The Copper Gauntlet (4 page)

Aaron shooed Havoc toward the house. “Call can borrow some of my clothes,” he said.

“Yeah, come tell us what happened,” Tamara said, leading the way. “Not that we’re not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? Why didn’t you call to say you were coming?”

“Is it because of your dad?” Aaron asked, giving him a sympathetic look.

“Yeah,” Call said slowly. They walked through the huge glass doors and through a marble-tiled room filled with rich, jewel-colored rugs. As they climbed up a ridiculous, marvelous ironwork staircase, Call spun out a story about how Alastair had forbidden him to go back to the Magisterium. That part was true enough; Tamara and Aaron knew Alastair had always hated the idea of Call going to mage school. It was possible to embroider it until it became the reason they’d had a big fight and even the reason that Call had been afraid his father was going to lock him up in the basement and keep him there. He added that Alastair hated Havoc and was mean to him, for extra sympathy.

By the time he was done, Call had almost convinced himself it was true. It seemed like a way more believable story than the truth.

Tamara and Aaron made all the right sympathetic noises and asked dozens of questions so that he was almost relieved when Tamara left so Call could change. She took Havoc with her. Call followed Aaron into the room where he was staying and flopped down on the giant king-size bed in the center. The walls were covered with expensive-looking antique objects that Call suspected Alastair would have killed to get his hands on: big carved metal plates, tiles painted with angular patterns, and framed scraps of bright silk and metal. There were grand windows looking down onto the lawns below. Above the bed was a chandelier dangling blue crystals in the shape of bells.

“This is some place, huh?” Aaron said, clearly still a bit dazed by it himself. He went over to the imposing wooden wardrobe in the corner and swung it open. He pulled out white pants, a jacket, and a shirt, and brought them over to Call.

“What?” he said self-consciously, when Call didn’t move to take them from him.

Call realized he’d been staring. “You didn’t mention that you were staying at Tamara’s house,” he said.

Aaron shrugged. “It’s weird.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be a secret!”

“It wasn’t a secret,” said Aaron hotly. “There was just never a time to bring it up.”

“You don’t even look like you,” Call said, taking the clothes.

“What do you mean?” Aaron sounded surprised, but Call didn’t see how he could be. Call had never seen him in any clothes as fancy as the ones he was wearing now, not even when he’d been declared the Makar in front of the whole Magisterium and the Assembly. His new shoes probably cost hundreds of dollars. He was tan and healthy. He smelled like aftershave despite not needing to shave. He’d probably spent the whole summer running around outside with Tamara and eating really balanced meals. No pizza dinners for the Makar. “Do you mean the clothes?” Aaron tugged at them self-consciously. “Tamara’s parents insisted I take them. And I felt really weird wandering around here in jeans and T-shirts when everyone else always looks so …”

“Rich?” said Call. “Well, at least you didn’t show up in your pajamas.”

Aaron grinned. “You always know how to make an entrance,” he said. Call figured he was thinking of when they’d met at the Iron Trial and Call had exploded a pen all over himself.

Call took the new clothes and went into the bathroom to change. They were, as he had suspected they would be, too big. Aaron had a lot more muscles than he did. He settled for rolling the sleeves of his jacket up practically to his elbows and running wet fingers through his hair until it was no longer standing up in crazy spikes.

When he came back into the bedroom, Aaron was standing near the windows, looking down at the lawn. There was a big fountain in the middle of the grass and some children had gathered around it, throwing in handfuls of some kind of substance that made the water flare up in different colors.

“So you like it here?” Call asked, doing his best not to sound resentful. It wasn’t Aaron’s fault he was the Makar. None of it was Aaron’s fault.

Aaron pushed some of his blond hair out of his face. The black stone in the band on his wrist, the one that signified that Aaron could work chaos magic, glittered. “I know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t the Makar,” he said, almost as if he knew what Call had been thinking. “Tamara’s parents are nice. Really nice. But I know it wouldn’t be like this if I was just Aaron Stewart from some foster home. It’s good for them, politically, to be close to the Makar. Even if he is only thirteen. They said I could stay as long as I liked.”

Call felt his resentment starting to trickle away. He wondered how long Aaron had waited to hear that, that he could stay somewhere as long as he liked. He thought it probably had been a long time. “Tamara’s your friend,” he said. “And not because of politics or who you are. She was your friend before anyone knew you were the Makar.”

Aaron flashed a smile. “And you were, too.”

“I thought you were okay,” Call conceded, and Aaron smiled again.

