Novel - Arcanum 101 (with Rosemary Edghill) (8 page)

But that wasn’t what happened at all.

He’d been supposed to go to her office right after breakfast. He’d deliberately made sure to arrive fifteen minutes late.

She hadn’t been angry. She’d been reading a book when he came in, and she just waved toward a chair. “Tomas. It’s good to see you. My name is Sarah Clifford.”

“Yeah,” he said rudely, flopping into a chair and putting his feet up on the cushions. “I know.”

At that point he’d expected a lecture on manners—and to be told to put his feet on the floor—but Ms. Sarah Clifford just smiled. “Good. Now. You’re going to be with us for the next three years—as you already know. I’ve got your transcripts from El Paso, so I’ve got a pretty good idea of where you need to go academically.”

Tomas slouched even further down in his seat. “I don’t need to go to school.”

Ms. Clifford actually looked sympathetic, which he was sure was a complete act.

“I’m afraid you’re going to at least need a High School Diploma, or a GED—that’s a General Equivalency Diploma, which means you’ve passed a test that means you know everything you would have learned in High School. You’ll need one or the other in order to get your mechanic’s license, which involves passing the mechanic’s course we offer here and getting both a regular drivers’ license and your Class III driver’s license as well. And it’s a condition of your probation, so we can’t really skate on that.”

Tomas sneered. This was going about the way he’d expected. They were going to promise him that if he behaved he’d be let to go back down to the garage someday.

But Ms. Clifford’s next words took the wind right out of his sails.

“Now, Dottie’s already talked to me about putting you in Auto Shop, so we’ll be scheduling your other classes around that. And VeeVee’s explained to you that we train Gifts and Talents here, so you’ll also be working with Daniel Bishop. Mr. Bishop trains our psionic students.”

Tomas blinked. “I can start at the garage now?” he said suspiciously.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Ms. Clifford said, smiling. “Auto Shop meets from one-thirty to four down at the junkyard during the week, and you can work out additional time with Señora Davies, but that’s up to the two of you.”

“Why?” he said bluntly.

“Because that’s what you want to do,” Ms. Clifford said. “And Dottie says you’re good with cars.”

Tomas shook his head, baffled. “Why do you care what I want?” he blurted.

Ms. Clifford leaned forward. “It’s easier that way,” she said confidentially. “I know you don’t want to be here, Tomas, but the reason you’re here is because you can do something few people can. And with an ability like that, it just makes sense we should try to work with you and not against you.”

“So because I can start fires, I get what I want?” Tomas said belligerently.

“No,” Ms. Clifford said firmly. “The purpose of this school is to teach you about your Talent and prepare you to live with it for the rest of your life. So why shouldn’t you spend your life doing something you like?”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Tomas said stubbornly.

“It will,” Ms. Clifford promised. “Okay. In addition to the academic courses and the vocational courses, you’ll be taking P-track courses. “P” stands for “Psionic.” Your instructor will be Daniel Bishop. Mr. Bishop also teaches History, so you’ll be seeing a lot of him. When we’re done here, you need to go down to the P-lab and see him.”

“He start fires, too?”

Ms. Clifford shook her head, smiling. “You’re our first Firestarter.”

Tomas frowned. “No, I saw that—VeeVee, she set herself on fire yesterday.”

“Yes, she did,” Ms. Clifford said calmly. “But VeeVee is a Witch, not a pyrokinetic. Her powers come from magic. You were born with yours.”

“Is everybody here crazy?” Tomas asked desperately. “Witches, and—There ain’t no such things as Witches, mujer!”

“St. Rhiannon’s is a school for young people with abilities that others don’t have. Sometimes those abilities come from magic. Sometimes they come from the powers of the mind: psionics. Often they look very much alike, but they need to be trained differently.”

“I still think you’re all crazy,” Tomas muttered.

“Well, I can’t help that,” Ms. Clifford said calmly. She didn’t seem to be particularly upset about it, or even offended. “I know this is a lot to take in all at once. Most people live out their entire lives without ever finding out about these other kinds of people—much less discovering they’re one of these people themselves.”

Tomas thought about it. He’d like to be mad at Ms. Clifford, but somehow she wasn’t giving him anything to be mad at. Okay, going to classes sucked, but he was going to get to spend hours every day down at the garage. And—

“What’s this Bishop culo going to do with me?”

