“Ha,” Brian laughs through a mouthful of salad. “No way, I’m foil.”
“Really?” I say. “Because I would have guessed carbon-based, looking at you.”
Brian frowns. Eric laughs. I laugh too. It’s a dumb joke, but it’s nice to be making dumb jokes. Doing something low-stakes, almost as if I’m a normal girl at a normal college formal.
Then my eyes drift up to the head table, and for some reason, they settle on Kai. He’s in a suit, too, of course, somehow managing to look uncomfortable, even though it fits him impeccably, from the dark red tie to the sleek lapels. And he’s giving me a murderous glance.
Kingston. He looks good. Of course he does. He might have been born wearing a suit. His tie is a burnished gold color tucked into a waistcoat. But when he sees me, sees me laughing with these two random guys, I guess, he pauses with his fork in midair, his mouth open a bit. And then, like he notices that I’m noticing him, moves back into action.
I glance back at our table, not sure what to make of that. He’s never seen your scars, I think. Of course. I look down at my hands, at the rippling pink flesh that’s still so shiny it practically catches on the candlelight, and I swallow.
Morgan holds up the conversation like a caryatid on a Greek temple, speaking not just enough to cover my laconic interjections, but also the fact that Brian and Eric are two of the most boring people I’ve ever spoken with. Once they’ve run out of comments on how weird Caliburn is, they start talking about fencing, but in the way that you might talk about fantasy football or something, not the way I’ve heard the other four talk about it.
I’m hyper-focused on scraping the last smudges of almond-chocolate torte from my plate when there’s another sound for attention.
“Students, guests, honored friends.” It’s Father Dennis, the dean of the divinity school. He at least looks normal for a religious figure, just the clerical collar under a suit jacket ashe signals for attention. “We are grateful that you have joined us for another Candlemas Ball. As you know, this holiday is a testament to light in the darkness, to the promise of the return of warmth and life to the earth that is promised in the resurrection of our Lord.”
I’m tempted to roll my eyes, but I guess we’re all from religious schools, and that would be tacky. Besides, I’m not mad about the idea of winter being over. I shiver again, now genuinely from the cold. Morgan’s perfume must be wearing off.
“In recognition of this holiday, and to honor our guests all the way from Avignon, France, and the Monastery of St. Vincent,” he nods to the White Brothers, and the hooded heads bob back, “I have asked their prior to lead us in the lighting of the candles.”
The lights dim. A few oohs go up from the crowd, followed by giggles. People clearly not taking the enterprise seriously. One of the white figures gets up, the one that I guess must be in charge, because he wears a red rosary around his belt, unlike the others, and takes to the center of the dais next to Father Dennis.
“I thank you,” comes his voice. It’s deep, resonant, accented, and unsettling to hear from no mouth. From behind him, I see Lanz and Callahan get up and move something from the side of the dais to in front of him: a candelabra. I realize my heart quickens in my chest.
Around us, servers are passing out thin white tapers held in paper skirts, one for each. I take one with a trembling hand and look up to see Morgan, her face pale.
“I’m sorry,” she mouths. “I forgot all about this part.”
“It’s okay,” I mouth back. I’m not sure it is, though. I don’t want to hold a lighted candle, light in the darkness be damned.
“As it is written,” the prior is going on, “Fiat lux. So today we remember that Christ will come again, and we pray for a grey and stormy day tomorrow.”
Some laughter from the faculty, a joke I don’t get. With that, the prior produces a long candle lighter, which he snaps into flame and bends to the candle in front of him. He makes a sign of the cross and pulls away, the flame now dancing.
Behind him come the four of them: Kingston, Kai, Lanz, and Callahan, all holding long tapers. They take turns dipping the wicks into the candles, lighting their candles, and then proceed down the side steps of the dais to all of us around, going table to table. Kingston and Callahan take our side of the room, alternating as they weave between the white-tableclothed islands, and when they come to us, it’s Kingston.
“A light in the darkness,” he says, and bends his candle to Morgan’s.
“Thanks, bro,” she winks. “So mote it be.”
Kingston says nothing, just inclines his head and glances once at me before moving on to the next table.
Morgan leans her lighted candle toward Brian. “You want?” she offers, but Brian is blinking at her open-mouthed.
“Kingston Pendragon’s your brother?”
“Stepbrother,” Morgan and I say in unison, and she cackles. “Yeah, and?” Without waiting for his response, she shoves her candle against his. “You didn’t really ask much about us, so…”
“Shit,” Brian whispers. “I’m fencing him first tomorrow.”
“Isn’t that funny,” Morgan says. “I did think you looked familiar. Maybe from the Y-12 circuit?” She reaches to her other side and lights the candle of the girl on her left, and slowly the flame makes its way around the table to me.
On my right, Eric nods to me, offering his candle. I hesitate for just a moment, but what can I do? Everyone else has lighted theirs. There’s no good reason that this stranger should know I don’t want this. So I just nod back, hold my candle to his. It takes a moment to catch, but when it does, it flares into life. A tiny, dancing piece of orange, throwing the faintest heat onto thepaper I can feel through my fingers. I inhale, slowly, then exhale, not too hard, not to blow it out.
I can endure this, I think. I can endure however long I need to hold this, the same way I can endure all of tonight.
I’m looking everywhere but at the candle, as if I don’t fix it in my vision, I can pretend it doesn’t exist. But then, ouch, a hot drip of wax hits my fingertips through the slit in the paper skirt. I wince and look at my hand. It’s already hardened into a little white drop. And then I look at the candle, stare at it, wait for the impact, for the rush.