“It’s just that being the Makar at school meant one thing,” he said. “But this summer, it’s been doing tricks and going to parties like this one. Being introduced to lots of people and everyone being really impressed to meet me and treating me like I’m special. It’s … fun.” He swallowed. “I know I really didn’t want to be the Makar when I found out, but I can’t help feeling like my life could be pretty great. I mean, if it wasn’t for the Enemy. Is it bad that I feel that way?” His eyes searched Call’s face. “I can’t ask anyone else but you. No one else would give me a straight answer.”

And just like that, Call’s resentment dissolved. He remembered Aaron sitting on the couch in their room at school, still white-faced and shocked from being dragged up in front of the whole Magisterium so the Masters could announce that he was the one great hope who would lead them all against the Enemy.

There
was
an enemy, Call knew now. It just wasn’t who they thought it was. And there
were
people who wanted Aaron dead. They wouldn’t stop. Unless the Enemy told them to stop …

If Call was the Enemy, well, then Aaron was safe, right? If Master Joseph needed Call to mount an attack, then Master Joseph was out of luck. Call would never do anything to hurt his friends. Because he
had
friends. And that was definitely not something that Evil Overlords had, was it?

Abruptly, he thought of his father slumped unconscious on the floor. He would never have thought he’d do anything to hurt his father, either.

“It’s not bad to think being the Makar is fun,” Call said finally. “You should have fun. So long as you don’t forget that ‘if it wasn’t for the Enemy’ is a pretty big if.”

“I know,” Aaron said softly.

“And as long as you don’t get conceited. But you don’t have to worry about that, because you’ve got me and Tamara to remind you that you’re still the same loser you were before.”

Aaron gave a crooked smile. “Thanks.”

Call wasn’t sure if Aaron was being sarcastic or sincere. He opened his mouth to clarify when Tamara yanked open the door and glowered at them. “Are you guys done? Honestly, Call, how long does it take to get dressed?”

“We’re ready,” Aaron said, coming away from the window.

Outside, Call could see magic sparking over the lawn.

C
ALL UNDERSTOOD WHY
neighbor kids would want to sneak into the party. When he came back through the doors with Aaron, Tamara, and a freshly brushed Havoc on a new leash, he took in the full scope of the event and was amazed.

Cloth-covered tables were heaped with platters of food — tiny chicken sausages in pastry, fruit cut into the shapes of moons and stars and suns, salads of herbs and pickled tomatoes, blocks of gooey cheese and crackers, popcorn shrimp on tiny skewers, blackened scallops, seared tuna, gelatin molds with chunks of meat suspended in them, and chilled tins of tiny black beads resting in bowls of ice that Call thought was probably caviar.

Lion-size ice sculptures of manticores flapped crystalline wings that sent a cooling breeze into the air, ice frogs leaped from table to table, and ice pirate ships soared into the sky before running aground on ice rocks. At a central table an ice fountain ran with red punch instead of water. Four ice peacocks perched on the edges of the sculpture, using sparkling claws to ladle the drink into ice cups for passing guests.

Beside the banquet stood a line of topiaries trimmed into tidy shapes — flowers, symbols, patterns, and letters. Bright flowers ringed each trunk, but the brightest sight of all was an arched folly with a waterfall of liquid fire. It flamed and sparked onto the grass where barefoot girls in party frocks ran back and forth putting their hands into the sparks, which ran up and down their skin without seeming to burn them. As if to drive home the point, a painted sign hung in the air above the waterfall. It read
CHILDREN, PLEASE PLAY WITH THE FIRE
.

Call kind of wanted to run back and forth in it, too, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed or if it was just for little kids. Havoc nosed in the grass for dropped bits of food. Tamara had tied a pink bow around his neck. Call wondered if Havoc felt humiliated. He didn’t seem to be.

“You’ve been going to parties like this all summer?” Call asked Aaron.

Aaron looked a little uncomfortable. “Pretty much.”

“I’ve been going to parties like this all my life,” Tamara said, dragging them along. “They’re just parties. They get boring fast. Now come on, the glamours are actually cool. You don’t want to miss them.”

They went past the topiaries and the fire waterfall, past the tables and the clumps of partygoers to a wide stretch of lawn, where a small group had gathered. Call could tell they were mages not just by the subtle bands that glittered on their wrists but also from their air of confidence and power.

“What’s going to happen?” Call asked.

Tamara grinned. “The mages are going to show off.”

As if he’d heard her, one of the mages, a compactly built man with light brown skin, raised his hand. The area around the mages started to crowd as Mr. and Mrs. Rajavi called over the rest of the partygoers.

