Hawthorn Academy: Year Three

by D. R. Perry

  He pushed the door open and stalked out.

  "Did you threaten him, Aliyah?"

  "Back. He did it first."

  "Oh yeah, he did." Grace sighed. "So much for mending fences. Anyway, did you want to see your gown?"

  "I peeked in the bag already." I grinned. "Blue's an interesting choice."

  "That's the overlay. Are you sure you don't want to try it on?"

  "Nah. Your dressmaking is at epic levels. I trust you."

  I finished studying while she left to shower. When she got back, I went to get cleaned up. By the time I’d done that, Grace had gone to sleep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "Why can't we go down whenever?" Dylan shuffled his feet.

  "We have to wait for the third-year music." Logan sighed.

  "Meet the new rules, same as the old rules," Faith said. "That's all the headmaster cares about this year."

  "Shh." Hal tilted his head toward the stairs. "It's starting."

  "How you can hear the difference is beyond me." Faith sniffed. "I miss Zeke's pop waltzes."

  "It's Voices of Spring, duh." Bailey rolled her eyes. "We get the fun stuff later, after introductions. Or don't you remember all those debutante balls?"

  "Move it." Grace shooed her toward the stairs.

  We got on two to a step with one in between, and Grace called for the lobby. The stairs moved more slowly than usual, and as we descended, Dorian announced us over the music through the PA under festive amber lighting.

  "Feels like time travel," Logan murmured. "You look like a Gilded Age film star."

  "Oh?" I blinked. "Like Marilyn Monroe?"

  "Nah. She was only pretty."

  I blushed, unsure what to say to that.

  Fortunately, it was appropriate not to speak. We paraded across the dance floor in measured steps, like a procession or a living display. I would have felt embarrassed with all those eyes on me, but it was easy enough to imagine everyone gazed at Grace's handiwork.

  Most of the third-years walked singly, with Hal and Faith and me and Logan the exceptions. The rest had dates, but not with each other and trailed off to meet them by the chairs at the sides of the dance floor.

  Lee walked directly in front of us, his eyes glued to the door. When Izzy walked through it, he almost stopped in place. I didn't blame him. Grace had outfitted her, too.

  Izzy's dress was sleek and red, a shade that complemented her deep bronze complexion. Instead of her usual braids or pigtails, she’d gathered her voluminous natural ringlets to one side, with a bright red hibiscus accenting a finishing touch. The moment he stepped off the parquet, Lee hurried to her side. Logan and I followed.

  Bad idea.

  At first, the inside voice's statement made no sense. A phoenix dove through the air like a comet toward Izzy. But Fifi was Elanor's familiar and friendly. As Ember launched from my shoulder and Doris hissed at Logan's heels, I realized my mistake. The plumes on the tail were blue instead of yellow, indicating this phoenix was older than the one I knew.

  "Brand. Pattern eight."

  The voice was brisk and clipped, exuding authority. The bird turned, inches from crashing into Izzy. He assumed a tight spiral over her head, and although no attack seemed imminent, the air shimmered above Izzy. Her hibiscus began wilting.

  Banish some of that.

  I clenched a fist and focused on damping down the heat. Logan tightened his grip on my other hand and the air immediately around us grew heavy with humidity. Lee put his hand on Izzy's shoulder. A moment later, the flower in her hair perked up, opening in full bloom. Scratch shook his head, loppy ears flopping from side to side as he sat on his haunches, whiskers twitching.

  Logan gasped, still gripping my hand as he stepped slightly behind me, eyes averted. His posture reminded me of something. My mind shuffled through memories, but the train of thought derailed a moment later when Logan's father stepped into the middle of our group.

  "Mister Young." He tilted his head back and glared down his nose. "You know outside guests aren't allowed at formal school functions."

  "I got permission," he insisted.

  "Yeah, I've got a letter and everything." Izzy reached in her bag and pulled out a bright yellow paper. Mr. Pierce took one glance at it and barked out something not quite a laugh.

  "The headmaster hasn't informed us of any such request." Mr. Pierce narrowed his eyes.

  "Does he have to?" Logan's voice shook and cracked like a sandcastle under a rising tide.

