“Which would have us logically conclude that there would be an excess of reported cases of belladonna poisoning, not a shortage,” Hisakawa interjects.
“Exactly,” Aarya says like she just won a prize at a carnival, “which is what is so great about it. Belladonna is effective. Combine that with the fact that it’s easily acquired and it tells you that the people who use it go undetected.”
“Precisely!” Hisakawa says, and goes up on her toes for emphasis. “Now, why do belladonna users go undetected?”
Layla opens her mouth to respond, but Brendan beats her to it. “Because belladonna isn’t and wasn’t only used to kill. Women used to rub it directly into their eyes to make their pupils dilate, which was fashionable at the time. Mixed with morphine, it was called Twilight Sleep and was used as a painkiller for women giving birth. And we still use it in medicines that treat everything from Parkinson’s to bronchitis.”
“Well said,” Hisakawa replies, and Layla looks disappointed she didn’t get an opportunity to answer. “Belladonna is common. And in being so, it often gets missed as a cause of death. Instead, the death gets assigned to an overdose or an overextended use of medication. An illegal sleep aid, even.”
Brendan soaks in the compliment from Hisakawa and I’m reminded of the scrolls in the library that keep record of the best students in each discipline for the past thousand years. Ash told me that if you can’t excel at the Academy, you’re seen as unfit to rule your Family. And that even after you’re admitted here, you’re not done proving yourself.
Hisakawa runs her fingers along the edge of her desk and leans against it. “It’s like I was telling you in our lesson last week. Capitalize on what is already in your environment. Blend. That’s what Giulia Tofana was doing with her husband-killing cosmetics. But this isn’t just about poisoners; it’s also about poison detection. You will be most vulnerable in a situation where everything seems normal and as it should be.” Hisakawa looks at me and I stare back, trying to read her expression and see if maybe she’s telling me something I need to hear. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s gone out of her way to give me a message from Headmaster Blackwood.
As if on cue, the door opens and Blackwood steps through, letting it swing closed behind her. Her hair is pulled back into a severe bun and she wears her uniform, consisting of a white frilled blouse under a black blazer and matching black pants. “Pardon my intrusion, Professor Hisakawa. But there is a matter I would like to settle without delay, if you wouldn’t mind.”
Layla gives me a concerned look.
“By all means,” Hisakawa says, and gestures at the room like she’s offering it to the headmaster.
The heavy wooden door opens with a whine and Nyx comes through, followed by two guards. Oh no. My stomach drops all the way to my toes and I shrink an inch in my seat. Nyx’s curly hair is limp, and even with her permanent eyeliner, the dark circles under her eyes make it seem like she hasn’t slept in weeks. Her face is drawn and her shoulders are slumped.
Brendan pushes his chair away from the table with purpose, like he intends to stand and help her, but Blackwood glances in his direction and he stops midmotion.
The guards aren’t restraining Nyx, and all I can think is that the dungeon must be an absolute nightmare to subdue someone as fiery and spiteful as she is.
“November,” Blackwood says, and I wish I could crawl under my desk. The only thing more disturbing than the Academy’s dungeon is its eye-for-an-eye punishment system. “Come up here.”
I push my chair back, and the noise it makes is amplified by the eerie stillness of the room. All eyes are on me.
“Show us your arm,” Blackwood says, and I reluctantly pull my white linen shirt off my shoulder, revealing a four-inch cut where my stitches were recently removed.
Blackwood turns to Nyx. “Nyx, you swapped your dull practice sword for a sharp blade in class. As far as I can ascertain from your professor, you intended to kill November with it. For that offense, you have spent time in the dungeon. But there is still the matter of the wound you inflicted. As per our rules, November will now be given a chance to retaliate.” Blackwood holds out her palm and one of the guards hands her a rolled-up piece of leather from his belt. As she unfolds it, the firelight reflects off the blade of a knife.
