He woke with a bump. His head knocked against the window and he jerked upright, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes. Consulting his watch, he saw that it was nearly seven in the morning. In the seat beside him Jackson was curled into a ball, his face half‑hidden by the green fleece blanket, and Luke elbowed him gently, for the bus was slowing as it approached a wide plateau where several other buses were already parked and unloading their students. Jackson snorted, peering blearily from beneath the blanket, but snapped wide awake immediately when he looked past Luke out the window. "We're here," he breathed, with such a reverential air that nervous excitement stirred uneasily in the pit of Luke's stomach.
"I don't see any buildings," he said, leaning close to the window to look around. All he saw were pine trees and scrub, and he had a brief but vivid mental image of students sitting in a circle atop a hill of green grass, while the professor lectured from the center, perched on a giant mushroom.
"Well, it's not here, it's up the hill." Jackson wadded his blanket into a corner of the seat and stretched. "We gotta go through the whole choosing thing first."
"Oh, right." Jackson's explanation of how students at Emerald Hill were sorted into groups had been jumbled and confusing, as his father and uncle hadn't been clear in their explanations to begin with. Luke got the impression that much like the orientation video had been designed to inform without revealing, alumni of Emerald Hill considered it their privilege to keep its secrets and hint rather than explain.
They filed off the bus and joined the large group of First Freshmen, shaking the last bit of sleepiness from their limbs and blinking in the morning light. When he first stepped to the ground Luke was momentarily stunned by a blast of odor, something strange and powerful and so all‑pervasive that it overwhelmed him. It was not unpleasant, a sharp and tangy and fresh sort of smell, but it confused and disoriented him because look as he might, he could not see what might be making it. It suffused the very air. He asked Jackson, who stopped bouncing from one foot to the other long enough to sniff and admit ignorance.
The buses were parking in a roughly circular, roughly flat clearing of yellowed grass and patches of small white stones, and Luke watched as more came rumbling up the slope, following a narrow line of gravel that was more of a path than an actual road, winding serpentine through the thick pine trees that covered the slopes. He looked further up the mountain but still could see no sign whatsoever of Emerald Hill, only an expanse of trees and boulders thinning toward a peak that looked impossibly high. Luke thought he could see a rim of snow at the utmost top, but it was hard to tell.
He fell to watching the other students, and noticed adults walking through the crowd, lifting their wands and conjuring from thin air picnic tables and checkered cloths, and standing tents for shade; others were unloading various items from the buses such as baseball equipment, Frisbees, and footballs. "I thought we were going to the school now," he said to Jackson, who, though almost too excited to be attentive, was his only point of reference.
"Oh, we are, but not all of us. The upperclassmen, their buses go to a different place and they get to go up right now, but us first freshies gotta wait and go in little groups, 'cause we can't be all chosen at once. Or something."
Just then a bell rang, a silvery tinkling that reached the entire clearing with ease, and following the sound Luke saw a woman standing on a plain, old‑looking wooden platform at the edge of the trees. She was short and stout and smiling, with a lot of frizzy red hair pinned back with only partial success. The crowd moved toward the platform. Luke recalled from his question-and-answer sheet that there were about fifteen hundred students in each year, but the sheer size of such a crowd surprised him. A vast bobbing sea of young, eager faces turned upward toward the woman and the ringing of the bell, which was suspended in the air above her head and looked far too small to make such noise.
She pointed her wand, which was short and dark, at her throat and her lips moved, and then when she spoke her voice was very loud, as though amplified through powerful speakers. Luke tried not to be dazzled. "Welcome," she said, and her voice was very pleasant. "Welcome, first‑year students, to Emerald Hill. As you may know or may have guessed, I am Cindy Redding, your Assistant Principal."
