by Riley Archer
Mr. Sparky kissed the silver shaft of Travis’s sword and lit it up. At the same time, I looped my elbow around his leg and pulled it into my armpit. Hopefully, it’d be enough to hold him in place and keep him from running me through.
The jolt dragged down his arm and branched along the rest of his body, enough for me to get a couple of zings myself. When Travis wobbled, I yanked his leg backward and somersaulted to the side. He landed like a chopped tree.
I got back on my feet and dusted the snow from my knees. I was about to help Travis up, but then I remembered. Obnoxious.
I pivoted to my classmates and took a bow.
I glanced at Damian, who had something like approval touching the corners of his eyes. It was the kind of look that’d make a teacher’s pet melt.
My opponent coughed his way up, his face red as a cherry. He kept his nostrils flared and eyes downcast as he retrieved the weapon he’d dropped. When he was armed once again, he shot a seething glance my way. Then, he hurled the sword at me like it was a javelin. He didn’t bother to watch where it landed.
I sidestepped the flying blade and shouted at Travis’s retreating back, “You flipped the Monopoly board as a kid, didn’t you?”
He flashed me his middle finger and continued to retreat.
Whatever Damian had felt before, it crumbled beneath the weight of his anger—or pretend anger. He rubbed his hands together as if keeping the darkness at bay. “Okay, class, we’ll pick this back up next week. Return the weapons to their places, and then you’re dismissed. Enjoy your day off tomorrow.” Each word crunched out like he was trying his best not to grit his teeth. He followed Travis’s path inside.
Someone was about to get a searing hot lecture about the proper care of weapons. David must’ve really loved the pointy things.
Also, I’d missed the memo about our day off.
We stood in silence for a moment, and then people started shuffling inside. I yanked the giant sword straight out of the ground like it was Excalibur. Hell, it was heavy enough to be Excalibur with bits of boulder still stuck to it. I squinted at the green stripe down the middle. I didn’t know why, but I was convinced it was poison.
I caught Sierra sizing me up. I held her gaze for a moment.
“Well, that was entertaining.” She folded her hands behind her back and meandered inside. She hadn’t gotten a chance to show off the necklace-weapon she’d chosen, if it could even be considered a weapon; it just looked like a pretty accessory to me, with a silver orb that almost matched the color of her hair. But knowing her, it was probably more fatal than the hunk of metal in my hand.
Whatever. My heart belonged to Mr. Sparky. This taser baby had been used to torture me, after all. It was a special bond we shared.
As I walked back to the classroom, I wondered what kind of occasion would warrant an extra day off.
A mystical Grim Lord’s birthday, perhaps?
“What are you guys gonna do to celebrate?” I asked no one in particular once I was back inside.
Bitter resentment stilled my hand just before I returned Mr. Sparky to the weapon wall. There was no way to smuggle it back to my dorm when so many people were watching.
“I don’t think this campus does anything special for the winter solstice, unfortunately,” Sierra answered while looking at her nails. The circular necklace still hung from her neck. Then, she unclasped it and let the chain pool in the palm of her hand. Hanging it on its hook, she continued, “But as you know from Customs, we must pay some kind of respect to such a spiritual occasion.”
Ah, the solstice. That meant it was almost Christmas.
I nodded toward the necklace. “What does that thing do, anyway?”
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but it creates an absorbent shield that reflects attacks.” Sierra mooned at it before leaving the classroom.
I sighed and gave Mr. Sparky an equally loving glance before I left too.
10
The Invitation
I’d barely cranked out my 50th push-up when a single knock resounded on my door.
I leaned back on my knees and wiped the sweat from my forehead. “Who is it?”
No answer, not even a single peep. My visitor was a shy one.
Or … it might have been Travis, ready to finish what he’d sloppily started earlier. I grabbed the cuffs from my tiny nightstand and slid my right hand through the hollow center, curling my fingers around the edge.
