Spirit nodded glumly. When it all came down to it, in the last year she’d lost her family, Loch had lost his father, Muirin had lost her friend Seth, and all of them had known most of the victims of the Wild Hunt.
There really didn’t seem much to celebrate.
* * *
The “religious service” made Spirit uncomfortable—and not just in the butt-numbing, having to sit on hard wooden pews for two hours way, but in a kind of soul-numbing way. She’d never been raised to be more than vaguely “spiritual,” but services at Oakhurst always seemed wrong in a way she couldn’t define, as if the entire thing was a smirky, mocking, yet somehow mind-deadening parody of a real religious service. Yet at the same time there wasn’t a single thing that someone—whether they were devout or not—could have pointed to as being overtly insulting. She knew Burke was the only one of the five of them who was really religious, and even he couldn’t say there was anything wrong with the Oakhurst services. They were all so very bland and inoffensive.
The concert that followed was pretty much identical to the one at Thanksgiving. Different music, but it sounded the same—like elevator music. It’s just like the Christmas service, Spirit thought, with an odd air of discovery. It’s all stuff that might have started out being good or interesting but now it’s had all the life sucked out of it.…
By the time they were let out of the concert, Spirit was feeling like a marathon runner entering the final stretch of the race. Only two more things to get through. The Formal Dinner would have been okay if merely eating hadn’t been an ordeal—and if Spirit had had any appetite for it. Like at Thanksgiving, there were place cards and assigned seating and extra-formal place settings, but even Dylan wasn’t his usual vicious self. I guess everyone thinks about their family at Christmas. She took servings of everything she was offered—you weren’t allowed to refuse anything, on the grounds that you were “broadening your gustatory horizons”—and just pushed it around on her plate with her fork until the potatoes and the vegetables were a beige mush. Then she covered them with the pieces of roast goose. At Thanksgiving, the meal had ended with pumpkin and mince pie. For Christmas, there’d be something called a Viennese Table set up in the dining room after the gifts were handed out. Spirit didn’t think she’d have any appetite for that, either.
Now there was just one more thing to endure before she could go back to her room and indulge herself by being completely miserable and crying until she puked. One of the worst things about Oakhurst was that the Administration kept pretending that the school’s money could make up for losing your family and your whole life. One of the ways they did that—tried to do that—was by giving all the students Christmas gifts, even though they didn’t even bother to pretend anyone here knew you well enough to pick them out. No, the staff sent around a memo with guidelines and a list of “approved” gifts, and told everyone to pick three items. Not that they’d get all three. No. Despite the fact Oakhurst was rolling in money, each student got one “approved” gift from the Administration. They were probably told to pick three just so there’d be a little suspense.
I don’t want an iPod or a pair of socks! I want Mom and Dad and Phoenix back!
Spirit wasn’t even sure what she’d chosen from the list. Thinking about Christmas without her family had been so painful she’d just blanked on it and wasn’t sure what she’d put down. Books and music, probably, to replace things she’d lost when her home burned down after The Accident. She wouldn’t have come to the “gift-giving” at all if she could have avoided it. But she couldn’t. Everything not compulsory is forbidden, she thought with a despairing flash of humor. 1984 had been one of Dad’s favorite books, and he’d taught her to love it, too. She’d been surprised, on coming here, to find Muirin loved it as well. It seemed to be just as odd a choice for a Goth girl from New Jersey as it was for a reluctant hippie kid from Indiana.
* * *
There were about a hundred kids here at Oakhurst. It seemed like a lot when you thought about the fact that they were going to be your nearest and dearest until you left Oakhurst at twenty-one. Or get sacrificed to demons. Hey, anything to get out of SATs, right? It didn’t seem like many when you thought about the fact that most high schools had about three times that many students.
It really didn’t seem like many when they were all gathered in the Entry Hall and the place still echoed.