A little cheer ran through the crowd like a ripple. Cynthia Redding bowed her head briefly, cheeks aglow with gracious pleasure. "You may have noticed that there are very many of you." Smiles, murmured agreement. "Obviously, the process of getting you all assigned is going to take a while. Entertainment and meals have been arranged for those of you whose waits will be extended, and we ask that you please buckle down and make the best of it. By suppertime, you're guaranteed to be assigned and happily installed in the Emerald Hill campus." Her round cheeks dimpled when she smiled, which was often. "Now, we're going to do this alphabetically, I'm afraid." This earned a varied response, the louder being the groans from those whose surnames fell farther down the alphabetical scale. Redding held up a consoling hand. "I know, I know. Try to be patient. Will the following students please approach the platform?"
She called ten names, all of whose surnames ended in A. "Lucky you!" cried Jackson, punching Luke in the arm. "You're a B. I have to wait until Parker—it's gonna be past lunch!"
It was close to half an hour before Luke heard his name called, and he left Jackson playing baseball and approached the platform with nine others. Up close he saw that Cindy Redding was only as tall as he was. "All ten," she said, swinging her legs as they dangled from the edge of the platform where she sat. "Good. Principal Zander is waiting for you at the gate. Doctor…"—here she checked the list on her clipboard—"Doctor Lunsford will be accompanying you."
Luke had not noticed the man among the small group of professors standing to one side of the platform, and when he came toward them the boy grinned reflexively with genuine pleasure. "Hello, Lucas," said the man, smiling his ghastly smile. "Good to see you again."
"You, too." The other nine students in the group watched this familiar exchange with mixtures of jealousy and awe, and Luke almost felt that he owed them an explanation but could think of no graceful way to go about it. Um, I have to live with this boy because my mom died, and Lunsford is his uncle. He was saved from this when the professor began walking, and the students fell in behind him. There was a footpath behind the platform that led through the trees, and its look and feel were that of great use, which made Luke wonder for a moment just how many students had walked this way before him, counted by the silent trees.
"Do you like the balsam?" asked Lunsford suddenly, reaching up to finger a few needles on a dangling branch. "The scent is a shock at first, I know, but before long you won't even notice it."
"It's the trees?" asked a girl with long blond braids.
"Yes, the northern balsam have a very distinctive scent."
Luke smiled to himself, glad to have had his question answered, and breathed in deeply. Many years later and far from this place, the smell of balsam fir would still have the power to transport him back to Emerald Hill and this very moment, so vividly that he would hear the crackling of dead needles beneath his feet and see the girl's blonde braids swinging against her back.
The path ended in another clearing, a sprawling mountain meadow alive with flowers and insects, all abuzz in the morning light. The waist‑high grass looked wild, and the whole place, framed on all sides by thick walls of trees, had a hushed, cathedral air that made Luke want to tiptoe so as not to disturb it. The path ran unerringly straight through the center of the meadow, and even from afar the gate was visible, an enormous structure of wrought iron, bands as thick as Luke's arms twisted into what appeared a purposeful image, but Luke could not decipher it until someone behind him whispered, "Pegasus." Then, of course, the picture leapt out, and could not be unseen. The two halves of the gate were mirror‑image winged horses, rearing up, and for their eyes there were set in the iron large green stones that Luke believed immediately to be real emeralds, though each was the size of his fist.
He did not notice the man at the foot of the gate until they were almost upon it. There was a jumbled pile of white rocks to one side that formed, coincidentally or not, the vague shape of a chair, and here sat what could only be the principal of Emerald Hill. Gerald Zander was tall and broad‑shouldered with a rugged, handsome face and a very white smile, and his black hair, lightly peppered with gray, was slicked down across his forehead. His long black robes had gold lacing down the chest and the clasp at the neck was a galloping golden horse, wings held close, with tiny green stones for eyes.
He stood to meet them, spreading his arms expansively. Luke's immediate impression of Principal Zander was that of an authoritative but friendly man.
"Welcome!" he said in a deep booming voice that was cheering in the hush of the meadow. "I'm Gerald Zander, your principal. Now, you've been on Emerald Hill property for some time, but you're about to enter the grounds themselves. There may not be an obvious wall on either side of this gate—" he gestured for emphasis and Luke saw that it was true—"but don't let that fool you. The Emerald Hill campus is protected by some of the most powerful and most innovative spells known to wizardom. No one who has not been assigned by this gate, or is not escorted by someone who has, can cross this barrier. So we'd better get you assigned so you can go in!
