Sacrifices (3 page)

Merlin—Mordred—magic powers—Shadow Knights—we have to do something, but nobody’s going to believe what’s going on here even if we can get out and tell them.

Shower,
Spirit thought firmly. If she didn’t shower before dinner she wouldn’t be able to stand herself—and all those bruises would stiffen up.
Shower,
she told herself again, pushing herself to her feet.

*   *   *

She looked longingly at her bed as she walked back into the bedroom. She had half an hour before dinner, but if she lay down she’d fall asleep—and missing dinner would suck beyond the telling. She pulled her robe more firmly around her and sat down at the computer instead.
Email it is,
she thought with a sigh, tapping her laptop awake.
Who knows? Maybe there’ll be another exciting Motivational Message.

But what was waiting for her was worse.

I’ve been drafted?
Spirit thought in disbelief, staring at her screen. The email in her inbox notified her she was now on the Dance Committee—along with Maddie Harris, Kylee Williamson, Zoey Young, Christopher Terry, and (oh joy) Dylan. She was replacing Ashley Fowler (you’d think, from the tone of the email, that Ashley had just resigned, instead of vanishing two weeks ago).

As if I didn’t have enough to do!
she thought.

It was bad enough she’d heard since the day she arrived at Oakhurst that Dance Committee was a seething cauldron of face-to-face flamewars and infighting—Addie had been on it through the New Year’s Dance, and had told Spirit stories that made her laugh even as she winced in sympathy. And that was bad enough. But being on the Dance Committee would mean she was constantly aware of the countdown to the next dance. Today was March 2nd. The next dance was the Spring Fling on March 22nd.
Every dance so far has been the scene of some kind of magical disaster.

She was terrified to imagine what was going to happen at the Spring Equinox.

*   *   *

Spirit scurried into the Refectory and took her place on the line that wound back and forth among the tables like a mutinous snake. There was a stack of plastic trays on a table near the doorway to the kitchen. When she’d arrived last September, Oakhurst had pretended it was grooming them to take their places as “the movers and shakers of tomorrow” and meals had been all about fine dining and company manners, with china, silver, crystal—and waitstaff. Even breakfast had been a field of etiquette land mines. Now Oakhurst was a school under siege. The food was still several steps up from school cafeteria food, but it was served cafeteria style—on plastic trays, with plastic glasses, paper napkins, and stainless steel flatware. Quiche and pâté were things of the past, and so were menu choices—unless it would absolutely kill you (literally), you had to eat it. The vegans were really suffering, because pretty much everything on the menu included an animal product of some kind. Some of them were still holding out, but a lot of them had caved. You ate what Oakhurst handed out, or you starved.

The line inched forward. Up ahead she could see a woman in the uniform of Breakthrough Security—Breakthrough didn’t even
try
to blend in anymore—standing against the wall. It was hard to imagine what they needed protecting from in here. And it made Oakhurst seem even more like a prison.

It occurred to her that changing the food service meant Oakhurst didn’t have to keep all the extra staff any more. There was still Housekeeping and Laundry service, but it had gone to weekly now, where before it had been daily.
But it all makes sense. Look at how much of the faculty isn’t here anymore. I bet they’ve cut the Maintenance staff down just as far—and I bet Breakthrough doesn’t want to spend its valuable time washing Burke’s socks.…

She could see him about a dozen places ahead of her in line, and knew he’d noticed her come in. But this time he didn’t acknowledge her presence.

She let her mind drift—not much could happen while they were standing in line for dinner—when suddenly she was startled to alertness by a crash and a wordless shout. As she stared around wildly, looking for the source, she saw the front of the line scatter.

A fight.

Fights had gotten more and more frequent in the last month. There was more student solidarity now than there’d ever been before, but everyone was tense and on edge, and even before Breakthrough got here, Oakhurst had been trying to make them all into enemies. She didn’t know the boys’ names, but they clearly knew each other. The taller one swung at the shorter one. Nobody tried to stop them. She could see six of the Student Proctors in the watching crowd, and there were a dozen Breakthrough Security people here. No one moved.

