Though they were already late for Grindlethorn’s second period class, Tristan and Rusty stayed behind to help Leila gather an armful of lemons for Quinsley.
“That was completely unfair,” Leila said as they walked down the hall toward the kitchen. “Brikkens didn’t give you any instructions, so he can’t blame you for wrecking his floor! If he had any decency, he’d blame himself.”
“It does seem kind of messed up,” Rusty said consolingly. “You could always work off the hours with Gracewright, though—she hardly makes you do anything.”
“It’s not that,” Tristan fumed. “Do you realize how much time that is? It’s three hours a night if I’m going to be done by Friday, and that’s on top of homework! I won’t be able to sleep!”
Leila paused to readjust her armful of lemons. “That’s the problem with this place. No matter how nice some of the teachers are, there’s always someone determined to punish us.”
“But you’ve gotta admit, we’re being treated awfully well,” Rusty said fairly. “We’re learning a ton, and I’ve never eaten so much good food in my life.”
“Sure,” Tristan said. “Still, if we had a different headmaster, I’d complain about Brikkens. But Drakewell would probably send me straight back to Juvie.” He grimaced. “I’d also ask a less intimidating headmaster if we could split into two separate bedrooms. I don’t like having Damian’s crowd so close.”
They had reached the kitchen, so Tristan held the door for Leila, whose arms were full.
“Hey, Gerry,” she called. “Look what Tristan grew!”
Quinsley wiped his hands on his apron. “Morning, Leila. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Then he noticed what they were carrying. “Lemons! Good morning, Tristan, Rusty—I haven’t gotten a chance to talk with you two in ages! Did you really grow these, Tristan?”
Tristan nodded and dropped his handful of lemons at the edge of the enormous counter.
Quinsley beamed at him. “All right, now run along. I’ll see you all later. Thanks a bunch, Leila!”
As they hurried from the kitchen, Leila muttered, “I wish we had separate bedrooms too.”
“What?”
“It’s like you were saying a moment ago—I don’t like sharing a room with Zeke and Damian. Last week I stopped by the bunkroom before dinner, remember, and I ran into Zeke there. He was cutting a hole in my pillow with a massive knife.”
“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Rusty asked, wide-eyed.
Leila turned down the stairs, walking faster now. “Of course not.” Tristan and Rusty bounded forward to catch up. “I pulled out a knife and threatened him—he ran for it.”
“So you’re stealing knives now, too?” Tristan asked, grinning.
“I’m always in the kitchen. How hard do you think it is?”
That afternoon, Merridy reminded her class that their practical test on avalanche survival was only a week away.
Tristan’s stomach dropped at this news.
He had been avoiding thinking about it; he still did not trust himself to stay calm in a crisis.
They had spent the previous weeks preparing for the practical test both in Merridy’s classroom and aboveground—orienteering throughout the forest, hiking to the base of cliffs so they could more easily recognize avalanche terrain in person, practicing self-rescue techniques in a mound of snow they took turns burying themselves in, and memorizing topographic maps of the valleys.
Though it was only halfway through October, snow had fallen several times; while it had melted from the valley floor, the mountains were now frosted white. Perfect avalanche conditions, Merridy said, and less dangerous than spring snow, as it would not be as dense or icy.
“There are three parts to the test,” Merridy explained. “Since it will be your first time experiencing a disaster, this is more a chance to test your own reaction in a crisis than anything else. Therefore, success at any one portion of the test will earn you full marks.
“The first part of the test is removing yourself from danger. You will each stand in the path of the avalanche, insulated from harm by a layer of impenetrable air that my fellow professors and I will cast, but once the snow has settled, we will lift this protection. Based on what you have learned about avalanche self-rescue, you will dig yourselves free and remove yourselves from the hazard zone.
“The second part of the test is collecting earth magic given off by the disaster. You will be equipped with jars at the start of the test, and if you can collect even one marble, you will pass this portion.
“And the third part is making your way back to the Underground Academy following your self-rescue. You will need to use the orienteering skills we have practiced, and think calmly about your location despite the disorientation that will occur during the avalanche.”
