The Operator
Page 126
“Kal, don’t!” Quen shouted, and Kal sneered.
“Dilatare,” Kal said, shoving the white, but dangerous, spell at her.
Unable to stomach hiding in a circle, Trisk yanked a wad of unfocused energy from the nearest ley line. Her hands went warm.
Quen was faster, though, and Trisk started when an aura-tainted streak of power struck Kal’s incoming bolt, sending both energies spinning wildly up and into the chandelier. They hit it with a shower of green-tinted sparks, and, with a ping that echoed in her mind, the huge crystal-and-light chandelier shattered.
People cried out. Trisk cowered, arms over her head as the broken crystal rained down on them in a weird chiming clatter of noise and sensation.
Shouts rose, and the hall exploded into sound. Trisk straightened from her instinctive hunch, her aura about her hands still glowing with the energy she had freed but not loosed. Her lips parted and fear slid between her soul and reason. The eastern representative of the elven enclave stood before them, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Broken crystal crunched under his dress shoes, and a mass of excited people hemmed them in.
“What happened?” he demanded, and the hall grew silent. Faces ringed them: her classmates, their parents, prospective employers. It felt like the third grade all over again, and Trisk was silent. Kal stared malevolently at her, his face smeared with blood and someone’s frilly handkerchief over his mouth. His nose was clearly broken, and Trisk stifled a smile of perverse satisfaction that he’d have to get it fixed.
“You know there’s no use of ley lines this close to the city,” the bald man said, a tie pin the only show of his enclave status, but it somehow elevated his suit above the surrounding business attire and cocktail dresses. “That’s why we have the place charmed.” His attention rose to the few crystals still holding. “Or at least we did.”
“It was an accident, Sa’han,” Kal said, using the elven honorific, as he clearly didn’t know the man’s name.
“Accident, hell,” the man said, clearly irate. “You’re both too old for these kinds of pranks. I want to know what happened.”
Trisk dropped back into Quen’s warmth. They would never believe she hadn’t broken the spell. She’d been the butt of too many jokes, taking the blame for all of them because to do otherwise would only increase the torment. She had a rep, even if none of it was true.
“Felicia?” the man said, and she started, not knowing how he knew her name.
Trisk licked her lips. “I punched him, Sa’han,” she admitted. “I didn’t tap a ley line until he did.”
“And yet the result is the same,” the man said regretfully as he turned to Kal. “Your temper is still getting the better of you, eh, Trenton?”
“She has no right to be here, Sa’han,” Kal said haughtily. “There are only three offers on her table. The center is for the best, not slag.”
Trist worked hard to keep her breathing even. He was only saying what they were all thinking. Behind her, she could feel Quen’s slow anger building, but it was too late. He’d signed the contract, and it was binding.
But the man only handed Kal a spell with which to clean his face. “And your tongue still doesn’t check in with your brain before waggling,” he said as Kal used the very blood from his broken nose to invoke the charm, and in a wash of aura-tainted magic, his face was clean. “You think she copied her way to her grade average?” the man said, and Kal’s face flashed red. “You are drastically lacking in the art of stealth and misdirection. Your emotions and wants are as clear as a child’s. Learn what you lack or forever be the shadow of potential that you are today.”
Trisk felt herself pale as he turned to her. He could see right through her, all her grand hopes looking like a foolish pretend. “And you need to find out who you are before you bring your house any more shame,” he said, his rebuke hitting her hard.
Her chest hurt, and she dropped her head. In the near distance, the loud voices of Kal’s parents became obvious as they tried to force their way through.
The enclave member sighed, gathering himself. “Kal? Trisk? As neither of you have signed with anyone, you’re allowed to remain on the floor, but you’re confined to your tables. Quen, you have your placement. Go wait in your room.”
Trisk’s head snapped up, suddenly frightened. Quen would likely go through hell now, seeing as Kal would blame him for everything she’d done. “Quen, I’m sorry,” she blurted, clutching at his arm as he turned to go.
Quen’s mood softened as he faced her, managing a smile. “Me, too,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about it,” he added as he gave her arm a squeeze, but what she wanted was for him to take her in his arms and tell her nothing would change between them. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’m proud of you, Trisk. You’re going to do well. I believe in you.”
He was slipping from her, and she could do nothing. “Quen . . .”
He looked back once, and then he was gone, the colorful dresses hiding him as the band started up again. The enclave dignitary had vanished as fast as he had appeared, and people began to disperse.
Trisk’s eyes rose to find Kal standing with his parents. His father was trying to straighten Kal’s swollen nose, and his mother was smoothly trying to distract the man from NASA, who was frowning at the shattered remains of the hall’s protection.
No one was venturing across the pile of crystal, and Trisk winced when her father’s tall form stumbled to a halt at the fringes, hesitating briefly as he found her eyes and then turned to make his way around it. “The Goddess protect me,” she whispered, nudging a stray crystal out of her way and collapsing in her interview chair. There was no way to make this look good.
“Trisk? Tell me this wasn’t you,” her father said as he worked his way into her booth.
A surge of self-pity rose, and she blinked fast, refusing to cry. “Quen signed with the Kalamacks,” she said softly, her voice cracking.
Her father’s breath came in, but then he exhaled with a knowing, forgiving sound, the shattered chandelier and rising argument at the Kalamack booth suddenly making sense. “I’m sorry,” he said, his hand warm on her shoulder. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
She looked up, his quick understanding making her feel worse. “I just wish he would know what he’s doing with me.”
