by H. S. Valley
CHAPTER 17
KNOW YOUR OWN HEART
I wake up in my dad’s bed sometime during the night. It’s disorienting for a second, but Elliott’s rose quartz is still glowing softly on the dresser and he’s still draped across my chest. It doesn’t take me long to come back to myself.
The similar layout to Mum’s rooms helps my feet find the bathroom in the near-dark – my own quartz is somewhere in my trousers, which are somewhere on the floor. The bathroom light blazes in comparison, and I pee mostly blind.
I don’t notice until I go to wash my hands, when my eyes have adjusted, that there’s something sitting beside the sink.
A wide gold band, painfully familiar.
All the hope I had for my parents reuniting vaporises into a thick cloud of despair. It fills the tiny bathroom like steam until my throat feels like it’s closing up. I pick up the ring, turning it over to make sure. It’s very definitely my father’s wedding band. I can’t just leave it here, lying around like it means nothing, so I slip it on, and somehow that feels worse – more final. Like he’s never coming back for it.
I don’t expect to be able to sleep anymore, so I wake Elliott and we gather our things, and our egg-baby, and sneak back home. The corridors are dark and cold and Meggan wakes and whimpers, so I cuddle her closer, wishing someone would do the same for me.
The second time I wake up is better. Elliott groans a little and stretches and pulls me towards him and slides his ankle over mine and I nuzzle at his neck, dropping little kisses and nipping at his skin until he’s properly awake.
We end up losing another hour to each other, not a thing between us but the memory of what last night was like. It’s weirdly intense for first thing in the morning, and yet afterwards he wonders aloud about whether the petrol station sells lube or if we’ll have to use WD40 next time, and I laugh and it’s just … fine. It’s nice, and not awkward, and I don’t regret anything we did last night like I was afraid I would.
On Monday, we walk to the dining hall with Meggan bundled in Elliott’s arms and me carrying both our schoolbags, then cruise through our usual breakfast routine. It reminds me a little of my mother’s stories about her and Dad and me as a tiny baby, and I try not to think about Dad’s ring, still on my finger. We have Specialties first, and Elliott’s is way safer than mine, so I part ways with the two of them until morning tea, not quite able to get either of them out of my mind the whole time we’re practising shield formation. I get hit in the head a few times, but not with a snow globe or anything, so I’m still up on last month.
I think about Elliott: unbuttoning his shirt cuffs, resting his knee against mine, absentmindedly patting Meggan ’til she falls asleep. Then I imagine him sitting in class, learning how to lie, how to affect other people’s thoughts, and I wonder, again, if that’s what he’s doing with me. The churn of potential regret flares in my gut. What if he was so needy after Blake left him that he latched on to the next available body? Maybe he’s manipulated me into going on this mad journey of self-discovery with him. Well, except the discovery has mostly been mine, I suppose, up until recently. Or not – maybe he knew I’d find it easier if he said it was his first time too.
‘You with us, Tim?’ our weapons instructor asks, and I turn to find him standing over me where I’m sitting crosslegged on the floor, my classmates spread out around me. Stu’s an ex-cop so he misses nothing, which I suppose is good, but I could do without his practised attention right now.
‘Yeah, sorry. Was just thinking about something.’
‘Anything you want to ask me about?’
I don’t know if he’s actually assuming it’s about class stuff or if he’s offering to listen to my personal problems, but the issue is technically both, so I try him. ‘Minders,’ I say. ‘Would this sort of shield work against them?’
‘Good question,’ Stu says, and scans the rest of the class. He lifts his hand, and each of the little foam balls we’ve been practising with freezes in the air. All the other Defensives turn to face him, and he continues. ‘Who reckons this shield will work against a Minder?’
Corey makes a crack about whether the Minder is throwing a foam ball at him, but in general the discussion is sensible, and Nikau’s the one who summarises (correctly, apparently) that no, this particular shield is essentially useless against non-solid objects. It won’t even block magically manipulated air, which makes it a bit of a writeoff if you tried to use it against some Elementals as well, since that might be their whole thing. Stu assures us it does work against water and earth, though, and goes on to teach us the variation for blocking fire. After last year, the teachers have all been a bit twitchy when it comes to open flames.
