Wager's Price

by G. P. Ching

  “You are angry about our choice of meat?” Ms. D said to the tiger. “Your displeasure is acknowledged, but unless you intend to join your brethren, you will mind your performance, Tiger.”

  The tiger thrust forward, claws digging into the tabletop, massive white teeth gleaming under retracted lips. Finn trembled, contemplating a run for the door. Ms. D stood, leaned forward, and growled toward the big cat, her gaze icy. All at once, the tiger pushed off the table and seemed to deflate. The beast returned to the platform, the spark draining from its yellow eyes until they were as dull as stones.

  Amuke raised one hand. The tiger sat and stretched its front paws toward the ceiling. Amuke lowered his hand. The tiger lay down, then crawled on its belly. With a circle of Amuke’s hand, the beast rolled over. The big cat twitched its tail with annoyance as Amuke knelt down and whispered a command. The tiger sprang over his head, turned three circles at the edge of the platform, and leaped out the window again. Amuke stood, took a bow, and closed the window.

  Clap. Clap. Clap. Ms. D applauded slowly. Finn and the others joined in with tempered enthusiasm.

  “Shouldn’t someone put that thing in a pen or something?” Rugby said. His face was pale and waxy, unbefitting his general appearance.

  “All of the menagerie animals live freely in the woods behind the school,” Amuke said. “They perform willingly in exchange for food.”

  “Relax, Paul. The tiger is gone.” Ms. D gave Rugby a patronizing stare. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

  He scowled. “No!”

  “Good.” Ms. D whirled on a stunning woman with a red uniform flap. “Fuse, if you please.”

  “No problem,” Fuse said in a New Jersey accent. She jogged to the platform, taking Amuke’s place. “I’m Vera Bukowsky, but everyone calls me Fuse. If you apprentice with the pyros, you will learn to feel the heat and stay in the kitchen.” She snapped her fingers and a flame leaped to life in the palm of her hand. With the turn of a cartwheel, she placed the spark on the floor. Incredibly, the fire didn’t go out when she removed her hand but ignited into a formidable flame that chased her feet as she danced across the platform. When she sprang into the air, the flame jumped too, tongues of fire splitting in imitation of her legs. Once she’d landed, the fire serpentined around her body as she pirouetted across the platform.

  What would it be like to dance with fire? Awestruck by her performance, Finn was afraid to blink and miss the beauty of a single moment. As she bent backward, the flame climbed her leg to her hands, where she toyed with the tongues of red and orange above her head, her hips moving in time with the flickering heat. Gracefully, she flipped her torso over and kicked one foot toward the ceiling. The standing split brought her face to the floor, her smile lit by the flame that blazed in her cupped palms. She flipped her legs over her head and tossed the flame high into the air. There was a collective gasp as she caught it on her tongue, let it burn for a moment, then swallowed. Light glowed through the skin of her throat until the flame extinguished in her stomach.

  Fuse spread her upturned hands, smiled broadly, and bowed.

  This time, no one waited for Ms. D. The table erupted into applause. Jayden stood, pounding his hands together and whistling his appreciation. One stern look from Ms. D, and he sat back down.

  Fuse returned to her seat.

  “Always a favorite,” Ms. D mused. She gestured toward a slight figure at the end of the head table. “Orelon, if you please.”

  Upon entering the room, Finn had originally assumed the person named Orelon was a woman, but as Orelon stood, his long, white braid shifting from his shoulder, he was clearly male. Finn’s mistake was due to the man’s perfect complexion and proportional, delicate facial features. Orelon was beautiful, in a woodland elf sort of way. Small in stature and fine boned. He stepped behind his chair and placed both hands on the heavy wooden back of it, well above his shoulder height. In one lithe movement, he lifted his body, legs split on either side of his arms, and pressed into a handstand.

  The sheer strength necessary to achieve the position fascinated Finn, but even more impressive was the silence. The chair didn’t rattle. The man didn’t grunt or moan or knock into the chair next to him. Toes pointed, he bent his body into a C shape and vaulted, flipping through the air to land on the antler chandelier above them, which, impossibly, did not swing.

