by Nya Jade
“Are you on ShaperCity?” Hayley said when Phoebe pulled up a chair next to her. Phoebe shook her head. “Oh, you’ve got to get a profile. Even my mom has one. She just posted pictures from her attempt at having Spa Sunday with my brothers.” Hayley pointed at the computer screen.
Phoebe pinched her nose to keep from laughing. “Is that—?”
“Yup,” Hayley said shaking her head. “Avocado on every body part. Look,”—Hayley switched to the next picture—“Harper has it coming out of his ears. They’re seven. What was she thinking?”
“That she misses you, Tinkerbell,” Phoebe said with a smirk.
Hayley stared at Phoebe, shocked. “How did you—?”
Phoebe indicated the photo caption that said: “Spa Sunday’s not the same without you, Tinkerbell.”
“Argh!” Hayley said. “This is why it’s a bad idea to ‘friend’ your parents on these sites!”
Phoebe shook with silent laughter. “Your secret’s safe with me . . . Tinkerbell.”
“Zip it!” Hayley closed the browser and opened a new one. “So you know how I told you that my dad reads some conspiracy blog?” she said changing the subject.
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s run by some guy named Liam Corten,” Hayley explained. “My dad said that the blog was inactive for awhile and then two new posts went up this week.” Immediately Phoebe felt her nerves rising, and Hayley, sensing it, said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything about you or what’s going on. He actually didn’t even ask me why I wanted to know. He was too excited that for once someone in his family cared to listen to his crazy talk.”
Hayley drew an expectant breath and typed in the URL. Soon the words, Circle of Awareness flashed on the screen. The girls inclined their heads together and read the first entry.
Blackcoats in the air
Posted by Liam Corten on September 15th at 3:00 A.M.
It has been a long time. I know. But sometimes digging for the truth takes time and I am now back reporting all that I know. You may recall that earlier this month, Harvard scientists were kidnapped and their multi-million dollar equipment stolen. Shortly thereafter, Blackcoats were dispatched to the Boston area, all signs pointing to Vigo activity that is deemed a possible threat to the Royal Court. What could it be, you wonder? You can trust the Court to keep it hushed up. But don’t worry, I am keeping tabs. When I know, you will know.
Posted in: mystery
Phoebe and Hayley exchanged glances and scrolled to the post written two days later.
The Four are real
Posted by Liam Corten on September 17th at 1:18 A.M.
I have it on good authority that what has the Blackcoats chasing after their tails is the fact that Vigos are aware of the Year of Four prophecy. Yes, a prophecy—those things the Court simply dismisses as the mutterings of insane soothsayers. I ask you this: If it is merely insane talk then why seek out the potential Four in question and protect them? Yes folks, the Four are currently under Blackcoat protection in an undisclosed location. I believe that this sends a message that this prophecy is indeed true. At least true enough for Vigos to want to destroy the Four and the Royal Court to want to protect them.
Posted in: prophecies
“Listen,” Hayley said, seeing color slowly drain from Phoebe’s face. “We should take this blog with a grain of salt. At the end of the day, this guy could just be a nutter that keeps other nutters like my dad entertained.”
“And if he isn’t?” Phoebe said, finding herself a bit more convinced of Corten’s information. “It’s pretty eerily on point, don’t you think?”
Hayley shrugged dismissively. “For your sake, let’s hope he’s on the lunatic side of crazy.”
“I guess—hey what’s the Exile Conspiracy?” Phoebe asked, her eyes latching onto a link seconds before Hayley closed the web page.
“Ugh. I don’t even want to go there,” Hayley said, swiveling in her chair. “My dad goes off on that enough.”
“So what is it?”
Hayley sighed with an air of boredom. “In a nutshell. Some folks think there’s an alternate truth to the Tiger clan getting kicked out of Pompeii.” She rolled her eyes. “Something other than King Vigo losing his mind and damning his entire clan. . . .”
