Firebreak, p.18
Firebreak, page 18
“So the trick is, when you feel scared, you’ve gotta get pumped. Turn that fear around and use it. You might as well. I mean, it’s yours.”
They were quiet again for a while after that, listening to the branches of an overgrown tree scratch against the dormitory window. The magical communion was over, but Amy still felt like she could sense Bahati’s mind working beside her. She was searching for the right words from a pile of wrong ones. Amy knew why, too.
“So,” Amy said, “if I saw…lived…something from your past while we were linked, then you must have…”
Bahati nodded, a tiny bob of her chin. “Your dad really messed you up, huh?”
“I guess,” Amy said.
Bahati rolled onto her side and looked Amy in the eye.
“You know,” she said, “it changes literally nothing. Couldn’t change anything in a million years. Heck, if anything, knowing what you survived, I kinda like you even more now. You’re tougher than you look.”
“Thanks,” Amy said.
“But you know, if I can see you, really see you, and know where you’ve been…so can Vail.”
Bahati flopped onto her back, still catching her breath.
“Just some food for thought,” she added.
Chapter twenty-six
That afternoon, Amy sat in the fourth-floor dorms under the Jolly Roger with the rest of the Coins, her medallion polished and gleaming on her lapel. Kinzie had busted out the haul from her latest jaunt, a twelve-pack of some scarlet, fizzy soda that tasted like a swirl of chocolate and caramel.
“—so there we were,” Lola said, her hands sweeping wide as she painted the picture, “caught red-handed, lookin’ guilty as a cat with a sardine in her fangs. And Chalk says—”
“Let Clarke do it,” Kinzie said. “Clarke, do your Professor Chalk impression.”
The tall, muscular boy pushed his shoulders back and raised his chin, fixing the room with a look of utter disdain. His nose wrinkled as his voice went stentorian and cold.
“While technically not a violation of the school rules, Miss Green, you know perfectly well that acquiring carbonated beverages was not a part of this training exercise.”
The entire circle of students, save Amy, puffed out their chests and chorused, “Disappointing. Do better,” before erupting in giddy laughter. Amy laughed with them. It felt good to smile, to relax, to be at ease in the middle of chaos for a minute or two. She could lighten her load here, get her strength back.
“I don’t know how you all get away with this stuff,” she said. “He still gives us the ‘if you fail once, you’re out’ lecture with every new assignment.”
“And he means it,” Emile told her, serious now. “The first two years are brutal by design.”
“So if you’re ever not sure you’re going to make the grade,” Kinzie added, “you come to us, okay? You’re a Coin now. We win together or we fail together.”
Clarke popped the tab on his can, a rattlesnake hiss filling the chocolate-scented air.
“And we don’t take losses,” he said. “We deliver ‘em. All day long, to anybody who wants one. But yeah, if you can get past the first two years, it proves you’ve got the juice. I’ll never say Professor Chalk lightens up, because that’d be an evil lie, but it will earn you a little leeway with him. Just don’t abuse it.”
Miryam, quiet as always, tilted her head at him. “What are you talking about? We abuse it all the time.”
“But long as we deliver value — like rippin’ off Network flunkies and leaving ‘em bamboozled with their trousers around their ankles,” Lola said, “the old man’s usually kind enough to pretend he doesn’t notice.”
Amy cradled her soda can in her lap. The metal was ice-cold against her hands, a pleasurable ache.
“What’s their deal, anyway?” she asked.
“The Network? You’ve met a couple of ‘em,” Lola replied. “Their deal is hurting people, mostly.”
“But…what do they want? They seem hell-bent on wrecking this school, but I don’t know what they get out of doing it. The professors said it’s something to do with the ‘Investors,’ the people who founded this place, but they all clam up when I ask for details.”
Lola leaned closer. “So it’s like this. You got the firms on your world? Organized crime, like. Proper villains.”
Amy nodded. “Sure.”
“For the average rank-and-file, that’s what the Network is to them. One big firm, ‘cept they’re not just transcontinental, they’re transdimensional. Got their fingers in every racket from here to the end of the universe, and they’ll blag anything what ain’t nailed down. A ton of ‘em don’t even know who they really work for.”
