Page 42 of Lost and Bound

The storm is his doing, or another magikal’s. I shield my eyes from the constant flashing and walk to where the forest of trees stands thickest and look up. The viewpoint gives me the chance to see what I missed before, magik is at play. Now he’s not so close and his purple not blinding, I get the chance to see other magik is around me.

A kaleidoscope of colored light wafts like smoke around everything. It’s like each living thing is giving off its own aurora borealis. Looking at the plants, I can pick out a hundred shades of green. Similarly, floating up from absolutely everything in the greenhouse—the trees, rocks, flowers, even the fruit still in the baskets—is a tapestry of color and life.

I have no idea what’s going on, or how I can see the strange light, but I know it’s because his purple energy is now inside me. Though I have so, so, so many questions there’s no way I’ll ask him a single one. I’d rather spend the rest of my life reading every book written, than ask him or his friends the answers.

So I wait until the violence of the storm passes, when all that remains is the heavy rain before getting back to work. Locking out any thought of him or his friends, I lose myself in the manual work involved in gardening. I remember the joy I got from days turning the soil, and pruning with my parents, and everyone back at the community center. It’s as I find peace in those memories, letting go of the lingering anger and humiliation until I feel like myself again, that someone comes in.

“We’ve got five minutes, and we’re finished.”

I stand up, brushing the drying dirt from my hands, and turn to face the voice. A girl, wearing an apron and large rubber gloves, stands in the doorway separating the classrooms from the garden area.

“I’ll need a hand taking this to the kitchen.” I point to the baskets of fruit and vegetables, and she growls under her breath.

“Are you that useless? You should have done this by now.”

“I was told to stay here. Otherwise, I would have. I can do it,” I offer, making my way over to the baskets.

“Apparently, I have to help. As if I haven’t been punished enough already.” She leaves as quickly as she appeared.

I can’t help but smile. Every time I think about how he sent someone else to tell me that detention was over, instead of doing it himself, I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

VISIONS AND…HOLY SHIT, WHAT’S GOING ON

The other student helping to deliver the produce is a shifter. Her green T-shirt is as telling as the obvious animal scent that trails after her. She’s also as friendly as a cactus.

I tried talking with her on our first trip to the storeroom, but after she showed me her teeth before storming away, I didn’t try again.

Now we’re carrying the last baskets, and I’m ready for a long, tepid shower. She’s already disappeared into the room, leaving me trailing behind.

There’s a crash from the room, and I go to race in, but I’m stopped by her formidable body blocking the door.

She lifts her finger and stabs it in my direction as she hisses under her breath. “You made me miss dinner, Nom. Don’t ever look in my direction, or I’ll rip your face off, you piece of shit.”

She shoulder-checks me on her way past, and I end up on my butt. Again.

I am not a clumsy person by any means, but since I arrived at Thales, I swear I’ve spent more time on my ass than anyone should. But each time I’ve fallen, tripped, or been pushed it has been due to the intentional action of an other.

Climbing to my feet, I already know the earlier noise was a parting message from her, and I’m right. She knocked everything we brought in off the counter—fruit and vegetables are now scattered everywhere.

My frustrations get the better of me, and I scream silently at the universe.

For such mythical creatures, they sure act like complete assholes, throwing temper tantrums at the slightest provocation. It blows my mind that this is how they behave.

Treading over the spill, I manage not to stand on anything as I grab all the baskets. Then I get on my hands and knees to collect everything from where it’s fallen or rolled. Nothing gets missed because I simply follow the weird, colored trails hanging in the air.

Idly, I wonder if this is how I’m going to see everything now, and I’d like to know if the phenomenon has a name because my description doesn’t match how, well, magikal it is.

I’ve almost finished cleaning up, surprised that there are only a few pieces of fruit not salvageable, when something catches my eye. Under one of the metal tables, the air shimmers like a mirage in the desert. I have to lay my head on the floor to follow it, but once I’m down there, it’s as obvious as following the juice of a squashed tomato.

Tucked high against one of the supporting legs and welded to part of the frame is a tiny box. Unless you’re right under the table, like I am, you’d miss it because it’s held flush against the metal and made of the same material so it blends completely. For some reason, I can see it easily. I mean, the pulsing, shimmering energy around it makes it impossible to ignore. It’s as obvious as a neon sign shouting ‘look here’.

The small space between the bench and the floor means reaching the object is difficult, so I end up pulling out one of the adjustable shelves on the counter before wiggling under the table.

I try running my nail under the lip of the hidden compartment, but the lid doesn’t budge, and I end up climbing out from under the table and checking the drawers in the area to see if there’s a tool or something I can use to pry it open. A flicker of unease makes me pop my head out the door and scan the corridor, because I’m pretty sure someone will think I’m up to no good or damaging academy property if they find me with a collection of tools. The hallway is empty, and I wait a few extra minutes in case I missed hearing someone nearby, but it stays quiet.

I race to the table and wiggle back to the same position I was in before, trying my nail again because I’m stubborn like that. “Come on, what are you hiding?”