Page 47 of A Heart of Bluestone

Another senior, a gentry. Friends with Eric, and even prettier. But the mischief in his eyes reminds me too much of Dray, and so I never lingered too long a look over him.

Even now, that mischief dances in the dark blues of his ocean eyes. He lacks the cruelty of Dray’s glass gaze, but he wears it in the smile that dances on his lips.

It holds my attention for a beat, and I hesitate, chair sagging in my grip.

I watch as his hand meets Mikal’s.

An exchange of cash—and a phial.

Teddy rolls the phial of black glitter between his fingers, then stuffs it deep into his parka pocket.

I recognise blackout dust anywhere, even if it’s such a small amount in a tiny glass jar, no bigger than my own pinkie finger.

I have much experience with blackout dust.

That stuff incapacitates in the strangest of ways. It steals sight and sound. My eyes work, but the dust masks what is around me. My hearing is sharp, but the dust deafens sound. Someone could scream in my face, and I wouldn’t hear or see a thing. But I would feel the air disturb around me, a gentle breeze of flapping hands in my face.

Blackout dust is a favourite at Bluestone.

No one knows when it will strike, or who orchestrates it.

Mikal sells it, apparently.

Didn’t know that.

But one tiny phial, that’s not enough to blackout the entire school. That sort of attack needs a cauldron or more of the dust.

Even the Snakes might not be capable of the full scale siege on the academy. Every room, every corridor, the nooks and crannies of basements, everything and everyone—blinded. Chaos without sound.

That’s usually when the best of the pranks are set into motion. By the time the blackout has faded, which usually only takesa few hours, the colours bleed down the wall, the tables and chairs are glued to the ceilings, teachers are trapped in robes enchanted to bind around their heads, the classic pants-down-in-the-snow, and my favourite was when the headmaster was hexed to do roly-polys through the halls.

I almost peed myself laughing at that one. Could hardly breathe through the wheezes.

Guess it’s always a bit funnier when someone else is the target, and the pranks are more harmless than malicious.

Another reason I doubt that it is the Snakes behind the annual blackouts. Their pranks wouldn’t be so light-hearted.

I turn my cheek to the trade going on by the fireplace, then drag the chair to the table by the window.

The glass has a thick smear of condensation, which obscures the street on the other side, but I make out the faint shadowy silhouettes of students moving through the foggy village.

More will come now.

So close to midday, the games will be wrapped up, and students will be piling into the gondolas. James might be a while, what with all the traffic.

I don’t buy him a drink.

It’ll be cold and filmy by the time he gets here.

So I buy for just Courtney and I before we settle in at the table, and the senior students start pouring in.

I pick my way through a magazine for a while, and down a latte and a hot chocolate before the tired skiers started to invade the pub. They all wear red cheeks and noses, as if painted, and peel off their gloves and goggles.

I spot Dray among them before the fresh crowd parts for him and the other Snakes. He wasn’t on the slopes.

I can tell that much by the smooth hue of his sunkissed complexion, no blotchy red streaks on his high cheekbones, no snowburn on the tip of his nose.

The collar of his black cable-knit creeps up to his neck, something of a half-turtleneck. The deep hues of the cashmere look soft to the touch, not unlike the tan slacks he wears.

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