The Hierophant (Book 1 in The Arcana Series)

by Madeline Claire Franklin

  Trebor glances between me, Kristen, and the rest, smiling a tight smile that says nothing but politeness.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I tell John mildly. “I'm gonna have to cancel our date tonight. I know you were looking forward to it...”

  “Ha,” he scoffs. “Right, like I'd be caught dead on a date with you. That’d be a real dream come true for you, wouldn’t it, freakazoid?”

  It's not a clever response, but it makes my cheeks burn with embarrassment anyway. Before, when I've been around Trebor, the part of me that is an unhappy and oft-mocked high school student didn't really exist. I didn't think about it, about how they made me feel, about how Trebor might feel if he was just another kid at my school. But now, here we are, two worlds merging, and I'm so embarrassed Trebor is seeing this that it actually hurts. My bones begin to ache with a deep vibration, the same swift current of energy building inside me now that has been bothering me for months.

  The others chuckle and murmur, and Kristen keeps smiling at Trebor, inching closer and closer to him until she's pressed up against him.

  He looks at me, and I can't tell if he's going to be angry with them, or start laughing.

  “Listen, new kid, you’re Andy’s buddy so I’ve gotta warn you: I wouldn't hang around girls like her,” John goes on, talking to Trebor now, even though he’s glaring at me while he speaks. “She's violent. Ha, and besides, her only friend is a dyke. I mean, look at her, she’s probably taller than most of the football team.” He laughs at his own unoriginal observation. “So, Sheman, are you the dude in the relationship? Is that how that works?”

  The others laugh, elbowing each other. The electricity in my veins surges.

  “Why do you ask, John?” I ask, heat creeping up my skin from my chest to my neck. “Are you jealous? Because, clearly, you must be in love with me, otherwise you wouldn’t make these little chats with me such a priority.” I sigh theatrically. “But let’s be honest—I just don’t think it’s ever going to work between us. As you’re so happy to point out, I’m about four inches taller than you. And as we all know, I can kick your ass. That must be pretty emasculating.” I shrug, but my heart is racing. “Sorry to break your heart—again.”

  Inside, I’m wide-eyed, biting my nails. I can’t believe I just said any of that, let alone that I thought to say it before it was in retrospect.

  John sneers, but it twists into a smile. “You know me, I’ve got a thing for freaks and fags, right? Like that one time I let you and your girlfriend go down on me at that party freshman year.”

  “Oh man!” One of his buddies guffaws.

  “Seriously,” John looks at Trebor, gestures to me. “Sheman is a freak in bed. Not the best lay, all-in-all, but more than willing to try to please.”

  I have to fight to keep my composure, because whatever fleeting clarity gave me the wits to respond so sharply before has completely fled. I can feel myself beginning to shake, I’m so embarrassed and furious.

  “Don't worry, GG, I’ll take care of the new kid and make sure he feels welcome here,” Kristen tells me, still staring up at Trebor, and I see her hand fall on his leg.

  Trebor bursts out laughing, gently pushing Kristen away from him. “Are you guys for real?” He tries to compose himself, but can’t stop laughing.

  Kristen slides out, stands up again, looking offended. John frowns.

  “No, please, throw some of those hilarious insults again. Go on.” He laughs. “Really, brilliant. Pointing out her hair color, and her height, and giving her a clever nickname. Genius!” He calms to a smile, and waits for a response.

  John starts to back away, looking disgusted with us.

  “I mean, red hair, how awful is that?” Trebor goes on. “It's like, the worst thing! It says so much about a person's worth, too. And a tall woman? That's absurd. Only men are supposed to be tall! Well, except for you I guess.”

  John shifts, uncomfortable.

  “And then the whole bit about her sleeping with you. It’s like, not only is she easy to get into bed, but she’s not very good at it! Unlike this girl, who apparently is also easy to get into bed—or at least wants me to think she is?—and wants us to think she’d be good at that. Am I getting this right? Is that what you’re saying?” He laughs. “So. Funny. Really. And clever.”