Blackwood gives the weapon to me and I reluctantly take it from her. “An eye for an eye, November. You may cut her arm in the same way she cut yours. No other action will be taken.” She gives me a warning look.
I reflexively glance at Layla, hoping something about her expression will tell me how to deal with this nightmare of a situation, but her face is completely neutral and she stares straight ahead at the headmaster.
I study the knife before looking up at Nyx. She meets my eyes, and even though it’s obvious she wants nothing more than to collapse, she straightens her posture and wears a proud expression. I can’t see how hurting her will change the fact that she tried to kill me. It definitely won’t make us even. But I also can’t flat-out refuse to retaliate; everyone here will consider it weakness. Beads of sweat form in my hairline.
Blackwood watches me, noticing my hesitation. “I don’t imagine you require further clarification, considering this is not the first time I have explained this to you,” she says, referring to my second day at the Academy, when Matteo punched me in the face. “You are not above the rules, November.”
Aarya sucks in air like this is the best show she’s seen in years.
The knife feels foreign in my palm, with none of its usual familiar weightiness. I glance at the door, and when I look back at Nyx, my stomach does a somersault.
“I want to inspect the knife,” Nyx says, yanking me out of my thoughts. As weathered as she appears on the outside, it’s instantly clear by her tone that her spark hasn’t diminished. “This is poisons class. How am I supposed to know she didn’t put something on the blade?”
We all look at Blackwood, who doesn’t answer right away. She can’t really be considering letting Nyx have the knife, can she? I shift my weight from one leg to the other.
“I’ll grant that request,” Blackwood says, and I nearly drop the knife out of shock.
Aarya slaps her knee and Layla’s cheeks drain of their color.
Blackwood retrieves the knife from my hand and gives it to Nyx, who slowly examines the blade and handle. She sniffs it, rubs her finger on it, and holds the metal up to the light. The entire roomful of students sits on the edge of their seats, and it’s so quiet that I can hear myself breathe.
Suddenly Nyx darts forward, the knife extended in front of her. I raise my arm in defense and the guards reach for her. But she stops short and laughs.
Brendan snickers behind me.
“I take it you’re satisfied?” Blackwood says to Nyx, without reprimanding her for the lunge.
“Almost,” Nyx says, but she’s not looking at Blackwood, she’s looking at me. She makes sure she has my full attention as she raises the knife to her own shoulder. She pulls the blade along her skin without so much as a wince. A smirk appears on her lips. She hands the knife back to Blackwood, handle first, and wipes her now-bloody palm on her shirt, creating a red smear.
“There, it’s done,” Nyx says, holding my gaze. “We’re even. Now you can stop looking at the door like you want to run and cry.”
My whole body tenses. How in the hell did she just beat me at her own punishment? Now if I do nothing, the damage will be done—everyone will get the message that when it comes to a physical confrontation, I’m afraid to act.
“Aaactually,” I say slowly, fighting to keep the uneasiness out of my voice, “you cutting your own shoulder in no way makes us even. In fact, that was one of the worst strategic moves I’ve seen in a long time.”
If Layla looked worried before, she now looks like she might have stopped breathing. Blood drips down Nyx’s left a
rm and she narrows her eyes.
Before Blackwood can say a word, I grab the knife and jab forward, just shy of Nyx’s uncut shoulder, grazing the fabric of her shirt with the sharp blade, creating a small tear. Nyx gasps and jumps out of the way.
The class watches with wide eyes. I can tell by Nyx’s expression that she’s furious not only with me, but also with herself for having jumped like that in front of everyone.
I laugh. “Nah, I guess we’re even. Now that you’re looking at the door like you want to run and cry.”
She locks her jaw and glares at me like she wants to tear my head off, and even though I can’t see him, I can feel Brendan’s eyes boring into my back. So much for having a normal day.
