The Awakening of Ren Crown

by Anne Zoelle

  I nodded mysteriously back.

  Such conversations continued everywhere I traveled, groups morphing and shifting without me really processing it. At meals we usually stuck to scholarly topics, much to Mike's dismay. But here at the party everyone seemed far more concerned with the social. I hadn't realized there was so much politicking going on around me.

  I'd have to sign up for a political science class. I tried to remember how to sign up for something. The thought flitted away, just like all the others in my head during the past few group changes.

  The edges of the magic running along the walls swirled around, settled, then swirled again. Wow. I felt a little like I was in a psychedelic 3-D painting. I could hear Jerry Garcia singing in the background.

  I wasn't sure I felt so well, suddenly. I decided to sit. I was really close to the comfy chairs I had seen when I had first entered, so I weaved my way to the nearest one. There was something in me that said I shouldn't sit in one, but I couldn't remember why not. The floor went uneven, and I tried to compensate. Who had raised the floor there? I didn't compensate well enough, and I stumbled the last step toward the comfy chair closest to me, and my hand with the drink flung forward.

  “Son of a—”

  I caught the edge of bright ultramarine blue eyes in a homicidal gaze two inches from my own as my hands gripped the chair's arms to stay upright, putting me directly over the person sitting in the chair. Whoops. I looked down to the large wet stain spreading on his white shirt, my cup resting in the crack between his body and the edge of the wet cushion.

  Someone reached over and tried to pat him down. Another pair of hands joined in. He blocked both attempts.

  I could see people turning toward us and people leaning toward him, but my focus was narrowing in on the stain, and all of the other things tunneled out of view. I pulled myself upright and poked my finger through the air toward his shirt and the remaining white turned the rose pink of the stain. Whoops. I tried again, but my finger motion was lazy, and he was squirming instead of letting me fix things, so his pants turned pink. Interestingly, they were a far darker shade than his shirt. I could probably learn something from that, if I could just figure out what I had done.

  I concentrated harder on what I had done, but the thought slipped away and at the same time my well of magic increased. I could feel it. Taste it on my tongue. It tasted like ambrosia and excitement.

  I drew my finger in an arc as my dratted target moved again, flinging himself to the side and over the edge of the next chair. He somehow landed on his feet and kept moving. My finger made an arc of color across three legs. I wondered if there was a three-legged person at the party—were they like a westral?—then let the thought flit away as I increased my finger speed to nab my target.

  Irritation bled into my thoughts as my pink prey wouldn't stay still. I had the sudden notion that pink wasn't the right color. Of course! The color of the arc turned blue, and I raised my aim and lined two midriffs in ultramarine.

  All of a sudden, someone grabbed my wrist and blue splotched someone's crotch.

  “I think you've reached the limit on his vaunted patience,” a deep, satiny voice said. It sounded smug and amused.

  I found myself abruptly turned and marched toward the stairs. All around me people were shooting colored arcs, fast and furious. Three different colored blasts came my way, but disappeared just before they hit.

  As I climbed the stairs, I looked back down onto the chaos. Alexander Dare's shirt was white again and he was standing untouched in the midst of the current chaos, sending me a very black gaze.

  My brain decided I had zero preservation instincts and that Dare looked hot when he was furious too.

  I realized that Constantine was the person leading me upstairs. “Don't you have women to whisper to?”

  He smirked. “Maybe I am going to whisper to you.”

  I considered this for a moment as the pictures on the walls formed into whispering couples then changed again into scenes of what happened as a result of those whispers. Huh. I paused for a moment and stared at a particularly engaged couple, one of whom morphed to resemble my previously pink target downstairs, and another into the guy next to me.

  “Do I even want to know what you are seeing?”

  “Nope.” I put my hand to my head. Cognizance and ambrosia mixed unpleasantly. “Pardon me for a moment.” I slipped into the bathroom I could clearly see on the right. I locked the door, then leaned back heavily against it, closing my eyes. Meditation. Deep breaths. Drops of water, paint spreading, petals on a rose, a feather in a wind.