  Kristen’s jaw drops. “Ugh!” she growls, clinging to John’s arm.

  “Whatever,” John snaps, rolling his eyes. “Enjoy your gypsy scumbag, new kid. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.” He and his friends back off, storming off into the crowded cafeteria.

  Trebor looks at me, and I see real anger behind his smile.

  “You didn't have to do that,” I tell him, packing my notebook back into my bag. I sling the cross-strap over my shoulder.

  “Hey,” Trebor stops me with a hand on my hand.

  “What?” I ask, hot and confused as bitterness collides with the unique sensation of surprise—surprise that his hand is on mine, that it keeps ending up on or around mine.

  He looks like he wants to say something, but doesn't.

  “Sorry about them,” I say. I slide out of the booth, and walk away, pulse banging in my ears. Somewhere in the crowd I hear laughter as I pass, and assume someone has made some scathing remark about me. Just as I sigh and think you're paranoid, someone shouts “Ginger gypsy giant!” and “Triple G, where you going?”

  I've taken their abuse for over a decade. Why is it only now that it's making me physically ill?

  In the blessed quiet of the hallway, I don't hear Trebor follow me out so much as sense his eyes on me. He's silent when he jogs to catch up with me, when he falls in at my side.

  I decide I don't want to talk about it. It's not a real part of my life. It may be a huge reason why I don't trust people, why I refuse to get close to anyone, why I prefer to be alone than in groups, and so on and so on. But it's not a part of who I am. I'll be gone soon, and then I'll be in a world where people have better things to do than make fun of you for your hair color, height, or heritage. Mostly, anyway. I hope.

  “Are you okay?” Trebor asks after a moment.

  “Fine.” I smile. “So, are you any closer to finding what you're looking for?”

  He hesitates before answering, seeing that I'm intentionally avoiding discussing what happened. “I think I'm closer to finding someone else who knows where it is, so yes.”

  “And you think it has something to do with me? I mean, I'm just trying to figure out why you were asking everyone about me...”

  Trebor steps out in front of me and stops me. “I'm sorry, Ana. I didn't mean to draw their attention. I didn't realize—”

  “Forget about it, Trebor, it's not your fault.” I frown, really not wanting to get back on that subject. “But, what does your quest have to do with me?”

  Trebor looks into my eyes, and if he had any less mastery of himself and his composure, I think he might have sighed. “You're a power hub, Ana. The same way the Sura are drawn to you, I was drawn to you. Things like us, and others like you, will also be drawn to you.”

  “How come I'm not drawn to others like me? That would have been helpful these past few years.” I step past him, and we keep walking.

  “You're growing into what you are. You're getting stronger. But you don't know how to use your power—it's unfocused and scattered. You see, and you can't stop seeing. You feel, and you can't stop feeling. It's here.” He reaches over and touches my stomach, just below my solar plexus.

  I fall back, reeling from the touch, from the explosion of hummingbirds at my core.

  Trebor catches my arm before I actually fall. “Ana?”

  “You—what did you do that for?” I ask, wide-eyed and shaking with the aftermath, leaning against the cool tiles on the wall.

  “Do what?” His brow furrows.

  I reach to touch my stomach, but his hand follows mine back there. He flattens his palm against me, and I whimper, eyes rolling back and closing.

  “Ana?”

  My guts squ
eeze and twist—the air leaves my body—my head swims. The electric current in my veins thrums and surges, vibrating through the marrow in my bones. I feel as if I'm racing through time, as if I'm falling up, screaming through the rabbit hole.

  “Ana,” Trebor says my name, firmly, and just loud enough to cut through the roaring of my own blood in my ears.

  I open my eyes, and find him hunched over me, concern written on his face. I'm sitting on the ground—I must have slid down the wall.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  “You didn't feel it?” I whisper.

  He shakes his head.

  “You didn't...” I frown, and even though it seems presumptuous, and even though it feels forward and frightening, I put my hand on his stomach where he touched me.