"Now, if you please, arrange yourselves in a horizontal line, facing the gate. Yes, that's right—just there. Good! Now, all together, approach the gate and grasp a bar firmly in your wand hand. Maximum contact produces quicker results, so don't just use a finger. Yes, go ahead."
Doctor Lunsford stood off to one side as Luke moved forward with the rest of the line, hesitantly, having no idea what to expect. He held out his left hand and gripped the nearest iron bar, which happened to be part of a pegasus's back leg. For a moment nothing happened and he glanced around, but then one of the children gasped and Luke looked back at his hand, which was turning blue.
There was no mistake—where his hand was touching the iron, a light blue stain was spreading over his skin like ink, bright and vibrant. Looking at it, Luke had the distinct sense of being chosen, as though he had just passed some rigorous test of acceptance, and it filled him with a strange frightened exultation. He looked at the others—there were two reds, a yellow, three oranges, one purple, one other light blue, and one dark blue among the group.
"Wonderful! Now, stay still, keep your hands there." The principal drew his wand, which was long and of a pale yellow wood, and walked behind the line, tapping each student on the head. "Ruby," he said. "Gold. Sky. Flame. Flame. Night. Sky," tapping Luke. "Ruby. Royal. Flame. Very good, you may let go now." Grinning nervously, the students gathered into a tighter group, watching as the colors faded slowly from their skin. "Congratulations!" said the principal. "You have all been successfully assigned a color, which here in Emerald Hill we call a style. You're one step closer to full initiation!"
Luke rubbed a thumb across his palm thoughtfully as the last of the color disappeared, and looked up to meet Doctor Lunsford's kind eyes. "Which were you?" Luke asked, and the others looked over.
"I was Silver," said the professor.
"What about you, sir?" asked one boy of the principal.
Zander smiled. "Ruby, and proud of it. You'll wear your styles every day of your school life, my new friends, on the collars of your robes and on badges that will identify you." He put a large hand on the boy's shoulder. "Keep your styles well, for they have earned you admittance onto these grounds. Now, onward! There are many left to be assigned today." He raised his wand again and the gates opened outward, emitting creaking groans that seemed to vibrate in Luke's gut. Lunsford moved through at once and the students followed, buoyed on the elation of their successful style assignments. The path here was broader and lined with white stones, and the pine branches overhead laced together like a ceiling. Luke trotted to catch up to Lunsford. "How does the gate do that?" he asked. "I mean, what kind of magic is it, and why does it give the assignments it does?"
"So many questions," said Lunsford, but he was smiling. Luke was on his good side, and was surprised at the difference that it made in the man's face to not see the scar—Lunsford looked perfectly normal, even handsome in his way. "Emerald Hill's founders forged that gate, and spun some deep magic into the bars. We actually know surprisingly little about it. As for the why…well, I don't have a good answer for that, either. I've always thought it's something in the pulse, or the grip. Maybe it's random. Just one of those very old things that nobody bothers to question but inquisitive children." He smiled again. "Anyway, your style says nothing about your personality—that's what the Heart Ring is for."
This sounded so exotic and mysterious, like something from a book that would include elves and dragons and, well, wizards (this thought made Luke smile), that the air of the group grew immediately tense. The path was leading steadily uphill, with every now and then a broad switchback, and by the time they reached their destination the students were puffing…but then they forgot to be tired.
The Heart Ring was a circle of well‑laid paving stones about fifty yards in diameter, with lines of green marble branching out from the center and leading to six massive statues of dark stone which were facing into the circle. "Gryphon," said Lunsford, pointing, "dragon, phoenix, unicorn, kitsune, sphinx. Not to scale, of course. You'll step into the circle one by one for your choosing. That's why it always gets backed up here—it can't be done in a group. Here, watch this one."
