The Awakening of Ren Crown (52 page)

“You’re the one who blew up the art studio?”

I let out an internal sigh. “Yes, that was me.”

“Good. Got me out of two weeks of classes there.”

I blinked.

“There is a party over in Dorm Twelve tonight. You should come. You can even bring Brittle Britches.”

“Olivia is very nice.” Okay, perhaps nice was the wrong word. But Olivia was only being disdainful every other day now. I had great hopes for the future.

“Mmmhmmm.” I noted that Delia wasn't looking around this time. Her attention was focused totally on me. “You are interesting—more than just being newly feral, something which makes you a person of interest on its own.”

“I told you, I transferred from Four Corners. And you are making my heart beat wildly in excitement.” Maybe there was just something about telling someone to dine in a toilet that made it easier to converse later.

She smirked. “Good. See you tonight?”

“
Go
,” Christian's voice said. I shushed him and considered it myself. Did I want to go? I cocked my head. “Maybe. How do I know you aren't just setting me up for some kind of weird revenge?”

She handed me a card, which my fingers automatically accepted. “You don't, but I'm not. The club is useful, but not my kind of people socially. But I can mold you into something decent. We are going to be friends. See you tonight.”

And I blinked, finding myself on the other side of the coin. I looked at the card, which contained her name in a sprawling script. I could feel the tingle of the magic imbued in the card. Connecting to the magic in the card would allow me to connect to Delia's frequency once I established my own.

Of course, Olivia had flat out told me I'd be stupid to establish a frequency until I could fully control my constantly burgeoning magic. But I knew what frequencies were. Most of the students had them. Walking around, I always saw them touching their ears to activate answering, or touching their chins to activate speaking. Or a dozen other motions that did other social networking things.

It was how groups automatically found one another in the cafeteria, as opposed to the notebook texting I used with Will and Neph, or my manual tactic of bumbling around and collecting people.

It was a big deal that she had given me this. You didn't just allow anyone to know your frequency. Though, perhaps as a highly social butterfly and a devious delinquent, it was life for Delia.

~*~

After extensive blob testing—getting so far as creating a blob caveman complete with loincloth and bat—and only suffering a third degree backlash burn on my side and a headache from where cave blob had whacked me—I dressed for the party, energized. I had successfully gotten the blob matter through the first thirteen day period, and had five more days remaining on my second thirteen day period.

Since the two large soul locating and cleansing rituals I had spaced out for the next three days looked very promising, I might be able to spring Christian by the end of the week and not have to worry about getting the blob matter into the tricky final thirteen day period.

Olivia flat out refused the invitation to go to the party, and Will had declined as well. He was close to a breakthrough on his portal pad technology and was putting in extra hours in order to capitalize on the remaining days he had left with his second stage blob matter. Since he was doing proof-of-concept testing, he was using a golf-ball-sized and shaped portion of matter, without doing any of the maddening human-characteristic testing I was doing. But when he was ready, I would have everything he needed for a human golem.

Once again, not listening to the label of “nearly impossible” had been the right thing to do. Those books which labeled golem design as such—pffft. Mental raspberries blown at all of them. And at the authors trying to corral us into dreary little anti-innovation boxes.

Neph and I had taken Will cake slices the previous night when he had missed dinner for the third night in a row. He was single-handedly trying to keep the Third Circle pizza place in business. I wondered if boys had a third leg somewhere to contain pizza slices.

Nephthys said she would go with me, but she would have to meet me there, as she had a dance class. I needed a break from my craziness, so I pushed across the grass alone. It would be far easier to just stay in my room or go to Okai, but I couldn't test further on the blob until the neutralizer magic did its job on the matter, which would take all night. And I had done a failed soul locating ritual that morning.

And for all of the excuses I could think up, the simplest part was that the Christian-like part of me was whispering,
go
.

The door was propped open and people were entering and exiting freely. I tucked in behind a group as they entered. Dorm Twelve was arranged in a manner more consistent with an expensive frat house rather than the severe dormitory space of ours or the posh exclusivity of Constantine's. I glanced around at the nineteenth century architecture.

