The Awakening of Ren Crown (6 page)

“Even something vulnerable like a sapling or chrysalis can be extraordinary given the right purpose, Butterfly.”

I followed his eyes to the picture. It too was wrong. A figure of a girl stood in front of closed drapes holding a potted sapling in her hands. Patterned, circular portals shaded with a dimensional edge were the only adornment on the draperies. No box, no second figure, and no color present anywhere. Yet my fingertips were stained blue.

The man smiled, as if I had voiced my thoughts aloud.

“Who are you?” I asked.

The question was wrong. God, what...? I pushed as hard as I could against the fog.

“I am the man with the answers to all of the questions you don't even yet know to ask.”

I pushed harder. Hard enough, that I felt something tear around my mind.

There was a loud boom outside, and the other students started moving again, but I couldn't look away from the man in front of me. His smile grew. “Ah, conceit, my ultimate weakness. You ripped right through and exposed me. Delicious. But far too late for them.”

Tumbled blocks of memory and information re-formed into a whole, bar one smoking black spot. Mr. Verisetti held something large and dark in his hand, a wide mysterious smile curling his lips. “No time to test further. Do keep hold of that marvelous piece of art.”

He dropped a wide, round, black circle to the floor. It stuck like a suction cup thrown with great force. “They'll be here in five minutes. You should really run. Or else they will take that which I have allowed you to keep—your life and magic. I left a bit in the container since you did so well.” He stepped forward, one foot hovering an inch above the black circle, the other at its edge. “Do remember my generosity. Until next we meet, Butterfly, I look forward to the havoc you will wreak.”

He slid forward on his planted foot, not quite making a hop, not quite taking a step, and his body fell into the black hole. The edges of the black circle pulled in quickly toward center, slipping across the still completely intact tile, as if the circle had been a thin blanket covering a gaping hole, and weight was forcing the entire blanket down and pulling the rest of the earth around and above it to close the hole. Intact floor tile remained as the circle rapidly pulled to its own center, sealing itself to a point over the top of him like a pod. Mr. Verisetti disappeared into the earth without an iota of displacement.

The last bit of black circle disappeared without a sound.

Only a light scorch mark remained, as if something round had burned the tile, then been dragged, flaming, to center. I held the scissors tightly in front of me.

“What is she doing now?” I heard the whispers of the students, who were moving around once again.

Your life and magic.
Magic. I gripped the scissors harder.

The door of the classroom burst open, and a boy ran inside, furtively looking in all directions, then at something in his hand.

I looked back to the spot on the floor where my teacher had disappeared. I pushed against the feel of the hooks still buried in my skin. I demanded anger. I demanded terror. I demanded betrayed sorrow.

“Hey, where did Mr. Verisetti go?” another student said, craning her head. “Did she kill him too?”

“Verisetti?” The new boy said in alarm as he stopped next to me. He looked my age, but I had never seen him at school. The jacket of his tailored suit was slightly askew, his gray eyes sharp. His dark hair and silver-rimmed glasses mirrored the black and silver of his pinstripes.

He looked terrified, but squared his shoulders, held out a device and made a sweeping motion with it over the black spot, as if he were scanning the space. He kept sending quick glances between the door of the classroom and his device. None of the other students were looking at him.

It was like I was in a painting by Magritte—normal objects assembled together to form a surrealistic whole. Except, the boy next to me should be wearing a bowler, not a beret. And carrying an apple, rather than a computer tablet.

The boy's face brightened. “I
knew
it. I knew one could work here. Ha. Suck it, Rational Engineers' Club. The Department can suck it too.”

He bent down and scraped a residue from the black scorch mark, collecting it and placing it on a violet-colored tablet device. Then he ran the device over the spot again, pushing buttons. “Three more minutes and this place will be crawling with those bastards. Come on, come on, a little more. I'm so going to win the competition this year. Record keeping first, though. What's that terrorist's full name?”

He touched beneath his ear and his eyes lit. “Oh, right.”