Evangeline raised her hand, brows drawn together in worry. “Miss Merridy? Won’t all of this be very dangerous? What happens if we get hurt after the avalanche, and we can’t make it back to the Lair?”
Merridy smiled gently at her. “Don’t worry. Professors Alldusk, Gracewright, and Grindlethorn—as well as Gerard Quinsley—will join me in supervising the test at every point along the way. If any injuries occur, you will be evacuated to the academy at once.”
Tristan’s stomach was still churning with worry when they left Merridy’s classroom.
He was determined to keep a straight head throughout the disaster. But every time he tried to visualize the panic and chaos, hoping to prepare himself, Marcus’s face intruded. His last words echoed in Tristan’s thoughts—I trust you.
Go away, Tristan thought miserably, digging his fingers into his temples.
After several hours of this, in which he hardly made any progress on his homework, Tristan stomped up to dinner in a foul mood. He still had Brikkens’ punishment to work off, and he would earn more if he didn’t finish his assignments on time.
His mood lifted fractionally when he noticed the glasses of lemonade on every table—at least something good had come of that morning.
Quinsley rounded off the dinner with lemon pie, and when Tristan finished eating, he and Amber made their way to the greenhouse to work off their punishment with Gracewright.
It was a perfectly clear night, the black sky peppered with stars. Tristan lifted his head, the ever-present wind grazing his cheeks, and watched the full moon bobbing along the distant ridge.
“That lemon tree was amazing once you saved it,” he said softly, though he wasn’t sure Amber was listening. Her eyes were clouded and distant, just like when she had used magic earlier that day.
“You’re not mad at me?” she asked, surprising him.
“Of course not! Though I’d love to punch Brikkens.”
He had asked Gracewright at dinner whether she needed help that night, and she had looked surprisingly relieved by the offer. Now the professor waved to them from the greenhouse door, her glittering silver shawl reflecting the moonlight.
“I’ve just been rearranging the greenhouse,” she said, “so I’ll need your help outside this evening.” Pulling the greenhouse door closed behind her, Gracewright crossed the lawn to join Tristan and Amber. “Auras tend to glow brightest under a full moon, so both of you should be able to distinguish magical plants from the regular varieties. I’m hoping to use whatever you find to restock the greenhouse, so be sure to dig up the roots as well.”
Tristan glanced at Amber, who nodded dreamily.
“I’m in desperate need of your assistance just now,” Gracewright continued, lowering her voice. “If you each put in three hours of good work tonight, I’ll give you credit for six. Sound good?”
“Thanks,” Tristan said fervently.
Amber had already wandered off into the forest, her dark coat and jeans melting against the black trees—Tristan could only make out her silver hair now, a small moonbeam against the soft darkness of the forest. He hurried after her.
“What was that about?” he asked. “Do you think Gracewright isn’t telling us something? Why does she need our help so desperately?”
Amber stopped abruptly. “I wonder…do you think one of the students has stolen plants from her?”
“But why would anyone do that?”
“To cause trouble?”
Tristan picked a clump of pine needles from a tree and started pulling them in half, one by one, thinking hard. “It does sound like the sort of thing Damian or Zeke would do. But why hasn’t anyone gotten in trouble?”
Amber did not reply.
“You know what? Once we’ve collected a few plants, let’s sneak over to the back of the greenhouses and see if we can figure out what’s wrong.”
He was surprised when Amber agreed without question.
They continued deeper into the forest, Tristan still pulling apart pine needles, until Amber stopped and dropped to her knees.
“I can’t see anything,” Tristan said. “I’m really bad with plants. I can hardly even see the aura of the forest.”
“You simply need to learn how to look. Concentrate now, just like this morning.”
Tristan didn’t know what he was supposed to concentrate on, so instead he tried emptying his mind. Before him, Amber was digging something from the ground, though it was so dark he couldn’t even distinguish where the decaying forest floor ended and the plant began.
From far away came the melancholy hooting of an owl; he followed the hollow note until it faded, until the only sound was the wind sighing through the pines. When he brushed his hair off his face, he caught the fresh scent of pine on his fingers. He looked down, running his eyes across the featureless dirt—and froze.