This wasn’t a case of punching and shoving. Maybe it had started that way, but they were all learning the kinds of martial arts skills that could be used to hurt somebody, and it quickly turned into the kind of fight where both combatants wanted to hurt each other.
Really
hurt each other. There was a swift flurry of blocks and counters and the other kids moved back even further to give them room. Spirit’s stomach went into knots, but she knew she didn’t dare show how sick this was making her.

One swept the other’s feet out from under him. The one who fell grabbed his opponent and pulled him down. Both bounced to their feet a moment later. Their clothing was torn.
That’s an automatic demerit,
Spirit thought half-hysterically. Both boys were bleeding now. She tried to keep herself from looking to Burke, but she couldn’t help seeing him. He was standing motionless, head down, as if he was utterly weary, too tired to even think about interfering. Or maybe too intimidated.

Once he would have been one of the first guys breaking up a fight.
The thought made Spirit feel like crying. Muirin always called Burke a “Boy Scout,” but Burke was one of the most simply
good
people Spirit had ever known. Hanging back this way had to be killing him.
But we’re all trying not to be noticed. And there’s a bigger fight coming. An important one. He knows he has to save himself for it. Whatever it ends up being.

She’d barely formed the thought when there was an ugly
cracking
sound, loud in the silence. One of the boys screamed. He fell to his knees clutching at his shoulder. His arm hung limp and useless at his side. His opponent grabbed one of the chairs.…

But now—finally—the security people moved in. Two of them grabbed the one with the chair. The other two picked up his victim. They dragged them quickly toward the Refectory doors. There must have been someone watching right outside, because the doors opened quickly. Two new security guards came in as the other four went out.

There was a moment of stillness. Then the line began to re-form. Slowly. And nobody wanted to get too close to anyone else.

*   *   *

Spirit picked up her tray and stepped away from the serving counter. As she walked back into the Refectory (looking for her assigned seat, they all had assigned seats now, too) she saw the doors open again.

They’re supposed to be locked by now, unless … Oh.

Muirin came sauntering in, looking like she was doing them all a favor by gracing them with her presence. Spirit stared. Muirin was wearing a black vinyl jacket over a hot pink mesh t-shirt, and a denim miniskirt with black fishnet stockings and black knee-high boots. Nothing could be further from the Oakhurst Dress Code. She’d even gone back to dyeing her hair a couple of weeks ago. Muirin had flaming red hair most girls Spirit knew would kill for. It was short (because it had been
blue
when she’d gotten here, and Oakhurst made her cut it) and now it was streaked with black.

“See what you can get if you play by the rules? Fewer rules!” Muirin sang, walking over to Spirit and striking a pose right in front of her. Her mouth was twisted in a mocking sneer, and it was pretty hard to miss the fact that she was wearing green lipstick and more eye shadow than the Oakhurst Code would ever have allowed. Anybody would think she and Spirit were enemies. It was a great act. At least, Spirit hoped it was an act.

Except for a few brief meetings, when Muirin passed on some piece of Breakthrough gossip, or a warning about a new school policy, Spirit had seen little of Muirin since the February dance. Addie and Muirin had been friends before Spirit came to Oakhurst, and Muirin was avoiding her too. Or … not “avoiding” so much as spending all her time with her new best friends—all of whom happened to be important Breakthrough people.

Muirin said she was spying on Breakthrough to protect them. Spirit hoped that was the truth.

“Hi, Muirin,” she said unenthusiastically. “I didn’t think—”
I didn’t think you’d be here at all.

“Demerits are a thing of the past!” Muirin singsonged tauntingly. She blew Spirit a theatrical air-kiss and turned away, walking with an exaggerated hip-swing. Ovcharenko had come in while Spirit was in the kitchen, and Muirin made a beeline for him.

“That’s because none of us is going to live to graduate,” Loch said quietly from behind Spirit. Spirit did her best not to yelp. Loch’s main Gift was Shadewalking—it wasn’t invisibility, exactly, but it was close. He brushed against her as he passed, and Spirit felt a tug at her pocket. Loch had just passed her a note. It must be about the meeting tonight. She’d see what it said later. When it was safe.