He cleared his throat and pushed a finger to the tablet. “On this day, I, William Archenwald Tasky, report that I have found traces of portal pad technology in the First Layer. The name Verisetti was mentioned by an ordinary boy. This leads me to conclude that Raphael Immanuel Verisetti might be involved, given the criminal circumstances. Bookmark this report under
Will Is Always Right
.”

He looked smug as he quickly tucked his tablet into an inner pocket. “Suck it.”

I wanted to feel smugness too. I wanted to feel fear. I wanted to mourn the loss of my brother again. I pushed at the feel of the glittering hooks embedded in my skin.

A few tugged, gripping in a last effort before releasing. A light layer on my skin lifted free, leaving me clean and raw where exposed. I shivered.

The particles streamed into the air, hanging there, as if seeking a new target.

Will looked up suddenly, his eyes going wide at the particles. “Dear magic.” He fumbled in his jacket and pulled out the tablet, the pocket liner coming with it, sticking out in a cloth triangle.

He pushed a button, and the lint moved in a sudden burst of air straight into his tablet. He pushed another button, and his jaw dropped at whatever he saw there. “Docile Dust? This day has been the
best
.”

Along with anger and sorrow, a sense of relief seeped through me. The last remnants of the dust released from my skin and swooped into Will's tablet.

I rubbed my left arm and my fingers brushed rough edges. I slowly looked down to Christian's band, which was brittle at the edges and burned clear through in spots. I carefully touched the damaged leather. I felt suddenly numb. Numb in a far different way than I had under the Dust.

Will pushed something on his tablet. “Two minutes remaining.”

I scrubbed my free hand over my arm, but didn't take my eyes away from the space where Mr. Verisetti had been. My delayed fear response had firmly tagged Mr. Verisetti as the most dangerous element in my current situation and put nerdy, unknown Will on the waitlist.

“Docile Dust?” I asked, a little too loudly.

“Who is she talking to?” a student whispered.

Will looked at me and blinked. “You can see me?”

“Yes?”

“Are you an expat?” He blinked at me some more, then suddenly looked cagey, eyes darting around. “Are you from the Department?” He edged away from me, then swore and looked down at his tablet. “It shows I still have a minute and a half.”

He hit the edge of the device with his palm as if it was on the fritz, then turned and started walking swiftly toward the door.

“What? Ex-patriate from what?” I called, my feet moving after him. He had used the word magic and he clearly knew more than I did. “Do you have a Department of Death?”

“
She did kill him! I knew it!”

“
Crazy.”

“
Absolutely nuts.
”

The whispers were everywhere now.

My whole body tightened, the environment around me fully registering. Before, they might have simply ignored me when I wasn't near Christian, but I had been fair game for weeks now...and had just put myself in active persecution territory. I kept a grip on the scissors and grabbed my bag, quickly stuffing everything from the easel inside. My eyes kept track of Will as he maneuvered around students without touching them and pressed buttons on his odd-colored tablet.

“Wait!” I ran after him. Everyone hurried out of my way, but no one looked at the stranger in their midst as he quickly ducked through the classroom door and started running. I picked up my pace too, pulling the sleeves of my sweater down as we headed for the front doors of the school.

“Wait!”

The bell rang to signal the end of school, and kids came streaming out of rooms chattering about an earthquake.

“
Please
wait!”

Will suddenly stopped and turned toward me, eyes sharp, one hand clenched in his pocket. “You aren’t a Fed?”

I breathed heavily and tightened my grip on my bag. Relief and apprehension mixed. “Not last I checked, no.”

His shoulders eased, and he removed his hand from his pocket, letting it hang loosely at his side. “Of course you aren't. And you aren't a terrorist.” He looked at his tablet. “Come on then, we only have a minute to get clear of here.”

Will put on the black beret as we exited the building. I clutched my scissors. If I found out I was being hunted by some crazy Black Ops artists' colony or a technologically advanced prostitution ring that needed art students with mental problems, I was going to go down fighting.

Will looked down at his tablet as we reached the now heavily populated sidewalk. “The rumors are
so
right. This Layer is rich with illegal goods.”

“Layer?”

He gave me an odd glance. “Yeah. You know, five layers of the world?” He scrolled his tablet. “It says Docile Dust is only supposed to subdue and inhibit, not cause memory loss.”