As with everywhere on campus, people were dressed in all manners. Some were wearing scarves around their necks and bodies, or hats arrayed with what looked like spiral parking ramps that lifted into the air. Others looked as if they had been painted into their dresses—I wasn't sure you could get a dress like that on without using magic... Some had loose, caftans, or First Layer business suits. An eclectic bunch. It made me feel less out of place.

You could often tell people's majors or interests by how they were dressed. I wondered how a feral art mage was supposed to dress. Dripping Dali pants, whacked out Picasso sleeves, and googly-eyed hypnotic belts?

And an origin mage? Maybe just a strapped-on bomb vest, complete with a finger trigger.

I had seen people of every ethnicity around campus—I had even seen a few people change ethnicity or gender in the cafeteria via short term enchantments—but at least half of the students at any one time were European—or whatever posed for Europe here.

Which meant that Excelsine was most likely a humongous, layered version of Glastonbury Tor rather than Babylon. Either would fit ancient site parameters. My fingers hovered over my encyclopedia bracelet, ready to ask, when my eyes caught on a half-circle of deep chairs occupied by a mixed group of guys and girls who shared an expensive vibe.

As if a view of him was mandatory, Alexander Dare was sitting in the middle of the half-circle. A guy was trying to gain Dare's attention, while Dare absently twirled a little ball of magic around his fingers like a small yo-yo with a magic tracer flare for a string. He nodded, obviously bored.

The fingers of his other hand tapped the arm of the chair in an offbeat rhythm. The movement seemed strange, until I realized he was the only one in the group without a drink.

Stop staring
. The last thing I wanted to do was make eye contact.

I tore my eyes away and saw two miscreants from the club on the other side of the room. I could head over there. One of them was Magical Moses, who was seriously strange and sometimes a complete viper, but at least he was a known quantity.

Speaking of vipers...Constantine Leandred was lounging in a chaise chair in the corner. Two girls were perched on the arms, leaning over him, and one was almost in his lap, leaning forward in her chair between his spread thighs.

The corner they were occupying was unnaturally darkened, but I could still see plenty well. He turned his eyes to the girl nearly draping him on his left. He said something and her entire body gave a shiver, her eyes closing as she leaned closer.

Seriously? But no one said anything to them about the serious “get a room” moment. And he turned to the girl on his right and repeated the action. I needed to look away. But something was keeping my eyes focused. Tendrils of magic. I just bet that sly bastard practiced some kind of freaky sex magic. In fact, I'd bet—

“There you are.”

I jumped and turned to see Delia on my right, her brows rising at my blush. I hoped she hadn't seen where I had been looking.

“You came,” she said matter-of-factly, looking me over, no doubt cataloging my outfit and passing judgment. She was dressed in a sharp white top stretched across the tops of her shoulders and what had to be designer jeans—though the weave of denim here was just slightly different from what I was used to. A research topic far, far down my list.

“I came.” I had a feeling I was going to regret it too.

“Great. Let me introduce you around.”

Seven introductions later reinforced my distinct lack of talent in remembering names during introductions. I was too consumed with assimilating sensory data on each person to remember the two words that labeled them. I wondered if there was a spell for it. I added it to my research list. But I had categorized everyone with an interim name—“girl who likes far too much blue,” “boy with scuffed shoes that sport anime characters,” “girl who motions overly with her hands,” etc.

“Anime Boy” was an art student, and we began talking about Art Expressionists meetings. I was just happy that Marsgrove had forgotten to limit my ability to attend clubs. I was unable to enter art classes or the art stores on campus, unfortunately.

Unless Stevens was present. It was a theory that I had tested one day when she'd needed a canvas and I had tagged along. No alarm had issued when I'd walked through with her.

Later, I had gone back and the alarms had shrieked.

I wondered sometimes if Stevens knew.

