The students get up, slinging their bags over their shoulders and tucking notebooks under their arms. I expect Elodie to stick close to her usual friends, but she lets Cadance and Madison Somerset pull ahead of her together. She strolls out slowly with a contemplative air, as if she’s looking for possible prophecies even in this room.
The urge to crack open her head and find out what she’s thinking is doused with a stray remark from one of her straggling classmates to another. “Here’s a good prediction: the charity case gets expelled by the end of the week.”
He says it under his breath, but I get the impression he doesn’t care if I hear. Both of the boys sneer at Asher’s retreating back on the way out the door.
Of course they all assume Elodie’s outburst is my brother’s fault. Of course they don’t care if I know they think that.
No one’s ever wanted us to feel we belong here.
I didn’t fight tooth and nail to become so adept the administration would have been insane not to hire me, spend every spare minute learning the upper-class lingo and scrapingtogether enough pennies to look the part, just to watch my efforts smashed by a coddled brat.
As soon as the last student has vacated the room, I reach into my briefcase for the small paper envelope that tucks so easily into the side. The leaf I pluck out dissolves on my tongue with a familiar bitter flavor.
Kavish isn’t illegal by any means, but most of the staff frown on the use of artificial stimulants.
I take all the advantages I can get. And right now, I need my focus honed to a razor’s edge.
If they knew every measure I’ve taken to get where I am, the kavish would provoke the least of their horror.
I stalk out of the classroom to find that a depressingly sizeable portion of my class hasn’t even made it out of the first hallway. At least a dozen students are clustered in pairs or trios, examining the thick rug, the heavy mahogany doors to the nearest other classrooms, and the brass sconces hanging from the arched ceiling as if they think they’ll land on some useful prediction here.
Asher’s smart enough to have gotten some distance from the crowd. Elodie, her friends, and Byron have all moved on, so I suppose I can’t criticize them for a total lack of ambition.
Let’s see what else I can come up with.
I don’t neglect my other students in the meantime. “No two predictions can be the same or you’ll both fail,” I inform a couple of girls who’re giving off a conspiratorial energy. When one of the boys I know is already down in the bottom ten of the 15thyear gives me a pleading glance, I offer the slightest bit of pity. “You’ve got the whole campus to work with. Put in some effort.”
That scatters most of the students nearby. I prowl onward, watching for purple hair.
Something’s changed with Elodie Devine, and in a way that’s made her less relaxed, so probably not for the better. If I can figure out what that is, it might be all the advantage I need.
Where would she have gone?
The fact that I can’t guess when before the answer would have seemed obvious both irritates me and stirs my pulse at the challenge. I peer out across the green and poke my head into the cafeteria, prime spots for her usual socializing habits, and come up empty. Cadance and Madison are laughing together near the now-empty buffet stand, possibly making predictions about tomorrow’s spread, but Miss Devine is nowhere in sight.
As I prowl onward, the ephemera lodged in my surroundings rises to a buzz. Perhaps I miscalculated my dose of kavish.
These walls have seen too much. Every student and staff member that passes by them leaves their invisible mark. And I’ve trained myself to pick up on every shred of lingering energy I can.
The kavish heightens my awareness… and stops me from tuning any of it out. Why didn’t I keep my pupils in the blasted classroom?
The burnt chalky smell emanating from beneath the chemistry-room door doesn’t improve my mood. Nor does the jangle of discordant instruments from the idiotic Professor Kosilov’s workshop on theories of sound and magic.
I finally stumble on my target in the grand foyer of Thesan Hall, outside the senior administrative offices.
She looks small beneath the vaulted ceiling that looms two stories above her head. Her heeled boots make only a faint tapping as she ambles along one side of the purple-and-gold rug stretching down the center of the tiled floor.
No one else has ventured this far. Her only company is the lines of portraits along the opposite wall: past headmasters, topprofessors, and the major donors of the past few decades. Her grandparents’ faces are up there among them.
She isn’t looking in their direction, though. Her gaze sweeps across the imposing space as if she’s searching for something. It pauses on the doors to the offices and the broad double-doors that lead out of the building.
I’m guessing she wants to forecast something bigger than what’s for lunch tomorrow.
As I approach her, the thrum of the surrounding ephemera intensifies. Few spaces in the school have held more life and all the mess that comes with it than this one.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Taking your time, are you, Miss Devine?”
The slow turn of Elodie’s head tells me she knew I was there and simply hadn’t bothered to acknowledge me until I forced the issue. Another jab of irritation rattles my nerves.