  "Read the new handbook. And look a man in the eyes when speaking. You're such a disappointment. Like you were raised by wolves. As an Omega."

  "Or dragons, perhaps." Professor DeBeer stepped between Mr. Pierce and us. "Have a closer look at that document."

  Mr. Pierce glared at the paper as if he'd incinerate it.

  "Why? Is it a forgery?"

  "Nope. I signed it with the headmaster late this afternoon. Would you like to see my copy?" The bird on her shoulder opened and closed his beak, sending off blue sparks of lightning. "I'll gladly escort you to my office if so."

  "No need." A man with chestnut hair gone gray at the temples stepped out of the shadows by the doorway. "Back down, Leo. It's authentic. At least precognitive psychics aren't undesirables."

  "Thanks, Trustee Fairbanks." Professor DeBeer shot us a glance over her shoulder. "Anyway, this is a dance. Why not let the children go enjoy themselves?"

  "Don't drench the ladies, son." Mr. Pierce glared at Logan, then snapped his fingers. Brand the phoenix swooped down to his shoulder, and the temperature cooled so suddenly it got foggy around Izzy's head. "Or you'll never get anywhere with them."

  "Sorry," Logan mumbled. I felt him rein in the water he'd been conjuring.

  "No worries." Izzy fluffed her hair. "Humidity's amazing for curls."

  "Shall we?" Lee offered her his arm, and she took it.

  We stepped onto the dance floor although Dorian was in mid-transition between the last song and the next. I didn't recognize what we danced to.

  "What's this one?" I asked.

  "Perfect Day." Logan sighed. "By Lou Reed. Ironic."

  "How?"

  "Wait until the end."

  The song was short, and he was right. It faded out on a dark promise of reaping what's sown, and made me shiver. Logan gripped my hand and my waist tighter while leading us through the steps.

  "Here's Return to Serenity by Testament." Zeke never announced songs, so I wasn't sure why Dorian did it now. "For everyone who needs it."

  And they do.

  The building magical tension on the dance floor palpably eased. Shoulders lowered, stances widened, and brows smoothed over. I felt bad for Dorian, though. Headmaster Hawkins appeared beside him a moment later, wagging one wrinkled finger in his face. Apparently, he'd violated some rule with those two sentences. The reprimand ended long before the song. Logan kept on dancing through the opening bars of Black Letter Day by The Cardigans, which Elanor had practiced almost all summer.

  "Can we cut in?" Faith tapped my shoulder.

  "Is that okay, Logan?"

  "Um." He glanced at her, then Hal. "Okay."

  I expected Faith to step in, but Hal did instead. We shuffled along somewhat in time with the music. Although my dancing had improved over the last couple of years, it was hard to get past my shock. Hal seemed more tired than I'd seen him all summer.

  "You were right." He sighed down at me. Somehow, he'd grown again in the last week. At tryouts, he'd been a hair shorter.

  "No. Not about how I did it." I shook my head. "Should have talked to you."

  "Couldn't have. You had to decide right after tryouts."

  "I could have given you a heads-up that night." I squeezed his hand. "I'm—"

  "Don't apologize again." He squared his jaw. "Everybody does that now. The doctors down in Boston. Nurse Smith. Even Dad."

  "I won't, then."

  "Good. I'm sick, and it's nobody's fault except my cells. And bloody coincidence." He grinned.
"I'm trying out UK cussing. The f-bomb felt too mundane, and I shouldn't have said it to you in the first place. So it's my turn to apologize. Sorry."

  "It happens." I grinned back. "I'm glad you and Faith cut in."

  "It was her idea. I wanted to corner you by the punch bowl."

  "Don't look now, but Alex is spiking it again."

  "Joy."

  "I wonder if Logan can fix that." I glanced over my shoulder at Alex, who tucked the flask back in his purple velvet jacket and waved. "Detox it, I mean."

  "Not until I've tried it." Hal dropped a wink. "I was serious about joy."

  Oh. So it's like that?

  "Why?" I asked my voice and my friend.

  Bucket list.

  No, I thought back.

  Wait and see.

  "I've never tried it. I'd like to, at least once."

  "Well, okay then." I let him escort me off the dance floor. "I'm your designated driver."