  “I am Orelon,” the man said softly. His voice was like a draft that blew through the room. You couldn’t be sure you’d heard it until it was gone. “If you apprentice with aerial, you will either learn to fly or learn to fall.” He leaped to the table, landing on tiptoes softly enough that not a single dish rattled. Just as silently, he flip-flopped down the center of the table, dismounting with a full twisting flip. His movements were like remembered music, like the echo of a ghost. All Finn could think was incredible. He should have heard Orelon’s movements. He should have felt the vibrations when Orelon landed on the table. But he didn’t.

  Orelon bowed gracefully, then returned to his seat to the sound of applause, smoothing the green flap of his uniform as he sat down.

  “You are a marvel, Orelon. Thank you for your demonstration,” Ms. D said once the applause died down. She narrowed her eyes on a muscular woman with a shock of thick blond hair who sat next to Amuke. “Kirsa, would you do us the honor?”

  As the woman stood, she lifted the massive chair by the arms and stepped back with it, her triceps twitching with the effort. The chair legs never even scraped the floor. Finn’s eyes widened. “If you apprentice with resilience, I will make you indestructible.”

  Rugby smirked and glanced around the room. “Indestructible?” He snorted.

  “Paul… Stewart, correct?” Ms. D asked.

  The boy nodded, his thick neck bending slightly to the side in contempt.

  “I remember you from your file. You’re here for punching your girlfriend, yes?”

  Paul’s gaze darted around the room and his cheeks reddened. “Uh… there were extenuating circumstances.”

  “You were afraid of the tiger but you are not afraid of Ms. Hildburg? You do not believe she is indestructible?” Ms. D toyed with the napkin beside her plate.

  The boy scoffed. “Don’t get me wrong, she’s built like a brick shithouse, but she’s a girl, not a wild animal, okay? She’s not indestructible.”

  The grin that spread across Ms. D’s lips made Finn’s stomach clench. It was a dangerous grin, a grin that made him wish he were invisible. The tone of her voice was the same as when she’d had Mrs. Wilhelm punch Mike in the stomach.

  “Stand up, my boy.”

  Paul shook his head. “Forget it. I didn’t mean any offense. If you say she’s indestructible, she’s indestructible.” He snorted.

  “I said stand up.” Ms. D’s hard, sharp voice cracked like a whip across the table.

  Paul stood.

  “Pick up your knife and throw it at her chest.”

  “What?”

  “Do it!”

  Paul picked up the knife beside his plate, his eyes raking over the remains of his dinner. Would he do it? Or back down and apologize? The boy fixated on Kirsa, who spread her arms and smiled smugly. After a glance back at the headmistress to make sure she was serious, Paul tossed the knife. The throw was halfhearted and the blunt side thumped against Kirsa’s chest and clattered to the floor. The resilience instructor bent over, retrieving the blade.

  “When you throw a knife, Paul, try throwing it by the blade. You might find it increases your accuracy.” Kirsa whipped the knife back at Paul. He tried to dodge, but the speed and power of the throw was too fast. The blade sliced his shoulder. Paul cursed, bright red blood spreading from the tear in his jacket. The pain triggered something in Paul. His jaw tightened like a drawn cord, and his hand shot out for the large carving knife on the tray of tiger meat. This time he hurled it at Kirsa with everything he had.

  Kirsa didn’t flinch. The blade connected with her chest tip first. It should have sunk in. Fin
n had seen that knife cut meat. It was razor sharp. Even if Kirsa was wearing some type of protective garb, it should have done some damage. But it clattered harmlessly to the floor. A collective gasp rose up from the table. Threading one finger through the resulting hole in the blue flap of her sleeveless T-shirt, Kirsa laughed. Then she picked up the knife and drew the blade hard and fast across her arm. Nothing. No blood.

  Paul collapsed into his chair and pressed his napkin to the cut in his shoulder.

  Silence enveloped the room. Finn’s gaze darted to the other students. He was afraid to move. No one wanted Paul’s fate.