They weren’t quite brass knuckles, but it’d still be one hell of a punch.
I flung the door open and took a step back, my adorned fist primed toward the empty hallway.
After a few seconds, I realized it may not have been an ambush.
“Hello?” I popped my head halfway out, my fists still trained for a fight.
Oh. There was something on the ground: A mini-envelop with a wax-sealed stamp. I picked it up, took a final glance around the dark hall, and ducked back inside. I tossed the cuffs onto my crib—ahem, mattress—and inspected my letter.
The matte black paper was luxuriously textured, and the red stamp held a symbol of two scythes crossed into an X, each blade facing the opposite way. The symbol was vaguely familiar.
This reeked of secret society shenanigans and reminded me of a recently shut down Gentlemen’s Club.
Since I was alone, I shook out my heebie-jeebies before breaking the seal.
There wasn’t a business card inside, thank whatever God existed out there. There was, however, a strange little poem. I inspected all sides and gave it a sniff. The cardstock was warm enough to have been pressed against a sneaky courier’s body. The letters had a freshly pressed shine and smelled strongly of ink. It read:
at the heart of the Woods
Gold And Green await
the fire will burn
as night meets its mate
I read it again. And again. I tried it out loud. I scratched my head and gave it a final scan.
I mean, it seemed simple enough. A big bonfire in the woods, maybe at midnight, if the “night mating” thing had any meaning. I sure hoped it didn’t imply anything more risqué than that; Damian hadn’t mentioned anything about the Illusionists being into twilight orgies.
My thoughts froze for a nanosecond.
And then, I lightly slapped my cheek for burning that image into my mind.
Anyway, I didn’t get the random capitalizations. Why would “woods,” “gold,” “and,” and “green” be emphasized, and in sporadic parts of sentences?
A metaphorical lightbulb shot to life above my head.
The heebie-jeebies were back.
I’d bet my next paycheck Cameron-creeper-Atlas had been an Illusionist, and the aspiring dictator had implemented some of the weirdness from his schoolhouse days into his BDGC bullshit.
Reaper cults loved their nonsensical acronyms and fancy calling cards.
So … WGAG. Huh. It didn’t carry the same professionally grotesque feel as BDGC, but this was a message, not a title, so I supposed the standard was lower.
Hmm. We gag?
No, that didn’t make sense. At least I hoped it didn’t.
We Got A Gripe? … Well, whoopty-freakin-doo, cultists. Who doesn’t?
I groaned and tucked the card into my back pocket.
I let my hair down, changed into the nicest warm sweater I had, did up my boots, and decided I’d figure it out as I went.
I dabbed a glob of cherry chapstick on my lips to protect them from the cold.
If this was indeed an Illusionist gathering, I might be in for a second night of zero sleep. But there was one glimmer of hope for a noncomplicated evening; the woods may have been sprawling, but a giant bonfire should give the party’s position away.
It took about thirty minutes to weave my way down and outside at top speed, making only a handful of wrong turns on the way. Thanks to my cuffed travels with Damian, I’d memorized some of the castle’s secret passages.
My first step in the snow crunched as loud as a chip b
etween my molars.
Unlike the narrow walkways inside the castle walls, being incognito wasn’t a simple task in the crisp open air. Especially when bright stars dotted the sky, more polished than diamonds, and the moon was their ever-watching maiden. It was like a giant spotlight aimed right at my snow tracks.
I dragged my feet, hoping to make my trail resemble ski lines instead of boot prints. It wasn’t the least bit covert, but it would make it harder to match the prints to me, should any Driftwood Academy staff member decide to get all forensic about it.
But if there was some kind of party going on, where were all the other tread marks? There was no smoke in sight, nor the comforting burnt aroma of a bonfire.
Maybe the meeting wasn’t tonight. Or maybe the card wasn’t an invitation at all, and someone thought it’d be funny to leave a haiku of nonsense at my doorstep.
