The Fake Heart (Time Alchemist Series) (2 page)

“Sounds like a plan,
Em
.
” I assured myself, gushing with excitement and a mixture of nervousness. After another quick check list (Uniform in perfect condition? There wasn’t any lip-gloss stuck to my teeth, was there? All the folders and pens I needed? Check, check, and check!), and a quick good bye to my father’s picture (with a reminder to give him a call after orientation was over), I slung my brown leather messenger bag over my shoulder, the beads of my favorite
multi-colored keychain—shaped almost exactly like the flower design on my hairclips—clanged against the leathery surface, and shoved my feet into black flats before heading out the door.

My heart fluttered with anticipation as I hopped onto the elevator, hearing the loud
ping
as the doors slid to a close. My fingers closed around the bracelet—my lucky charm, my support, my heritage; all reminders of what I needed to do and why I was at St. Mary’s Academy in the first place.

CHAPTER 2

Soft, morning light radiated through the collage of rustling green leaves. Despite being so early in the morning, there wasn’t a sound
heard
except for the occasional chirping of birds and
chattering
squirrels skittering up and down the barks of the trees. The heels of my dress shoes made rather loud and annoying clomping sounds along the stone pathways, like one of the horse drawn tour carriages that Savannah was well known for, probably scaring away any cute woodland creatures that happened to reside near the woods.

But that was fine with me. The heavy southern air was unusually soothing against my skin, and a light breeze played across my face, tousling my hair a little out of place. I reached up to make sure the flower clips were still snug in place. No way was I going into orientation with a wild goose nest of a hair style! Only a week living inside of St. Mary’s, and I could already tell that the second most important thing these rich kids cared more about than their grades was their looks. First impressions meant a whole lot more here than they did up North—they determined who would approach me, who I would share my lunches with, and if I truly deserved to be walking in the same footsteps as the other god-like students.

The city of Savannah was indeed a beautiful, breathtaking place. St. Mary’s delighted in showing off its historic brick and stone buildings, ornate wrought iron gates and
elaborate
old style architecture that made up the campus.
A
majority of the school’s buildings still looked like they did when St. Mary’s was first formed in the early 1900s, as an orphanage.

St. Mary’s
orphanage
didn’t turn into a school
until a hundred
or so years ago. It wasn’t until St. Mary’s was about to go
under financially
when a generous and prosperous local made a hefty donation—in exchange for St. Mary’s turning into a boarding school for the next-in-line heirs of very wealthy companies and families. A.K.A: a safe haven for snobby little brats who roll deep in their parent’s dough.

So now, 2011, St. Mary’s had evolved from a small, worn down orphanage to a high class boarding school fit for royalty. But really, St. Mary’s relied heavily on donations and tuitions to keep running, which is why so few scholarship students are accepted, if
any
at all.

Needless to say, St. Mary’s is indeed a school for the wealthy, but it’s almost kind of sad that the less fortunate (like myself, for example) have to pry and dig and beg just to be able to enter the gates.

I walked along the cobblestone pathway, passing a few old-fashioned lampposts (the kind that have to be lit by hand. How cool is that?), and some stone benches with names carved on the front; possibly old alumni or the names of generous don
ors
. I could just imagine on a warm spring day all of the students taking cover under the thick shades of the oaks, reading books and listening to pop music or cuddling with their loved ones on plaid blankets. An unusually heavy sigh escaped my lips, breaking the clouds of my imagination. I wonder how long it would be to make friends and have picnics on the school grounds, or find a cute and sweet boy who’d lend me his shoulder as we napped under the trees? Would
any
rich boy here really want to spend time with
me
, a foreign girl who could barely afford the school uniform?

The edges of the map rustled in my hands as I took another look. I had already explored most of the area around my dorm, and even saw the small lake nestled between blankets of trees in front of the huge library. I paused at a fork in the road.

Going right would take me straight to the auditorium. Going left would take me through a winding pathway all the way through a small layer of woods and come back around in front of the auditorium. It looked longer, but I narrowed my eyes to see the small black print better, noticing that there was a small church marked along the pathway.

I took another glance at my watch. I still had well over half an hou
r. With any luck, I’ll get there
early enough to find a good seat up front, and get a little
sightseeing all at once
.

It was perfect! I folded the map up in a neat square and placed it in the jacket’s front pocket, then clip-clopped towards the pathway, into the heart of the woods, feeling like a giddy Dorothy on her way to see the Wizard of Oz.

Despite how hidden the pathway was, it looked just as pristine as the rest of the grounds. True, the shades cast an almost uncanny overcast, almost completely blocking out the sun. But it was nice and cool as the long limbs of the moss covered branches brushed against the grounds.

I took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh air, suddenly feeling rejuvenated as I kept up
my pace
, pausing every once in awhile to admire the huge aging oaks, or take count of how many bronze colored stones that sprinkled along the gray path.

Not a sound was in the air except my heavy footfalls and breathing.

Clang!

I stopped mid-step, ears perked. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly rose; goose bumps
tickled my skin, even underneath
the warm layers of clothes. I held my breath, thinking I had imagined the sound—

CLANG!

