Page 107 of By the Orchid and the Owl
A downward swish of neon green and the players burst into motion.
Everything happened so fast, I could barely keep track of it.
The Shape Shifters shot upward, inflating themselves into giant beings that cast cold, dark shadows across the entire field, each of them with their balls pinioned between two meaty fingers—one step, and they’d make it to the half-disc on the other end of the field.
But before they could, the Element Wielders lit their heads on fire.
Emelle screamed. Lander groaned. Wren laughed, while Gileon whimpered and stuffed a fistful of peanuts into his mouth.
The Element Wielders were already racing between the giants’ legs toward the disc on the other end, but the next second, the giants grew steel helmets that stifled the fire and shot out elongated arms to stop them.
I watched the Shifter with the spiked orange ball grab a Wielder with a hand as big as a carriage and throw her into the air.
NowIscreamed, but the girl conjured a sudden, house-sized cube of water beneath her, its edges framed by ice, and dropped into it with a colossal splash.
She’d also dropped her ball. It floated in the water, and a nearby Shifter who’d tracked her movement dove after it. Moments before he hit the water, he shrunk into a piranha that grabbed the ball in its sharp, pointed teeth.
When the piranha leaped out, an Element Wielder was waiting.
Before the Shifter could revert to his human form, the Wielder blew a cloud of thick black smoke his way, dousing the fish in its ashy poison.
It went on and on and on.
The brutal mesh of magic never extended beyond the field, but I could still smell the sting of charred flesh, still hear the screams and taste the smoke in the air.
After ten minutes, Gileon dropped his bag of peanuts and rammed his face into his hands to block it all out. Wren merely patted his back, grinning.
I was having trouble taking it all in, too. In those ten minutes of fire and ice and monsters merging in and out of existence, only two balls had been rolled into the discs on either end of the field: eight more to go. Eventually, I let my attention drift to the back of Coen’s head up in the front, watchinghimwatch the chaos.
He never moved. Never flinched. Never looked back at me. Even when his neighbors jumped or cringed or clapped, it was as if he was immune to it all.
I didn’t want to think it, that there was a lot to Coen I still wasn’t familiar with, that part of him remained a mystery. The thought left me scratching my arm, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in my own seat. For some reason, I just wanted him to look back at me. To make a half-second of eye contact.
To show me the viciousness of all this bothered him, too.
Coen didn’t, and I had to remind myself that I was dating the same man who had ruthlessly tortured and threatened Fergus all those months ago. Maybe he enjoyed this as much as Wren did, who was whistling and cackling in delight every time someone slipped or collided or caught on fire.
Rethinking our relationship, little hurricane?
There he was. I’d been wondering when that sly voice would slink in.
Maybe, I shot back.You’re awfully calm about—my eyes snagged on the nearest calamity—a sinkhole swallowing up the person right in front of you.
I’m strategizing. Any one of these teams could be playing against us soon, so I need to figure out everyone’s strengths and weaknesses beforehand.
Right. Coen would be playing in the final pentaball game of the season with four other Mind Manipulators in his year, including Garvis. I hadn’t thought much of it until now.
Now that I knew I’d have to watch him endure allthis, though…
The Shape Shifters ended up winning, but barely. By the time the referee swished his flag again to call it, several pairs of medics were carrying away various players on stretchers.
My gaze landed on the closest one, who groaned as he passed underneath the stadium, his skin peppered with burn marks from head to toe.
“I think you’re right, Lander,” I said quietly, trying to look away but finding it hard to. His blisters looked a hell of a lot like Fergus’s and Jenia’s welts that day they’d tried to mess with Gileon. “I think it’s time to talk to the fire ants again.”
Six hours later, after everyone else had wafted to bed, I found myself back in the study room, this time with a jar of three ants I’d nicked from the bark of a tree outside. They scurried round and round the glass container, occasionally trying to scramble up the sides and falling back down again.
“It’s okay,” I whispered to them, trying to keep each exhale rough and raw so that they’d understand me better. “I’m not going to keep you forever. I just wanted to ask you a few questions.”