There was a small knot of students on the far side of the circle, and the other half of that group on the near side. One of them, a tall girl with pretty chestnut hair, was walking out into the ring. She stood in the center, where the six lines of green marble came together, and turned in a slow circle, looking wary but steady. Suddenly she jumped, and whirled to stare at the unicorn, and the fear in her face was replaced almost at once by wonder and delight. Luke looked hard at the unicorn statue. It was beautifully made, carved in great detail with cloven hooves and flowing mane and a delicate spiral horn, but he could see nothing that would make the girl react so dramatically. "Thank you," said the girl, hands clasped at her chest, and she left the circle to join the others on the far side.
"What just happened?" asked a boy near Luke.
"She was chosen," said Lunsford. "I won't spoil the surprise. Come on, let's wait over here while the others go."
There was an entire other group between Luke's and that of the chestnut‑haired girl, so they settled in to wait. It was hard to look away from the choosing. Even after seeing many other students, each one that entered, no matter how confident, would still react with shock, staring wide‑eyed at one statue in particular, though the statues neither moved nor made any sound. It was an enigmatic sort of magic that Luke found very appealing, and he was looking forward to his turn. As the group ahead of them was finishing up, there was a small commotion at the entrance to the clearing and Luke saw a mass of brown curls bobbing their way. "Ah," said Lunsford, "the Day children have arrived."
Luke remembered this family from Dragontooth Square, and watched with interest to get a first good look at the quintuplets. They were tall for their age and built slim, the two boys lanky and the three girls willowy, with dark brown hair, china blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, each looking remarkably like the next. They were chatting together in bright confident voices and brought with them an air of bustling good cheer that made them seem a much larger crowd than five. As they spread out among the tables, one of the girls caught Luke's eye and bounced over to sit on the bench beside him.
"Hi!" she said, and her teeth were perfect. "I'm Theia."
She held out a slender hand and Luke shook it, bemused. "Luke."
She was about to speak again when one of her brothers called her, and she swept off like a bird taking flight, only to be replaced immediately by a sister, who to Luke's eye looked identical to Theia. Lunsford, who had been sitting on Luke's other side, gave Luke a slight nudge with his elbow as he stood, and Luke huffed, a little embarrassed. The previous group had finished, and Lunsford presently guided the girl with the blond braids into the Heart Ring.
The second Day girl did not immediately say anything, looking happily around the clearing, and then fixed Luke with a look of shrewd amusement. "Do you like Theia?"
Luke blinked. "What, her? Uh, I don't know, I just—"
"Don't worry, I'm kidding. I know you like me better." She laughed so prettily that Luke found it strangely difficult to be irritated. "I'm Andi, Andi Day."
"Luke Baxter."
"I know, the professor told me."
"What? When?"
"Just now." She gestured. "It's your turn."
"Lucas Baxter," Lunsford called again, and Luke walked quickly to him, confused and flustered. Lunsford smiled at him. "Go on in."
His feet in their tennis shoes tapped quietly on the stones. From the center of the circle it seemed much larger, the statues towering over it, studying him with eyes that seemed to glitter in his peripheral vision but never when he looked straight at them. A faint sound tickled his mind, a susurrant whisper at the edge of consciousness that had no source or meaning. He turned slowly, looking at the statues—elegant phoenix with long swanlike neck, sphinx with sad woman‑face and powerful leonine body, fierce dragon with countless carved scales and jagged teeth, gentle unicorn that even in stone inspired quiet joy, foxlike kitsune with inquisitive face and many tails, noble brooding gryphon with sharp beak and proud stance. He reflected on this and guessed that that was the key to the choosing: which creature would best relate to him?
(Lucas Alan Baxter.)
The voice was deep and rough, and reminded him immediately of the sound hot coals make when stirred with a stick. Luke's heart leapt in his throat and in that instant he understood the reactions of all those before him. He stared in blank awe at the statue of the kitsune, for it had stood, moving with the smooth fluidity of muscle and bone rather than stone, and leaned in slightly, looking at him with thoughtful, crafty eyes. (You are mine,) it said without opening its mouth. Its tails fanned out behind, their fur rustling in a breeze where there was neither fur nor breeze.