“What they really work for,” Kinzie added. “For the insiders, the true believers, the Network is religion. They serve these…things called the Kings of Man. Some call them gods, but I’ve been a lot of places and I’ve never seen a god yet. What we know is that they’re very old, very powerful, and what they do isn’t evil just for evil’s sake — they literally live on humanity’s worst impulses. Hatred, bigotry, abuse…that’s food to these things. They’d die without it.”
Amy nodded slowly, taking that in. “So the more suffering they spread, the better they eat?”
“And the stronger they get. The Network’s errand-boys harvest cash. Their bosses harvest pain.”
Miryam fixed Amy with her small, dark eyes.
“I told you my world’s on the yellow list,” she said. “The Network invaded it. They didn’t use tanks and guns. They came with toxic ideas and empty promises instead. Whispers and lies. My people had a choice. They could choose kindness, or they could choose hate. Enough of them chose hate, enough to make a difference, and that was the tipping point. After that…it all happened so fast. Faster than you can imagine.”
And it sounded like my homeworld was next on the dinner table, Amy reflected.
“There’s a bit of silver in that storm, though,” Lola added. “It works the other way around, too. Anything you do to help, that’s toxic to ‘em. Pick somebody up after they get knocked down, protect somebody who can’t protect themselves, spread a little love around — it burns those bastards like fire. Pleasant thought, innit? I reckon if you need a reason to do good, spite’s just as valid as any other.”
“The smallest things matter,” Miryam said. “They always do.”
The room fell silent for a moment. Then Kinzie clapped her hands, sharp, to break the mood.
“All right. On to better and brighter topics. Night Market’s coming in three days. Group outing as usual. Amy, you’re coming, right?”
Amy almost said yes, a reflex, but she caught herself.
The smallest things matter.
“Actually,” Amy said, “I…I mean, I want to, but…I think I need to go with Vail. I haven’t been around as much lately and…I need to put in some effort. I need to show her that I’m not going anywhere, you know?”
Kinzie nodded firmly, a look of approval behind her lime-tinted glasses.
“Say no more. One thing, though. We always do a midnight toast, so try to meet up with us at the music pavilion five minutes before the closing bell. If you can’t make it, no stress, but we’d really like to have you there.”
It felt good to be wanted. Now she had to make Vail feel wanted, too.
***
On the other side of the school, beneath a murky, swirling sky, a cool afternoon wind whistled through Vail’s hair and ruffled her blouse as she fired like a torpedo across the fighting ring. At her side, Gecka matched her pace for pace, both girls running so fast their feet could barely keep purchase on the hard-packed soil of the arena floor. They reached the far side of the ring and whirled as one, throwing their backs into the stiff padded ropes that cordoned off the octagon.
“Now!” Gecka shouted.
Vail invoked the mnemonic, cast the spell. A mental sigil, a blistering-fast bark of magic, and a burst of kinetic alchemy took hold of her. Suddenly the ring ropes were a massive rubber band, yielding under her back — and then snapping her in the opposite direction, sending her sailing back across the ring like a runaway train.
Three more reps and they were both spent, wrung out and drenched with icy sweat. Gecka lifted the bottom rope and helped Vail roll out of the ring, then they both plopped down on the grass to catch their breaths. They weren’t alone out here. Half of the Blades were training, sparring here and there or throwing hexes at a trio of stuffed target dummies.
“I feel like I just exercised muscles I didn’t know I had,” Vail panted.
Gecka flashed a sharp-toothed smile and mopped her sweaty face with the sleeve of her shirt.
“Yeah, running the ropes is a great workout. Plus it’s solid internal alchemy training. And really, while there’s nothing wrong with fancy battle maneuvers, you just can’t beat knocking some loser on his butt at high velocity. First you’re here, then you’re over there, then you’re right on top of him. Doesn’t always work, but it is always fun.”
Jellica drifted past, patrolling the grounds, keeping an eye on her people. She stopped behind them and leaned in.