“Dilatare,” Kal said, shoving the white, but dangerous, spell at her.
Unable to stomach hiding in a circle, Trisk yanked a wad of unfocused energy from the nearest ley line. Her hands went warm.
Quen was faster, though, and Trisk started when an aura-tainted streak of power struck Kal’s incoming bolt, sending both energies spinning wildly up and into the chandelier. They hit it with a shower of green-tinted sparks, and, with a ping that echoed in her mind, the huge crystal-and-light chandelier shattered.
People cried out. Trisk cowered, arms over her head as the broken crystal rained down on them in a weird chiming clatter of noise and sensation.
Shouts rose, and the hall exploded into sound. Trisk straightened from her instinctive hunch, her aura about her hands still glowing with the energy she had freed but not loosed. Her lips parted and fear slid between her soul and reason. The eastern representative of the elven enclave stood before them, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Broken crystal crunched under his dress shoes, and a mass of excited people hemmed them in.
“What happened?” he demanded, and the hall grew silent. Faces ringed them: her classmates, their parents, prospective employers. It felt like the third grade all over again, and Trisk was silent. Kal stared malevolently at her, his face smeared with blood and someone’s frilly handkerchief over his mouth. His nose was clearly broken, and Trisk stifled a smile of perverse satisfaction that he’d have to get it fixed.
“You know there’s no use of ley lines this close to the city,” the bald man said, a tie pin the only show of his enclave status, but it somehow elevated his suit above the surrounding business attire and cocktail dresses. “That’s why we have the place charmed.” His attention rose to the few crystals still holding. “Or at least we did.”
“It was an accident, Sa’han,” Kal said, using the elven honorific, as he clearly didn’t know the man’s name.
“Accident, hell,” the man said, clearly irate. “You’re both too old for these kinds of pranks. I want to know what happened.”
Trisk dropped back into Quen’s warmth. They would never believe she hadn’t broken the spell. She’d been the butt of too many jokes, taking the blame for all of them because to do otherwise would only increase the torment. She had a rep, even if none of it was true.
“Felicia?” the man said, and she started, not knowing how he knew her name.
Trisk licked her lips. “I punched him, Sa’han,” she admitted. “I didn’t tap a ley line until he did.”
“And yet the result is the same,” the man said regretfully as he turned to Kal. “Your temper is still getting the better of you, eh, Trenton?”
“She has no right to be here, Sa’han,” Kal said haughtily. “There are only three offers on her table. The center is for the best, not slag.”
Trist worked hard to keep her breathing even. He was only saying what they were all thinking. Behind her, she could feel Quen’s slow anger building, but it was too late. He’d signed the contract, and it was binding.
But the man only handed Kal a spell with which to clean his face. “And your tongue still doesn’t check in with your brain before waggling,” he said as Kal used the very blood from his broken nose to invoke the charm, and in a wash of aura-tainted magic, his face was clean. “You think she copied her way to her grade average?” the man said, and Kal’s face flashed red. “You are drastically lacking in the art of stealth and misdirection. Your emotions and wants are as clear as a child’s. Learn what you lack or forever be the shadow of potential that you are today.”
Trisk felt herself pale as he turned to her. He could see right through her, all her grand hopes looking like a foolish pretend. “And you need to find out who you are before you bring your house any more shame,” he said, his rebuke hitting her hard.
Her chest hurt, and she dropped her head. In the near distance, the loud voices of Kal’s parents became obvious as they tried to force their way through.
The enclave member sighed, gathering himself. “Kal? Trisk? As neither of you have signed with anyone, you’re allowed to remain on the floor, but you’re confined to your tables. Quen, you have your placement. Go wait in your room.”
Trisk’s head snapped up, suddenly frightened. Quen would likely go through hell now, seeing as Kal would blame him for everything she’d done. “Quen, I’m sorry,” she blurted, clutching at his arm as he turned to go.
Quen’s mood softened as he faced her, managing a smile. “Me, too,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about it,” he added as he gave her arm a squeeze, but what she wanted was for him to take her in his arms and tell her nothing would change between them. “I’ve dealt with worse. I’m proud of you, Trisk. You’re going to do well. I believe in you.”
He was slipping from her, and she could do nothing. “Quen . . .”
He looked back once, and then he was gone, the colorful dresses hiding him as the band started up again. The enclave dignitary had vanished as fast as he had appeared, and people began to disperse.
Trisk’s eyes rose to find Kal standing with his parents. His father was trying to straighten Kal’s swollen nose, and his mother was smoothly trying to distract the man from NASA, who was frowning at the shattered remains of the hall’s protection.
No one was venturing across the pile of crystal, and Trisk winced when her father’s tall form stumbled to a halt at the fringes, hesitating briefly as he found her eyes and then turned to make his way around it. “The Goddess protect me,” she whispered, nudging a stray crystal out of her way and collapsing in her interview chair. There was no way to make this look good.
“Trisk? Tell me this wasn’t you,” her father said as he worked his way into her booth.
A surge of self-pity rose, and she blinked fast, refusing to cry. “Quen signed with the Kalamacks,” she said softly, her voice cracking.
Her father’s breath came in, but then he exhaled with a knowing, forgiving sound, the shattered chandelier and rising argument at the Kalamack booth suddenly making sense. “I’m sorry,” he said, his hand warm on her shoulder. “I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.”
She looked up, his quick understanding making her feel worse. “I just wish he would know what he’s doing with me.”
