Scary Cool (The Spellspinners) (30 page)

My fear, unfortunately
, I knew I could not hide from them. It was too strong.

To my right
, also facing the
rest of the
spellspinners
, sat seven people
.
One was Pearl Doyle. They were all old. A couple of them were
incredibly
old, too old to be trusted with any sort of important work—had they been
ordinary people
. But these, of course, were not
ordinary people. T
hey were the most important and powerful
spellspinners
of all. They were the Council.

Lance was nowhere to be seen.

The deep
, authoritative
voice that had called my name
earlier
spoke. “Zara
Norland
. Do you know why you are here?”

To my surprise, the voice
belonged to
a
n old
man so frail that he looked like a strong wind might blow him away. He was sitting half-reclined among the Council members in a peculiar-looking wheelchair stacked with pillows to support him. I was astonished that that powerful voice had issued from
his wasted
body. Then I realized that his
true
voice, the one produced by his vocal cords, was barely audible.
His mind, not his body, had
manufactured the voice I heard. I had heard him in my head, in true
spellspinner
fashion.

Amazing.

My voice, in contrast,
piped out
like a child’s. “No, sir.
”
My words were met with silence.
I realized they were waiting for more. I cleared my throat. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Immediately my mind filled with
images
. Five-year-old Zara, causing strange things to happen at the commune where she and
Nonny
lived, drawing too much attention
…
forcing
Nonny
to grab her and flee in the night.
Thirteen-year-old Zara, carelessly using her powers at Camp Greenhorn in front of sticks, getting caught by Megan O'Shaughnessy
…then c
ompounding the error by befriending said Megan O'Shaughnessy and subsequently sharing
way too
many secrets. Fifteen-year-old Zara
at a crowded water park, impulsively intervening to stop an accident—
working
a
‘
miracle
’
that ended up on the ten o’clock news.

The ripple of horror and
anger
that went through the crowd told me that everyone was receiving these images, not just me. Viewed through the Council lens, even I could see how bad it looked
.

I was glad they didn’t
seem to
know about Alvin
—
my careless
skatching
and
my idiotic promise to explain it to him someday. What they did know was bad enough.

The voice rolled out again. “You are a danger to us all.
By risking your own exposure, you risk ours.
”

I tossed my hair back,
stood up straight
and flung down the only gauntlet I had. “What about this?” I sent them all an image of my last night in Cherry Glen—the crazy, dramatic attack in the gym that had ‘disappeared’ me in front of hundreds of sticks. “How many rules did you break to bring me here?
If that didn’t risk exposure, I don’t know what could.”

My defiance did not have quite the effect I expected. People seemed startled. They looked around at each other, muttering and exclaiming under their breath. Too late, I realized that I had just demonstrated to them that I was more powerful than I should be.

I guess the
beaming-images-into-multiple-brains
trick was a Council-level power.

Oops.

Pearl spoke. She seemed unperturbed. But then, she had already come to grips with the idea that I was powerful. “Child, what we did there did not expose the rest of us. It put you in the spotlight, but
only you. And y
ou were already at risk. Our purpose was to tip the balance. Expose you completely and force you into hiding.” She looked at the rest of the Council. “And bring you here, where you belong.”

“But she doesn’t belong.” Amber’s voice
rang out, tight with anger
. She rose to her feet in the second row of
spellspinners
and addressed the Council. “She’s here because she doesn’t belong. She’s not one of us. We don’t know where she came from. She has
spellspinner
powers, but how did she get them?
What is she doing with them?
She has no allegiance to the Council. We all know what that means.”

“I don’t
know what it means
,” I said.

Amber’s golden eyes swept over me, filled with contempt. I was painfully
aware of my
unkempt
state
. “If you don’t know, it’s not my place to tell you,” she said. “But
the fact that you don’t know is
just one more proof that you’re not one of us.” She sat.

Rune, who was sitting in the first row, slowly got to his feet. He didn’t look happy. “Be with us or against us,” he said
, obviously reciting from memory
. “
All who do not join must die
.
Those who band together loyal
shall
secure the peace thereby
.
”
His pale blue eyes met mine across the fire. He shrugged. “
If you’ve got something you want multiple generations to remember, make it rhyme
,” he said.
And sat.

All who do not join must die.
This was clearly a rule from the old days, when the Council first formed.
It must be the bargain th
at ended the
spellspinner
wars.

I spread my hands, palm up, in a gesture of appeal. “
But you
can’t
apply this rule to me
,” I said, sounding as reasonable as I could
.
“It
would be unjust
.
I ha
ve been given no chance to join.”

The Council immediately sent out
images again.
Lance, struggling to teach me, urging me to come to
Spellhaven
, trying to convince me to embrace my nature.
And m
e, rejecting the idea
in no uncertain terms
, over and over
.