Phoebe’s eyes widened, her mind straying to recall history. A number of centuries ago, Tigers were counted among the Shaper clans until their exile on the eve of King Vigo’s execution. According to lore, the Tiger monarch convinced his clan to give into their wild predatory instinct—something that was subjugated by law—promising it would unleash stores of untapped power that would make them the envy of all Shapers. In his power-hungry madness, he led a clandestine hunt for humans beyond the walls of Pompeii. A hunt that triggered an insatiable blood lust—later discovered to be mito lust. Soon, however, a plague tore through the clan, degenerating their second heart, stripping them of their elemental powers, disfiguring their magical shape and turning their golden coats soot-black. Although many believed the plague was judgment from Osiah and Gavya intended to punish only the Tigers, the Royal Court ordered the clan’s exile for fear that it would spread. King Vigo’s trial for breaking royal edict and inciting a tragic massacre was swift. His execution was even swifter. Some say his clan’s vows of revenge were heard long after the gates of Pompeii were locked behind them.
“How did it go, anyway?” Hayley asked.
Phoebe’s attention jumped back to the present. “Hmm?” she said, betraying her wandering mind.
A flicker of annoyance passed over Hayley’s face. “Tell me about your lunch date!” she said, her eyes demanding. “Where did you go ’cause I certainly didn’t see you in the dining hall.”
A smile lit Phoebe’s face only to be eclipsed by a frown. “Crap!”
“What?”
“Scott,” she said, suddenly remembering. “I’m supposed to be somewhere right now. I’ll tell you about lunch later.”
“Uh-uh, missy!” Hayley said, her voice rising. “You can’t leave me hanging. Was it good?”
“No.” Phoebe pushed back from the table and chuckled softly at Hayley’s sharp frown. “It was great!”
“Ooh I want details!” Hayley squealed, drawing a scathing look from the portly librarian, who had just walked past them. Lowering her voice, Hayley said, “Give me something to chew on.”
Straight-faced, Phoebe said, “He sleeps naked.”
Hayley opened her mouth, and then closed it, mute with shock. Phoebe left the library laughing helplessly. Even Hayley had no words for that.
TWELVE
The path to the old windmill took Phoebe over a bridge that crossed a dry creek and dumped her on the north end of the campus, an area long since abandoned by landscapers. She was a few hundred yards away from the moss-covered stone structure, when she stopped in confusion; it was a graveyard of sorts. Antiquated farm equipment lay in clusters behind the structure—combines, hay plows, tractors, and others she couldn’t identify. In the center of these rusting relics stood an old wooden playground set. It was around this that Phoebe saw the other Hyphas were hanging out.
Mariko hung by her feet from the precarious-looking monkey bars, her uniform skirt falling over her shoulders to reveal the pink gym shorts she wore underneath. Lewis sat atop a shelled out tractor, his dreadlocks flowing to his shoulders, his torso bent over an acoustic guitar. And Scott, who had an unlit cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, was bouncing a soccer ball on his knee as he balanced on one leg.
“You’re just in time to hear Bob Marley over here play us another tune,” Scott said sarcastically to Phoebe who made a beeline for the only unbroken swing on the playground set.
Lewis had been playing only a few seconds. He looked up and furrowed his brows. “Only black-guy-with-dreads-playing-a-guitar you could come up with, my man?”
“Whoa dude,” Scott said raising his lighter to his cigarette while keeping his ball bouncing, “I meant no offense.”
/> While Lewis returned to strumming his tune, Mariko jumped down from the monkey bars and said, “In Broom Boy’s defense”—she brushed her hands off on her skirt—“Bob is the most famous dreadlocked musician of all time.”
“Exactly!—wait a minute,” Scott said slowly, casting a frowning look at Mariko. “Broom Boy? Really? Think that’s funny?”
“I could go either way. . . .” Mariko said evasively, but the snarky look she gave him as she climbed to the top of the spiral slide was answer enough.
Phoebe didn’t know whether to laugh and she hid a betraying smile by bringing her camera up to her face and taking a few pictures of Lewis while he fingered the frets of his guitar. He chuckled and said, “Marley’s iconic, but y’all should broaden your horizons. Get hip to folks like my man, Michael Franti and his band—”
“Spearhead,” completed Phoebe, resting her camera on her lap and sharing a smile with Lewis. “They’re from my hometown.”
