“No, it’s not, but it will be. Recent events have shown me how very special you are in a way that has nothing to do with magic, and I know I have a lot to make up for.” She hugs me again and tears burn at the back of my eyes and nose. Finally, Mom kisses my forehead and releases my face.
“Now isn’t the time for gifts, but we wanted you to have this.” Dad hands me a box wrapped in silver paper with white ribbon.
“What? Why?” I ask, even as my fingers rip open the package.
It’s a silvery-gray T-shirt marked with the lightning-like sowelo rune representing House Aithyr.
Aithyr. My house. My element. Finally, I know where I belong, and everyone else is going to know it too.
“Thank you,” I say, although inside I’m being bombarded by a lot of conflicting emotions. “What about Sorin and the others?”
“They’ll get their shirts,” Mom says. “It’s about time we acknowledged all forms of magic at this school.”
Carefully, I fold the shirt and leave it lying in the wrapping on the kitchen table. I’ll get to wear it soon enough, along with the other six students who have always truly belonged under the Aithyr banner.
“Let’s go,” Mom says. “Don’t want to be late.”
Together, we walk up the icy pathway lit at intervals by candles in brown paper bags full of sand. Mom’s usual cloud of crows is a little smaller now, but still there, cawing from the treetops. Rekku and Kamu flutter close, letting me know they survived the ordeal on the other side of the stones. Musti didn’t and I don’t even have their body to bury. I didn’t think I’d miss one of my crows this much.
Most of the students have already gathered at the lake, parents too. Candles ring the shore, illuminating dozens of solemn faces. The Kekri buck waits at the water’s edge.
This year, no one’s in a festive mood.
Six students were taken, only three survived.
The framed photos of the students lost to Emmi have been propped up against boulders, each with their own set of candles and flowers. Risto, Elijah, Manami, all of them smile in the photos, so unaware of what fate had in store for them.
Their families stand nearby. Shoulders hunched, faces drawn and tearstained, eyes staring numbly out at the lake. I can’t even begin to imagine what they’re going through.
Instead, I search for Morgan. He’s with his dad farther up the embankment. This time, he’s dressed all in black too, even his boots. He’s wearing a new jacket—black leather slung with a dozen glinting chains. There’s a massive red anarchy a pinned to the back of it.