“Well, today he wants to find out about your abilities, and what you can already do with them. Then he’s going to teach you how to do what you do… better.”

Better, huh? That sounded interesting, Tomas thought warily. “Okay. I guess we’re done here,” he said.

“All right then. If you have any problems that need fixing, you can tell VeeVee, or you can tell me. We can probably work something out.”

“You think so, eh?” Tomas said, getting to his feet.

“My job is to solve problems, Tomas. Usually I can,” Ms. Clifford said. “Here’s your class schedule. If you don’t know where all the rooms are, just ask anyone. Chris Shackleford is your Residential Assistant—you’ve already met him, right?”

“Yeah.”

He’d met Shackleford last night—a freaky Goth kid; he even wore makeup—but he’d been helpful without being pushy, getting Tomas’s new computer set up and running without any fuss.

“You can ask him about anything you need to get your room set up, and he or VeeVee can show you where the storage rooms are. You can probably get it painted over the weekend.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Tomas said reluctantly. He took the sheet of paper, folded it over several times, and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans without looking at it.

“It was nice to meet you,” Ms. Clifford said.

Tomas had the weird feeling she actually meant it.

When he walked out of the building, VeeVee was waiting for him.

“What are you doing here?” Tomas snapped. He felt a little irritated, as if she was checking up on him. And partly, he’d been all set to get into some kind of fight with Ms. Clifford, and it just hadn’t happened, and he still wasn’t sure why.

VeeVee had been smiling until he spoke. Now she frowned, her eyes flashing dangerously, and Tomas kicked himself mentally. If there was one person in this whole place he wanted to get on his side—well, besides Dottie Davies—it was VeeVee. And now he’d gotten her mad at him.

“Oh, waiting for you, of course! Because you can’t be let out alone without a keeper!” she huffed right back. “Excuse me for thinking you might not be able to find the P-lab by yourself on your first real day here!” She turned away, blonde ponytail swinging.

“Aw, chica, don’t be like that,” Tomas said. “I was just… Hey, I know what. After I get done with this psychic guy, maybe you’d like to help me pick out some colors for my room, hey?”

““Psionic,” not “psychic,”“ VeeVee said. “And I’ll be in class this afternoon—and you’ll probably be down at the garage—but after dinner, sure.”

“So it’s a date?” Tomas said eagerly.

“No,” VeeVee said. “But I’ll help you choose paint colors.”

“Here you go,” VeeVee said, stopping at the door of yet another of the red brick bunker buildings. “Good luck,” she added mysteriously.

Tomas regarded the building as VeeVee walked off. It looked just like all of the dorm buildings, with one exception: all of the ground-floor windows had been bricked up, and the regular metal door with the glass pane had been replaced with a new solid metal door. Oh, he thought to himself, this don’t look good.

But he wasn’t a coward. He opened the door and went inside.

Extensive renovations had been done inside the building as well. It was now one giant room—there was no second floor any more—with very thick walls. The second-floor windows were barred inside as well as out, and Tomas could see that the walls were at least three feet thick. The walls were unpainted cinderblock, and the floor was a solid slab of new concrete.

“Nothing in here to burn at all, so we’re perfectly safe,” a cheerful voice said. “Come on in. Oh, and bolt the door behind you, please.”

In the center of the room—several yards away—stood a large grey metal table, and behind the table was—Tomas guessed—Mr. Bishop.

He didn’t look like a scary guy. Young, Anglo, wearing a polo shirt and sneakers and jeans. He looked like all of the stupid smug rich white guys Tomas had seen by the dozens on the infrequent occasions that he’d ventured downtown back in New York, except that they’d always looked at him as if they were either scared of him or mad at him—like his dark skin and do-rag meant he wasn’t entitled to breathe the same air as them. This Bishop guy looked at Tomas as if the two of them were just the same, and Tomas wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

The door swung shut behind Tomas with a bank-vault clang. He looked around and found the bolt Mr. Bishop was talking about—an actual metal bar, designed to drop into brackets in the door and the frame. When it was in place, nobody would be able to open the door from the outside, though all anyone would have to do to get out would be to lift the bolt free. That reassured him a little. He dropped it into its brackets and walked over to the table.