The Entry Hall was the first thing you saw when you came to Oakhurst. It was about sixty feet across, and its focal point was the biggest single tree trunk that Spirit had ever seen. It seemed to hold up the ceiling—which was at least thirty feet away. Behind the tree-pillar was a balcony stretching the breadth of the room with two half-circle staircases leading up to it. The rest of the ceiling was crossed with peeled-log beams—Loch had said the first time they saw it that Oakhurst was done in a style called “Arts and Crafts Lodge”—and between the rustic beams were panels of parquetry in vaguely Egyptian patterns. The floor was done in the same design, only in shades of green and gray stone instead of wood.
On the right side of the Entry Hall—as you came in—were the huge double doors that led to Doctor Ambrosius’s office. On the left there was a stone fireplace more than big enough to park a horse in—or roast one. Hung above the fireplace was a huge banner with the Oakhurst coat of arms on it. Spirit hadn’t liked the design the first time she saw it, and she liked it less now. (Loch called it “faux armigerous,” whatever that meant.) The coat of arms appeared on everything at Oakhurst, including bedspreads, bathrobes, and towels, though most of the time it wasn’t in color. The banner had the whole deal though: a red shield with a white diagonal stripe across it, an oak tree colored bright green and brown like a picture in a kid’s book, and a bright yellow—or gold—snake coiled in the branches. On top of the shield there was a bear’s head on a plate (brown head, silver plate, red blood). On the left side of the shield there was a gold upside-down cup, and on the right side there was a broken silver sword. Way to impress the parents. Oh, I totally forgot. None of us has any parents to impress.…
The log-and-leather couches that usually sat in front of the fireplace—though Spirit had never seen anyone sit in them—had been removed to make way for the Christmas tree. It looked like a tree in a movie, and that was another odd thing in a school that didn’t believe in holidays: The Oakhurst tree was a gigantic blue spruce, tall enough to reach most of the way to the ceiling, and every inch of it was decorated. Not with a bunch of Kmart–Wally World plastic junk, either: The ornaments were glass, antique, and probably cost more than the last Star Wars movie.
All around it were presents, and Spirit saw, with a faint despairing disbelief, that no matter the design on the wrapping paper, every present under the tree was wrapped in the Oakhurst school colors: brown, gold, and cream.…
* * *
Since the couches were gone, there wasn’t anyplace to sit. They’d all filed into the Entry Hall by the same alphabetical order they’d been seated at for the dinner, but once they were there, Burke beckoned to Spirit, and she saw that Loch and Addie were standing with him. Muirin joined them a few minutes later, looking—as usual—as if she were getting away with something. About half the other kids had shuffled around, too—maybe Oakhurst wouldn’t care if you had friends on Christmas Day—but most of them still looked as if they were trying to pretend they didn’t know anyone here. Conversation was kept to a subdued murmur.
That conversation died out completely with the entrance of Doctor Ambrosius. He was flanked by his assistants, Ms. Corby and Mr. Devon. Doctor Ambrosius looked like a venerable old college professor, white beard, flowing white hair, tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, and all. Ms. Corby and Mr. Devon looked—well, like bodyguards. Bored bodyguards. Ms. Corby was one of the few non-magicians here at Oakhurst. She was Doctor Ambrosius’s personal assistant. Mr. Devon was also the supervisor of the Boys’ Dorm Wing. Or, as they called them here at Oakhurst, “Young Gentlemen.”
Doctor Am
brosius—and his bodyguards—walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. He gazed out at them for a moment, then cleared his throat meaningfully. Absolute silence descended.
“We are here to celebrate the end of another calendar year here at Oakhurst,” he said, in a voice as smooth and reassuring as a documentary narrator on Discovery Channel. “Some of you haven’t been with us long, and some are extended residents, but all of you are part of the Oakhurst family. Indeed, following the deaths of your parents, Oakhurst is your family now.”
He beamed at all of them, but the moment his gaze had gone to another part of the room, Loch leaned over to whisper in Spirit’s ear.
“Does he practice being that tactless, or does it come naturally?”
Spirit grimaced and shrugged.
“So, as the old year ends, and the new one begins, we pause for a time of remembrance. Remember—always—that it is your responsibility to live up to the high standards that other members of your Oakhurst family have set. An Oakhurst graduate who is merely average is one who has failed. An Oakhurst graduate soars where others plod. And an Oakhurst student can never rest on his accomplishments, for while he is resting, others are overtaking him.”