They’d all done their best to pretend they didn’t want to know each other anymore. She didn’t know who Addie was hanging out with these days—if anyone—but Loch’s new “friends” were a bunch of boys Lachlan Spears might have known back in the real world; he hung with some of the ultrarich trust-fund kids. Spirit didn’t really hang with anyone, and acted shy and intimidated. It was an act—like Loch’s, like Burke’s, like (she hoped) Muirin’s. They were all acting these days.

As she sat down at her table, she saw Muirin giving Ovcharenko some serious face time.
Ugh. He’s almost old enough to be her father. That’s just creepy.
That was another thing Spirit hated about the way things were now. When Breakthrough had showed up here, Ovcharenko had started making a big play for Muirin, even though he was years older than she was. At first Muirin had discouraged him—but that was a thing of the past now. She didn’t know how Muirin could stand it.

Of course, consider the alternative,
she thought, as she picked up her fork.

TWO

“Hail, hail, most of the gang’s all here,” Loch said quietly as Spirit entered.

The backstage area of the school theater smelled of dust and paint. Scenery for plays that hadn’t been performed since Spirit had been here (and now probably never would be) was stacked against the walls. A couple of flashlights standing on end in the middle of the floor gave the only light.

“Where’s Muirin?” Spirit asked, looking around. Muirin was the only one missing.

“She went back to Radial with Ovcharenko after dinner,” Addie said, her voice flat with disapproval. “I don’t know why she even bothered putting in an appearance tonight.”

“To show the rest of us what we’re missing, what else?” Loch said lightly.

Spirit sat down between Burke and Addie. Muirin’s absence made her uneasy. She wanted to think Muirin wasn’t, well, falling to the Dark Side. But it was hard to be sure
what
Muirin was doing when they all saw so little of each other. And the trouble was, Breakthrough seemed to know exactly how to offer each of them what they wanted most.…

“That fight tonight … ugh,” Addie said, shuddering.

“It’s just going to get worse,” Loch said quietly. “This place was a pressure cooker to
begin
with.”

“And now Breakthrough’s turned up the heat,” Burke said wearily. “It doesn’t make sense. If they want us, why’re they trying to kill us?”

“Survival of the fittest,” Loch said, shrugging.

“Well I’m just about fit to be tied,” Burke muttered.

“Maybe the lid will blow off the pressure cooker,” Addie said thoughtfully. “The more rules Breakthrough makes, the more everyone rebels against them. Which reminds me…” Addie reached into her blazer pocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes and a half-pint bottle of vodka. “Courtesy of Muirin,” she said, as the others stared at her. “It makes a good excuse, if we’re caught together.”

So at least Muirin’s still helping,
Spirit thought uneasily. She just wished she could be sure Muirin wasn’t just giving them all enough rope to hang themselves. The four of them—the
five
of them—had been the ringleaders of what passed for a rebellion here since last October—and Muirin knew all the details.
If she rats us out …

“Good for Muirin,” she said, a little too forcefully. The others stared at her.
She won’t turn us in,
Spirit thought desperately.
Muirin never does things just to please people.

As she wrestled with her fears—it hurt to distrust Muirin, but things had gotten so bad lately that Spirit kept expecting them to get even worse—Addie lit one of the cigarettes. They handed it around the circle, waving it in the air so the place would smell of smoke. When it had burned down, Addie held it up carefully, concentrating. In the light of the flashlights, Spirit saw the paper go soggy, and there was a faint hiss as the ember went out. Addie’s Gift came from the School of Water. There wasn’t
much
water in the air, but there was enough that she could douse a cigarette.

She dropped the butt fastidiously to the floor and opened the bottle. “Time to become a teenaged alcoholic, I guess,” she said. She poured a little into the palm of her hand and dabbed it on her cheeks and neck. “No way am I actually drinking any of that,” she said, passing the bottle to Spirit. “I don’t want to be off my game for even a second anymore.”

Spirit copied Addie’s gestures. The vodka was cold, and it smelled worse than rubbing alcohol. She’d thought vodka was supposed to be odorless and tasteless.

Burke slopped himself lavishly with it, and even ran his wet hands through his hair before passing the bottle to Loch. Loch carefully soaked his shirtfront in it, grimacing. “This stuff’s never going to replace my
Cuir de Russie,
” he said, forcing a smile. “So. Who wants to go first?”