  Hopefully Constantine would wander back to the party. I had no idea why he had helped me. Couldn't be for anything good.

  The dark look in ultramarine blue eyes downstairs flashed in front of me.

  The room started spinning, and I started shaking. Too much like the uncontrolled feeling of Dust.

  I pushed away from the door, as I felt the magic well up in me, then shoot out. The trash can blew up, and its contents rained down upon me. Shaking, I put my forehead against my forearm and leaned both on the tiled wall. The edge of the ambrosia was gone, but I now felt horrible in a different way. My head still resting on my arm, I looked down at the mess on the floor. I closed my eyes. I was going to have to clean that up, but not yet.

  I couldn't believe I had just spilled my drink all over Alexander Dare. Then turned him pink. Repeatedly turned him pink. Then started the magical equivalent of a food fight. Wait. Of course, I could believe it. I wiped absently at my striped tan-and-coffee skirt that now sported an abstract splotch of bright rose. I should have worn jeans. I should have put that drink down immediately. I should have stayed home. In the non-magical world home.

  I could feel Mr. Verisetti's anti-dust moving inside of me, touching the remnants of ambrosia still in my system. Anxiety made my heart beat faster.

  Voices and footsteps registered, coming down the hall and drawing closer to the bathroom.

  “I want off campus. It's driving me insane. There's no way the strange campus happenings aren't related to some terrorist sympathizer or crazy, feral, rare type. They should just quarantine anyone new or odd—or anyone who was seen in that general area of the mountain—so that the rest of us can go about our lawful business.”

  “My Dad works in the Department. He said to keep an eye out. He has high clearance—he can lock rare types up without a trial. Or anyone on the Watch list. Names are easy enough to add in the system.”

  “Excellent. We were talking about forming a group. Going over the Ganymede arch site and information. Always fancied being part of a good detective story and witch hunt.”

  “Yes. Yes. We will find out what is going on, then get in good with the Department, collecting a major line item for our resumes and entrance requirements.”

  The anti-dust and ambrosia were combining together with something else—something like tiny spatters of paint that had seeped inside of me.

  The outline of a gargoyle formed on a bathroom tile to the right of me. My breath was coming too quickly and the gargoyle—drawn as if by my hand—started to move.

  “And we get to take down one of the radicals. Filthy terrorists. You know it is all connected.”

  “Right. Start by looking for anyone you didn't see here last year. Or anyone alone or doing anything odd.”

  I wiped at the gargoyle, trying to erase him with my fingers, but the motion just moved him to the next tile. He gave me a withering look.

  “Trail them. Collect information. Submit their names.”

  The gargoyle's ears flattened and his wings spread.

  “Then corner and tie. I have a little trick to keep the campus patrols from picking up on a Level Three for ten minutes. Ten minutes is all we'll need to do some questioning and...a bit more.” I could hear the smile in the unfamiliar voice.

  The gargoyle's mouth opened and peeled around him, unzipping to form a snapping harpy, the lines sharpening with intent. My magic turning from
protection to offense.

  Oh, no.

  The harpy crouched, ready to lunge out. I plastered my hands over the top and tried to peel a dozen roses in my mind. They were all black and prickly. Everything around my hands turned to black-and-white checkerboard through my vision.

  A wing tip, sharp and deadly, emerged around the side of my hand, folding over my pinkie. I pressed harder and the claw sliced my skin as the creature tried to get a better grip. The claw was real and I could feel the leather of the wing.

  Nothing that I had seen so far of this crazy world suggested that creatures who launched themselves out of bath tiles were normal.

  “Oh, I have quite a list of things that can be done to different types of rares.”

  The checkerboard pattern grew sharper and a second wingtip curled around my other pinkie. I could feel a torso emerging, pushing against my fingers. The magics combining inside of me were rapturous and terrifying.

  Christian was screaming again.

