He narrowed his eyes. Every person in Sycomore had been surprised to see her here.
Before he could question her further, he was interrupted by commotion ahead of them.
“What did you say to me?”a voice sneered.
Barclay recognized that voice, and he turned to see itbelonged to Tadg. He was leering at two kids who appeared to be brother and sister—twins. They were the same height, with the same scruffy brown hair, beige skin, and patchy coats. They each had a dark birthmark on their cheek. For the boy, it was on his left. For the girl, it was on her right. Like mirrors of each other.
“I didn’t say anything,” the boy grunted. He fumbled with a strange deck of cards, each black and shaped like a hexagon.
“Yes you did,” Tadg growled. “I dare you to say it again.”
The girl stepped in between them. “Abel was only wishing you luck. As a fellow competitor.” She held out her hand for Tadg to shake.
He did, but once their hands touched, the girl let out a startled cry and wrenched hers back. It happened too quickly for Barclay to see what Tadg had done. Some sort of sneaky magic, he suspected.
“Get away from her!” Abel shouted, pushing Tadg away. Abel’s deck of cards spilled to the snow.
Barclay was shocked to see the adults at the registration desk do nothing to break up the fight. He was even more shocked when Tadg, stumbling back, caught eyes withhim.
“You! Elsie!” he called.
“Just ignore him,” Viola muttered, and Barclay nodded and turned away. For the next few minutes in line, Barclay felt Tadg’s stares hot on his back.
The man at the registration desk unrolled a new sheet of parchment. He wore square spectacles and a dark green fur coat. “Name, age, and hometown?” he asked Barclay.
“Barclay Thorne. Eleven. Dullshire.”
The man glanced up at him with furrowed eyebrows but didn’t comment. “How many Beasts do you have?”
“One.”
“What is its species?”
“It’s a Lufthund.”
The man dropped his quill in surprise, splattering ink on Barclay’s application. “A-and its name?”
“Its name?” Barclay had never thought to give his Beast a name.
“Yes. What do you call it?”
“Um…”
“I like Alpha! That’s sort of wolflike,” Viola suggested. “Or Loup! I know a Keeper with a wolf sort of Beast with that name.…”
“Why would I name it?” Barclay mumbled. “It’s not a pet! It’s the root of all my problems, that’s what it is.”
The man nodded and wrote downRoot. Then he slid the parchment around.
“You need to sign here. It acknowledges that you understand the risks involved with the Exhibition, which could result in the injury or fatality of you and/or your Beast.”
Barclay’s hand didn’t shake as he signed. He was ready for this—whatever it took.
Then he muttered a goodbye and turned around, bumping directly into Tadg’s chest. His arms were crossed.
“What happened to removing your Mark?” Tadg asked. “Careful. In the Exhibition, you might be in over your head.”
“I don’t need you looking out for me,” Barclay grunted.