“That’s Master Cameron,” Tamara whispered, looking at the mage, whose hand had begun to glow. “He teaches at the Collegium. He does the best tricks with —”

Suddenly, a wave rose from the mage’s hand. It was as if the grass were the sea instead, goaded into producing a tidal wave. It grew and grew and grew until it towered above them, shadowing the party, large enough to crush the house and flood the grounds. Call sucked in a breath.

The air smelled of brine. Inside the wave, he could see things moving. Eels and sharks snapping their jaws. Salt spray splashed Call’s face as the whole thing crashed down … and disappeared.

Everyone burst into applause. Call would have clapped, too, if he hadn’t been holding Havoc’s leash in one hand. Havoc was whining and nosing his fur. He hated being wet.

“Water,” Tamara finished with a laugh. “Once, when it was really hot, he came over and made a massive sprinkler right next to the pool. We all ran through it, even Kimiya.”

“What do you mean, even Kimiya?” came a teasing voice. “I like water as much as anyone else!” Tamara’s older sister, wearing a silver dress and sandals, had come up behind them. Holding her hand was Alex Strike, who was heading into his fourth year at the Magisterium and was Master Rufus’s frequent assistant. He was dressed down in jeans and a T-shirt, with a bronze band at his wrist, since he hadn’t gotten his silver one yet. He grinned at Call.

“Hey, squirt,” he said.

Call smiled a little awkwardly. Alex had always been nice to him, but he hadn’t known Alex was dating Tamara’s older sister. Kimiya was really pretty and popular, and Call always felt as if he were about to fall over or set himself on fire when he was around her. It made sense that two popular people were together, but it also made him more conscious of a lot of other things — his limp, his messy hair, the fact he was standing there in Aaron’s borrowed clothes.

Master Cameron finished his display with a flourish — sparkling droplets that shot out toward the guests. Everyone squealed, anticipating getting wet, but the water evaporated a few feet above the heads of the crowd, turning into wisps of colored vapor. Mr. and Mrs. Rajavi led the applause as another mage stepped forward, this one a tall woman with a magnificent crown of silver hair. Call recognized her as the woman who had brushed past him imperiously on the front steps.

“Anastasia Tarquin,” said Tamara in a whisper. “She’s Alex’s stepmother.”

“That she is,” Alex confirmed. His expression as he watched her was neutral. Call wondered if he liked her. When Call had been younger, he’d wished his dad would get married again so he could have a stepmother; it seemed better than no mother at all. Only when he was older had he stopped to wonder what would have happened if his dad had married someone he didn’t like.

Anastasia Tarquin raised both hands imperiously, holding thin metal rods in each. When she let them go, they lined themselves up in the air in front of her. She twitched her fingers, and one of them vibrated, sending out a single perfect note of music. Call jumped in surprise.

Alex looked over at him. “Cool, huh? When you master metal, you’ll be able to get it to vibrate to whatever frequency you want.”

The other metal rods were trembling now, each one of them like a different guitar string being plucked, sending out a torrent of music. Call liked music as much as the next person, but he’d never really
thought
about it before, about how alchemical magic could be used not just to build up and defend, or to attack and battle, but to make art. The music was like rain breaking through the humid air; it made him think of waterfalls and snow and ice floes far out in the ocean.

When the last note of the music died away, the metal rods dropped, falling to the earth and melting into it like rainwater sinking into mud. Mrs. Tarquin bowed and stepped back amid a shower of applause. As she moved away, she winked in Alex’s direction. Maybe they got along after all.

“And now,” said Mr. Rajavi, “perhaps our very own Makar, Aaron Stewart, would favor us with a demonstration of chaos magic?”

Call felt Aaron stiffen beside him as everyone clapped enthusiastically. Tamara turned and patted Aaron on the shoulder. He looked at her for a second, biting his lip, before he straightened up and made his way to the center of the mages’ circle.

He looked very small there.

Doing tricks and going to parties
. That’s what Aaron had told Call, but Call hadn’t thought he’d meant actual
tricks
. Call had no idea what a chaos mage could do that was pretty or artistic. He remembered the rolling, devouring darkness the other Chaos-ridden wolves had disappeared into; remembered the chaos elemental pocked with wide, wet mouths; and shuddered with a feeling that was part dread and part anticipation.

Aaron lifted his hands, fingers spread wide. Darkness rolled in.

A hush spread over the party as more people joined the crowd, staring at their Makar and the growing shadows around him. Chaos magic came from the void, came from nothing. It was creation and destruction all rolled into one, and Aaron commanded it.

For a moment, even Call was a little afraid of him.