He paused, and Ms. Corby signaled what was expected of them by initiating a patter of light applause.
“Now, in the generous spirit of the season and your family,” Doctor Ambrosius concluded, beaming on them all again, “let us commence with the distribution of gifts.”
While Ms. Corby and Mr. Devon handed out the gifts, Spirit stood there feeling a kind of bemused horror. She’d expected some kind of announcement about the Wild Hunt during the service, but when it hadn’t come, she’d assumed there would be one here. But there wasn’t. When the kids had disappeared—Seth and Camilla just since Spirit had come here, and that wasn’t counting Nicholas and Eddie, who were alive but mind-blasted—Oakhurst had covered things up with lies that were meant to be reassuring. And maybe they’d had a good reason at the time, and maybe they’d even believed that Seth and Camilla ran away. But now that she and the others had defeated the Wild Hunt, and Doctor Ambrosius knew what had happened to everyone, Spirit had expected some kind of announcement. Wasn’t the Wild Hunt a part of what they were being trained to defend themselves against? Didn’t its appearance mean they should all be warned to be extra careful?
But there’d been nothing. Not one word about their classmates who were dead. Not one word about the fact that there were people here—and she’d even been one of them—who’d been marked for death at the hands of the Wild Hunt. It was just: too bad, so sad, you’ve lost your real families, people you knew, there’s someone—probably inside the school!—that wants to kill you all, just forget about it, here’s your iPod or your digital camera or your makeup kit or your Wii.
Even her own friends hadn’t talked about what it all meant. Okay, maybe they were kind of in shock, but now they knew. Oakhurst wasn’t safe. The enemies Doctor Ambrosius had talked about weren’t out there. They were in here. Killing people. If the five of them wanted to live long enough to graduate—not to mention everyone else here living to graduate—they had to find out what was really going on. She knew they’d all been lied to. But adults lied to kids all the time, playing the “it’s for your own good” card. Those kinds of lies were annoying, but they didn’t mean the person lying to them was out to kill them.
But some people here were.
Who could they trust?
Muirin had mentioned a secret society within Oakhurst called the Gatekeepers. Loch said secret societies were common at private schools and at colleges. There was Skull and Bones at Yale, for example, or the Seven Society at the University of Virginia. But if the Gatekeepers were—as the others seemed to believe—just a kind of “honor society,” why wasn’t it made public? The students here were encouraged—were forced, really—to compete with each other at everything. It didn’t make sense that Oakhurst would miss an opportunity to make them compete with each other to join the Gatekeepers.
She hated the whole idea of seeing the world in terms of Good Guys and Bad Guys—as if she was living in a Star Wars movie, and you were either a Sith Lord or a Jedi Knight. But there didn’t seem to be a lot of middle ground. Were the Gatekeepers Good Guys or Bad Guys? What did they have to do with the Alumni who visited here every summer?
What happened to all the kids who—supposedly—graduated? They never wrote to their friends. Nobody here got any mail.
They had to start figuring out what was going on. Now—before whoever it was who had been behind the Wild Hunt came up with a new way to kill them.
Could they trust their fellow students? Maybe some. But which ones? Could they trust the teachers? Doctor Ambrosius? Half the time he was scary as all get-out, ranting on about the Final Battle. The other half of the time he was a doddering old man who couldn’t even remember your name. Was he another victim of the Bad Guys? If so, how could they possibly rescue him?
She was so lost in her own thoughts that it wasn’t until Loch nudged her sharply in the ribs that she noticed Ms. Corby standing in front of her with a look of impatience and irritation on her face. She was holding two small boxes wrapped in gold paper with a cream-and-brown design on it (the Oakhurst coat of arms, of course).
For a moment Spirit locked eyes with Doctor Ambrosius’s assistant. She wanted to say that she didn’t want Oakhurst’s gifts and she didn’t want to be here, either. But she didn’t quite dare. She reached out for the gifts. Ms. Corby held on to them, staring at her meaningfully.
“Thank you, Ms. Corby,” Spirit said, flushing angrily. Ms. Corby smiled in triumph and handed Spirit the boxes before turning away. Spirit’s last name began with “W,” so there weren’t too many more gifts to hand out.