I SIT ON one of the cold moss-covered benches in the garden courtyard. Overhead the oak branches are strung with strands of royal-purple profusion berries, and in the fading light of day they glow like they’re lit from within. The last of the blue, purple, and white flowers peek through the grass in intricate patterns around my feet. I look up at the canopy of tall trees, where the flurries from this morning have already melted. When I first got here, Layla explained that a hot spring runs under the school, allowing us to enjoy the flowers nearly all year round, and while it is a bit warmer on the ground than in the trees, I’m still convinced that the head horticulturist here must be something of a genius. I twirl a piece of fresh grass between my fingers, the fast motion mirroring the wound-up tension in my body.
A small group of elemental-level students are clustered at the other side of the courtyard, speaking in hushed voices. It’s impossible to know what Families they belong to, since the students come from all over the world and speak multiple languages. But they clearly know who I am, because every once in a while they glance in my direction and lean toward one another, as though to further conceal their words.
There is movement near the arched vine doorway leading into the adjacent courtyard, and I hear cloaks being taken off hooks on the other side of the vine wall, signaling that strategic sparring has just ended. Strategic sparring, knife throwing, mind games—a month ago I would have laughed at the idea that such a curriculum even existed.
Aarya and Felix are the first to come through the vine doorway, and I get up from the bench. Aarya’s eyes light up and she brushes back a piece of wavy hair that has fallen out of her loose ponytail.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite circus act at Phantom High,” she says loudly enough that the elemental students turn in our direction. She switches from a British accent to an American one, both of them impeccable. In fact I don’t think there’s an accent that she hasn’t mastered, making it impossible to know anything about her upbringing, other than that she’s a Jackal and a force to be reckoned with. “After you graduate, well…if you live to graduate, you should take your show on the road. I would pay good money to watch stunts like the one you pulled with Nyx.”
I exhale audibly. In a normal world, the fact that she helped me escape from Conner would mean that we’re now friends, but this is Aarya. “Anything else you want to shout in front of everyone, or did you get enough attention for the day?” I reply.
Just as I’m finishing my sentence, Brendan enters the courtyard and sees me talking to Aarya. We make eye contact and his gaze is openly threatening, like he’s broadcasting the fact that he’s not done trying to kill me. The sickest part is that he’s my cousin, and even though I didn’t know that until a couple of days ago, he knew all along—and it didn’t faze him in the least.
“Cranky, cranky,” Aarya says as she follows my line of sight. “Looks like…what’s the American saying? Ah yes. It looks like ‘someone bit off more than they could chew’ this morning.”
Felix doesn’t leave Aarya’s side, but his shoulders are turned away from me and his arms are crossed, like he’s guarding himself from having to interact with me or maybe he just doesn’t want anything to do with this conversation.
I look away from Aarya as Matteo exits strategic sparring and heads for the door leading inside.
Aarya’s eyes twinkle, like she’s found something interesting. “Unless maaaybe you’re not scared about the consequences of pissing off Nyx and Brendan because, oh, I don’t know”—she inspects her nails—“you’re leaving us soon?”
“What?” I nearly choke on the word and shift my attention back to her, trying to keep the shock out of my voice. “As much as I’d love to stick around and listen to your crap, I’ve got to go.” Given Aarya’s victorious look, it’s too late; she already knows the truth. So instead of continuing this disastrous conversation, I follow Matteo.
Aarya growls and slashes her fingers at me like she’s a big cat.
There were three things I was supposed to do today—act like everything was normal, not let people know I was leaving, and talk to Matteo. I haven’t even finished my classes for the day, and I’ve already managed to screw two of them up.
I follow Matteo through the heavy wooden door leading into the foyer. Ancient shields adorn the walls; Layla once told me they are symbols of Strategia’s roots throughout world history, but to me they’re a reminder that I don’t know my own Family history the way I should.
“I can go? You’re letting me go?” I say more to myself than to Blackwood.