None of it really helps with my question, though, so I hang back after class. ‘Stu, can you tell if someone is manipulating your thoughts with magic?’
He sighs, a look of understanding passing across his grizzled features. ‘Depends. How good are they?’
‘I don’t know. Pretty good.’
‘Student?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. Theoretically.’
He doesn’t give any indication of buying that, but he indulges me anyway as he cinches the storage bag closed on the class set of foam balls. ‘It’s highly likely that a student in Year 12 or 13 would be good enough to get into your head, but it’s less likely that they could do it without you noticing. That takes skill and practice, and I don’t think any of that lot are breaking any records this year.’
‘What does it feel like?’ I ask, and isn’t that the topic of my life right now. ‘When they get in your head?’
‘Depends on what they’re trying to do. Any of them ever get you before?’
‘Yeah, they made me see spiders one time. I knew it wasn’t real but I freaked out anyway.’
‘Mmh.’ He nods, and it’s kinda nice to feel validated, like that sort of thing might happen to everyone. ‘They rely on your instincts to trick you; they can’t change the way you feel about things, but they can make you see something you already have a strong emotional response to. Which is why that shield doesn’t work. The spiders aren’t real. If they were real, it would work.’ He pauses, and misinterprets my silence for a lack of understanding. ‘Think of it this way: use the shield, and if it pushes the spiders away, the spiders were real but they’re gone now and you’re safe. If it doesn’t push them away, they were never real, and you were always safe.’
It’s a valid tactic, sure, but my mind is snagged on the first thing he said, and the rush of calm that came with it. ‘They can’t change the way you feel?’
He raises an eyebrow. ‘Who’s messing you around?’
‘No-one. Just curious.’
‘Right.’ I see him waver, then decide he doesn’t want to know. ‘Good. Stay curious. It keeps you from being stupid.’ He nods and gives me a gruff goodbye, like we’ve just had an awkwardly pastoral conversation that he wasn’t ready for.
I follow him out and head for the dining hall, comforted by the fact that Elliott hasn’t been violating my mind. I hadn’t realised how much the doubt had been weighing on me. My heart skitters with unbridled contentment when I see him already sitting at our usual table, chatting to Sam.
I drop down opposite them and Elliott hands Meggan over, and she sits in my lap and burbles while her other daddy butters us scones. He even warms them without being asked. The butter is melty and delicious, and I enjoy the small act of service all the more now that I know there’s nothing nefarious behind it.
Life Skills is after morning tea, and we arrive to find Van Mill and an array of weird, technical-looking mea laid out on the table. She explains none of them, which seems like a wasted opportunity to actually teach us something. Instead, she just waves her hand over everyone’s egg-babies, doing her checks, and is overtly ‘just thrilled’ at our results.
I bet my entire collection of mea that she’s surprised to see Elliott and I near the top of the class. Half the egg-babies are out of the game already, but our
group is all doing pretty well. There’s Meggan; Sam and Silvia’s Leda; Nikau and Hana’s Buttercup; and Matt and Ana’s egg, Humpty. Matt did apparently almost drop Humpty in the shower, which didn’t really surprise anyone but did make us wonder what he was doing in there with it.
Outside of my immediate circle, the only remaining eggs are Blake and Lizzie’s Agatha, and Fabergé, who belongs to a Minder couple I don’t know very well but who are probably dickheads. Then there are three other eggs, hilariously named Pēkana, Gonad, and Cedric Diggory, all belonging to people I know and like but on a pretty superficial level. We’ve been stuck underground together for ages, and you learn who you can get along with for extended periods of time and who you can only deal with in small doses. We’re as friendly as any year group is, but I can feel the drift already as some of us prepare to not see each other ever again after December.
Our table discusses the current results (and various eggdeaths) over lunch, throwing around ideas about who’ll win and who’ll be eliminated next – and whether it’ll be by innocent fumbling or Manaia-level self-sabotage. We bring up whether or not there’s any sort of prize (and if there isn’t, there should be). The decision is made that whoever lasts the longest out of the group gets a bowl of chips shouted to them at the cafe.