  Ms. D clapped. “Thank you, Kirsa. I think you’ve made a practice partner in Paul. Help the boy, Mrs. Wilhelm. He’s bleeding on the linens.” Mrs. Wilhelm appeared out of nowhere with a first-aid kit and started tending the wound. Ms. D’s finger singled out Paul. “While you are here, you must never doubt your instructors. If she says she’s invincible, she’s invincible. If she tells you to take a hammer to your hand to toughen it up, you do it. Understand?”

  Paul nodded, but his eyes tightened at the corners as if he didn’t quite buy into what she was saying.

  Ms. D leaned back in her chair. “That completes our demonstrations from level-one troupe leaders. Now, I’d like to introduce you to the two advanced performers who elevate our show to the next level.” She turned to the man on her left. “Theodor, would you do the honors?”

  The dark-haired man with the thin mustache saluted Ms. D and disappeared… simply vanished from his chair. He reappeared on the platform. Finn did a double take, eyeing the chair and then the man on the platform.

  “I am Theodor Florea, and I am a magician.” He steepled his fingers and the tables and chairs lifted. Finn’s feet lost contact with the floor, rolling forward until only the tips of his toes brushed the wood. A murmur of amazement rippled through his fellow students. When the tables and chairs lowered again, the trays of food remained floating. Plates, silverware, full glasses, heavy trays laden with food hovered above their heads. Finn eyed the mashed potatoes apprehensively. One slip by the magician and he’d be wearing them, no doubt.

  With the table cleared, Theodor reached into his pocket and retrieved a deck of cards. He passed them back and forth between his hands a few times before scattering them across the table with a flick of his wrist.

  One by one, the cards came to life, bending at the middle and standing up to balance on their edges. To Finn’s delight, the cards marched across the tabletop, the king of spades and the queen of hearts coming together. Their brethren closed in and lifted them up on cardboard shoulders. A tower constructed itself card by card, elevating the couple. The remaining suits divided by color, the black half on the king’s side, the red on the queen’s. The two armies collided, a war of paper cuts, ripping and scraping, slicing diamonds and slashing clubs. The tower toppled. The war didn’t stop until every last card had been reduced to shreds of cardboard.

  Theodor opened the card box and flourished his hand. A sourceless wind blew through the room, sweeping the shredded paper from the polished surface and blowing every last piece back into the box. Theodor closed the lid.

  Finn stared, waiting for what would happen next. He jumped when he heard silverware clinking on the trays above their heads. The plates tilted and the leftover food dropped. Jenny covered her blond hair with her arms. The others reacted similarly. Even Finn raised his forearm toward the falling mashed potatoes. He needn’t have. The food transformed into confetti, showering them in the remains of the cards.

  The trays spun into wisps of smoke and disappeared, leaving behind the harsh odor of silver polish. Only two cards floated whole to the table, the king of spades and the queen of hearts. They stood and waddled toward Finn, bowing slightly. Without thinking, Finn bowed back, then realized how nerdy the reaction was and straightened in his chair. Theodor whistled and the two cards flew into the pack.

  Theodor adjusted the cards, revealing to everyone that the deck was, in fact, complete and whole again. Finn searched around his chair and couldn’t find a single shred of confetti.

  “Magicians are rare but the most adaptable of all our performers,” Ms. D said. “Apprenticing as a magician is by invitation only and requires a minimum of one year of experience in a level-one troupe.”

  Finn slumped. He would have loved to learn magic.

  “And now,” Ms. D said, hand extending toward the elegant woman to her right, “Juliette will demonstrate for you the cornerstone of Revelations’ performance, the enchanter.”

  Enchanter, Finn thought. Wasn’t an Enchanter the same as a magician?

  With the grace of a dancer, Juliette evacuated her chair. Finn almost forgot the chairs weighed approximately as much as a full-grown rhinoceros; each of the adults had moved theirs with no effort at all. Dressed in a peacock-blue ball gown with a high neck of feathers, Juliette reminded Finn of a historical figure, like a queen—young, powerful, and with the straight back of someone who holds herself in high regard.

