by Laura Powell
Lucas’s turn. It was hard to see in the darkness, but he looked uncharacteristically lumpen and awkward as he shifted about on the ledge. Come on, she thought. Just do it. When he finally made his move, however, his aim was true, and landing steady.
‘All right?’ she whispered as he straightened up. His teeth gleamed in a smile.
The castle’s rooftops were a forest of stone, bristling with parapets and peaks and pinnacles. The black, murmuring sea of pine heaved below. Ragged clouds scudded over the sky, parting briefly to expose a scoop of moon, a smatter of stars. Glory felt immortal, invincible. She wanted to sing and dance and shout. To leap with the wind.
But they had a job to do.
The skylight they were going to target was on the north side of Dr Caron’s tower. The wall was straight and sheer, the roof pitched. Glory waited until a particularly thick bank of cloud obscured the moon, then did a running sky-leap on to the stone gutter at the edge of the roof, leaning her weight against its slate slope. From there, she was able to reach the skylight’s frame. With the lodestone back in her pocket, she pulled on a pair of black gloves and got out her lock-picking set. Lucas had one too but she’d had more practice. The half-diamond, the short hook, the snake rake and single-sided pick were old friends. She’d had her first introduction to them aged ten, back in Cooper Street. Her nimble fingers eased the blades into the lock, feeling for the click.
The skylight hadn’t been opened for a long while and creaked in protest. Glory turned the cog at the side of her watch to increase the light in its dial, and directed the beam into the bathroom below. She braced her arms on either side of the window frame and, grimacing, lowered herself down to the point at which she was able get a foothold on the handbasin. Lucas was not far behind. They opened the door, and slipped through into the adjoining office.
The best source of information would be the computer. Unfortunately, the witchwork method for getting past password protection would leave too much of a mess.
‘I’ll take the filing cabinet,’ Glory whispered, getting out her lock-picks again. ‘And you go for the desk. Remember: we’re after anything connected to Cambion, brain surgery or Rose.’
At first, it looked like she’d struck lucky. The student files went back three years, and Rose’s was right where it should be, under M for Merle. But it seemed the majority of documents relating to ex-students were archived elsewhere. Glory flipped through copies of Rose’s old school reports and medical records to get to Dr Caron’s notes, only to find nothing but a copy of the quiz that she and Lucas had filled in on their first day. (For How does your condition make you feel? Rose had ranked Disgusted, Depressed and Embarrassed at the top of the list.) The only other items of interest were two well-thumbed photographs, one a close-up of Rose’s neck and the small inky blot that was her Devil’s Kiss, and one a black-and-white shot of her chatting on a mobile in a street. Although Glory had only seen Rose as an invalid, she would have known those luminously perfect features anywhere.
‘You got something?’ Lucas asked.
‘Not really. Just a photo of Rose before her brain got fried.’
Lucas peered at it. ‘But there’s a date stamp. See: it was taken last month. It looks like a surveillance shot.’
‘Then it’s a glamour. Someone’s witchworked themselves to look like Rose, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Maybe they was planning for her to meet you, tell you lies about what a success her op’s been.’
‘OK. Well, let’s keep looking.’
Lucas started going through the books on the shelves, shaking them out in case anything was concealed in their pages. A locked cupboard revealed nothing more exciting than a stack of neatly bagged-up sand-trays. Glory checked the backs of the posters and framed certificates on the walls, before returning to the student files. It occurred to her that it would be useful to get a bit of background on Wildings’ alumni. She had just pulled open the top drawer when an alarm started to ring.
Glory swore. ‘What the –? That can’t be ’cause of us, can it?’
It wasn’t in their part of the building, but although not particularly loud, the noise was horribly insistent.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ said Lucas tersely. ‘Any minute now, the whole place will be swarming with guardians. We’ve got to get out of here.’
With trembling hands, Glory relocked the filing cabinet and desk. They had tried to put everything back in place as they went along, but it was still a scramble to remove every last sign of their presence. When it came to getting out, the scramble intensified. Lucas roughly pushed Glory up from the basin to the skylight, then she pulled him after her. It was a perilous business, jostling for space on the gutter, backs against the roof, as they attempted to summon and then throw their lodestones.
