Hunting November

by Adriana Mather

  I nod at her, at a loss for words.

  “Are you crying?” she says, and points a slender finger at me. “You better not be crying.”

  “Not crying,” I say, but my voice cracks.

  “Here, turn around,” she says, and I do. She tucks the lock of her hair up into my French braid near my scalp. “So they don’t take it away from you before you leave.”

  I turn back to her and wrap my arms around her neck. For a long second she just stands there. Then slowly the tension drops from her shoulders and she hugs me back.

  There’s a knock on the door and Layla steps away before I get a chance to tell her how much her friendship has meant to me. How I wouldn’t have survived without her. And how selfless she’s been about her brother, her twin, coming with me.

  Layla opens the door and standing on the other side are two of Blackwood’s guards with their signature leather armbands and belts. I open my mouth, but Layla shakes her head as though to tell me nothing more can be said.

  “Good night, November,” she says, and her words are heavy.

  “See you soon, Layla,” I reply.

  And just like that I walk away, knowing all too well that this might be the last time I ever see her.

  I OPEN THE door to Blackwood’s cozy office and Ash is already there, sitting in one of the armchairs in front of her desk. The fireplace fills the room with the familiar scent of burning wood and there is an abundance of candles in sconces on the walls and in silver candleholders on her desk.

  Blackwood gestures for me to sit down and I do, remembering the first day I met her. It was before I knew I was Strategia and way before I had any idea about the deal my dad had made—promising Blackwood I would expose Conner for the killer he was in exchange for my admittance to the Academy.

  The guards close the door but remain inside.

  “As requested, you two will be flown to the airport you departed from, November,” Blackwood says, and leans back in her chair. Her relaxed posture doesn’t soften her. “You’ll be responsible for yourselves from there.”

  “Thank you,” I say, still a little awed that she’s letting us go.

  Blackwood looks from me to Ash. “Before you travel, you’ll receive your clothes and personal effects.” She hands us each a thick envelope. “And these.”

  I peek inside to find an enormous stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Holy sh—”

  Blackwood gives me a look and I swallow the word, fooling no one. Ash’s eyes betray his amusement. Where in the heck did all this money come from? I’m assuming my dad, but this must be half his savings.

  “Do you have any logistical questions for me?” Blackwood asks, and I can tell by the way she emphasizes logistical that she’s discouraging the type of conversation we had two nights ago, when we openly discussed her friendship with my dad. And now I’m regretting not asking her more questions about her time in the Academy with my parents—what they were like when they were my age before they ran away from Europe and their Strategia Families to hide in America.

  “How do we get in touch with you if we need to?” I ask, suddenly uncertain that I want to walk away from Academy Absconditi for good.

  She nods and the faintest hint of a smile appears in the corners of her eyes. “The usual way—through your Family contacts.”

  I open my mouth to say that I have no idea who those contacts would be, but since the guards are in the room, I decide against it.

  Blackwood looks at Ash, but he makes no effort to ask her anything. He exudes a nonchalant attitude, as though we were doing nothing more than visiting our Families for the holiday.

  “Now if that’s all,” Blackwood continues, “these guards will take you to change into your travel clothes and you’ll be off.”

  Ash and I stand up.

  “Safe journey and I’ll see you both when you return,” Blackwood says, and even though her tone is as cold and distant as always, I get the sense that in her own way she’s wishing us good luck.

  “Thanks,” I say, and smile, regretting that I didn’t thank her for the various ways she’s protected me when I had the chance to speak freely. Our conversation two nights ago was in the wake of being attacked by Conner, and my exhaustion, compounded with the realization that my dad left not one scrap of information about how to find him, made me overwhelmed and cloudy.

  I take one last look at Blackwood, aware that even if we survive this crazy mission, I cannot imagine a scenario where I would leave my dad alone to come back here. And I almost can’t believe I’m thinking this, but some part of me will miss her severe attitude and her brilliant strategy games. I may never understand everything she tried to teach me, but I know I’m better for it.

  Ash and I exit the room, and as the door closes behind me, it feels like the end of another chapter in my life. I didn’t realize when I left my house in Pembrook to come here that nothing would ever be the same, but as I prepare to leave the Academy, I know that once again my world is about to shift.

  “They’re going to sedate us again, aren’t they?” I ask Ash as we make our way down the stairwell.

  “Oh, definitely,” he says, and flashes me a smile that takes the edge off.

  The guards lead us to the ground floor and through a dimly lit hallway. The guard next to Ash stops in front of a door adjacent to the teachers’ lounge and unlocks it.

  “See you in America,” Ash says before disappearing into the room.

  I follow the second guard to the adjoining door and he, too, unlocks it without explanation. I slip through and it clicks shut behind me. The room is small and cozy, what you might expect if someone transformed a castle into a bed-and-breakfast. It has a colorful tapestry on the wall, a large four-poster canopied bed, and an elegant desk. The fire in the fireplace heats up the room in a pleasant way.

  My duffel bag sits by the end of the bed, and the blue plaid pattern and worn straps seem out of place next to the antique furniture. I run my fingers over the familiar textured fabric, and as I undo the black zipper, I realize it still smells like my house.