Elliott declares to all who will listen that he and I are going to win, and Sam shakes his head and repeats his earlier assertion that we aren’t a real threat because we aren’t a real couple. It seems tactical this time. I see the look Silvia gives me as he says it, tempting me to disagree, pointing out that she knows something’s going on between us even if I won’t talk about it. I get the feeling they might’ve been comparing notes on us.
Elliott is oblivious to it, and goes on to list all the reasons we’re less likely to drop our baby than Sam is (which basically boils down to: we’re both determined to prove him wrong and the baby’s not a book). His ankle is resting against mine again and he refills my tea without being asked and, overall, I reckon I can probably cope with my friends knowing so long as it doesn’t change anything. I realise I haven’t thought about Lizzie dumping me in ages and I’ve barely even remembered the fact I’m sad and alone – and it occurs to me then that I’m not sad and alone.
Not anymore.
CHAPTER 18
SETTLE DOWN
When I get to our room that night, Elliott’s there already, reading Meg and Mog. He’s doing all the voices and I can’t help grinning. It wouldn’t be a bad life, actually being with Elliott. He’s obviously not so prickly once he gets comfortable – quite the opposite. And he’s ridiculously hot under all those expensive clothes. And smart, and respectful, and shamelessly cute with Meggan. All good things. Things that are going to make breaking up with him utterly horrible, but it’s what I signed up for, so what else can I do?
Thinking about it is too hard and I don’t want to ruin an otherwise good day, so I pluck the book out of Elliott’s hand, throw it to the end of the bed and pull him on top of me. He’s warm and enthusiastic and perfectly distracting. His hands snake under my pyjama shirt, pushing it up and over my head, and he whips off his own, too, throwing both to the floor. Meggan starts to snore softly, contented in her bed as our own happiness lulls her to sleep.
‘When do we get to do it again?’ he whispers, his breath cooling my damp skin where he’s been nibbling at my neck.
I stare at the ceiling and wonder how dangerous it is to get used to this, then decide I don’t care. ‘Now’s good,’ I say.
‘That’s the answer I wanted.’
I shudder at the confidence in his voice, the knowledge of what’s coming and what it does to me. ‘We should put something in front of the door,’ I say, because I really, really don’t want to be interrupted this time.
He hums his assent and backs up off me, bare-chested and ruffled and gorgeous. He looks around the room and frowns. ‘I think we’re going to have to drag Sam’s bed over.’ He steps onto the floor and examines the heavy wooden bed frame. ‘Help?’
‘Sure.’ I wrap my right hand around my pounamu and utter the incantation for increased strength. A shiver cascades through my muscles; it tickles, and I have to shake it out. He frowns at me, confused, but I just smile because I finally have the chance to impress him.
I shift Leda’s cot out of the way, squat down at the middle of Sam’s bed and grab the underside of the frame. It’s like moving a cardboard replica – same sense of unwieldiness, but the weight is insignificant and it slides easily across the threshold, blocking the door from opening. I adjust it slightly to make sure, then stand up.
‘OK …’ Elliott says, looking at me. ‘Two things: What was that? And since when do you wear a ring?’
“The ring’s Dad’s. I found it in his rooms. And that was increased strength.’ I shrug, and step towards him.
He nods, not pressing for more. Instead, he points at my chest. ‘You used that as a mea?’
‘Pounamu is one of the strongest types of stone. Used for cutting things, traditionally. Plus Dad gave it to me and he was …’ I trail off, the sadness creeping in.
‘He was built like a brick shithouse, yes, I remember.’ Elliott lays a hand on my chest, close but not quite touching the small, carved mere. ‘You know, I’m glad he doesn’t know what we’re up to, come to think of it. Though your mother probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about it either.’
‘Not up to them,’ I say, refusing to think about what he’s really saying – that we don’t belong together. I reach out for him, running my hands over his hips, right down until I reach the top of his thighs, then I scoop him up off the floor and into my arms. He squeaks. ‘Time to shut up,’ I say.