The rooftop jumble flashed past in a blur. When they got to the courtyard, both felt a crashing sense of relief that their window was still open, and the corridor behind it was still dark. Even so, they weren’t home and dry. Glory forgot to position her lodestone with her mind as well as her throw, so that the pine cone fell through the window on to the floor, tugging her in a headlong tumble after it. Lucas’s landing was even worse. He jumped on to the sill, but failed to get his balance right, and swayed dangerously on the ledge. If Glory had not been there to grab his arms, he might have fallen.
The alarm was louder now they were inside. As she closed the window, Glory saw that lights were being turned on across the way. Whoever or whatever had set off the alarm, it meant they had little chance of getting back to their rooms undetected. ‘C’mon,’ she hissed, beckoning Lucas round the corner and down the corridor. ‘In here.’
She’d found the place on her previous scout of the territory. When not in use, most of the castle’s rooms were locked, but the door handle on this one was broken. It wasn’t much of a hideout, but it was all they had.
Chapter 15
Lucas was furious. He couldn’t think why he’d let himself be persuaded – bullied – into this pointless stunt. Glory was cocky and reckless, just like Commander Hughes said. And now he was paying the price.
Still shaking slightly from his near-fall, he peeled off his gloves and thrust them down the back of the radiator. He crushed his pine cone to dust under his heel. Glory was doing the same. Her wool beanie had got lost en route, but she was able to get rid of the lock-picking set by stuffing it down a crack in the floorboards. Getting caught would be bad enough, but getting caught with evidence of witchwork and espionage didn’t bear thinking about.
They crouched in the corner furthest from the door. An after-echo of fae thrummed through Lucas’s body. If Dr Caron could feel it for herself – the hunger, the intoxication – would she be more anxious to cut it out, or less?
The alarm had been turned off, at least, so the only sound was their own breathing. Glory’s eyes glittered in the dark. Lucas remembered her on the rooftops, triumphant as an angel, wild as wind. Dauntless. He felt anger again, and envy, and despite himself, relief that she was there.
They waited in silence, for their hearts to stop hammering and their breath to slow. There were no sounds of pursuit. Maybe, just maybe, they’d get away with it. Lucas was about to suggest they take a look at the corridor, when they heard something. Footsteps, murmurs . . . the testing of door handles.
‘Hex,’ Glory muttered. And then, ‘Quick,’ she breathed in his ear. ‘If they think – if we –’
She pulled him towards her. Her mouth was on his, soft and warm and yielding. Her heart was beating wildly, or maybe it was his. Caught off guard, he fell back a little, clutching at her. She clutched back. His fingers went up and met in her hair. We have to make it look real, he thought confusedly, as the door swung open with a crash.
They sprang apart, flushed and tumbled. It didn’t matter that the interruption was expected. The moment was still uniquely shaming. Mrs Heggie and Brett Peters were standing in the doorway, shining a torch into their hot faces.
‘What is the meaning
of this?’ the matron demanded.
‘All too obvious, ma’m,’ growled Peters.
It should have been funny. But it wasn’t. They clumsily got to their feet, resolutely not looking at each other.
‘You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.’ There wasn’t anything cosy about Mrs Heggie now. Her mouth was puckered in disgust. ‘Such behaviour is grossly inappropriate, not to say irresponsible.’
Peters nodded importantly. ‘The curfew’s in place for your own security. There’s been an intrud—’
Mrs Heggie gave a warning cough, and he fell silent. ‘Naturally,’ she said, ‘Principal Lazovic will be informed. He will decide on the appropriate disciplinary action in the morning. In the meantime, I want you back where you belong. And out of my sight.’
A guardian in the corridor muttered into a radio, then hustled Glory away. Lucas was escorted by Brett Peters. The man’s huge hand clamped down on his shoulder, grinding the bone. Lucas almost welcomed it. He was in need of something to steady him.