  Inside are bits of home that make my heart ache—my pine tree pillowcase from my bed, an old T-shirt of my dad’s that I stole for pajamas a few years back, and a pair of vegan leather fingerless gloves that Emily and I bought last year, convinced we would start a fashion trend. Turns out they weren’t warm enough for winter and were too hot for summer, making them useful for only about two weeks in the fall when the air was just turning crisp—which caused us to wear them every day so we could get our money’s worth and also caused our friends to make endless remarks about our biker gang. Emily didn’t care, insisting that Pembrook just wasn’t big enough for any original ideas.

  My chest lifts at the memory and a zing of anticipation runs through me. I slip out of my wool cloak, white linen Academy shirt, and black leggings, discarding them on the floor. I trade my uniform for my favorite jeans and a comfy sweater. Home. I’m headed home. I sit down on the end of the bed and fish my tall brown boots out of the suitcase.

  As I pull them on there is a light knock at the door.

  “Come in!” I call, and the guard opens the door, with a glass of cloudy liquid in his hand, which I can only assume is my sedative. And once again I’m painfully aware of my two lives—my gentle one in Pembrook and my deadly one as a Strategia.

  I pull on my boots and zip up my bag. I would ask him what happens next, but he wouldn’t answer me, so there’s no point. He hands me the glass and I scooch back on the bed, not sure how fast this stuff works and not wanting to concuss myself by hitting the floor. I smell the cup, but there’s no scent. I look questioningly at the guard, but he just stares at me with the typical detached expression.

  I don’t know why, maybe I’m just buzzing with excited anticipation that I’m going back to Pembrook, but I sing, “Put the lime in the coconut and shake it all up.
” Then I chug back the slightly briny liquid and hand him the glass. And even though his expression remains cold, I swear I see a glimmer of amusement dance across his eyes.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I won’t tell anyone that you think I’m funny.” For a moment nothing happens, then gradually the world gets fuzzy, as if I were looking at it through a rainy window. “I think I’m funny, tooooo.” And as I speak, I fall back onto the cushioned bed. “Wheeee!”

  * * *

  I lift my head off a crisp white pillowcase with a gasp, the world suddenly blinking back into existence. My eyes flit about rapidly, my heart racing, trying to make sense of the disorienting room. I’m in a king-sized bed. There’s an armchair near a large curtained window. And there’s a desk, above which hangs a large flat-screen TV. I rub my forehead and sit up, frowning at the modern objects. Then I remember the sedative, remember that I left the Academy.

  I swing my legs out of bed to find a plush carpet with a pair of white slippers on the floor. I’m in a hotel? I almost want to laugh, like when you wake from a strange dream and you’re so relieved that you actually feel giddy. But this room, which I would once have found awesome and immediately taken pictures of to send to Emily, now strikes me as foreign after my time at the Academy.

  I stand up and stretch my sore body. Everything smells sharp and pungent, like floral laundry detergent and lemon-scented cleaning products, none of which existed in that medieval castle. I’m fairly certain a bar of soap was a fix-all there.

  I open the heavy curtains, letting in what appears to be the late-morning sun. I scan the room with its fluffy white linens and spot a row of light switches on the wall. For an instant I’m stunned; it didn’t even occur to me that I could flip on the lights instead of opening the curtains. It’s baffling that after only a few weeks I would feel this out of place in a world I’ve existed in my whole life. I’ve heard of reverse culture shock, but like food poisoning, you don’t think it’s going to happen to you until you’re running full-speed for the bathroom.

  I grab the remote on my bedside table, examining it for a moment, and switch on the TV. A local news station appears on the screen and I wince. The sound is jarring and the bright colors make me squint. I turn it off again, feeling relieved when the image disappears. But I love TV, don’t I?

  “Ash?” My voice cracks with roughness.

  “Out here,” he says, and I make my way into the attached living room with tall bay windows and oversized couches. I’m instantly struck by how many electronics there are—another TV, a coffeemaker, speakers for music, and my phone. A zing of excitement runs through me at the sight of it.

  A split second later I’m moving toward the coffee table, but as I get closer, I realize it’s not my phone at all, just my empty phone case. I pick up my Spirited Away Miyazaki cover, which is cracked in the corner from when I dropped it on my kitchen floor a couple of months ago, and turn it over, frowning at the hole where my phone should be. I run my fingertips over the sparkly star charm that’s hanging from it; Emily has a matching moon.

  I look up at Ash, confused.

  But he seems to have expected this. “Cell phones aren’t allowed at the Academy,” he says. “If it was on your person when your dad dropped you off, they would have destroyed it.”

  “Destroyed it?” I say, looking up at him in disbelief. “Couldn’t they just shut it off or take out the SIM card?”

  Ash’s dark hair is wet and neatly combed and he’s wearing a white button-down with a light gray sweater, a black blazer, and a pair of expensive-looking jeans. I stop dead in my tracks. I’ve never seen him in anything besides our school uniform and right now he looks like he just stepped out of a magazine.

