Lili Crow - Wayfarer

Darkness, spangled with lightning like the Waste, crackling and receding. The sense of force bleeding away, and a fierce joy, like running flat-out when you didn’t have to, just like a kid. Flinging yourself along, just because the buzzing of happiness demanded you go as fast as you could.

Blackness, then, soft and restful. She came back to herself piecemeal. Cold stone against her cheek, faintly gritty.

What just happened?

Rita sobbed in a breath. “Maybe she Sigiled.” It was a terrified whisper. “Mommy—”

“Shut up, brat.” No trouble identifying this voice. It was Laurissa, heels clicking—she must have put her shoes back on. Why?

Am I hurt? Ellie took stock. Did she hit me? Maybe? I don’t know. The inside of her skull was scraped clean. Empty. A great ringing silence, as if she was six again and had attempted a charm too big for her age. Her mother would be white with fear if—

My brave girl. This voice came into her head without bothering to pass through her ears. A stinging on her hand. The sapphire—was it lighting up? She couldn’t afford to have Laurissa notice it.

Mom? Had she heard Rita say it, or was Ellie just dreaming of her own mother, of cool fingers against a fevered forehead, the warm perfume and soothing touch that was the best safety in the world, the softness and the power of knowing there was nothing that couldn’t be fixed, nothing , once the voice that moved the world sounded all around her?

“Well.” The Strep, sounding thoughtful, but thankfully not burning-furious. “Isn’t this surprising. They’re very light. A little clumsy in the turnaside charm, but that’s to be expected in a first.”

“M-m-m—” Rita, stuttering.

“Shut up .” Casually cruel. “Get your things out of her room.”

The silence turned cold. Almost scaly, a dry quiet full of whispering rasp.

“B-but y-y-you s-s-said—” Rita, gamely struggling. Ellie could have told her the Strep wasn’t going to look kindly on any questioning. Not in her current mood.

I think I’m all here. She tested—fingers, toes, everything seemed still attached. It felt normal. A cool bath of dread slid down her back, raising gooseflesh and leaching through her like the cold of the stone floor. Wait. Did I Twist? Oh, please, Mithrus, tell me I haven’t Twisted!

A sharp sound—openhanded slap, cracking against a face. Rita’s half-swallowed sob. Ellie curled around herself, her limbs sluggish. If Laurissa was coming down on Rita, well, three guesses who was next, and the first two didn’t count, right?

The hinges on the workroom door squealed slightly as it was wrenched open, and the patter of soft fleeing footsteps meant Ellie was alone in here. Alone, on the floor, and with her head still muzzy.

Great. Wake up. Come on, wake up!

A nudge in her ribs. A sharp point, the toe of a shoe digging in. “Well, well, little Ellen. Look at you.”

I really wish you wouldn’t . She could only produce a groan. What was wrong with her? If she’d Twisted, shouldn’t Laurissa be screaming and running away?

I’d pay to see that. I really would. And I need all the credits I’ve got. Only four hundred twelve, because she’s been staying home on Saturdays. No more spa days.

Where does all the money go? She takes in tons of it. Where is it?

She tried to hang onto that thought, it seemed important. There wasn’t any time , though, and she needed to be awake and alert for whatever Laurissa would do next.

“Upsy-daisy.” An edged, girlish giggle, and there were hands on her. The Strep’s hands, narrow and hard, lacquered talons scraping. “There’s a good girl.”

Ellie found herself on her feet, swaying, blinking, and staring at a world alive with too much light. The workroom walls crawled with charm-symbols, thin threads of Potential wedded to the very stone—but it wasn’t the usual buffers and shielding meant to make sure a charmer didn’t blow a house up while dealing with difficult, dangerous Potential-channeling. Not so much the channeling as the idea that it might interact with another bit of Potential and set off a quake through the snarled fabric of reality.

No, this was as if she was seeing the charm-energies inherent in the physical objects themselves. The flux of energy that made matter once it slowed down enough, a dense thicket of light and air and force.

Her head throbbed a little, and Ellie blinked. The plinth was empty but she could see the ripples, a rock thrown into a Potential-pond, spreading out from whatever had happened there. Did I do that? Wow. What happened?

Crunch . A sharp pain, as if her entire hand was squeezed, her mother’s ring singing a seashell song that was almost, almost audible . . . and Ellie thumped back into her own body so hard she was surprised the entire world didn’t rock underneath her. She tore away from Laurissa and stood trembling in the middle of the workroom, the light fading as charmsight receded.

It had to be Sight, but that was impossible , her Potential hadn’t settled yet! And she’d never read about people seeing charmlight in walls before. Oh sure, Potential could be charmed into buffers and defenses, but seeing the structure—it was impossible.

What’s going on?

She stared at Laurissa, Laurissa stared back, and a sudden hard, delighted smile transformed the Strep’s face. It was the kind of smile that turned the mouth into a V and the eyes into narrowed slits, the enemy peering out from castle embrasures at dawn. The Strep’s belly had grown bigger, if that was possible, or were Ellie’s eyes just fooling her again?

“This is so nice,” the Strep purred, finally. The smile widened, and Ellie had the sudden vivid image of the top of the Strep’s head flipping open, cracked by the sheer scary satisfaction the woman radiated. “We’re going to make a lot of money, Ellen dear.”

A COUPLE WEEKS LATER, SHE BLINKED HER DRY BURNING eyes and tried to settle.

“ Blessed Mithrus, watch over us, We are the lambs— ” A swelling chorus of girl-voices, the ancient organ wheezing and thundering along as Sister Alice Angels-Abiding, one of the music teachers, hammered at the yellowed keys with her equally yellowed, knotted fingers. Mother Heloise was at her place in the small pulpit, her broad face a smudge of paleness atop the black sail of her habit. Her hands were folded pacifically, and she beamed across the heads of her students as if her holy spouse was going to come floating down the central aisle at any moment.

Ruby, as usual, sang with great gusto but little skill. Cami’s throaty alto—surprisingly deep and sweet—could barely be heard, but she had always enjoyed singing. Singing d-d-doesn’t s-s-stut . . . There she used to stop and smile a little, pained and shy.

It was enough to break your heart. She didn’t really stutter anymore. At least, not badly.

Ellie just mouthed the words. She knew them all by heart, why bother?

Morning Chapel was halfway over. If she propped herself against Cami just right when they all sat down again, she could steal ten minutes of sleep while Mother Heloise read from the Book. In some schools they tested you on the scripture and homily, but at Juno you just had to sit still. Maybe Mother Heloise thought it would drip inside your head anyway, water over stone.

Of course, considering what some of the ghoulgirls and the socials got up to in their spare time, the evidence would tend against that particular theory. But that only raised the question: Would it be worse if the Mother wasn’t always going on about Chastity, Charity, Good Works, and Loving Mithrus with All Your Heart and Soul Like a Good Girl Should?