Beyond the arch, the mist lifted slightly to reveal the hulking shapes of wooden structures circling a meadow. As they drew closer, Tristan recognized the closest as a Native American longhouse, the boards rotting in places and one corner sloping in.
“We’re not living in those, are we?” Eli asked in a disgruntled undertone. “They don’t look at all waterproof. Or insulated.”
Quinsley chuckled. “No, of course not. Just wait—you’re in for a treat.”
As Miss Merridy opened the door to the longhouse with a groan of boards and shower of dust, Tristan peered over her shoulder. He could see nothing but shadows within.
Miss Merridy strode into the darkness without hesitation, while Tristan and his fellow students jostled one another in an attempt to let someone else lead the way. Eventually the boy with wavy, shoulder-length black hair whom Merridy had reprimanded on the plane ended up in front. With a glance over his shoulder and a shrug, he sauntered into the shadows. The haughty red-haired girl followed, and then everyone pushed through the doors in a tight knot. Tristan ended up wedged between Leila and Rusty, feeling his way forward one step at a time.
Then the boy in front gave a yelp. “What the hell? There are stairs in here!”
“I didn’t realize it was called the ‘Underground Academy’ because it’s literally underground,” Leila whispered in Tristan’s ear.
He laughed shortly, his stomach still tight with worry.
As the cluster of students began to descend, Tristan edged to the side until he could put a hand on the wall for balance. It was nothing but packed earth, which crumbled under his fingertips.
Ten steps down, everything changed.
First, his foot landed on something that felt slick and solid, not like the sagging boards near the top of the stairway. Then the wall beneath his fingers changed to smooth, cold stone.
Another step down, and light exploded around him.
Tristan stumbled back and nearly fell over the stair behind, blinded by the sudden brilliance.
Squinting and blinking rapidly, Tristan tried to regain his bearings. It felt as though he had passed through some invisible barrier and emerged in a different world.
The stairs continued down through a tunnel of white polished marble, finally opening onto a vast floor.
In a daze, Tristan continued to the foot of the stairs, hardly registering the amazed voices around him.
They were in a vast oval chamber—almost a ballroom—with an alcove at one end where chairs sat around several round tables. A pattern like a compass rose radiated out from the center of the floor, the segments cut from red, black, and murky green stone; overhead, the blinding light came from a series of chandeliers.
At the foot of the stairs, Tristan stopped, unsure what to do next. Behind him, the rest of the students jostled forward until everyone stood on the ground floor.
“Welcome.” A man’s cold voice rang out from the opposite side of the ballroom. “This is the Underground Academy—or, as we like to call it, the Lair.”
The man who had spoken was standing at the edge of the raised platform in the alcove. He was dressed all in black, and his eyes were sunken, giving his face a skeletal appearance.
“Come on, no need to be nervous,” Quinsley said from behind them.
Tristan jumped; he was not the only one. Still in a tight cluster, the students shuffled across the ballroom to the alcove. Other professors—or perhaps scientists—had been sitting around a large table near the back, but they rose as the students approached. Tristan had expected to join other students, but there were only twenty unoccupied chairs on the platform, just enough for the new arrivals.
His misgivings increased.
“Very good to meet you,” said a rotund man who smiled indulgently at Tristan and his fellows.
“This is Professor Brikkens,” Quinsley said, nodding to the heavyset man, who waved. “And your headmaster is Professor Drakewell.”
The tall, hollow-eyed man did not smile at his introduction; instead he shot a sharp look at Quinsley, who fell silent.
“Please be seated,” Professor Drakewell said. “You have already met Professor Merridy, your environmental studies teacher, and Gerard Quinsley, our school chef.”
Miss Merridy smiled tightly. Stress lines had appeared on her forehead—was it because Tristan and Amber had nearly gotten lost, or was there something about the school that frightened her?
“I’m not just the chef,” Quinsley said good-humoredly. “I’m also the pilot, handyman, and shepherder-of-students. Today I believe Professor Gracewright prepared our feast?”
A small woman with long, wispy grey hair smiled. “I did my best, but it will never live up to your cooking.”