“You are magical.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, as if I was the slow one.

“How do you bring people back from the dead?”

He blinked. “You do an organ enchantment.”

Painful relief slipped through me. “You know how.”

He shrugged. “The basics. Resurrection experts are a dime a dozen, though, so I’ve never studied it.” His eyebrows creased. “Wait, how old are you?”

“Seventeen. Take me to one. I'll pay you.” I'd do anything. Whatever had just happened in the art classroom would be completely worth it, if I got Christian back.

“You're
feral
,” he said as if just realizing a secret of vast import.

I yanked the scissors into a threatening position. That word had been tossed around the night Christian had died too.

Will held up his free hand. “Whoa. My family supports feral rights.” His eyes went wide, and I followed his gaze to the students giving me a wide berth. They were staring at me and pulling out cell phones. No one was looking at Will.

“Put those down,” Will hissed. “You aren't even close to being cloaked.”

I shoved the scissors into my bag mechanically and swallowed as I took in the expressions on the horrified and disgusted faces around me. So this, then, was what rock bottom felt like.

I turned abruptly and started walking. Maybe I could outrun the pain.

“What is he doing here?” Behind me, Will's voice was so full of astonishment, that I turned to see what had caused it.

A man dressed in pinstripes and glasses was running toward the doors of the school. He carried a clear aura of authority, even while sprinting, but no one looked at him as he passed. He reminded me of Mr. Verisetti in an indefinable way.

I balanced on the balls of my feet, ready to run. “Is that your Dad?”

Will held secrets that I wanted, but he was also a part of Mr. Verisetti's world—the world that had killed Christian.

Will looked down at his suit. “No. Pinstripes are all the rage right now,” he muttered, blushing.

On the street, a black SUV shot past us, did a quick U-turn and screeched to the curb. Will immediately pushed me out of the center of the gawking crowd and into a crush of kids waiting for a bus. Everyone was looking at me, and no one was noticing the very obvious black ops vehicle or the boy with the beret at my side. Three men rapidly exited the SUV.

Another man exited more slowly, menace trailing him. All of the men wore black, with black sunglasses and soulless expressions on their faces.

Frozen. I was frozen. Frozen physically and emotionally.

“We have to go.” Will pushed me into the crowd. “Now.”

“Hey, watch it!” a boy said, as I tripped over him, my body completely unresponsive.

The thin man who had exited last yelled to the others, who were striding up the walk toward the school. “Find Verisetti. Put traces on everything.”

Will pulled me behind a low wall of bushes that dotted the edges of the school grounds. I tripped over him, already off-balance, and my bag dumped to the ground.

I mechanically started scooping things back inside. “Who are they?” I asked woodenly. They weren't quite the same as the men who had killed Christian. Those men had seemed far more wild and far less organized, but the feeling of personal danger was the same.

Will tucked my art notebook into my bag, then grabbed the sketch while craning his head around. “Department spooks. Bad news. Just stay here until we can make a break for it.” He held out the sketch to me.

The tips of my paint-stained fingerpads curled around the paper, touching the girl's dress within. The paint seeped from my fingers into the sketch, absorbing there. The girl began swaying. She smiled, set the sapling down, and began pulling the shaded white drape on the right slowly to the side, exposing darkness in the middle of the sketch.

“What is she doing?” Will scooted closer, pulling the paper back out of my grip in order to examine it. “I didn't realize you were an art mage.”

Anxiety seeped through my wooden state as I watched him. Alarm gripped me. “Let go of that.”

“Ok.” His fingers loosened, but a charcoaled hand reached out from the sketch and gripped his forearm. Will's eyes widened, and he finally released the paper fully, but it was far too late. The hand yanked back into the paper, taking Will’s arm with it. His whole body followed, just sucking,
absorbing
, him in. Schwoop. Right down to his strange black shoes.

Gone, like everyone in my life.

The freed sheet caught a breeze and gently drifted to the sidewalk. I stared blankly as it finally came to rest a few feet away. A student stepped on it, issued a quick apology, picked it up, and handed it to me.