Legacies (Mercedes Lackey) - By Mercedes Lackey Page 0,29

such a dumb question. But I’m magnanimous, so I’ll take pity on you and explain. No.”

“That’s your explanation?” Spirit asked, trying not to feel hurt.

Muirin shook her head in wordless annoyance. “Look. I make illusions, and I can choose to make them or not. But because I’m an Illusion Mage, I can never choose to be fooled by an illusion, because I’ll always see the spell. With Combat Magic, Burke doesn’t even cast a spell. It’s what he is.”

Suddenly Spirit was very grateful that her magic hadn’t been awakened. She’d been thinking of it as a kind of add-on, something she might like or hate, but an extra. What Muirin was describing was something that might change what she was completely, whether she wanted it to or not.

After a few more minutes—a couple more sets of kids sparred, but Mr. Wallis was always right there watching—he called for a five-minute break. Some of the students knelt down on the mats, others began doing stretches. Mr. Wallis walked over to them.

“You must be Spirit White,” he said, holding out his hand. “Brett Wallis. Have you studied any of the martial arts before?”

Spirit was in the middle of shaking his hand politely (and wondering why he was introducing himself) when she realized what he must be thinking. “Oh I, uh—”

“No, she really hasn’t yet,” Muirin interrupted brightly.

Spirit flashed Muirin a suspicious glance. Muirin was looking much too innocent. Spirit was pretty sure that Muirin had told Mr. Wallis that Spirit was interested in signing up for his class. She was about to protest more firmly, when she gave a mental shrug. Why not? It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do with her afternoons. “I’m looking forward to it,” she said. “If you still have room.”

He smiled at her. “Sure. Just get a uniform and be here for class on Friday. I’ll make sure it’s added to your schedule.”

“Actually . . . she’s already got a uniform,” Muirin said. “It’s in her locker.”

“Well, go get changed, then,” Mr. Wallis said. “You’ll be in time for the second half of the class.”

I do not,” Spirit said, as she and Muirin headed for the Girl’s Locker Room.

“Do, too,” Muirin said. “I’ve spent enough time in your closet to know your sizes. I picked one up from Housekeeping yesterday and stashed it in the locker room this morning.”

“I hope it’s still there, in that case,” Spirit muttered, because nobody had a permanent locker in the Gymnasium. They were just there for whichever class was using the gym to leave their school clothes while they worked out.

“You have to learn to trust me,” Muirin said irrepressibly. “And I bet you’re gonna like hitting things, too. I’m never wrong about stuff like that, you know.”

Actually, after the last two weeks, Spirit thought Muirin might be right.

FIVE

He’d always been a survivor. Last man standing. Everybody always said fast food would kill you, but it wasn’t fast food that’d killed Seth Morris’s parents, it’d been a crazy Realtor depressed over the housing market who opened fire in the Micky D’s. Like that would change anything.

He hadn’t even wanted to go, because Dad had been out of work for a year and a half and all he and Mom did (back then) was argue about money. Seth didn’t even like Micky D’s, and he knew that Dad would order too much food and then complain about how much it cost until Mom started snapping back at him.

Helluva last memory to have of your folks, Seth thought. He remembered seeing the ice and Coke from his drink hanging in the air, sparkling, even before he heard the sound of the first shot. He’d thrown himself to the floor and gone squirming across it on his belly, so tunnel-focused on getting behind the order counter to safety that he hadn’t thought about anything else.

There’d been eighteen people in the place when the shooter opened up. Twelve of them died, including his parents. Seth Morris had been the only one who wasn’t even wounded.

And that had been almost two years ago, and for a long time after he’d gotten to Oakhurst it had just been a relief that everybody wasn’t yelling all the time. There were a lot of rules, but Seth had always been good at getting around the rules. And when there was a place like this that was rolling in velvet (like Dad would’ve said), nobody was going to notice if he boosted a few things and traded