The wind picked up, howling and threatening to topple the trees. My bones rattled as much as the icy branches. I considered going back inside, but determination kept me steady. My goals pounded between my ears like a mantra.
Join secret society. Unearth the mole. Blackmail them into letting me out of here. Free Tanaka. Save Mom. Find a bigger bed.
It was a hefty to-do list if there ever was one.
I blew out a frosty breath, pointed my finger, and spun. Because that was how big girls made impossible decisions.
My finger landed in the direction of the General Advancement Grounds.
Huh. The direction.
West. West of the General Advancement Grounds! WGAG!
“Yes!” I pumped my fist into the wind, feeling like a delayed genius.
“Hey,” said a low, confused voice from behind me.
My soul practically jumped out of my body. I hadn’t heard anyone approach thanks to the glacial cyclone whipping my hair in every direction and attempting to freeze my nose off.
I showed my teeth as I turned, but I was certain it didn’t look much like a smile. “Hello, Ethan. Busting curfew for a moonlit stroll?”
His face remained flat as ever, and then he waved his own calling card between his middle and forefinger. “Could they be any more obvious?”
Right. Obvious.
He walked past me and slowed his pace as if expecting me to follow. The wind wound down several notches, so I heard him mumble, “Unless it’s for your amusement, you shouldn’t worry about anyone busting us. It’s the solstice. Everyone is getting drunk. And when it comes to the Illusionists, Driftwood Academy tends to look the other way.”
I took a final glance at my resident castle and then caught up with Ethan.
“I didn’t peg you for the fraternity type.”
He gave me a short glance and an even shorter smile. “And I don’t take you for the sorority type, but here we are. The perks are hard to deny.”
“Yep, stamp of approval on the resume and all.” Uh, yeah. I had no idea what and all consisted of, but Ethan didn’t need to know that. A wise player held their cards like they were a flush, even when they were blank. “So, how excited were you to receive your tiny acceptance letter?”
“Anticlimactic, to be honest. I’m a legacy, so I had a feeling it was coming.”
“A legacy?” I spat out, throwing my cards to the wind. If I’d ever claimed to be wise, well … I was probably at least a little bit right; I just occasionally chose to avoid that skillset.
Ethan shrugged. I waited a few crunching steps for him to expand his response into something more illuminating. He didn’t.
All right, I supposed I’d have to reel some info in. “As in your grandpapa was a reaper and an Illusionist, granting you some kind of status amongst our elitist peers?” I rubbed my hands together to make sure my fingers were still there.
“I guess. But he is a reaper. My parents are reapers too.”
“How…” I struggled for a polite word. I didn’t find one. “Weird. Must be nice to keep up with the family photos in the afterlife.”
That pulled a monotonous chuckle from his throat, which was a decidedly strange sound. “We didn’t have some kind of suicide pact if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Of course not,” I lied. That was exactly what I had been thinking.
Is familial recruitment a thing?
“They lived a longer life,” he added, uncharacteristically self-conscious.
I nodded. “Cool.”
Most reapers were recruited between the ages of twenty and thirty—we were the Play-Doh of souls, the right blend of experienced and moldable.
Neither Ethan nor I were much for small talk, so quiet fell between us. It was so cold my ears started to burn.
And so had something else. As soon as we reached the densest part of the forest, a strange warmth pulsed over my cheeks. A flash of gratitude for the heat scaled up my cheeks, and a pop of alertness trailed right after it.
“Fire,” me and Ethan whispered in sync.
Or maybe it wasn’t fire, because the ethereal, smoky warmth wasn’t coming from this layer of reality. It was coming from a spiritual one.
11
The Twilight Quest
I whacked a snowy branch instead of maneuvering around it.
Did we accidentally enter freaking Narnia? How much farther could we have to go?
We’d transitioned into our “crutch” spiritual layer as we wove between trees. The effort made me so hot that I tore off my plush winter coat and pulled up the sleeves on my sweater.