  “What I wouldn't give to have one of the more powerful rares under my control, even if for ten minutes. Can you imagine the possibilities of such a pet?”

  The beak of the harpy pressed against my palm and I could hear her dark chuckle.

  Please...please...

  “And what the Department would pay for one of them?”

  The harpy was halfway out.

  Please...please...

  A wave of something incredibly powerful—a heavy, dreamy wave—washed through the air. Then another wave crashed, then a third. I shuddered under the onslaught. The magic felt like...heat and satin against my skin. My muscles loosened, my lids drooped, the harpy stopped pushing. Lethargy combined with the intense desire to press closer to something.

  “Mmmm...hunting...” The most militant voice on the other side of the door said—his tone suddenly languorous. “Yes. We should gather downstairs first. To discuss hunting and capture tactics...together.”

  There was the unmistakable, astonishing sound of bodies and lips pressing together in the hall. Transforming the vocalizations instantly from battle-ready stimulation to another form entirely.

  “Oh, yes,” two of the other voices agreed in tandem. The group moved in an odd pattern down the hall, as if they were groping each other while stumbling.

  Someone had sent some sort of sexual magic through the dorm. I didn't care who or why, I was simply thankful.

  I shuddered as I shook off the effect in the same way I had shaken off the edge of the ambrosia. I could feel Mr. Verisetti's anti-dust settling again, waiting.

  I lifted my hands. The gargoyle-turned-harpy was gone, but filmy remnants of the checkerboard pattern remained. Waiting too, just like the anti-dust.

  Five minutes later, when I finally got my vision back to normal, I plucked a tissue and herded the bathroom trash into a pile. The remnants of the trash can, unfortunately, were part of that pile. This meant I couldn't push a button to magically flush the waste. A cleaning spell could send the rubbish to the Midlands's processing factory, where all the trash went, but I would likely blow up the dorm at this point.

  I rummaged under the sink and found a thin cardboard box of soap that was just large enough for my purposes. I removed the two bars inside, stuffed the trash in, then scrubbed my hands. I'd send a new trash basket—and some soap—anonymously tomorrow.

  The harpy slices on the sides of my pinkies glistened. I was the one they were after.

  I needed to get out of here before I unleashed hell on someone, or before that group came back to find and lynch me.

  Turning the knob, I quickly stepped out. Halfway down the hall, a shape parted from the dark shadows of the corridor. I clutched the cardboard box as I stopped abruptly, magic swirling.

  “Feeling better?” Constantine asked, stepping fully into the light.

  My shoulders loosened. “Not really, no.”

  “Pity.” His body held the languorous edge that it always did—like a great cat sunbathing, but one who could pounce at any second. His eyes were ever sharp.

  How had he disappeared into the shadows like that?

  Constantine smiled, then raised a brow at the cardboard box in my arms.

  I shook my head. “Don't ask.”

  “Don't taunt me with such a statement, Crown.” He motioned toward another set of stairs farther down the hall. I was happy to see they led away from the main area downstairs.

  “Thanks.”

  “Not a problem.” One edge of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “First time with ambrosia?”

  “Yes. And last, I do believe.”

  His eyes were darkly amused, reflecting his smile as he walked next to me down the stairs. “That's what everyone says.”

  “Well, I tend to keep my promises.”

  I sighed in relief, as we reached the main floor and a doorway to freedom. I couldn't restrain a peek into the main room, though. People were coiled together as if they had developed sudden rabbit genes.

  I also realized something else, as I saw the groups that had molded together in lust. That eclectic mix I had reveled in at the beginning of the party was a myth. When I had first entered, people had been arriving, moving around, getting drinks, and finding their spots. So it had seemed like everyone was interspersed. But the party goers had settled into distinct factions. The groups dressed like each other were all cloistered together.

  I looked down at my clothing, which was just dissimilar enough to be noticeable.

  The members of each group intertwining made it all the more noticeable.

  Except for Alexander Dare, who had his arms crossed, leaning against a wall, glaring toward the other staircase. I quickly pulled my head back.