“Don’t forget spatial awareness,” she said. “The better you know the battlefield, the better you can use the battlefield to your advantage.”
Vail glanced back over at the ring. “I’m not looking to duel anybody.”
“You should be. That’s the kind of practice that’ll keep you alive in a real fight. What are you afraid of? Failure? It’s not like you could do any worse than Amy did when I kicked her ass last year.”
Vail’s jaw clenched. She dug for something to say, something cutting, something that would sting, but Jellica was already gone and talking to a couple of the other Blades on the other side of the lawn. Gecka reached over and lightly punched her sweaty arm.
“You show that girl a wound,” Gecka said, “she’s gonna stick her finger in it just to hear you yelp. Don’t give her the pleasure.”
“You know why I’m here. For now, at least. I want what the Blades can teach me. But why do you put up with her?”
“I like pain.” Gecka caught the look on Vail’s face, and her smile brightened a notch. “You think I’m joking, and that’s adorable.”
Parr was a twitchy kid with a tic in his left eyelid. He wandered over, his metallic scarf fluttering in the wind, and nodded toward the target dummies.
“Hey Curran. I was going to get some pyromancy practice in. You wanna tag-team this thing, see if I can give you some pointers?”
“Absolutely,” Vail said, groaning as she pushed herself to her feet. “Soon as my muscles stop feeling like rubber.”
He tapped the side of his head. “This exercise is all brain-muscle.”
For all her shortcomings in class — she was hopeless at divination, and learning Professor Chalk’s complicated sigils and wards was a constant struggle for survival — Vail had discovered an innate knack for conjuring fire. She had spent most of her life walking through fire; now the flames were her friend. They couldn’t burn her anymore, or if they did, she couldn’t feel it.
A whisper, a call, and the tip of her index finger ignited with crackling light.
“You’re a candle,” Parr said, hands on his hips at her side. “Can you be a flamethrower?”
“Call my target and find out.”
“Left arm.”
Vail concentrated, raised her pointed finger, and let loose. A thin jet of flame roiled from her fingertip, trailing a heat mirage as it gushed through the air. It hit the target dummy square in the left shoulder, scorching through the patched fabric and blasting out the other side. A fistful of burning straw fell like a rain of embers, winking out and scattering on the wind.
“I said arm, not shoulder, but still. Not bad. But can you do this?”
Parr cupped his hands together and turned them slowly, orbiting them around one another as if he was clasping an invisible baseball. A spark ignited in the empty space within. The spark became a snake, a curling, squirming worm of light that smelled like gasoline. The snake curled in upon itself again and again, growing, knotting, winding, until finally he held a miniature inferno. A ball of pure flame with a blue-hot core. He reared his hand back, winding up like a pitcher, and hurled it.
The dummy’s head erupted in a blinding flash, scattering char-broiled stuffing in all directions.
“I talked to Mr. Orris once,” Parr said, dusting off his hands. His palms were bright pink, like he’d been holding them over a campfire. “He said he spends at least six hours a week fixing these target dummies. Really hates it when we all come out here to practice at the same time.”
“Whoa.” Vail blinked and stared at the headless straw man. “Can you teach me how to do that?”
“Bet. You’re already a better pyromancer than most of these dweebs.” He nodded back at the other students, sparring and working out across the lawn. “You’ve got the knack, and you’ve got the basics down. Everything else is just refinement and technique. And practice. Lots of practice. Here, mirror me and do exactly what I do…”
An hour later they were still at it. Vail swayed her cupped hands like a tai chi student, slow and deliberate, every move precise as she struggled to keep her newborn fireball from unraveling in her reddened grip. Her hands tingled, a low steady broil, and her cheeks were tinged pink.
She could do this. So much uncertainty, so much doubt, but this was magic for her. Magic she could keep. Her arms were elbow-deep in the machinery of the universe, commanding the elements to dance and bend at her will.
“There ya go,” Parr said, watching intently. “Remember, wind the energy, like a ball of yarn, don’t just mash it together. Winding keeps it stable.”
