Conspiracies (Mercedes Lackey) - By Mercedes Lackey Page 0,20

sent here for training in magic. Because Oakhurst is safe.”

“But didn’t Doctor Ambrosius just give us that speech about how Oakhurst is our real family?” Spirit replied, more confused by the minute.

Muirin snorted. “Every fancy school I’ve ever been to gives you that speech. It’s supposed to build togetherness.”

Addie nodded her agreement. “And who talks to each other here? I mean the way we talk. How much do you know about Jenny or Claire or Kristi or even Brendan? Cadence is one of my closest—well, I can’t even call her a ‘friend,’ really—here, and I don’t even know what city she grew up in, or if she had any brothers or sisters. When Burke told me about his family, I was shocked. Yes—shocked! Because nobody here tells anybody else anything real. Half the student body could have families, Spirit, and none of use would ever know.”

“Maybe everyone here with families just wishes they were orphans,” Muirin suggested mockingly.

“So either the wizard war has started and we’re all orphans—because of the Evil Wizards—or it hasn’t and we aren’t.” Addie looked pleased with herself. “Logic is your friend.”

“Thanks so much, Mister Spock,” Spirit replied. She frowned, thinking she was missing something. Whatever it was, she’d have to hope it would come back to her later. “So … how do we find out about people’s families? Set up an online poll?”

Muirin grinned gleefully. “We hack the school computer and get into the student and graduate databases, of course! I’ve been wanting a really good excuse to do that for ages!” Then she jumped to her feet and grabbed Spirit’s hands. “But meanwhile, there’s something vital we need to take care of right this minute, or it’s going to be too late.”

* * *

Spirit shivered in the cold of the storage room and eyed the double rack of dresses with dismay. She liked clothes. She did. That was why she’d wanted to learn to sew. But getting set up to make your own clothes was almost as expensive as buying them—she could mend, and embroider, and make alterations, but that was about all. But she liked clothes. So she should’ve been in heaven. Right?

These aren’t clothes. These are terrifying implements of torture.

Pastel pink warred with hot pink, eye-searing blue, turquoise, deer-hunter-orange, and a lot of sequins and metallics. The one thing there didn’t seem to be here on the Isle of Misfit Dresses was anything knee-length or shorter. I guess Oakhurst doesn’t consider anything that’s not down to the ground to be formal enough.

“So as you see, this is where bridesmaid dresses go to die,” Muirin said scathingly. “The New Year’s Eve thing is a formal dinner and dance. That’s full formal, meaning floor-length. And if you don’t have your own formal you have to get one from here. You can see why Addie and I had ours sent. What size are you? Hopefully things haven’t been picked over too much yet.”

Addie snorted disbelievingly, which only made Spirit more depressed.

“Um … Four? Six?” She tried not to fidget. And here she’d thought the Christmas Dinner was bad. The New Year’s Dance was going to be hideous.

Muirin and Addie dove into the mass of tulle, glitter, and satin at the far end of the racks. “Seafoam: Eighties. Fuchsia: Eighties. Nineties’ Hippie revival, oh noes, not unless we want you to look like a flower child.” Muirin rejected one dress after another until Spirit wondered if staying in her room was an option.

“But hark! Is that a plain white something I spy?”

Addie finally hauled a candidate out where Spirit could see it. The dress was white, yes, but it had some sort of bizarre rainbow-colored tulle ribbon poof stuck to one hip, some sort of weird scarf-like thing in the same material wreathing the neckline, and matching poofs at the shoulders. And shoulder pads. Big ones.

“I think these are supposed to be flowers,” Muirin said critically. She started poking and prying at them. “The basic dress is all right…”

Spirit could not imagine how anyone could describe that horror as “all right.”

“It’s the only one with classic lines in her size,” Addie agreed.

Muirin and Addie exchanged an enigmatic look. “Three hours, tops,” said Muirin, in answer to an unspoken question.

“Have they told us anything about not cutting things up from here?” Addie asked.

Muirin shook her head smugly, then dived back into the racks to grab a black-and-silver thing that was even worse than the rainbow poof dress—and not even in her size. She couldn’t imagine anyone her