  "Thanks." He filled a cup, then raised it to me.

  My eyes stung as he drained it and got another. Someone poked me in the back. I turned slowly so as not to attract any unwanted parental attention to Hal's underage drinking.

  "Don't say a word, Morgenstern."

  "Way ahead of you there, Prince Poison."

  "Are we going to do this all the time?"

  "Are we?" I raised an eyebrow.

  "I'm trying to be...decent here."

  "Spiked punch and ominous warnings aren't exactly normal overtures of friendship."

  "What's normal, anyway? How you do it, or is variety allowed?"

  "No. I mean yes." I took a step back.

  "You don't even know." He shook his head. "Or believe me."

  Is it so hard to imagine he's clueless?

  "I believe you, Xan." Dorian tipped a ladle of punch into a cup. "Thanks for the drinky-drink. I've gotta go before the song changes."

  "Xan?" I blinked. Dorian only rushed off without answering.

  "Yeah, it’s a nickname. Dorian’s idea." Alex sighed. "Starting fresh, he says."

  Xan. Try it.

  "Why?"

  "Never mind." He turned toward a stretch of empty wall, then strode away from us.

  "Worked for Dorian." Hal hiccupped. "Different reason. But that's why."

  "How many cups did you drink?"

  "Dunno. It's good." Hal's grin was goofily lopsided. He finished the dregs.

  "Okay, time to get you back to Faith."

  "No. Water first, okay?" He glanced at the dance floor, where she and Logan glided around gracefully. "I couldn't keep up with her before."

  "Let's sit, then."

  I filled cups from the water cooler and sat with him, sipping.

  "Wow." Hal chuckled. "It hurts less now."

  "What hurts less?"

  "Everything." He held his free hand out, opening and closing it. "Along with the mad energy I had aches, growing pains, all summer.

  "Even on Logan's birthday?"

  "Yeah. They got worse this week. Even with all the magic in here."

  "Hey, have you talked to Bubbe lately?"

  "No. Should I?"

  "Remember what happened after we went to her office on Logan's birthday?"

  "Oh!" His eyes widened. "She made phone calls."

  "Right. Maybe she's heard something back by now."

  "I might not want to know what, though."

  I sat silent, trying not to make assumptions and screw up as I had with Alex. Or maybe Xan. Life on campus got more confusing by the minute. Curiouser, like I'd fallen through a looking glass.

  "Hey, I want my future husband back on the dance floor." Faith held a hand out to Hal.

  He took it, and they were off. He seemed more limber out there, despite his weariness. Maybe there was something to be said for removing pain from the complicated equation of his illness. "Wish I could do more to help him."

  "Me too." Logan took my hand. "He drank punch by Alex, didn't he?"

  "Yeah." I leaned my head on his shoulder.

  "Good for him."

  "I wanted to ask you to detoxify it, but he said no."

  "Wouldn't have anyway." He leaned his head on mine. "Unless Hal asked me himself."

  "He's like our leader this year, how Grace was last time."

  "You think?"

  "You don't?"

  "No, I can't argue with your logic." Logan sighed. "I wish everything were easier for him, is all."

  "Wish!" I sat up so fast our heads clunked together.

  We both turned to face each other, checking for sore spots. He took both my hands in his once we verified we were unharmed.

  "What's your eureka?"

  "Wishes." I smiled. "Magic ones. You know the stained glass on the entrance to Academics?"

  "Yeah. Long Division," he recited. "By Gamila Haddad-Hawk—" His eyes widened.

  "His grandmother. In August, I found out she's a djinn. She's been gone, divided from the family. But someone on campus right now has her lamp. And after that, she’s got one more turn left in it."

  Logan gasped.

  "Aliyah, you're a genius. If we find that lamp and get Hal mastery, he can wish away his illness."

  "Doesn't work that way."

  We looked up to see a woman who looked older than Bubbe standing over us. She was taller than me, but without the gangliness of my frame. Her plaited hair was entirely white, and her skin lightly dusted with amber freckles. A small brown bird with the same delicate carriage perched on the wide-brimmed hat she wore. I would have thought it a decoration if it hadn't let out three throaty chirring calls.