Ringing the base of the closest pine lay a wreath of glowing blue leaves speckled with white flowers.
“Whoa.” Tristan dropped to his knees beside the plant, afraid the glow would fade if he blinked. “So what is this, anyway?”
Amber’s lips twitched. “I understand magic, not plants. I have no idea.”
Just as he was easing a section of leaves from the earth, Tristan heard voices from the clearing.
“Who’s that?” he whispered, pausing with one hand in the dirt. One of the voices sounded like Merridy, and the others must belong to professors as well. “Let’s see what they’re up to.”
Amber nodded and crept closer to the clearing, slipping from the shadow of one tree to the next—if her white hair caught a stray moonbeam, it would give them away at once. Abandoning his plant, Tristan followed.
By the time they came within sight of the clearing, the teachers were halfway to the greenhouse. After the darkness of the forest, the direct moonlight seemed bright as a streetlamp. Tristan easily recognized dark-haired Alldusk—looking more like a vampire than ever in the silvery light—and bald, mustached Delair accompanying Merridy. Tristan and Amber followed them around the clearing, staying well within the shelter of the trees.
Gracewright emerged from the greenhouse as the other professors arrived, almost glowing in the light that spilled from the open doorway.
“So good of you to come,” Gracewright said. “I trust (she lowered her voice and whispered something that sounded like ‘Drakewell’) doesn’t know about this?”
“Of course not,” Merridy said brusquely, heading through the greenhouse door. “Though why you’re afraid of him, of all people…”
“Fear has nothing to do with this, Darla.” Gracewright’s wispy white hair bobbed as she shook her head fiercely. “I just think we ought to observe caution, as long—” She pulled the greenhouse door closed behind her, cutting off the end of her sentence.
Cursing under his breath, Tristan ran around to the back of the greenhouse, Amber close behind. The trees brushed right up against the rear of the greenhouse, so he crouched in the shadow of a towering pine and brought his face close to the foggy glass. After trying for a moment to pick up the professors’ voices, Tristan noticed a small pane of broken glass higher off the ground. He stood cautiously, trying not to rustle the dry mulch, and peered through the cracked pane.
The greenhouse had been completely torn apart. The long wood table that spanned the room had collapsed, as though someone had chopped it in half with an axe. The ground was strewn with wreckage, both dirt and shards of pottery from the flowerpots that had lined the walls, and mixed among this were shredded leaves from the plants that had hung from the ceiling.
The professors were silent and ashen, gazing around the room. Merridy twisted her hands together and kept glancing over her shoulder, as though she expected Drakewell to swoop down from the ceiling. When she peered at the broken pane, Tristan barely managed to duck out of sight in time.
“I do worry this school is not as secure as it once was,” Alldusk said gravely. “Keeping the location secret only goes so far, especially now that satellite imaging can map even the most remote wilderness. Perhaps we should look into a few additional safety measures.”
“The caves are thoroughly protected,” said Professor Delair.
Tristan got back to his feet and chanced another look through the broken pane. Amber stood a few paces back, listening with her lips parted and her eyes wide.
“Thank you, Osric,” Gracewright said tiredly, “but the caves are the least of our worries. Unless you’ve run into a colony of trolls or some other figment of your imagination, there is no way we could be attacked from underground.” She looked unhappily around the greenhouse; even her flyaway hair seemed to droop.
Delair shrugged. “I was merely suggesting that certain metallic compounds could be arranged into a defensive barrier. Of course, this method needs a good deal of work, and it may—”
“Thank you.” Gracewright’s tone was firm this time. “Unless you have something relevant to contribute, you’re welcome to return to your coffee. I’m very sorry I disturbed you.”
Shaking his head, Delair shuffled to the door.
When Delair was gone, Gracewright sank into a chair whose back had been smashed and put her head in her hands, looking smaller than ever. “I don’t understand,” she said sadly. “Nothing was stolen! Why would someone want to destroy this place?”
“What about the kids?” Merridy asked, looking at Alldusk for support. “Remember, most of them were criminals before they came here.”