“Frisco girl, huh?” Lewis said. Phoebe nodded. “Cool. Ever see ’em play live?”
“Couple of times with my father. . . .” Phoebe let her voice trail, coiled her free arm around the swing’s chain and then finished quietly, “My father was a fan.” She stared pensively at the ground, effectively stopping the next question from leaving Lewis’s lips. Phoebe did not know how long she’d been gazing at the wood chips beneath her feet before Mariko said, “No pity party is complete without booze.” She looked up. Mariko, who had slid to the bottom of the slide, extracted a silver flask from her backpack.
“Pity party?” Phoebe asked, looking around at the others. “Is that what this hang is about?”
“Last I checked, all of us were on an endangered Hyphas list, so yeah,” Mariko said, bringing the flask to her lips. When she raised the flask inquiringly, both Phoebe and Lewis shook their heads.
Mariko merely shrugged and walked the flask over to Scott who had paused his foot mechanics. He took a big swig and promptly choked on it.
“What the hell is that?” he said wheezing, his eyes watering fast.
“My dad calls it weapons-grade sake,” Mariko said, thumping Scott on the back. “It’s not the watered down crap you get at restaurants.”
“You don’t say.” Recovered, Scott placed the soccer ball on top of his left foot, flicked it up and caught it on his chest; he let the ball roll down and began a steady bounce from one knee to the other.
Mariko, who had snagged the flask back, drew even deeper than before. Both Scott and Lewis stared at her, impressed.
“So,” Mariko said, walking over to the seesaw and taking a seat on the non-splintered end. “I think we should discuss the fact that we have Blackcoat protection. Who else finds it strange?”
Lewis stopped his strumming and stared at her. “What do you mean?”
“She means why the Royal Security Corps? Why not give us SIS agents?” Scott said, expertly bouncing his ball from knee to arm to foot.
“Exactly,” Mariko said. “Vigo threats are constant. That’s why we have SIS. So why does our situation call for the Blackcoats? It’s like bringing a tank to a BB gun fight.”
“That’s a stretch, don’t you think?” Lewis said, pausing to re-tune a string.
“You know what I mean,” Mariko said, her voice unable to hide her irritation.
“I think I get why they’re here,” Phoebe said, speaking up and meeting Mariko’s questioning stare. “If there’s a chance that the prophecy is true and one of us can defeat Vigos, it makes sense that the Royal Court would have an interest in it.”
“I’m with Pope on that.” Scott glanced over at Phoebe, then back at Mariko whose attention had strayed to the fraying ends of her braids. “The Crowns are protecting a potential weapon.”
Mariko looked up. “But that’s what’s weird. When you hear a prophecy don’t you think nursery rhymes or campfire storyteller?”
“Your point?” Scott said, bringing his ball to a rest beneath his foot.
“That is my point. A big deal is being made about something we normally take about as seriously as the tooth fairy.”
“That didn’t stop you from freaking out when the Blackcoats first told us about it, did it?” Scott said.
Mariko was silent, but subjected Scott to a long, hard look that Phoebe was beginning to believe was trademarked.
“Ultimately, whether the prophecy is true or not doesn’t change the fact that a Padrone has a contract out on us,” Phoebe said, clenching the chain of the swing more tightly to keep her hands from shaking. “We’re in danger either way.”
A brief silence followed. Then, Lewis zipped his guitar into its black carrying case and said, “I think the prophecy is true. And I think the Blackcoats know what the power is.”
“Don’t you think they would’ve told us if they knew?” Phoebe said.
Lewis looked around as though waiting for someone to approach. Seemingly satisfied that no one was around, he said, “They wouldn’t tell us. Not if it’s the ability to wield one of the missing elements.”
Phoebe and Mariko stared at Lewis. Scott had frozen with his cigarette halfway to his mouth.
At their dubious expressions, Lewis said, “Hey man, don’t give me that ‘it’s taboo’ look. I’m only speculating, not coveting.”
“Impossible,” Mariko said, blinking, her voice slightly higher.
