Page 81 of A Heart of Bluestone

I keep my gloves on and, though I have discarded my coat and my hat on the boulder that Piper is perched on, sneaking a cigarette away from prying eyes, I pack more and more into giant balls.

Eric and Teddy work together to pack all that icy dust into formidable, solid builds of their own.

I’m sure that at least two hours have passed, maybe even more, before we have eight snowmen.

And then comes my favourite part.

Decorating.

I like the crunch of the snow as I shove the carrot (stolen from the mess hall, thanks to Teddy) into its little round head. I like to find the perfect sticks for arms and forage perfectly round black stones for buttons. I like to carve the fanged teeth into its face and place nests of foliage on its head for hair.

And since I have no magic, enchanting it into a bundling, rolling gust of rage aimed right down the mountain for VeVille, that’s not something I can take much pleasure in.

But I do watch.

The snowmen, one by one, flop onto their sides, then roll.

This far up, we can’t actuallyseethe attack. The village is, after all, a half-hour downhill, and that’s on the gondola.

But we know well enough what will happen.

The snowmen will burst through doors, barrel through windows, tornado through houses, smash into anyone in their paths, then explode in gusts of snow.

Makes for wet furniture.

I’d be pissed if was a villager.

But I’m not, so I laugh.

My hands are numb and raw by the time nightfall inches dangerously close. Even through the leather of my gloves, snow has leaked and dribbled.

I think my bones are frozen solid when Eric leads the way back to the boulder. Piper fixes another cigarette between her blueish lips, stained from the cold. Her hands tremble as she sucks in as much killer air as she can before we head back to the academy.

I sit on my coat, legs crossed into a basket that I set my bag on. And, for a little while, Teddy passes around a bottle of cherry.

I have some. Just a few swigs.

I almost ask Teddy about the blackout dust. But I’m sure his friendliness today is mere manners, not much more, and so I don’t want to be rude.

I find myself filtering the words I do speak, but the rest of the time sticking to tight smiles and nods of the head.

These aren’t my people, and so I am not certain how to behave around them.

Not to mention the glares aimed down at us.

The incline reaches up to the thin treeline. Right on the other side of those trunks are the pews—and the Snakes gathered at them.

Asta found her way to the other side, and she leans her back against a tree, arms folded, and her narrowed gaze a set of daggers aimed down at us.

A mere reach behind her, Dray has his boots planted in the snow. With his back to the pews, he drags his curious frown over me—and the others. New people, witches I haven’t been seen with before now.

There’s a calculative edge to his sharp gaze.

Eric casts a look up the slope at them.

For a long moment, a pulse in time, he stares up at the treeline—then, with a clench of the jaw, says, “Guess we should go back in now.”

There’s no bell to warn students who strayed too far that it’s time to get back to Bluestone. No one needs a bell-triggered avalanche barrelling down the mountain.

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