  Yup, time to leave. Perhaps leave campus entirely, even if it meant banging my head against an arch until something broke.

  “You could try it the next time under my supervision. Come around any time.” Constantine's eyes were heavily-lidded.

  “Right.” No way. “Anyway, thanks for helping me.”

  His smile grew to something a little more real, though it was still edged. “Anyone who throws a drink on Mr. Perfect, then turns him pink, deserves a free helping hand. And it was my pleasure, though these activities won't last long even with the previously established inhibition field in place. It would be more my pleasure if you joined in.”

  “Right. Listen.” I put a hand to my forehead, trying to press my headache into submission by force and will alone. “I appreciate the empty flattery and all. It's good for a girl's empty ego. But I'm just as happy to try and be normal friends with you.”

  I couldn't read him for a moment as he stood frozen. Then he was in motion again, smirking. “I'll keep that in mind. Have a good night, Ren Crown.”

  “You too, Constantine Leandred.”

  He whistled as he sauntered back into the party. I wondered if his honey bunnies had been busy in his absence. If so, he wasn't the type to have trouble finding others.

  His reference to a “free” helping hand caught up to my slowed thought process. Even with my head pounding and my energy zapped, the origin of the sexual spell was clear.

  And free, of course, was figurative. Most people in this world expected something in return.

  Like Mr. Verisetti's exchange for the anti-dust and the paint. The students would begin hunting me harder if they knew I still owed some nebulous debt there. The anti-dust was undoubtedly what had allowed me to shake off the lust spell and ambrosia when I'd put my mind to it. Worth the exchange? I wasn't feeling optimistic.

  Which, speaking of...how was ambrosia not a substance abuse charge? I rummaged through my bag for Justice Toad, and checked the screen that kept track of my offense hours, adding or subtracting them each time I earned or paid one off. Nothing had been added.

  Paint = offense. Ambrosia = nothing. So unfair.

  I sent a quick journal note to Neph that I was no longer attending the party, and caught her just before she left her dance class. My headache and shakiness immediately di
sappeared. We went to Will's for late night pizza instead. An altogether better way to wind down the night.

  And far safer.

  I needed to get Christian raised and then be completely normal as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Twenty-Six: Never Normal

  After six grueling hours of creating twelve different types of sculptures and dolls that might house Christian during preliminary soul-binding rituals, I trudged back across the cloudy border between the tenth and ninth circles.

  I cleared the Midlands border and slogged toward the Battle Building and the arch that was on the other side of it. It was long past lunchtime and I was starving.

  There was a group of ten people in front of the arch, talking. They all looked strangely exhausted, and quite determined.

  “That was the worst one yet. I didn't realize they could have so many horns.”

  “Just giving Straught here a little practice before the combat demonstration this evening.”

  “I'm not entered. Demonstrations are beneath me,” Camille Straught said. “I'm not for display.”

  Another girl sighed. “And no Dare or Greene, Lox or Ramirez either. I guess I'll put all my money on Nathanson.”

  “The winter competition is the first week after break. That's when the big guns will be competing.” A girl I recognized from my first cafeteria table disaster nudged Camille. “Like our girl here. Daggers.”

  I slowed my steps, interested.

  “You are going to need those skills,” one of the others said. “This morning only proved that.”

  “I just think the lot of you are barking up the wrong tree. It has been messier than usual,” a boy admitted. “But that doesn't mean a feral or rare is responsible. Nor a terrorist. These outbreaks occur in waves.”

  My steps stuttered.

  “Plus the professors you have approached have scoffed at the suggestion,” he finished.

  Someone snorted. “They are interested in their funds and research, teaching and recognition, not the actual populace of the school.”

  “That isn't true,” someone said. “Professor Trout—”

  “Most, then. And the administrators are only concerned with the bottom line. As long as the reputation of the school doesn't diminish, and the funds are streaming in, they don't care. And we benefit from that. Usually.”