The shadows congealed into the twin shapes of two chaos elementals. They were thin, sleek creatures that resembled whippets made entirely of darkness, smaller than the one in Master Joseph’s lair had been. Still, their eyes glittered with the madness of the void.

Gasps went up all around the party. Tamara clutched Call’s arm.

For his part, Call gaped. This didn’t seem like a trick. Those things seemed dangerous. They were regarding the crowd as though they’d like nothing better than to devour everyone watching and pick their teeth with the bones of the people over by the food.

They began to slip sinuously over the grass.

Okay, Aaron
, Call thought.
Dismiss them. De-summon them. Do something.

Aaron lifted his hand. Threads of darkness began to spiral out from his fingers. His brow was furrowed in concentration. He reached out —

Havoc began to bark wildly, startling Call and Aaron both. Call saw the moment that Aaron’s concentration got away from him, the shadows vanishing from his fingertips.

Whatever he’d been meaning to do didn’t happen. Instead, one of the chaos elementals sprang into the air, toward Tamara’s mother. Her eyes went wide, her mouth opening in astonished terror. Her hand flew out, fire igniting in the center of her palm.

Aaron fell to his knees, flinging out both hands. Darkness exploded outward, surrounding the elemental. The creature disappeared, along with its twin. The chaos elementals were gone, scattered into shadows that melted away into the sunshine. Call became conscious of the fact that it was a summer day again, a summer day at a fancy garden party. He wasn’t sure if there’d ever been any real danger.

Everyone began laughing and clapping. Even Mrs. Rajavi looked delighted.

Aaron was breathing hard. His face looked pale, with a hectic flush on his cheeks as though from illness. He didn’t look like someone who’d just done a trick. He looked like someone who’d almost gotten his friend’s mother eaten.

Call turned to Tamara. “What was that?”

Her eyes sparkled. “What do you mean? He did a great job!”

“He could have been killed!” Call hissed at her, stopping himself from adding that her mom could probably have been killed, too. Aaron was on his feet now, pushing his way through the crowd toward them. He wasn’t making very fast progress, since everyone seemed to want to move closer to touch him and congratulate him and pat him on the back.

Tamara scoffed. “It was just a party trick, Call. All the other mages were standing by. They would have interfered if anything had gone wrong.”

Call could taste coppery anger in the back of his throat. He knew, and Tamara knew, too, that mages weren’t infallible. They didn’t always interfere to stop things in time. No one had interfered to stop Constantine Madden when he’d pushed his chaos magic so far that it had killed his brother and nearly destroyed the Magisterium. He’d been so injured and scarred by what had happened that he’d always worn a silver mask afterward, to cover his face.

He must have hated how he looked.

Call put up his hand to touch the uninjured skin of his own face just as Aaron got to them, flushed and wild-eyed. “Can we go sit down somewhere?” he said, quietly enough for his words not to reach the crowd. “I need to catch my breath.”

“Sure.” Call scrambled to position himself a little in front of Aaron as he leaned down to Havoc. “Pull me over to the fountain,” he told the wolf in a whisper, and Havoc yanked him forward. The crowd parted hastily to let Havoc by, and Call, Tamara, and Aaron followed in his wake. Call was aware of Alex looking after them sympathetically, though Kimiya had already turned her attention to the next mage’s trick.

Colored sparks rose in the air behind them as they rounded a hedge shaped like a shield and discovered a fountain. This one was round, made of yellow stone, and had an aged look that made Call think it must have been brought from somewhere else. Aaron sat down on the lip of it, scrubbing his hands through his wavy blond hair. “I hate my haircut,” he said.

“It looks fine,” said Call.

“You don’t really think that,” said Aaron.

“Not really,” Call said, and gave Aaron what he hoped was a supportive smile. Aaron looked worried. Maybe it hadn’t been that supportive. “You okay?”

Aaron took a deep breath. “I just —”

“Have you heard?” An adult voice floated through the air, through the leaves. It was deep and bass; Call had heard it before. “Someone broke into the Collegium last week. They tried to steal the Alkahest.”

Call and Aaron stared at each other, and then at Tamara, who had gone very still. She put her finger to her lips, quieting them.

“Someone?” replied a light, female voice. “You mean the minions of the Enemy. Who else? He means to start up the war again.”

“No broken Alkahest is going to save him once our Makar is trained and ready” came the reply.

“But if he’s able to repair it, the tragedy of Verity Torres could repeat itself,” cautioned a third voice, this one a man’s, sharp with nervousness. “Our Makar is young, like she was. We need time. The Alkahest is too powerful for us to take an attempt to steal it lightly.”