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Authors: Diana Peterfreund
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she said. “It means I have to leave. It’s too dangerous for me to stay at the Cloisters if I can’t be a proper hunter, if Bonegrinder will leap on me as soon as look at me. And Neil says he’ll go with me, since we’re already a ring short. I’m too young to be a proper don, so I’m the one who has to go. Not Phil. Me.” She sniffled.
My mouth opened. “But you can’t leave!”
“I know. I practically rebuilt the Cloisters, stone by bloody stone. And this is how it ends! I didn’t
do
anything wrong! I don’t know why this is happening to me. I don’t know why I can’t …” She seemed to collapse over her crutches, defeated. “This isn’t fair. There’s no reason I should be losing the magic.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. It wasn’t fair. Not in the least. “I don’t know.”
“You’re quite the doctor, Astrid,” she snapped.
“Well, maybe you should go see a real doctor!” I cried. “Maybe you’re sick—something completely normal and non-magical, but your hunter powers are suppressed the same way that, I don’t know, your immune system might be depressed from some other illness.”
“Like what?” she asked. “Like a cold? I don’t have a cold.”
I remained quiet because “like cancer or something” wasn’t going to go far in calming her down.
“And look at this!” she cried, and thrust out her arm. A brand-new, glistening red alicorn scar peeked out from beneath the edge of her sleeve. “I’m still immune to the poison. It’s just the hunting that I can’t muster—why?”
“That’s what I mean,” I said. “It’s too dangerous for you to go. We don’t know what powers are still working for you. I mean, look at it this way: if you were in a coma, you’d be unable to hunt, but you’d still be a
hunter
. You’re still going to draw unicorns to you. That’s why we need to train all the girls with hunter abilities. Even if they don’t stay here, don’t work for the Order, they at least need to know how to protect themselves.”
Cory straightened. “You’re right. Astrid, that’s brilliant.”
Phil probably wouldn’t thank me for that particular stroke of brilliance.
“They can’t let me go or then I really might die. The woods on our land are simply infested with zhis.” She narrowed her eyes. “Zhis just like the one today. Zhis just like the ones that killed my mum.”
“Zhis just like the one living in our nunnery?” I replied.
But Cory was not to be gainsaid. “Grab my boots, will you?” she said, swinging her crutches toward the door. I followed halfheartedly, boots in hand. This couldn’t end well.
One screaming match in a small country clinic and half an exceedingly awkward and unbearably silent car ride back to Rome later, I remembered that I’d never gone back to burn the scraps of paper that were all that was left of my letter to Giovanni.
No matter. I stared out the window at the rolling Italian countryside and began to compose another e-mail in my head.
Dear Giovanni
,
Today we found out that Cory’s hunting abilities are mysteriously diminished, and Neil and Phil have concluded that it is too dangerous for her to remain active in the Order of the Lioness. Cory is furious, but all I can think is “I wish it were me … .”
5
W HEREIN A STRID R EACHES O UT
T he sun beat down on the cobblestones in the Cloisters courtyard, shimmering off Phil’s blond ponytail as she stood before us on her yoga mat.
“Now,” she said, “exhale and bend your left leg until the left knee is perpendicular over the left ankle. You want a straight, ninety-degree angle between your shin and the ground.” We all moved on our mats.
“Keep breathing,” Phil said. “Lengthen your torso. Put power into your right leg. Feel the energy in your right leg all the way through your toes and into the earth.”
And under the ground to the chapter house of the Cloisters, where the bones hummed in tune to the beating of our hearts.
My mouth opened. “But you can’t leave!”
“I know. I practically rebuilt the Cloisters, stone by bloody stone. And this is how it ends! I didn’t
do
anything wrong! I don’t know why this is happening to me. I don’t know why I can’t …” She seemed to collapse over her crutches, defeated. “This isn’t fair. There’s no reason I should be losing the magic.”
I couldn’t think of anything to say. It wasn’t fair. Not in the least. “I don’t know.”
“You’re quite the doctor, Astrid,” she snapped.
“Well, maybe you should go see a real doctor!” I cried. “Maybe you’re sick—something completely normal and non-magical, but your hunter powers are suppressed the same way that, I don’t know, your immune system might be depressed from some other illness.”
“Like what?” she asked. “Like a cold? I don’t have a cold.”
I remained quiet because “like cancer or something” wasn’t going to go far in calming her down.
“And look at this!” she cried, and thrust out her arm. A brand-new, glistening red alicorn scar peeked out from beneath the edge of her sleeve. “I’m still immune to the poison. It’s just the hunting that I can’t muster—why?”
“That’s what I mean,” I said. “It’s too dangerous for you to go. We don’t know what powers are still working for you. I mean, look at it this way: if you were in a coma, you’d be unable to hunt, but you’d still be a
hunter
. You’re still going to draw unicorns to you. That’s why we need to train all the girls with hunter abilities. Even if they don’t stay here, don’t work for the Order, they at least need to know how to protect themselves.”
Cory straightened. “You’re right. Astrid, that’s brilliant.”
Phil probably wouldn’t thank me for that particular stroke of brilliance.
“They can’t let me go or then I really might die. The woods on our land are simply infested with zhis.” She narrowed her eyes. “Zhis just like the one today. Zhis just like the ones that killed my mum.”
“Zhis just like the one living in our nunnery?” I replied.
But Cory was not to be gainsaid. “Grab my boots, will you?” she said, swinging her crutches toward the door. I followed halfheartedly, boots in hand. This couldn’t end well.
One screaming match in a small country clinic and half an exceedingly awkward and unbearably silent car ride back to Rome later, I remembered that I’d never gone back to burn the scraps of paper that were all that was left of my letter to Giovanni.
No matter. I stared out the window at the rolling Italian countryside and began to compose another e-mail in my head.
Dear Giovanni
,
Today we found out that Cory’s hunting abilities are mysteriously diminished, and Neil and Phil have concluded that it is too dangerous for her to remain active in the Order of the Lioness. Cory is furious, but all I can think is “I wish it were me … .”
5
W HEREIN A STRID R EACHES O UT
T he sun beat down on the cobblestones in the Cloisters courtyard, shimmering off Phil’s blond ponytail as she stood before us on her yoga mat.
“Now,” she said, “exhale and bend your left leg until the left knee is perpendicular over the left ankle. You want a straight, ninety-degree angle between your shin and the ground.” We all moved on our mats.
“Keep breathing,” Phil said. “Lengthen your torso. Put power into your right leg. Feel the energy in your right leg all the way through your toes and into the earth.”
And under the ground to the chapter house of the Cloisters, where the bones hummed in tune to the beating of our hearts.
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