“Is it?” Scott said, lighting his new cigarette. “Think about it. . . . The idea of Shaper-human offspring was once considered impossible”—he indicated the four of them—“but then here we are.”
Phoebe stared, still unable to speak. Since antiquity, Shapers had only been able to wield the two elements. And it was utterly forbidden to covet the missing elements because of the pivotal role that desire had played in the Exile. Many believed that the Tiger monarch’s madness sprung from his desire to wield them, a desire that had him convinced that consuming human blood (an unforgivable sin) was the answer to unlocking such powers within a Shaper.
“Well, if I were a Vigo,” Lewis said, pulling his dreadlocks back into a ponytail. “I’d want to kill whatever Shaper had control over fire.”
Lewis’s soft-spoken words hit Phoebe hard. “Oh my God,” she whispered, then raised her voice. “Maybe that is it.” Other than diamond-tipped weapons, the only other sure way to end a Vigo’s life was by incineration. If Shapers could wield fire, it would be a game changer. And it really has nothing to do with my ability, Phoebe thought, her shoulders sagging with relief.
“Not you too.” Mariko glanced disapprovingly at Phoebe, who shrugged. “Look, if that were true, then one of us would already have pre-con signs of it.”
“Anyone hiding pyro tricks?” Scott said, joking.
Lewis turned to Mariko. “You’re right,” he said, reluctantly. “But could you imagine it?” He mimed shooting power from his palms. “A stream of flames shot right at a Vigo and then it’s bye bye cousin—”
“Don’t say that!” Mariko yelled, cutting off a startled Lewis. “Don’t you freakin’ say that!” She hopped off the seesaw, snatched her backpack from the ground, and bolted.
Utterly bewildered, Phoebe, Scott, and Lewis stared after Mariko as she ran, her braids bouncing about her. The sound of tolling chapel bells broke the stunned silence and Phoebe got to her feet.
“I have a photo assignment to get to,” she said slowly. As Phoebe shouldered her bag, Scott crossed over to Lewis and offered him a cigarette; when she caught his eye, he winked.
“What did I say?” Lewis moaned, looking worriedly from Scott to Phoebe.
“Who the hell knows what that was about,” Scott said. “I wouldn’t sweat it.” He fished his lighter from his jacket pocket. “Besides, even if none of us end up wielding fire, the fact that Vigos think we might be able to is reason enough for them to want us dead.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Lewis said, noncommittally. Then, as he and Scott lit up, Phoebe turned to leave, thinking over what Scott had said and wondering about Mariko’s outburs
t.
Up ahead, the sinking afternoon sun veiled the horizon of campus buildings with a delicate, shimmering fabric of ocher and crimson light. Long shadows inched stealthily across Mariko who’d stopped walking at the sound of Phoebe’s approaching footsteps.
“I’m not a freak, you know,” Mariko said.
“Of course not,” Phoebe said automatically. She stopped momentarily when she reached Mariko. “You don’t have to explain.”
Phoebe kept moving toward the main campus. They walked side by side in silence for several long seconds before Mariko said abruptly, “One afternoon when I was ten, I was home alone after school and sensed a Vigo in my backyard. Everything was locked up, but I knew it was only a matter of time before she got in.”
The hairs stood on the back of Phoebe’s neck. “Did she?”
“No.”
Phoebe exhaled with Mariko.
“But later that night,” Mariko continued, hugging her backpack to her chest. “My dad found a note pinned to the back door that said, ‘Too bad we couldn’t play today, cousin.’ My dad moved our family that week,” she said, adding in a dark whisper, “When I hear one of our own use that word it sets me off—those monsters are not our family!”
But technically, they were family. Phoebe had even heard that Vigos sometimes used “cousin” when torturing Shapers as a reminder of this. Many Shapers believed that humans, on a subconscious level, had retained the memory of this shared ancestry: in biology, humans had grouped tigers with lions, jaguars, and leopards (the four great cats) in the genus Panthera—genus being the Latin term for family.
“I didn’t tell you that story so you could feel sorry for me,” Mariko said, jerking Phoebe out of her thoughts.
“Yeah—I mean no, of course not,” Phoebe said quickly.