After Glory was pushed into her room, the door slamming behind her, she began to laugh. They’d actually got away with it! It was a safe bet the authorities would be too preoccupied with the mystery intruder to focus on her and Lucas’s escapade. A pair of teens who’d snuck out for a midnight hook-up . . . why suspect them of anything else?
In the dim glow of the nightlight, however, her triumph began to fade. It wasn’t as if the night’s work had been a success. All that risk, and no reward. She wondered if Lucas blamed her. She wondered what he thought of her and the kiss; if anything had changed.
But she dismissed this as girly silliness of the worst sort. They were professionals. Of course they wouldn’t speak of it again.
Glory went to the window and stared into the night, trying to remember how she’d felt on the rooftops. Immortal. Invincible. Free. And when breath bloomed on the pane, the lurch inside her was like a sky-leap.
Into the mist, Lucas’s distant hand wrote, You OK?
She breathed back. Her finger, tingling, traced, Yes. The letters were smudged and ragged, dissolving into fae-silvered condensation almost as soon as they appeared. The witchwork wouldn’t last past morning. You?
Fine. Goodnight.
Warm hand on cold glass. Warm breath, cold stars.
Goodnight.
Chapter 16
The next morning, Senora Ramirez took the assembly, while Principal Lazovic interviewed Glory and Lucas separately in his study. ‘You are on probation here. You haven’t just broken our rules, but violated our trust . . .’ Lucas tried to look suitably guilt-ridden. A list of sanctions followed: trips to Blumenwald were suspended, meals would be taken in isolation, and they were both required to attend extra sessions with Dr Caron until further notice.
The real ordeal was the man to man chat that followed the lecture. Principal Lazovic was ‘not unsympathetic to the pressures young people were under or the temptations they faced’. But Lucas had a condition to manage. That was what he must focus his energies on. Whatever Gloriana’s attractions, Lucas should bear in mind they were two very different people, from very different worlds. ‘Imagine what your family would say, hm?’
Lucas pictured Marisa and Glory doing battle over the petits fours, and had to bite his tongue to stop the laughter. Still, he could see there were advantages to pretending to be together. They’d come under more scrutiny from the staff, but it would also seem natural for them to spend time with each other. They could be like Anjuli and Yuri, whispering in corners, strolling hand in hand.
On his way to class, Lucas bumped into Raffi. News of his exploits must have spread, as Raffi greeted him with a broad grin and a slap on the back.
‘Seriously, amigo, you are the dude of all time! To what base did you get, before the busting?’
It turned out Raffi had his own cause for celebration. The political situation in Cordoba had changed, and his father had summoned him home. Right now, he was going to his room to pack. Lucas expressed appropriate envy and congratulations.
‘Ah, but this place will be party-party for you now,’ Raffi said consolingly. ‘I think the American might be hot for you also. She watches you – I have seen.’
Lucas didn’t pay any attention to this. However, he did speculate about the reason for Raffi’s abrupt departure. Was it possible he was the other person creeping around last night? Maybe the Cordoban was in need of a speedy getaway.
One way and another, there was plenty to distract him during the morning’s lessons. And at break-time he was waylaid by Jenna, who’d been loitering in the corridor.
‘Can I have a word?’
‘Um, sure.’
She drew closer. ‘I’d like for us to meet later, in the afternoon recess. There’s something you need to know. Do you know where the laundry room is?’
‘Yes. But what –’
‘I’ll see you there.’ Jenna looked him in the eye. No fluttering lashes, no bubbly giggle. ‘Don’t tell anyone, not even Glory. It’s important, ’K?’
She sauntered off, ponytail swinging.
Lucas didn’t know what to make of the encounter, but it unsettled him. When he got to the common room, where Glory was sitting with Anjuli and Mei, he saw that she too looked tense and preoccupied. He stood in the doorway, willing her to look up. When she did, and her expression lightened, it felt like a small victory. The other girls exchanged glances.
Glory came to join him in the hall. The music pumping out of the stereo – one of Yuri’s Russian thrash metal bands – was hard on the ears, but a good cover for conversation.
