why are you crying? Wh—” Pict cuts himself off and leans back in his chair.

  I set the book down and bite at my painful too-short thumbnail.

  “Have you been diagnosed?” Pict asks in a tone I’ve never heard from him before. No sneering. No sarcasm. No ridicule. It’s just a normal tone, asking a normal question, and it almost sends me into hysterics.