Legacies (Mercedes Lackey) - By Mercedes Lackey Page 0,61

and her sister, Spirit made herself think about that night on purpose. What had she seen? What had been there in the middle of the road? As hard as she tried, all there was in her mind was too much darkness—and eyes, and teeth, and cold.

She lay in her bed unable to sleep until the sound of music from her laptop told her it was time for her day to begin.

Another happy day at Oakhurst Academy.

The next day was Sunday. Spirit held her breath all through the morning service, but none of them was picked to attend Afternoon Tea. Aside from studying—and magic practice—Sunday really was a day of rest at Oakhurst, without any games or competitions or demos scheduled. It made it easier for them to get away to talk. Burke was the one who suggested—at lunch—that they all go for a nice walk.

November was freezing cold in Montana—it was twenty degrees out—and there were already snow flurries. They’d agreed to leave separately and meet down at the train station again, to avoid attracting attention by leaving as a group. Spirit bundled up in her warmest clothes—with an extra sweater for good measure—but the wind still cut like a knife. She walked quickly, hoping the exercise would warm her.

She was the last to arrive. “This is warm,” Burke said, grinning at her and Loch as they stamped and shivered. “Too bad neither of you has a Fire Gift.” Addie shook her head, and Muirin just groaned hollowly. “Come on,” Burke said.

“Where?” Loch asked, frowning slightly. “We can’t leave the grounds.”

“There isn’t any out there to go to,” Muirin pointed out.

“Yeah, but you know the grounds go a lot further than this,” Burke said, pointing. “Come on.”

Once they’d crossed over the railroad tracks, it seemed to Spirit as if they couldn’t be on the school grounds any longer, but Burke swore they were. There was nothing much around them but green-brown rolling earth, and mountains in the distance—and there was a lot of distance.

“See that stand of trees over there?” Burke said, pointing to a small clump of evergreen trees about a mile away that seemed to have been dropped down out of nowhere. “That marks the northern boundary of the school property. You’ll see when we get there.”

“Because a two-mile walk in the freezing cold is just how I want to spend my Sunday,” Muirin grumbled. But now they had all the privacy they could possibly want, so the three who’d been there—Spirit, Loch, and Muirin—told the two who hadn’t been—Addie and Burke—what they’d found in Oakhurst’s hidden subbasement.

Addie shook her head, looking troubled. The wind pulled strands of her long black hair out from under the collar of her coat and whipped it around her face. “I don’t think—How could they—?” She ducked her chin into her scarf and fell silent.

“We know Doctor Ambrosius said there’s some bad people out there,” Burke said soothingly. “That’s why he brought us here. Not all the Oakhurst Legacies come here, you know. Just the ones with magic. Like us.”

Like you, Spirit thought. Not like me. She knew that Doctor Ambrosius and Ms. Smith had both said she had magic. But what if they were wrong? Burke said sometimes it showed up late—but how long was she supposed to wait to find out she was a magician? Or to find out she wasn’t?

She wondered if she would’ve liked the place where the nonmagical Oakhurst orphans got sent better. But . . . what if they got Tithed, too? They’d have no idea what was happening and never see it coming.

Burke was chewing on his lower lip and looking thoughtful. “You said Camilla’s folder was stamped ‘Tithed,’ right?”

“Yeah,” Loch said unhappily. “It’s an old word that means a payment. It used to be a tenth part of whatever you had—like in the Middle Ages, when people tithed a tenth of their harvest to the Church. Who’s being paid—or what they’re being paid for, though . . .” Loch shrugged.

“Yeah,” Burke said. “And whatever—whoever—it is, they’re probably being Tithed eight times a year, on the dates of the old-time Festivals. It doesn’t matter what—or who—you worship: There’ve been celebrations on those eight days in most places about as far back as anybody can trace things.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Muirin said. “Astronomical calculations, tides of Power rising and falling, yadda. So?”

“So,” Burke said, “the problem I see right now is that Camilla disappeared right outside the gym. And she was Tithed. But Oakhurst and the grounds