There it was again! It was a faint ringing sound, like somebody striking steel.
Metal…against metal.
But that wasn’t all—something….buzzing, like the humming of electricity running through wires, and muffled shouting following after. The sounds were coming to my left, and if I looked closely, I could see through the thick tree trunks and hanging moss a glimpse of the black iron fence that cut of St. Mary’s from the outside world.

I stepped towards the sound, cutting through the bushes. My hand instinctively tightened around the strap of my bag, almost cutting into my skin. Every sense in my body was suddenly shouting
ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!
But that was ridiculous, because St. Mary’s was one of the safest schools in the South—

CLANG!

I jumped a few feet, heart thumping hard against my chest like a dribbling basketball. What the hell was I doing? Shouldn’t I be going
away
from the scary noises?

But…what if it was just some stupid kids getting in a fight? I had to see what was going on so I could tell a teacher. Yeah, that’s it. If I know someone’s fighting, I should report it. Heck, it could be just construction workers for all I know! Maybe the fence was in need of repair! But I still had to find out. Just to put my mind at ease, I guess.

I inched closer, the edges of thorn bushes snagging the hems of my skirt and making tiny cuts on the skin of my legs. The fighting sounds grew louder, as did the shouting. I managed (finally!) to get close enough to the scene as I hid behind a tree.

My jaw dropped—it literally dropped, and if this was a cartoon I’m pretty sure it would have fallen to the
ground
—at what I saw.

Beyond the fence
that bordered the academy
were two people around my age fighting each other, just as I had guessed about whatever—or I guess in this case, whoever—was ca
u
sing the noise. But this wasn’t a typical school fight (you know when the girls grab for each other’s hair and the boys start swinging punches and throwing chairs); these two were fighting with
weapons.
Actual weapons you would see in a movie or a video game.

But they weren’t made of plastic covered in spray paint or bought at a costume store—these were
real.

Sparks flew when the girl’s crimson colored
spear-like
we
apon hit against the boy’s black, slender sword
, sending shockwaves through my very bones. I thought I was dreaming. It took me a moment to actually let the situation sink in! My eyes widened in complete surprise as the two fought against each other, obviously clueless to my presence.

The girl was stunning—white blonde hair that was cut very short with curly ends that brushed the back of her neck, dressed in a simple white sweater and denim shorts and black biker boo
ts. She had a thin crimson lance
in her hands that seemed to give red sparks as it hit. It was beyond mesmerizing and terrifying all at the same time.

The boy had scruffy brown hair—but his gray tee was ripped up, like a giant cat had swiped at his front and I could see his muscles
ripple
underneath the torn ends as he moved. Really, the only thing still intact that he wore was faded denim jeans and dusty brown combat boots.

If the guy didn’t have a
really sharp looking sword
in his hands, I would have thought he was…hot. The entire
blade
was a deep onyx black, almost the same shade as the iron rods of the fence. It shone like a beautiful gem in the light, but when the sun caught it in just that one moment, I noticed that the gleam wasn’t from how shiny it was—it was red.

With what looked like…
blood
.

He gave an angry yell and charged at the girl, cutting her
weapon
in half with one quick slice, looking as easy as running a hot knife through butter. The
razor-sharp sword
was only centimeters from her face before she jumped backwards; the broken pieces of her
spear
lay abandoned on the grass. My heart all but stopped as the two stood feet a
part, panting heavily.
I glanced quickly at the fence—there were heavy cuts and scrapes against the bars, and even a gaping hole big enough for a small car to drive through in the fence. My heart beat faster at the damage done to the fence. If that boy could break such a heavy looking fence, who’s to stop him from s
eriously
hurting somebody with that sword? Who were these people anyway? Live action role players?
Pranksters?
Delinquents who somehow got their hands on deadly weapons and were attacking each other in rage?!

I was rooted to my spot hidden behind the trunk of a thick tree, as if the tree roots had snagged my ankles,
planting
me firmly to the ground. The hanging Spanish moss made perfect
cover as I peered at the two mysterious teens. I wanted to yell out for the girl to run away but for some reason I couldn’t find my voice. Just looking at that ominous, midnight black sword had me
horrified
. Look at what it did to the fence and to the girl’s own weapon—imagine what it could do to some stupid, curious girl like
me!

Unlike my panicky state (despite the fact that I was hidden), the girl remained in her spot, unusually calm regardless of the beads of sweat and dirt smudges on her flushed face. She closed her eyes, and just as the man was about the swing his
sword
at her, she lifted her hands. A bright red light
glowed
from her
palms
as she blocked the attacker with her own weapon—a
brand new
ruby red
sword that seemed to materialize from the palms her hands. It had happened out of nowhere, like a magician’s illusion but was as solid as a…well, a sword, and the two continued their brawl.

My knees gave out and I fell to the ground with a heavy thud. The impact sent a wave of pain up my spine, but I was too overwhelmed with what was happening in front
of me to even notice
the pain, or the fact that my skirt was getting dirty with grass stains.