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
There was a rather breathless pause.
‘How did it go with Lazovic?’
‘Like water off a duck’s arse.’ She grinned. ‘I’ve been yelled at by a lot of teachers in my time.’
‘Look . . . I thought you should know . . . Jenna asked to meet me later. In private.’
Glory folded her arms across her chest, amused. ‘Carry on like this, and you’ll start to get a reputation.’
Lucas felt himself flush. ‘She has something to tell me,’ he said, more haughtily than he intended. ‘It sounded important. Serious. We’re going to meet in the laundry room.’
‘Hm. What with all these secret conferences you’re being whisked off to, I’m starting to feel a bit of a spare part.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t. This could be about anything or nothing. Or maybe Jenna just has the hots for me.’ He stopped. ‘That was a joke. Because she doesn’t, obviously. And it’s not as if I’d . . . um . . .’
‘Right,’ she said blankly.
‘I’ll tell you everything that happens.’
Glory smiled at that. ‘You’d better. Partners, remember?’
‘Of course. Always.’
He smiled back at her. There was another pause, a waiting one. It took both of them an effort to look away.
The basement was a cramped and dingy warren. Lucas walked towards the thrum of machinery, and into the warm fug of the laundry room.
Jenna was waiting by a rank of tumble dryers.
‘Thanks for coming. You sure nobody knows you’re here?’
‘I’m sure.’ He looked around him and shut the door. ‘Shouldn’t there be a maid or something?’
‘I’ve taken care of it. Anyways, we’ve got bigger problems to worry about.’
He stared at her in confusion.
‘You were careless,’ she said. ‘You left evidence behind you last night. The guardians found a hat on the roof: a black wool beanie. They know someone’s been sky-leaping.’
Glory’s hat. Damn. It took a moment to steady himself. ‘I don’t see why you should think that’s anything to do with me. Someone broke in last night; I heard Peters say.’
Jenna gave a small humourless laugh. ‘That someone was me. And I sure as heck wasn’t sky-leaping. I wasn’t careless either – just unlucky. There was a motion sensor in Lazovic’s office I didn’t know about. But
thanks to you and your woolly accessory, they now think witchwork was involved. And that makes life more complicated for all of us.’
Lucas was struggling to keep up. ‘It was you?’
‘S7 Agent White. Nice to meet you. I hear July’s a good month for alpine flowers, even though there’s still snow on the mountainside.’
It was the code phrasing Lucas had been told to expect from the MI6 agent who was visiting him tomorrow. So he wasn’t being waylaid by an amorous cheerleader. Section Seven – S7 – was the American equivalent of WICA. The US Inquisition, based in Salem, Massachusetts, was called the Witchkind Security Agency, or WSA.
Jenna leaned back against the dryers. Her girlish features had hardened, and her voice had lost its sugary drawl. Lucas wondered how old she really was. ‘OK, so here’s how it is. My team have had this place under surveillance for a while. That’s how we can be sure of being undisturbed down here, by the way – we’ve got an asset in the domestic staff. But two agencies running two operations in the same joint is only ever going to end in tears. So my guys have spoken to your guys . . . and everyone’s agreed it’s time to talk.’
‘Fine,’ said Lucas. ‘You first.’ He resented her superior tone.
‘Then I’ll start with Chase Randolph Parker III.’
‘Quite a name.’
‘Quite a guy. Son of a Supreme Court judge, heir to an oilfield. A little birdie told the WSA he’d got the fae aged seventeen. The informant even supplied a snapshot of the Devil’s Kiss, on the kid’s ankle bone. But before anything could be done about it, hey presto, Chase was whisked off to Wildings. So far, so predictable – until he came home after graduation, that is.’
She spoke quickly and quietly, with an offhand sort of impatience.
‘The WSA was over him like a rash, but he and his family stuck to their guns: he wasn’t a witch, never had been, never would be. So the investigating officer bided his time. He figured the impulse to use the fae would prove irresistible. Sure enough, and sooner rather than later, Chase Parker was found in the neighbourhood of a minor witchcrime.