  “With the right technology, your cell phone can be tracked, with or without a SIM card,” he says. “It’s easier to locate if it’s on, but it’s not impossible to locate if it’s off. It’s not worth taking the risk.”

  My fingers linger over the familiar case. I drooled over that phone for most of the year and bought it for myself for my birthday after painstakingly saving up my babysitting money. It’s only four months old.

  I frown. “I know it’s silly that in the midst of everything that’s happened I care about my cell phone,” I say, and sigh. “I just…do.” What I don’t tell him is that it feels like it was the last thing linking me to normal teenhood, and I really didn’t want to give it up. Missed texts from Emily, pictures from the last two months that I never uploaded to my computer, and notes on the knife and sword tricks I was learning. My old life is being stripped from me piece by piece.

  He nods, but instead of silently judging my frivolity, he smiles. “You really are beautiful,” he says, and chuckles to himself. “I never thought I would say that to a girl with a very sparkly cell phone case. But it couldn’t be more true.”

  I laugh, too, taking the edge off my phone massacre. My braid is messy and strands of it hang around my face. My jeans are worn and cuffed at the bottom, my socks mismatched, and I’m in the same oversized cable-knit sweater as when I arrived at Academy Absconditi.

  “You’re clearly still feeling the effects of that sedative and your brains are scrambled,” I say. “Speaking of sedatives, how did we get to this hotel?”

  Ash shrugs like he doesn’t think it deserves much thought. “The Academy transportation system is as mysterious as its location. It helps keep the school hidden. Every time Layla and I have returned to Egypt, we’ve been dropped off and wake up in a different location.”

  I look around the living room, like there might be an answer among the couch cushions, but the room is perfectly average for an upscale hotel and lacks any defining features. I’m reminded of the time Ash told me it was futile to try to figure out where the Academy was located, but even so, I couldn’t stop analyzing every inch of the grounds.

  “So this is just a hotel, then, not something connected with Strategia?” I say, disappointed by the suite’s lack of distinguishing characteristics.

  “Just an ordinary hotel room,” Ash repeats.

  When I adjust my gaze back to him, he’s still smiling.

  “What?” I ask, wondering if I have hair in my mouth or drool on my face. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time.

  But instead of answering, he walks right up to me. His look gains intensity and my stomach does a quick flip. He touches a loose lock of my wavy hair and places my arms around his neck. He pulls me close.

  “If you could see yourself the way I see you, you would know that you’re perfect,” he says with fresh minty breath, and it suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t engaged in any of my morning grooming regime.

  He leans in closer, and just as he nears my mouth I turn, give him a fast kiss on the cheek, and step away. “No way I’m kissing you while you’re all freshly showered and”—I gesture at him—“dressed like that.”

  He laughs. “You won’t kiss me because of my clothes? Is there an outfit you would prefer? Because I’ll gladly change.”

  “You know what I mean,” I say, and I can’t help but smile, too. “You’re super dressed up and I haven’t even brushed my teeth. I’m jumping in the shower and then we need to catch a bus to—” I stop out of habit. At the Academy I trained myself to never reveal anything about my home life. “Pembrook,” I continue. “I’m assuming we’re in Hartford, given that Blackwood said she would send us to the airport I left from.” I walk to the window and pull back the curtain.

  Below us I recognize the city streets and the telltale New England architecture, and all of a sudden I’m disoriented again. The cars below seem too fast, the buildings seem too shiny, and the open sky makes me feel exposed. “Definitely Hartford,” I say, not finding the comfort I thought I would in this familiar city. “If I remember correctly, the bus we need leaves just about every hour.”

  I close the curtain instead of leaving it open, finding more s
olace in turning back to Ash than in soaking in my home state. Just a month ago a trip to Hartford would have been exciting; it would have meant shopping with Em or going to the antiques stores hunting for old knives with my dad. Have I really changed that much? While preparing to leave the Academy I wondered the same thing, only the answer seemed to be that I was stronger, smarter, and more discerning. Now I just feel like I don’t know who I am.

  “I’ll order us some breakfast,” Ash says as he examines my expression. When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “Don’t give it too much thought; it takes everyone a little time to adjust after being at the Academy.”

  I nod, grateful that he understands. “It’s like I weirdly got used to living a medieval life. Instead of feeling like I came home, I feel like I time-traveled.”

  “I used to feel similarly when I was young and our parents took Layla and me to Europe to introduce us to Strategia contacts or to shadow them on a simple mission,” he says. “The busy streets in Paris, for instance, were in such stark contrast to our estate that it felt a bit like whiplash.”

  I pause; while he’s relating to my current experience, he’s also describing a childhood that couldn’t be more different than my own. “Your estate?”

  Now he pauses, potentially coming to the same conclusion I just did. “Similar to the Academy in structure, but smaller,” he explains. “Every Family has one. They’re hidden in plain sight, not tucked away in the forest like our school is, but a non-Strategia would never recognize them for what they are.”

  I stare at him like he just told me the sky is green instead of blue. “Hang on a second. You grew up in a castle?”

  “More of a manor house, but yes,” he says.

  “Please tell me you had electricity,” I say with feeling, my face poised for shock.