Alldusk put his hands in the pockets of his black coat and studied Merridy. “I don’t think it was any of them,” he said at last. “This is their new home—I don’t see why they would try to sabotage it.”
“You don’t know them that well,” Merridy whispered. “It was different seeing them straight out of detention centers and jails—I doubt you would have recognized most of them.”
Alldusk sighed. “I’d like to think they have changed.”
“I agree with Brinley,” Gracewright said. “They’re not evil, Darla. Perhaps they were mean at first, but now they’re polite and obedient for the most part.”
“For the most part,” Merridy insisted. Her face had gone pale.
Alldusk cleared his throat. “You’ll need help putting this back together, I assume?”
“Yes, of course,” Gracewright said. “I should have enough to supply your class for a few more days, but after that, you may need to stick with minerals for a while. Tristan and Amber came to work off their punishment earlier tonight, so I’ve put them to work finding new magical plants.”
Alldusk chuckled. “I heard about the lemon tree.”
Something brushed against Tristan’s shoulder—he jumped back in surprise and tripped. Catching himself on a pine bough, he turned to see what had startled him. It was Amber.
“Don’t do that!” Tristan whispered. “Do you want us to get caught?”
Amber cringed. “I just thought we should keep searching for plants. Otherwise we might be out all night.”
She was right. Tristan set off into the forest, heading away from the light spilling from the greenhouse until he could no longer hear the professors’ voices. Several times he glanced back, just to be sure Amber was following him; her footsteps made no sound on the decaying pine needles.
At last they stopped, and Amber tilted her head back, white skin and hair silvery in the moonlight. Tristan was about to ask what she thought about what they had overheard when Amber said, “Can you see the moon’s aura?”
Tristan stepped back until he could see the full face of the moon, nestled between pine boughs. “You mean the white glow? Isn’t that just the sun reflecting off its surface?”
Amber shook her head. “The true light doesn’t extend so far. That white glow is the moon’s aura.”
“Why can’t anyone else see the magic vapors in chemistry? Why are we able to use magic, and no one else can?”
Amber tilted her head at him. “You answered that yourself, only this morning. You told Leila you had practice controlling your thoughts.”
Tristan hadn’t realized Amber had been listening. “Does everything have an aura?”
“Everything real.”
Tristan didn’t bother to ask what she meant by this. “Who do you think attacked the greenhouse? Why don’t the professors want to report it to Drakewell?”
Amber gave him a speculative look. “I don’t know. Both creation and destruction are bound up with magic—it can be used for evil as much as good. I think whoever attacked the greenhouse wants to either destroy the Underground Academy or stop us from using magic.”
After studying Tristan for another moment, Amber turned and began threading her way through the trees. Though she kept her face turned toward the moon, like a flower hungry for sunlight, she stopped every few steps and lifted a plant from the earth. Tristan had no idea which way they’d come, so he trailed behind Amber, squinting at the ground in search for the faint, elusive auras.
He wanted to tell Leila what he had seen and heard. She might have more ideas. He could not think who might have attacked their school—were there evil magicians somewhere in the world, seeking to overthrow the professors at the Underground Academy? How many magicians were out there, anyway?
Or had one of the students destroyed the greenhouse just to cause trouble? He wouldn’t put it past Damian or Zeke.
By the time the moon had risen directly overhead, casting shadows like the noon sun on a cloudy day, Tristan was sure they’d been outside for three hours at least. “I think we’re done,” he said softly.
Amber paused, looking startled. Then she nodded, cast a final glance at the moon, and turned back toward the school. She hugged an overflowing bundle of plants to her chest, at least double what Tristan had managed to find.
It seemed like ages before they reemerged in the clearing. The lights were still on in the greenhouse—when Tristan knocked, Gracewright came to the door a second later, clutching a broom and wiping dirt from her forehead.
“Thank you so much,” she said, slumping against the doorframe. “You can set those down right here.” She waved to the stone step where Tristan stood. “Sorry—the greenhouse is a bit of a mess right now. I’ll check you off for six hours. Sleep well.” She sounded as though she had a cold; Tristan wondered if she’d been crying.
An instant later, Gracewright shut the door in his face.