  She didn’t bother taking the platform. Chin up, she coupled her hands, one on top of the other, in front of her bottom rib. Her eyes seemed unbelievably green beneath the pointed brim of her hat. Then her lips parted, and the world as Finn knew it came to a crashing halt. The sound from Juliette’s mouth simultaneously gave him chills and filled his heart with blossoming warmth. Her voice didn’t resonate, per se, but rang like a bell, crystal clear and pitch perfect. The melody soared and dove, each note plucking some emotional string within him. In unison with his classmates, he laughed and cried. Only when he’d knocked into the edge of the table did he notice that he’d leaned toward her. Everyone had. Even Ms. D.

  Juliette released her coupled hands and flipped her palms to the ceiling. Her eyes and voice drifted upward, ascending. It was impossible not to look.

  A collective gasp rose from the table, and Finn heard Hope curse next to him. The ceiling was gone, replaced by the night sky. A meteor swept across the heavens, stars twinkled, galaxies rotated in the deep dark of outer space. For Finn, the experience was transcendent, his limbs became weightless, his mind absolutely clear. Above him, the universe popped and zinged, a shower of light over their heads. He reached out as a star twinkled nearer, but it dodged his fingertips.

  Juliette tipped her head and lowered her voice to a gentle coo and the night sky retracted, replaced by the ceiling and the brash antler chandelier. Slowly, gently, Finn leaned back into his seat, returning to Earth after a journey into the beyond. He came back into himself with her final note, feeling as if something had passed through him, something he would have loved to invite to stay. The other students must have felt the same way because the room pitched into silence, still bodies staring into space. Finn was moved beyond measure.

  Hope whispered under her breath, “What the hell was that?”

  Ms. D was the first to break into applause and eventually Finn did too. Hope was the last to bring her hands together. After a long and generous fit of clapping, Ms. D said, “Enchanters are rare. Our performance requires only one and apprenticing with Juliette is by invitation only. Juliette is essential to our performance. Enchanters can make the audience believe the production is perfect, even when it isn’t. She can sharpen the lackluster, hide a fall, disguise an injury. She can get inside the heads of our patrons and make them believe they’ve seen something they haven’t.”

  “Inside their heads?” Hope’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “Of course, Hope. You don’t believe the universe came through the roof into the dining room, do you? That was her, putting thoughts in your head.”

  Hope’s mouth popped open. “How?”

  “How? We do not ask how at Revelations. We just do. We make the impossible possible.”

  Jenny cleared her throat. “But obviously there are limits. There are things a human body can’t do. Some of what we’ve seen today is not real.”

  “Not real?” Ms. D looked confused.

  “Sleight of hand, tri
ckery. Things cannot actually levitate.” Jenny tucked her blond hair behind her ears.

  Ms. D rubbed her hands together. “Ah, but that is where you fail yourself, Jenny. What is possible and impossible have new definitions here.” She stood, placed her hands on her hips. “Here, you must not limit yourself.”

  “What about the clowns?” Jenny asked. “Are they a separate troupe?”

  Ms. D gave her a hard look.

  “I saw one in the window on our way into the school,” Jenny explained.

  “I saw it too,” Finn said.

  Ms. D cleared her throat. “Ignore the clowns. They help with our performance, but their troupe is off limits to students. If you see one, I suggest you avoid it. They are often busy and do not care to be disturbed.”

  Jenny glanced at Finn and raised an eyebrow. He shrugged.

  “How does this work anyway?” Hope asked, her auburn ponytail swinging as she leaned forward to see Ms. D. “How are we assigned to a troupe?”

  “Beginning tomorrow you will spend ninety minutes with each of the four first-level troupe leaders. You will practice what they practice. Try to adapt. If you do, the troupe will likely enlist you. If you do not, Ravenguard and Applegate will work with you privately as they have with Ms. Tidwell.”

  Finn’s forehead tightened. He wanted no part of what the admissions counselors were doing to Amanda Tidwell.

  “Ninety minutes each?” Hope blurted. “When do we have academic classes? Algebra? Literature?”

  Ms. D. adjusted her glasses. “That is not the focus of our program.”

  “But… but how will we graduate on time if we haven’t learned anything here for an entire semester?” Jenny added. She looked genuinely concerned.

  With a huff, Ms. D narrowed her eyes on the girl. “None of our graduates have had a problem catching up academically upon their graduation from our program. However, should you feel the need to spend your free time solving for X or reading Chaucer, there’s a library on the third floor.”