I rolled my ever-sore neck, stretched, and glanced at Ethan. “Are they arsonists, or is it all an illusion?”
Because Illusionists.
Ethan’s attention snapped toward me as if I’d said something obscene. I supposed he wasn’t one for puns. Where was Erik when you needed him?
While Ethan shook his head, an otherworldly golden light fell over us, dotted by flickering green bulbs with wings; a month ago, I’d have thought the glowing dots were some weird species of firefly.
I still didn’t know precisely what they were, but since I’d been paying attention in Intro to Evolved Clairvoyance, I knew one significant detail: They had fae energy.
The faerie things swarmed into a living, breathing fog. I covered my nose and mouth as we pushed through, so I didn’t accidentally inhale one—I have enough freaky magic inside me, thanks—but they had no solid mass.
“This has bad written all over it,” I mumbled, watching a faerie floaty pass through my hand like a microscopic poltergeist.
Ethan didn’t so much as flinch at the weird phenomenon.
The trail of spiritual buggies led us to a clearing.
We’d found the cult. They wore gold and green robes and had circled a burning log in a makeshift stone pit.
Although burning was a generous term. There was no actual fire, just a hefty Yule log puffing out amber-colored smoke.
Maybe I had inhaled a faerie thing and the sucker went down like a hallucinogen.
“They’ve arrived,” said a voice with a familiar know-it-all inflection. Her hood went down and confirmed her identity. Her shiny hair was as silver as the starlight peeking through the trees.
“Hey, Sierra.” I stepped through the crowd of robes to get a better look at the log. In a weird way, I felt drawn to the smoky energy it exhaled. Whatever these guys were up to, I was pretty sure it was highly illegal. I recalled the poem on my calling card. “So, you guys are the gold and green. Who’s making babies with the night?”
Sierra opened her arms; she had the look of a wise wizard about to drop some serious knowledge. “Listen close, and you will understand.”
I didn’t understand.
“Excuse me. You want me to what now?”
Whatever complex tangle of words just sprang out of her mouth almost had me wishing she’d said twilight orgy instead. Almost.
Her dainty nostrils flared, but that was her only sign of annoyance. She was putting a lot of effort into appearing emotionally distant.
Sierra repeated a hint more tersely, “
During the solstice moon, nothing tastes sweeter than the revered bathing fruit. Dare to pluck the ripest red from the water’s treacherous black, and the Moss Folk will barter to bring you back.”
“Uh-huh.” I stroked my chin. I must’ve picked up the habit from Damian; he seemed to do it when he was acting extra scholarly in class.
I dug deep into my memories of lectures. I remembered reading that Moss Folk were some kind of fae, but from what little I’d gleaned from the page, they didn’t seem like the negotiating type. I think the book said something about them hating reapers and finding them unnatural.
If Sierra was being more literal than metaphorical, what would I need them to bring me back from?
Sierra glanced at Ethan, who did nothing but his usual heavy-lidded blinking.
He tucked his hands into his hoodie. “It’s a quest,” he mumbled before he wandered back into the trees. This time, he had no intention of waiting for me.
“Okay then, good luck.” I saluted the back of his emotionless head and turned to Sierra. “A quest huh? Please don’t make me slay a dragon. I’ll take on Travis again instead. He’s big enough to count, right?”
One of the cloak-wearers chuckled. None were tall or wide enough to be Travis, which I probably should have verified before opening my mouth.
Sierra shrouded her face inside her Hood of Authority, which was a dismissal if I ever saw one. “You have been advised.”
Great. If this was anything like how I’d been advised legally, it wouldn’t go well.
And if this was anything like being initiated into the Blood of the Daughter of Grim Coven, it would be downright catastrophic.
If sending me on a nonsensical mission through a wintry forest on a particularly cold night wasn’t hazing, I didn’t know what was. I needed information, but instead, I was left with more questions. Such as:
What is a bathing fruit?
If a fruit is sentient, would it really care about taking a bath?