Drakewell did not look amused. “Professor Gracewright will take your botany classes.” He waved a hand in the direction of the tiny, grey-haired woman. “That leaves Professor Alldusk, who will teach chemistry—” he indicated a pale, black-haired man— “Professor Grindlethorn, who teaches medicine—” he gestured at a stocky, hooked-nosed man— “and Professor Delair, who teaches elementals.” The last was a bald man with rectangular glasses.
A flutter of movement and whispers passed through the students at this announcement. Belatedly, Tristan remembered Professor Drakewell had asked them to sit down—he dropped into the nearest seat, while the other students hastily followed suit. He was joined by Leila, Rusty, Eli, and a black-haired, brown-skinned boy he had not spoken to before.
“I’m glad you arrived safely,” said Professor Alldusk. He was around Miss Merridy’s age, with black hair down to his shoulders and a kind smile. With his black trench-coat and heavy black boots, he looked a bit like a vampire—albeit a friendly one.
Professor Drakewell cleared his throat. “I need your undivided attention.”
Though he spoke quietly, every student turned to look at him. Silence fell over the room.
“I assume Professor Merridy has given you a brief introduction to our academy. However, I wish to fill you in completely, so there is no confusion.”
Tristan gripped the edge of his seat.
“The Underground Academy is a school of magic. You have been hand-picked because you show more potential than the average person. However, it will take months of hard study before you learn to see auras and manipulate the power waiting around us.”
Tristan took a shaky breath.
He had been right. Merridy had meant magic when she spoke of power.
Years of desperate belief in Marcus’s treatments, only to see them fail time and time again, had taught him to be skeptical of anything that could not be proven. Yet he wanted it to be true.
He wanted to belong somewhere other than Juvie, wanted a future where his criminal record did not define him.
He tried to push down his hope, because if this turned out to be a cruel joke or a lie designed to lull them into complacency, he might crack. Desperation had lurked through all his long months in Juvie, threatening to drive him to fight, to make a run for it, to hurt himself. Only by walling away any emotion, any thought of Marcus, had he survived.
The muscled boy with buzz-cut hair broke the silence. “That’s BS.” His eyes were cold, full of hate. “Why would you want a bunch of criminals to learn magic? You’d be giving us better weapons to use against our enemies. I don’t buy it.”
“That’s a good point,” Leila said, her voice flat. “If you’re telling the truth, surely there must be better people out there who have just as much potential as us. Why do you need criminals?”
“You are best qualified for the Underground Academy,” Professor Drakewell said coldly. “Be grateful you were given another chance at life outside the detention center.”
Though he had not answered Leila’s question, Drakewell’s tone was final.
“While here, you must prove yourselves. If any of you have not learned to harvest and use orbs by the end of the year, you will return to the detention center you came from to serve the remainder of your sentence. Likewise if you cause trouble.” Drakewell’s eyes narrowed. “You may have made mistakes in the past, but we do not accept criminals here. If we see any indication of criminal behavior, you will be expelled with no questions asked. Understood?”
The boy with the buzz-cut muttered something under his breath to the handsome black-haired boy who sat beside him.
No one else spoke.
“Two more rules while you remain here. First, obey any orders given by myself or your other professors. Any disobedience will result in hours of labor given as punishment. And second, do not stray off the marble floors. Trespassing will be punished severely.”
Tristan was not alone in glancing at the polished stone underfoot.
“You may bring our dinner now, Professor Gracewright.”
When the tiny, wispy-haired woman leapt to her feet and bustled through a door opening off the alcove, Quinsley hastened after her.
The headmaster took a seat at the teachers’ table, and as he did, quiet voices rose among the students.
Tristan played with his fork, not sure what to believe.
So far, he had seen no proof that the professors were telling the truth. He remembered hearing about a science experiment where participants were asked to administer an electric shock to a man who answered questions wrong. They did it, even when they thought it was wrong, because they believed in the authority of the scientist running the experiment.
Was this a similar situation? Would Tristan and his fellow students be pressed into doing terrible things in the name of learning “magic”?
But Tristan was here, and he had nowhere else to go. Whether he believed the professors or not, this was his life now.
“What do you think?” Leila whispered.
“If it’s real, I’m going to make sure I learn magic,” Tristan said grimly. “I can’t face Juvie again.”