She raised her tiny marble of flame, then raised it again, as if she was presenting it to the sun like a newborn child. She felt the current, the thread of power, sliding this way and that, trying to unravel itself. She tracked it, dropping her cupped hands slowly once, then again, following its trail and keeping it contained.
“Perfect. Now left to right, left to right…”
The marble grew, blossoming, tight and hot and ready to burst. She pulled her arm back, gripping the fireball until her hand trembled, then let it fly. It curved in the air, a hornet-winged arc, and splashed across the chest of the headless target dummy. There was a flash of light, a heart-thumping eruption. In the aftermath, once her vision cleared, the patched-up torso was scorched black as a charcoal briquette.
Gecka came up behind her and threw an arm around her shoulder, nearly hauling her off-balance. “That’s my girl. See? Knew this one was a keeper.”
“Yeah, she’s got it,” Parr said. “That was pretty good for a first throw. Keep practicing, and soon enough your fireballs will be as big as mine.”
Gecka snorted. He glanced sidelong at her, one eyebrow raised. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said, turning to Vail. “Hey. The whole crew’s going to the Night Market together. Gonna shop, eat some snacks, make a little trouble. You are rolling with us, right?”
Vail almost said yes.
She caught herself. She wanted to go, wanted to fit in, wanted more of…this. This feeling. This confidence. She felt good. But she kept thinking about the Serpent Rhythm. Three tries, three failures. She felt like she was standing at the edge of a chasm, with Amy on the other side, and it spread an inch wider with each passing day.
“I’d love to, but…Amy’s in a weird place right now, with me joining the Blades and all. I think I really need to spend some quality time with her, you know what I mean? I want to make sure we’re solid.”
Gecka shrugged. “Yeah, fair enough. I’d say she could tag along, but you know—”
“Jellica hates her.”
“See, I didn’t even have to explain it. Do me a flavor, though.”
“You mean favor,” Parr said.
She pursed her lips at him. “I know what I said. Did I mention the snacks? The food at the Night Market is amazing. Listen, Vail, have fun with your nerd crew or whatever, but we do a midnight toast on the main boulevard, under the floating lanterns. Be there, okay? You’re the new blood, and we wanna celebrate.”
“I can manage that,” Vail said.
“Spoiler alert, there may be light hazing involved.”
“The real spoiler,” Parr added, “is that the hazing never actually ends. You get used to it.”
Chapter twenty-seven
The Night Market had arrived. It appeared as it always did: like a thief, in silence, a small city of tents and stalls springing up in the clearing outside the Academy walls as if it had always been there. The Racani hoppers — interdimensional transports built from old rusty RVs and camper-vans — circled the perimeter like a wagon train.
As darkness fell, the lights of the Market ignited, a siren call to the students. A rainbow of paper lanterns floated above the booth-lined boulevard, dancing weightless in the cool night air. A Racani dancer, clad in an outfit of scant flowing veils lined with jangling golden coins, spun a pair of firepots on a staff while a stilt-walker lurched his way through the growing crowd. The night was alive with shouts and laughter, the scent of honeyed candy and roasted peanuts, the sound of fiddle music and the promise of pleasure.
“I still think this was a mistake,” Professor Chalk grumbled, his cane tapping along the boulevard.
“Relax,” Lanca said. “I don’t like the Night Market any more than you do, in fact I probably like it even less, but they aren’t going to hit us here.”
Chalk gave him a sharp side-eye as they walked. “Why? Because you wouldn’t?”
“Exactly. Look, these flyers have been up in the dining hall all semester long, and they’re posting them here, too.”
He pointed to a page, ruffling in the wind, hastily hammered to the side of a ring-toss booth. Have You Seen These Men? It bore pictures, drawn from memory, of Elmer Donaghy and Mr. Shaddock.
“Everyone knows what they look like, not that a seven-foot-tall rat man can blend into a crowd. And before you can say ‘magical disguises exist’ — yeah, they do, but my contact swears that’s not a part of Elmer’s skill set. He’s faster than he looks and a lot nimbler, but he can’t change his face. Plus, the second they breach the picket line, we’ll know about it. We’d intercept them long before they even got to the Market.”
