Read Online Novel - Arcanum 101 (with Rosemary Edghill) by Mercedes Lackey - Free Book Online
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
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me—”
“Whoa, whoa—a Witch? Like—” he clearly fumbled for a comparison. “Like on Charmed or something? Or you mean brujeria—”
“Brujeria” was Black Magic, and something much closer to Shamanism than to anything either VeeVee or Lalage called Witchcraft. VeeVee decided to explain, not that the explanation would do him much good at this point.
“I’m a techno-shaman and a Fire Witch; I do combat magic. Nothing like on TV or movies.” She shook her head at him. “It’s complicated, but I’ve been doing this since I was nine, and this is the safest place for me ‘cause my parents travel a lot.”
“You mean they dumped you here.” His look was a mixture of pity and contempt and again she had to laugh.
“OK, I was saving the best part for last, but I guess I’ll show you now. You come have a look at the Student Union and tell me I was dumped here.” Once again, she set off at a brisk pace and was pleased to see that he actually had to stretch his long legs a good bit to keep up. She was heading for the building that held the dining hall, and he was about to get the surprise of his life.
They stopped in at the dining hall first. Their tour of the grounds had occupied most of the lunch hour, and the place was empty again—nothing to see but long rows of refectory-style tables and benches. If Tomas was hungry, they could probably go around to the back and cadge a snack before dinner; nobody went hungry at St. Rhia’s.
Lunch was always sandwiches, though you could have them toasted if you wanted. The setup was a lot like a good Subway Shop except there were lots of veggie choices. It beat the heck out of the “mystery meat” and bland mac-and-cheese in most high school cafeterias.
Dinner was another affair altogether.
VeeVee had seen St. Rhia’s austere little brochure. “Students will be encouraged to sample the cuisines of many countries at dinner-time,” it said primly. At best, this was misleading. At worst, you could say that the brochure was lying through its teeth. The “encouragement” consisted of the following: you could eat what was on the line, or you could have yesterday’s leftovers heated in a microwave—if there were any leftovers—or you could build yourself another sandwich. When confronted with their first sight of, say, stuffed Portobello mushrooms or calamari, it was surprising how many of the kids opted for bologna and cheese on white.
To be fair, the chef—because the guy in charge of St. Rhia’s kitchen was a chef, a chef with Talent as almost all the staff were, though no one knew exactly what his Talent was—didn’t spring really weird stuff on the kids very often. And there were some things you could count on: Friday night was always pizza night, for instance. VeeVee had gotten an international palate over the years, so she regarded the forays into the unexpected with anticipation. But the faces of some of the kids—half of them the ones from the inner city, which made sense, but a lot of them runaways from white-bread suburbs—when confronted with something they didn’t recognize was entertainment in and of itself. Lalage, for instance… you would have thought that with a name like that, she’d be as used to exotica as VeeVee was. But no. The first time she had been presented with sushi, you’d have thought she’d been handed a bowl of monkey brains.
Come to think of it, VeeVee was kind of looking forward to seeing Tomas’s reaction to sushi.
They went back outside.
VeeVee folded her arms over her chest and grinned. Tomas’s jaw was somewhere on the floor.
As well it should be. Behind a forbidding cellar door was Ria Llewellyn’s most expensive concession to the fact she had forty-odd kids locked away from malls, fast-food joints, and skating parks.
The Student Union was in the cellar of the Dining Hall. It had been an ordinary storage cellar before the renovation, but now the food storage had been moved upstairs and the basement had
“Whoa, whoa—a Witch? Like—” he clearly fumbled for a comparison. “Like on Charmed or something? Or you mean brujeria—”
“Brujeria” was Black Magic, and something much closer to Shamanism than to anything either VeeVee or Lalage called Witchcraft. VeeVee decided to explain, not that the explanation would do him much good at this point.
“I’m a techno-shaman and a Fire Witch; I do combat magic. Nothing like on TV or movies.” She shook her head at him. “It’s complicated, but I’ve been doing this since I was nine, and this is the safest place for me ‘cause my parents travel a lot.”
“You mean they dumped you here.” His look was a mixture of pity and contempt and again she had to laugh.
“OK, I was saving the best part for last, but I guess I’ll show you now. You come have a look at the Student Union and tell me I was dumped here.” Once again, she set off at a brisk pace and was pleased to see that he actually had to stretch his long legs a good bit to keep up. She was heading for the building that held the dining hall, and he was about to get the surprise of his life.
They stopped in at the dining hall first. Their tour of the grounds had occupied most of the lunch hour, and the place was empty again—nothing to see but long rows of refectory-style tables and benches. If Tomas was hungry, they could probably go around to the back and cadge a snack before dinner; nobody went hungry at St. Rhia’s.
Lunch was always sandwiches, though you could have them toasted if you wanted. The setup was a lot like a good Subway Shop except there were lots of veggie choices. It beat the heck out of the “mystery meat” and bland mac-and-cheese in most high school cafeterias.
Dinner was another affair altogether.
VeeVee had seen St. Rhia’s austere little brochure. “Students will be encouraged to sample the cuisines of many countries at dinner-time,” it said primly. At best, this was misleading. At worst, you could say that the brochure was lying through its teeth. The “encouragement” consisted of the following: you could eat what was on the line, or you could have yesterday’s leftovers heated in a microwave—if there were any leftovers—or you could build yourself another sandwich. When confronted with their first sight of, say, stuffed Portobello mushrooms or calamari, it was surprising how many of the kids opted for bologna and cheese on white.
To be fair, the chef—because the guy in charge of St. Rhia’s kitchen was a chef, a chef with Talent as almost all the staff were, though no one knew exactly what his Talent was—didn’t spring really weird stuff on the kids very often. And there were some things you could count on: Friday night was always pizza night, for instance. VeeVee had gotten an international palate over the years, so she regarded the forays into the unexpected with anticipation. But the faces of some of the kids—half of them the ones from the inner city, which made sense, but a lot of them runaways from white-bread suburbs—when confronted with something they didn’t recognize was entertainment in and of itself. Lalage, for instance… you would have thought that with a name like that, she’d be as used to exotica as VeeVee was. But no. The first time she had been presented with sushi, you’d have thought she’d been handed a bowl of monkey brains.
Come to think of it, VeeVee was kind of looking forward to seeing Tomas’s reaction to sushi.
They went back outside.
VeeVee folded her arms over her chest and grinned. Tomas’s jaw was somewhere on the floor.
As well it should be. Behind a forbidding cellar door was Ria Llewellyn’s most expensive concession to the fact she had forty-odd kids locked away from malls, fast-food joints, and skating parks.
The Student Union was in the cellar of the Dining Hall. It had been an ordinary storage cellar before the renovation, but now the food storage had been moved upstairs and the basement had
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