My heart sank
.

I heard my own voice, raised in fury:
“Thanks anyway, Lance, but no thanks.”
And again, a snippet from another conversation with Lance:
“…
that’s really what I want. Teach me how to be a
spellspinner
, but don’t make me actually be one.”
And
again
, more recently: 
“
How many times are we going to have this conversation, Lance? I get to choose my life. Not you.”

I felt my face grow hot. How childish I sounded to them. How arrogant. What I viewed as showing strength and sticking up for mys
elf, they viewed as acting out—
like a surly little punk.

I couldn’t call my words back
.
And now any
plea I
made
would ring hollow. Beg to join them, now that I
’d been told
death was the only alternative? How sincere would that sound? Not very.

I stood there, stricken, and tried in vain to
come up with something to say.
There was nothing I could say
. Not now
.
My own words had indicted me.

In the silence t
he fire cracked and popped, sending up a shower of sparks. They flared in a bright, momentary show, then faded to nothingness. Like I would, I thought, swallowing the metallic taste of fear.
A flash of defiance, and then…ash
es
.

Pearl said sadly, “Will no one speak for t
he
child? I
remind
my
fellow Council members that she was raised among sticks.
None of us knows what that might do to us.
Perhaps we should make allowances
.”

Amber
uncoiled
from her seat and
rose
up like a striking cobra. “Raised by sticks? How does that help?” she spat. “All the more proof she is not one of us, and never will be.”

Rune rose again too. “And I would remind the Council,” he said drily, “that Amber Carrick is not
an impartial witness.”

“Hear, hear,” said
Nedra
—and a couple of other voices, too. I couldn’t make out who had spoken.

Amber’s hiss of fury was silenced by the frail old man. All he did was lift his hand, but she subsided.
“All
will be granted
the right to speak,” he said mildly. “Hers are not the only words we
shall
take with a grain of salt.”

Rune flushed, and I realized
the dig had been aimed at him.

Did they think he, like Amber, was not impartial? Did they think he was
on my side
?

Was
he on my side?

I star
ed at Rune
with painful intensity
, trying desperately to read his mind—or, failing that, his expression.
I could not be certain of either. My turbulent emotions and t
he uncertain firelight thwarted me.

“I will, naturally, abide by the decision of the Council,” said Rune stiffly.

“As will Amber,”
snapped
a reedy, wheezy voice belonging to an old woman whose face I could not make out. My view of her was blocked by Pearl, but she sounded ancient of day
s. I remembered that Amber’s 102
-year-old great-grandmother was on the Council
,
and m
y heart sank further. Wasn’t Amber’s
grandfather on the Council too? I didn’t have a prayer.

But Rune was still standing, which seemed to mean he had the floor. “This is a weighty matter,” he said. “The Council would do well to hear from everyone who desires to speak. But not all of us are present. I appeal to your sense of justice. Is that fair?”

“Forty-nine are present,” said another of the Council members. “That is the rule.”

“Is it?” asked Rune
. “Or is the rule that
all
be present? In the past, forty-nine meant all. At the moment,
however,
it does not.
Which is, if you’ll excuse my saying so, the whole point of this proceeding.
”

He sat
. I suddenly realized that I’d been holding my breath, and let it out in a tiny gasp. He meant Lance, of course. He could mean no one else.
Lance was the only one not here—and I had no idea why.

“We will confer,”
said Pearl
. A hush fell as the Council went into a huddle. I had to remind myself to breathe, breathe, and try my best to wear a calm expression while my fate hung in the balance.
Would they send for Lance?

If they did, would he come?

And what would it mean for me?

I remembered the fear I had of him, not that long ago. I remember
ed
the words
mortal enemy
repeating in my terrified brain like a chant. Why, then, was I on pins and needles, hoping against hope that Lance—of all people—would be allowed to speak?

Because Rune had asked for it. Not Amber. Rune.

And although he’d given me no reason to believe this, the Council seemed to think Rune was on my side. Or would be, if he could be.

Which might mean that Lance was on my side.

Hope is a dangerous thing to feel.
It’s also agonizing.

It seemed a long, long time before
the
Council returned to their places.
But when
they did,
the
dee
p, bell-like voice tolled again:
Lance Donovan. Lance Donovan. Lance Donovan. Come into the court.

I was expecting Lance to stroll out of the woods, or maybe
skatch
to the edge of the campfire ring when he heard the summons. Instead, seven
spellspinners
disappeared from the back row of the gathering. I blinked, confused for a moment by what seemed an inexplicable occurre
nce. Then the seven reappeared near the Council,
on the opposite side from where I was positioned. They
were standing in a tight circle
, facing something—or someone—in the center
. Then they
fell back a step or two. Exchanged glances.
Skatched
back to their former places, returning to the back row.