Cara Blackwell's Arc

Chapter 4 of 4

The doors shut behind Cara, and the warm light did not feel welcoming for long. A wide stone hall opened ahead of her. Students crossed it in small groups, and one by one they stopped to stare. Their eyes went to her wrist first. Cara pulled her sleeve down, but the flame mark had already been seen. A tall girl whispered something. A boy stepped back like Cara carried a fever. "Blackwell," someone said. The word passed down the hall like a cold draft. Cara did not understand why her name made them flinch. Rico pressed to her leg and growled low. She rested a hand on his head to keep him still. Rowan moved close to her. "Don't show them the mark," he said under his breath. "There hasn't been a marked Blackwell alive here in years. They think that line is bad luck." "I just want my mother's record," Cara said. Her voice came out too loud. The hall went quiet. An older student, some kind of monitor, walked toward her with folded arms. "You can't wander in here," the monitor said. "Not with that mark. Turn around." Cara's chest went tight. The wind she carried inside her stirred. Above them, the tall windows rattled in their frames. Cold air moved through the hall. Students backed away, and their fear only fed the storm rising in her wrists. Her eyes stung, and she knew they were turning purple. "Stop," Rowan said to her, quiet and steady. "You'll prove them right. Breathe." Cara looked at the frightened faces. Turning her fear into a storm would end this. They would throw her out, and she would never learn her mother's name. So she did the opposite. She uncovered her wrist and held it up, plain, for all of them to see. "Yes. I'm the last one," she said. "I don't know why the rest are dead. That's why I came. I need to read the records, and then I'll go." The hall stayed silent. The windows stopped shaking. Slowly the wind inside her settled, and the cold air thinned. The monitor studied her, then studied the calm dog at her side. Whatever the monitor expected, it was not a girl asking plainly for the truth. "The records are kept below," the monitor said at last. "You get one hour. The dog stays with you." She turned and walked, and Cara followed before anyone changed their mind. Rowan fell into step beside her. "You held it," he said. He almost smiled. "Barely." Cara's hands still shook. But she was inside now, not turned away, and headed for the room that held her mother's file. As they passed a wide window, she saw a dark shape in the courtyard below, a black horse with folded wings, watching the school. She slowed. "What is that?" Rowan's almost-smile faded. "That," he said, "means someone knows you're here."