Delia thrust a glass into my hand. “Here. You are doing well, so I'm going to sample the rest of the selection.”

I sniffed the drink. It smelled like fruit. “What is it?”

“Ambrosia.”

I sniffed it again, trying to deduce if it was truly the nectar of the gods, and took a drink. It was fantastic. I blinked. “It's really good.”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. Drink slowly and don't move from this spot. I'll be back in a bit.” She disappeared into the crowd.

“Anime Boy” continued to be a good conversational partner and a few others joined us. I mused along with the rest about the blown up art complex and what could have happened. No one seemed too torn up about it. I almost said something in admittance, my tongue feeling oddly loose, but a voice that sounded distinctly Christian-like kept the admission back just in time.

Weight descended in my hand and I blinked as someone with a pitcher filled my glass, then moved on to the next person. That explained how the level of my liquid was staying high. At some point “Anime Boy” and “Sunglasses Girl” took me to the other side of the room to examine some prints on the wall.

I felt like maybe I should stay in my spot, but couldn't recall why and my magic felt great, so I nodded and followed along.

From there, we drifted into another room. Then “Anime Boy” and “Sunglasses Girl” were gone and “Snake Earrings” and “Yellow Eyes” were in their place. I blinked but kept talking about—what were we talking about?—oh, yes, aviary migration over the Western Plains.

I nodded along. “Very beautiful. I can picture it.” I wish I knew what the Western Plains were or what three-footed westrals were, but I stuck in my own mental versions of Montana and weird bald eagles and kept nodding.

The snakes were doing a charmed dance, swaying back and forth hypnotically under the girl's ears. “But that doesn't explain all of the weird things on campus.” She shook her head, making the snakes lurch as if striking.

“There are always weird things on campus.” Campus had never been my idea of normal, though I was seriously starting to shift my view on what was normal.

“Not like this,” she said mysteriously. “It's the beginning of the end.”

“Yellow Eyes” gave both of us a significant look. “You know what it is,” he said.

I nodded mysteriously back.

Such conversations continued everywhere I traveled, groups morphing and shifting without me really processing it. At meals we usually stuck to scholarly topics, much to Mike's dismay. But here at the party everyone seemed far more concerned with the social. I hadn't realized there was so much politicking going on around me.

I'd have to sign up for a political science class. I tried to remember how to sign up for something. The thought flitted away, just like all the others in my head during the past few group changes.

The edges of the magic running along the walls swirled around, settled, then swirled again. Wow. I felt a little like I was in a psychedelic 3-D painting. I could hear Jerry Garcia singing in the background.

I wasn't sure I felt so well, suddenly. I decided to sit. I was really close to the comfy chairs I had seen when I had first entered, so I weaved my way to the nearest one. There was something in me that said I shouldn't sit in one, but I couldn't remember why not. The floor went uneven, and I tried to compensate. Who had raised the floor there? I didn't compensate well enough, and I stumbled the last step toward the comfy chair closest to me, and my hand with the drink flung forward.

“Son of a—”

I caught the edge of bright ultramarine blue eyes in a homicidal gaze two inches from my own as my hands gripped the chair's arms to stay upright, putting me directly over the person sitting in the chair. Whoops. I looked down to the large wet stain spreading on his white shirt, my cup resting in the crack between his body and the edge of the wet cushion.

Someone reached over and tried to pat him down. Another pair of hands joined in. He blocked both attempts.

I could see people turning toward us and people leaning toward him, but my focus was narrowing in on the stain, and all of the other things tunneled out of view. I pulled myself upright and poked my finger through the air toward his shirt and the remaining white turned the rose pink of the stain. Whoops. I tried again, but my finger motion was lazy, and he was squirming instead of letting me fix things, so his pants turned pink. Interestingly, they were a far darker shade than his shirt. I could probably learn something from that, if I could just figure out what I had done.

I concentrated harder on what I had done, but the thought slipped away and at the same time my well of magic increased. I could feel it. Taste it on my tongue. It tasted like ambrosia and excitement.