Blackwood hesitates. “Technically, you can go. However, I must advise you that you still have a great deal to learn and your skills are severely lacking in several areas. But more importantly, you know very little about the Strategia world at large.”
“Maybe so, but there’s no way I can stay here while my dad’s out there all alone. Especially knowing what I now know,” I say. “What happened here with Dr. Conner seems to be just a microcosm of what’s happening out there.”
“This school doesn’t involve itself in outside politics,” Blackwood says, even though we both know that the situation between her and Conner was completely political. “I’ll just say again that it would be prudent if you made additional alliances here and learned as much as you can before you leave.”
I speed up and fall in step with Matteo’s long strides. “Hey, can I talk to you for a minute?” I say, careful to keep my voice low. With the high arched ceilings, sound is amplified in this room.
His broad shoulders tense. “I’d rather not,” he says. He doesn’t bother turning to face me.
“Look, I know you blame me for Stefano’s—” I start as we enter the hallway to the boys’ dorm.
Now he does look at me, or rather down at me, with frustrated brown eyes that remind me of my aunt Jo’s. He’s a good six inches taller than me. “You’re damn right I do. And maybe it wasn’t directly your fault that he was murdered. But the fact remains that my best friend from the time I could talk is dead because you came to this school.”
His words stop me in my tracks. I rub my forehead near my eyebrow—a gesture Ash once told me signifies shame, which I suppose is pretty accurate in this moment. “I can’t imagine what it would be like if someone killed my best friend,” I say, and my voice is gentler. Just the thought of anyone hurting my feisty Emily makes me want to cry. “I’d be hateful till the end of time.”
“Yeah, well…,” he says in front of his dorm room door.
I stare at him, unsure where to go from here. I can’t very well say “Sad about your friend, but I need something, so can we talk about that now?”
“Sorry I bothered you,” I say instead. “And I’m sorry about Stefano. Really.” My mind spins, trying to come up with something, anything that will make him listen to me, because in three more seconds he’s going to disappear into his room and my chance will be gone. “I just came to say goodbye.”
Matteo closes his eyes momentarily, like my presence is exhausting. “I’m not in the mood to play games with you.”
“No game,” I say, and I scan the hall to make sure we’re alone. I pause, hoping this gamble doesn’t b
ackfire. “I’m leaving the Academy tomorrow.”
He exhales and breaks eye contact, looking up at the wall. After three seconds and some head-shaking, he bangs the latch on his door with the side of his fist. The door swings open.
“Well, are you coming in?” he says, clearly displeased.
I don’t hesitate. I slip through the doorway and into his common room, where the blackout curtains are already drawn and the fireplace is lit for the evening.
“Speak quickly,” he says like he can’t get rid of me fast enough.
I move my loose braid over my shoulder and straighten my posture, working up some courage. Ever since he told me he was my cousin, I haven’t been able to unsee the resemblance. The last thing I ever thought I would find in this school was family. And now I have two cousins—Matteo and Brendan—one who hates me and the other who wants me dead.
I run through a few approaches in my head, but everything I want to say sounds awkward. So instead of asking him flat-out for help, I simply say, “I’m going to find my dad.”
Matteo huffs. “You’re here to talk to me about your Lion father? I really don’t care what happens to him.”
I take a step forward, frustration sparking in my chest at the suggestion that my dad is anything other than wonderful. “If you would listen for more than ten seconds you would see why you do care. And I’m sick of these Family lines. You’re a Bear. He’s a Lion. Who cares? Some people are terrible and some people aren’t. My dad is one of the good ones. End of story.”
Matteo’s fist clenches, and I start talking again before he decides to kick me out.
I take a breath, calming my voice. “After my aunt Jo died—scratch that, after our aunt Jo died—my dad sent me here. And as far as I can tell, he went to Europe to do something about it.”
“What do you mean by ‘do something about it’? What kind of something?” Matteo says, and I can tell by his insistent tone that this question matters.
Hunting November Page 3