  He covers my hand with his own, holds it there, stares back at me, as if this is perfectly natural. “Are you okay?”

  “You don't feel anything?” I feel a vibration under my fingertips that I know is not really there, but my own explosion of energy has subsided.

  Trebor shakes his head and squeezes my hand. “This is what I'm talking about, Ana. These things you feel, if you had more control over your awareness, your power, you wouldn’t be so thrown by each little thing.”

  “Little?” I snort. “You didn't feel it. It wasn't little.”

  He studies me, and nods. “I know. Come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet. “I’m going to help you. Do you know somewhere we could go, where we could have privacy?”

  I take my hand back, dust off the back of my pants. “What about your search?”

  “I can do both. Besides, this is just as important.”

  “Really.” I don't believe that. “Training me to control my power is as important as finding this universe-breaking key thing you're looking for.”

  He hushes me as a handful of other students pass by, leans closer and murmurs. “Better not to talk about it here. I'll meet you after school.”

  I almost don't hear him, because when he leans close, his head next to mine, I can feel the warmth of his breath on my ear, and see his neck muscles working his jaw, and everything alive in him feels alive in me. I don't understand his words until he's backing away and blood is rushing to my face.

  “Where should I meet you?” I ask, blinking.

  He smiles, hands in his pockets, hair tousled and smile crooked—perfectly normal. Perfectly human.

  “Don't worry. I'll find you.”

  — 29 —

  “I heard what happened in the cafeteria with John and Kristen,” Kyla says in the parking lot after school. “Are you okay?”

  “I'm fine. It's not the first time I've been called names. It's not the last time John Cassidy calls me names, I'm sure.” I roll my eyes. “I was just really embarrassed it happened in front of Trebor.”

  “Yeah, what happened with him?” Kyla snickers. “Word is he put John and Kristin in their place.”

  I grimace. “I'm sure he upset them, but it didn't exactly save the day.” I sniff. “That's fine, though. I don't want some dude to come along and save me. I'd like to be able to solve my own problems.”

  “Yeah,” Kyla agrees. “Meanwhile, what's going on with you and Andy?”

  “What? Nothing. Nothing ever was going on.”

  “Right. So you weren’t planning on telling me you two went for coffee yesterday?”

  “Of course I was going to tell you, but it was nothing—”

  “Ana!” Andy calls to me from across the lot. John is at his side, hands shoved deep inside his coat pockets.

  “Shit. What now?” I breathe.

  “Hold up,” Andy calls, jogging over with John in tow. “John?”

  He looks at me, eyes like firebrands. “Sorry for being a dick earlier.”

  I stare at him, then at Andy—who is smirking. I don't trust this. I don't trust that this isn't a setup for something worse. Even though Andy has been nice to me, this is beyond nice. This is suspicious.

  “Uh,” I blink, look to Kyla for support, but she only raises her eyebrows. “Um. Okay. Thanks.”

  John nods, looks at Andy, and stalks away, over to his hand-me-down SUV. He had hideous blue flames painted onto its sides over the summer, but they look like tentacles at this distance.

  I turn to Andy. “What did you say to him?”

  Andy shrugs. “Just that his behavior was rude and immature and totally uncalled for.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “And he willingly agreed and decided to apologize?”

  “Maybe.” He smiles.

  I’m not sure I like it.

  “Hey, A,” Kyla says, unobtrusively. “I’ll see you later.” She waves to Andy and runs off towards her Vespa before I can stop her.

  I sigh and turn back to him. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say, not wanting to sound ungrateful, but it is the second time today I’ve had to say it. “It’s not like he means it, anyway. The guy has been harassing me pretty much since I had my first growth spurt.”

  Andy smiles, shrugging. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe he won’t really change. But he’ll at least think twice about harassing you from here on out.” He hesitates, then looks at his feet. “Listen…I was wondering…”

  I brace myself for something awkward to happen.

  “I came across some research on modern nomadic North American tribes that talks about your clan.”

  “The Ouros? Really?” I’m shocked.