  "Lamps can't cure disease?" He spoke to the bird, then put a hand over his mouth. "Oops. That was bad manners, talking to your familiar like you aren't even there."

  "You must be Logan Pierce."

  "Yes, ma'am." He stood and bowed. "And you're Duchess Georgina Dunstable, of the Queen's court. From Marblehead."

  "Duchess no longer, but the rest is true." She nodded.

  I stood.

  "Marquess?" he asked. A faux pas when talking to full-fledged Faeries, retired or not.

  "I can't imagine why he's so interested, Miss."

  "I'm Aliyah Morgenstern." Now I curtsied. "Aaron’s and Angela's daughter. Mildred's granddaughter. Noah's great-niece." I kept my head bowed. "Richard Hopewell is my uncle."

  "You may call me Georgia. One could say I'm retired."

  "You can't retire from being a Faerie, I thought." I made it a statement instead of a question. Once changelings became Faeries, answering and asking them questions got tricky. Favors could come into play if we weren't careful.

  "I was a magus first and graduated from Hawthorn Academy before the other side of my heritage made itself known. Under certain circumstances, mantles come and go. I completed my duties to Her Majesty and together with the king, she released me from court obligations to meet others."

  "That's amazing!" Logan smiled. "You've got a rare set of circumstances. And a rare bird as well. Nightjars aren't usually magical."

  "You are as well-educated as I've heard, Mr. Pierce. Your talents aren't exactly common either."

  "Thanks." His smile faded. "So it's true that a lamp can't help Hal."

  "Fern said it couldn't cure his specific illness, not that it can't help." The left corner of Georgia's mouth turned up. "Lamps are unpredictable and gaining mastery is no easy feat."

  "If only someone knew where we should start," I commented.

  "If only one were at liberty to say." She nodded. "I'm a wood magus. The walls have ears, among other things."

  "I understand, Georgia." I grinned. "Thank you."

  "Oh?" Logan blinked, then followed along. "Yes. Thanks for the chat. I kind of filled Aliyah's dance card for the evening and—"

  "Say no more. I might be more of a recluse than the other trustees, but if the other students are as charming as the two of you, my habits may be due for some alteration. Perhaps I will entertain the idea of audits in the future, as time and space allow
. Good evening."

  We left her, stepping out on the dance floor as Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen played.

  "What did all that mean?" Logan asked as we stepped along with the music.

  "We have to talk about it off campus." I glanced to one side, where Mr. Fairbanks stood staring at me. "Too many enemies."

  "Why can't people just be kind?"

  "I don't know." I sighed. "Wouldn't the world be paradise if they were?"

  We spent the rest of the evening dancing. As we ascended the moving staircase, we slipped our shoes off with sighs of relief. At least Logan's didn't have holes in them this time.

  We said goodnight in the hall, halfway between our rooms. The hug was only awkward because of the shoes in our hands.

  A large envelope, a legal-sized letter, and a package sat on my bed. The former was the application for Providence Paranormal College. The package had a return address from Harcourt Manor in Newport. The memory charm, which was an oval locket on a long chain. I tucked them both in my desk drawer.

  I left the letter on my bed, waiting until I'd gotten into pajamas, used the restroom, and returned with a freshly scrubbed face to open it.

  The stiffly formal text on the crisp beige page informed me that my extramagus test would take place on October fifteenth in the Hawthorn Academy Auditorium promptly at half past noon. I tucked the paper under my pillow, curled up under my comforter, and silently wept until I fell asleep.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Logan got a red marker and circled October fifteenth on the calendar he kept in his room, and in his planner. He even wrote it in the margins of his notebook. Every time I was in his quarters or studied with him elsewhere, the number fifteen stared at me like a baleful eye.

  I kept waiting for my inside voice to admonish me, point out that I could have done this the easy way. It didn't. A few days before the test, as I ran laps in the gym by myself, I asked it why.

  Because you're doing the right thing. This can't continue, and Hopewells have always been catalysts to change.

  "Didn't Richard hate the Reveal?" I gasped.

  I didn't say they all like that feature of their coincidental landscape, but you must admit, he changed the world. So will you.

  Why does it have to hurt so much, though? I thought my question this time instead of speaking to pace my run better.