He leans down and kisses me and it’s bizarre and kind of wonderful. I want to throw him on the bed, but I have to be careful with him until the magic wears off, so I stay where I am and just let it all happen. He pulls my hair loose and twists his fingers into it and it feels like he’s everywhere at once.
‘OK?’ he asks between kisses, and I nod, not together enough to make real words. ‘Do you want to put me down?’
‘No,’ I say, and it’s scary how deep that thought goes. That I might not want to put him down ever, even though I know I have to. I feel my arms squeeze reflexively, pulling him closer. It’s scary, the suddenness of all these feelings. I don’t know if I’m rebounding, or if I’ve been secretly into him for a while, or if this is just what happens when someone accompanies you on your trip of self-discovery. Maybe it’s just the confirmation that I can trust him that’s finally sinking in. I take a deep breath.
‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ he says, and I can hear the grin behind it.
‘Just – go slow, yeah?’ I say, and find the edge of my mattress with the backs of my legs. I take his weight in one arm and ease us down with the other.
He doesn’t answer, just kisses the tender underside of my jaw, the soft silk of his hair tickling my skin. I pull him in close and hold him to me and none of it makes any sense. It feels personal but it isn’t, it feels safe but it shouldn’t, and I feel irrepressibly happy about all of it.
CHAPTER 19
FALL AT YOUR FEET
The following week is a blur of classes and sweaty tangled limbs, and I have to really try to keep the contented grin off my face or risk giving us away. Elliott is still being attentive and nice and blatantly affectionate in public and I’m still not sure what to do with it, but I fear it’s beginning to wear down whatever walls I had in place. I know if I accept all his small gestures and just go with it, everything will get messy and our inevitable separation will be emotional and tense and I’ll end up heartsick and really missing him. It’s already clear I’ll miss him physically. We barely make it through the door these days before he’s pulling at my clothes. I’m frequently distracted over dinner, waiting for when we can be alone.
Friday, we get our first night out by ourselves – Sam and Silvia are babysitting Meggan in exchange for us babysitting Leda tomorrow night.
They have her until ten in the morning – ostensibly because we’ve said we don’t know when we’ll get back from town, but actually because we’d like to spend one night without her listening in.
We get the shuttle around four and walk the rest of the way into town, headed for dinner at the restaurant attached to the pub and an evening playing darts or something else inappropriate for small egg-children. Our waitress recognises us from school – she’s only a couple of years older – and she points us out to a guy called Noah, another ex-student from her year. He comes over looking for gossip about the teachers and ends up telling us all about his apprenticeship in Queenstown. He tells regular people he’s a meteorologist, but he’s actually an Elemental, and now he’s one of three graduates making ski season happen at the right time and keeping things safe for the unwitting public. When he’s done talking about himself, he introduces us to his cousin, Dave, who he’s staying with down the road in their grandpa’s old house, and we end up sneaking into the pub with them and playing doubles in pool. Noah covertly buys us drinks and sends unsubtle looks at Elliott and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
After a couple of hours, we follow Noah and his cousin back to theirs, a group of other pub-goers in tow and far too much alcohol in me to be thinking sensible things like how we’re going to get home if we miss the last shuttle. All I can think of is whether Elliott’s going to ditch me for this older guy and whether or not I’d leave him here if he did.
The rest of the night starts with old records blasting under dim, dusty lights and our pick of beers out of someone else’s fridge. At some point Noah makes his move on Elliott while I’m sitting alone on a shitty old couch, watching what might be the worst thing to happen to me all year. Then, in a way I hadn’t hoped to imagine, Elliott starts laughing and points at me across the room and Noah looks devastated that he’s messed up. He kneels drunkenly at my feet and apologises profusely, then runs off to fetch me an ‘apology beer’. Elliott sits next to me and I remember that the worst thing to happen this year should probably have been my girlfriend leaving me. Whatever emotion that realisation provokes, it gets lost amid the overwhelming feeling of having had too much to drink and I throw caution to the wind, no longer caring if we get home, or if I even keep my food down, so long as Elliott keeps telling random older guys he’s with me.