Spirit looked around at the others. Addie had a long flat box under one arm. It was about the size and shape of a board game. Burke was holding a large square box, a cube about twelve inches on a side. Muirin had a small box about three by three by ten.
And Loch had two boxes identical to hers in every way—except for the fact that they were wrapped in dark brown paper with the design on them in cream and gold. She and Loch exchanged a look, and for the first time today, Spirit felt like smiling. It really was idiotic for anyplace to be so logo-obsessed that it even had wrapping paper with its coat of arms on it. In half a dozen different designs, no less!
Loch brandished the larger of the two boxes.
“iPod?” Spirit mouthed.
Loch was about to answer, but Mr. Devon had stepped up in front of the fireplace.
“Every winner—and you’re all winners here at Oakhurst—knows that one of the sweetest fruits of victory is the chance to kick back and enjoy what they’ve won. All of you have worked hard this year. Now is the time to enjoy yourselves. A dessert buffet is set up in the Refectory. Enjoy!” he added, clapping his hands together and smiling brightly.
Spirit thought it was the creepiest thing she’d seen—at least in the last few days.
Ms. Corby strode off ahead of Doctor Ambrosius, and Mr. Devon followed. When Doctor Ambrosius’s study doors closed behind them, everyone began to shuffle in place and head in the direction of the Refectory. Muirin was off like a flash, of course. Unlimited sugar.
“Yup. iPod,” Loch said, unwrapping the larger of the two boxes. “It’s the Gift du Jour.”
The “Gift du Jour” was brown, with the Oakhurst crest engraved on the back, and his name: Lachlan Galen Spears. Loch made a face, and Spirit winced in sympathy. It was awful to have a dorky name.
“They come in gold and cream, too, of course,” Addie said kindly. “If you don’t have one when you get here, you’re pretty much guaranteed to get one for your first Christmas.”
“Huh,” Loch said, sounding surprised. “It’s charged. And preloaded.”
There was no real point in trying to push through the mob of students heading for the Refectory, and one thing Spirit could say for Oakhurst was that when it decided to l
et them fall off the healthy diet bandwagon, it didn’t stint on the junk food. There was no need to hurry—there’d be more sugar and chocolate than all of them could eat in a week.
Bread and circuses. For a moment she could hear Mom’s voice in her head. Mom had—used to have—a saying for every occasion. In Ancient Rome, the emperors used to keep the people from making trouble by giving them free food and free entertainment. Bread and circuses.
That’s what we get, Spirit thought. Every few weeks there’s another school dance, and a lot of candy, and most of the kids don’t look past that, to all the things that are wrong with this place.…
“What color is yours?” Loch asked. With a feeling of resignation, Spirit unwrapped the larger of the two boxes. Her iPod was cream-colored. Same crest cut into the back, and her name: Spirit Victory White. She didn’t bother to complain, even mentally, that now everyone at Oakhurst would know her middle name. “Victory” was just about as awful as “Spirit”—she’d always hated her name—but maybe someday she could just tell people her name was “Vicky” or something. She woke her iPod and looked at the preloaded playlist.
“Ah, I recognize this,” she said mockingly, scanning the start of the list of titles. “This is next semester’s Music History stuff.”
“Heaven forbid we should actually use these for recreation,” Addie said, her voice dripping with irony. “That would be frivolous. However could we expect to excel?”
“Ah, but you forget. We’re all already winners here at Oakhurst,” Loch replied, deadpan.
“Come on,” Burke said. “It’s cleared out a little, and we should go find the Murr-cat and stop her from eating herself into sugar shock.”
“Fat chance of that,” Addie answered.
* * *
The Refectory was full, but not crowded. Most of the crowd was around the dessert buffet, and Spirit had to admit it looked pretty. There were cakes on stands, pies, plates of brownies and blondies and cookies, pyramids of perfectly round scoops of ice cream frozen so hard that it would take them at least half an hour to melt, boxes of chocolates and marzipan shaped like fruit, and—because this was a school full of teenagers—stacked cases of soda.
Shadow Grail #2: Conspiracies Page 2