  “Yeah. Evans-Pritchard spent some time with them in the early twentieth century. So, I was thinking if you wanted to get coffee again tonight, we could check out what I found. I figured you might be interested.”

  I think about it, eager and hesitant all at once. Andy makes me nervous, no doubt about that. But doesn’t Trebor make me nervous, too? I guess the difference is that with Trebor I feel excited. With Andy, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  Still. He’s being nice. He’s being helpful. He might have ulterior motives, but until those are revealed I can at least take him up on his offer to help me better understand where I come from. I have to try to trust other human beings besides Kyla, don’t I?

  “I actually have this thing going on like right now, after school—I’m not sure how long it’s going to go till.” I bite my lip, thinking—probably over-thinking.

  He nods. “That’s cool. Later this week maybe? I mean, if you have time.”

  “Yeah. I’ll be in touch, we’ll figure something out.”

  “Awesome,” Andy says. “Talk to you later then!” He jogs off in the direction of his car, waving at me with his keys in his hand.

  I try to decipher the jangles nerves he leaves behind, but I can’t quite understand it.

  — 30 —

  When I get home, I'm horrified to find Trebor is already there, chatting with my father in the kitchen.

  “Ana, you didn't tell me you were getting tutored in chemistry?” My father says, smiling. He and Trebor have been getting along well, it seems.

  “I'm not,” I say, cocking my head at Trebor.

  “This is our first session,” Trebor elaborates. “We'll see how it goes.”

  “Great,” Dad says, slapping us both on the shoulder. “Love the initiative, Ana. More tutoring, less detentions. Well, I'll let you get to it! Ana, I'm heading out for second shift at the fire station, so I’ll see you later.”

  I nod, fall into his familiar, lopsided hug, and watch him grab his keys and go, beaming.

  “Thanks for setting him up for a huge disappointment.” I turn back to Trebor when my father is gone. “I'm pretty sure I’m failing chemistry.”

  “Well, depending on what kind of ethics you have in regards to institutionalized learning and standardized testing, we can fix that.” Trebor smiles.

  I raise my eyebrows, considering his offer.

  “In the meantime, your father trusts me, is maybe even glad to see me, and is willing to leave us alone together in your house, where we have the privacy we need to get started.”
<
br />   I nod, impressed, leading Trebor into the living room. “Fathers, lock up your daughters. You really are a sneaky bastard. Is this part of being an Irin, or something you're trained to do?”

  Trebor shrugs. “Who knows? It's one and the same. Irin are literally made for this work.”

  “Sneaking around, watching people, saving them from Sura?”

  “We're soldiers in an angelic army, defending humans from dark forces.”

  “Poetic.”

  “Naturally. Now, let's discuss a few things. Your mother.”

  I sit down on the couch, heart limping for a moment.

  “Tell me what she taught you about magic.”

  I nod, and tell him about protection spells, simple divinations, reading tarot. I tell him about runes, and celestial alphabets, and amulets. Simple things, really—all things that you can learn about from any book in the New Age section at the book store, but with slight twists unique to her clan, the Ouros.

  “She never gave you any instruction on how to control your power?”

  I shake my head. “It never came up. It wasn't even an idea. In the Ouros tradition, we have no power—we're just conduits.”

  Trebor ponders that. “That's true, to a degree. But your power lies in your will, in the strength of the current of magic that flows through you. It doesn't belong to you, but your ability to access it does. Like a city with a port has greater access to waterways.” He pauses, gives me a funny look. “Humans Fall all the time, but most of you have very weak access to waterways, even if the water itself rushes faster than normal.”

  I consider his analogy and look down at my hands, palms up, like his hands were in my dream last night. What kind of power could I possibly have? Even when I feel that maddening surge in my veins, I'm impotent. There is no channeling—only bursting.

  Trebor surprises me by taking my hands in his, holding them, thumb-in-palm, a current of electricity running from his thumbs to my throat—it's all I can do not to gasp. And it's not just his touch—it's him. It's something in him.