On top of the table was a large shallow metal box filled with sand, and sitting in the middle of the sand was a fat white pillar candle.

“Welcome to St. Rhia’s, Tomas,” the man across the table said. “My name is Daniel Bishop.” He held out his hand.

Tomas took the hand and shook it. Mr. Bishop blinked slowly, then smiled. “Today we’re going to establish the parameters of your pyrokinetic abilities.” His smile got wider. “You’re going to show me what you’ve got.”

“Yeah, the lady in the other building said you was going to teach me things. I don’t need to learn nothing. I can already burn things up. That’s why I’m here, you know?”

Mr. Bishop looked amused, as if he’d expected Tomas to say that. “In fact, there’s a great deal you need to learn. You just started Calling Fire—what? A few weeks ago?”

“About that, yeah.”

“And you’re fifteen. Your powers are only going to get stronger as you get older. You only think they’re under your control now. They’re not. Soon they’re going to be completely out of control, and somebody is going to get hurt. If you practice now, you’ll have the control you need—later, when it matters.”

Mr. Bishop sounded serious—more than that, deadly serious. His brown eyes were fixed on Tomas’s face, and the smile was gone. Tomas got the feeling that whatever he said next, it had better not be a lie.

He thought about the way he’d felt in the bodega when he’d set that gunman on fire. Not at the time—then he’d only been thinking about keeping Rosalita safe. But afterward, when he’d thought about the fact that he’d set someone on fire.

He thought about the bridal shop. Would he have burned it? What if he’d hurt someone? If he hadn’t burned it, Señor Prestamo would have hurt Mamacita and Rosalita. He wouldn’t have had a choice.

But—so far—the fire only came when he called it.

What if—some day—it came whether he called it or not? What if he hurt someone, or even—el dios prohíbe—killed someone by accident?

“I suppose it don’t hurt nothin’ to see what you got,” he said.

“Good,” Mr. Bishop said. He sounded relieved, and Tomas had the odd feeling that he’d just passed some kind of test. “Light that,” Mr. Bishop added, nodding toward the candle in the middle of the shallow box of sand.

This is too easy, Tomas thought to himself. He called up his Fire—

—and a moment later the candle was a puddle of burning wax in the middle of the box of sand.

That isn’t fair! Tomas thought in alarm. Three weeks ago he’d lit the kitchen stove without any problems.

But did you ever try lighting it again after the first day you had your powers? a little voice inside him asked. No. You spent your time burning bigger and bigger things. Getting stronger. Good thing you never tried to light it again after that…

“I said light it, not blow it to bits,” Mr. Bishop said mildly. The wax soaked sand was burning merrily. “Let’s try again. First, can you put out the fire?”

“I don’t know,” Tomas said, still staring at the flames in shock. “I never tried.”

“Well, everyone can’t do everything.” There was a large bag under the table; he pulled out a small fire extinguisher and doused the flames, then set up another candle.

“Try again.”

At the end of two hours, Tomas had managed—barely—to keep from completely melting one candle. He’d thought, when he’d come in here, that it was going to be about how big a fire he could light, not how small a one. Now he was just as glad it hadn’t been.

“That’s a good start,” Mr. Bishop said encouragingly. “I’ll see you again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Tomas said, horrified. Right now he was as exhausted as he’d ever been in his entire life, and all he’d done was stand in front of a table for two hours and try to make very small fires.

Small controlled fires.

“Not for as long,” Mr. Bishop said soothingly. “But I think we really need to work on control. And hey, wait until we get to flash-paper. And ice. That’s really going to be fun.” He pulled a garbage bag out of the satchel at his feet and began dumping melted wax and clotted sand into it. When he was done, he handed the bag to Tomas. “Toss this into one of the garbage cans on the way out, will you? And better hurry. You don’t want to be late for lunch.”

Thursday morning was Tomas’s first day in class, and if not for everything that had happened to him in the last two days—and the fact VeeVee had oh-so-casually mentioned the school held dances in the dining hall every Friday night—he’d be thinking about getting back to the city right now even if he had to walk.

There were little kids in the same class as him.

He’d figured school would be just like regular High School back in El Paso; he could sit in the back of the room, blow off the teacher, and skate by. But it wasn’t like that at all.