Luke bobbed his head, swallowing hard. "Thank you," he managed to say. The kitsune nodded and sat back on its haunches, tails curling into to their former position and freezing. And suddenly it was a statue again, solid, cold rock, with no hint of life in the eyes that had seconds ago pierced him.
"Wasn't it amazing?" gasped the girl with blonde braids as he joined her on the far side of the circle. "The gryphon—it moved, it spoke to me! The wind from its wings blew my hair." She fingered a braid unconsciously. "But you didn't see it, did you?"
Luke shook his head. "And you didn't see the kitsune speak to me."
"It didn't move." She laughed breathlessly.
From Luke's group there were two Gryphons, one Sphinx, one Dragon, four Phoenixes, and one other Kitsune. Lunsford crossed the ring last of all, and paused to face the sphinx and bow. The boy from the group who had been chosen by the sphinx was very excited about this. "You were a Sphinx like me, weren't you?" he asked shyly, pushing dark hair out of his eyes.
Lunsford nodded, smiling. "Congratulations," he told the group, "you are now official students of Emerald Hill, each with a style and a herald. Will you each please tell them back to me? Let's start with you, there."
"Gold Gryphon," said the girl with braids, a little uncertain but excited.
"Ruby Phoenix."
"Sky Phoenix."
"Flame Dragon." (The boy with this assignment looked particularly pleased with the combination.)
"Night Gryphon."
"Sky Kitsune." Luke couldn't help but be proud at this; it sounded wonderful.
"Ruby Phoenix."
"Flame Sphinx."
"Flame Phoenix."
"Royal Kitsune."
Lunsford nodded. "Very good. Let's start walking, shall we? There's some climbing left to do." He started along the path and this one was rocky, with as much scrub as trees, angled steadily upward with more, and more narrow, switchbacks. "You two"—he pointed to two of the children as they walked—"are both Ruby Phoenixes, so get used to each other's faces, because you'll be having all of your classes together." The two, a boy and a girl, exchanged shy smiles.
"Professor," said the boy who had been assigned as a Flame Sphinx, "what is that place, anyway? When the sphinx talked to me—was it real, or just a charm?"
"Oh, it was very real." Lunsford seemed unaffected by the steep trail. "You see, the school founders wanted a way of separating their students into like‑minded groups, so that professors with similar inclinations could be assigned to each group and make the lessons more effective. They could have used a charm, but charms like that tend to deteriorate over time, so for the sake of continuity—keeping things the same from year to year—and to eliminate maintenance, they decided to use animal spirits instead."
Many of the children gasped. "So they're ghosts?" said the Ruby Phoenix girl uneasily.
"Bet she was raised Muggle," muttered one boy to another, behind Luke.
"Not exactly," Lunsford was saying. "You can't choose to become a ghost. This is an old magic, very popular in ancient times for purposes of guarding and warfare. What Emerald Hill's founders did was approach an animal of each species and procure its spirit to remain in the statue until it tired of the task. This was easier with the sphinx and the kitsune, of course, because even in their wild state they are capable of abstract thought and even form societies. For the other species, the founders went to the oldest living members, bringing along witches and wizards who had dedicated their lives to the study of those species and could best communicate with them. It's apparently very difficult to get through to a dragon, but I suppose they managed it somehow, for there it is."
"It sure is," said the boy who was a Flame Dragon. "I could hear the fire crackling way down in its throat. It didn't talk, but I felt like…I felt like it knew me."
"And in a way, it does. Of the six creatures in the Heart Ring, the dragon best represents your personality, so you'll probably get along with the others in your classes because you'll understand them."
"Are boys ever chosen by the unicorn?" asked one boy whose assignment Luke could not recall. "I'd hate it if I was."
"You must not know much about unicorns," said Lunsford, but in such a kind way that it carried little sting. "Unicorns are wild and powerful, the swiftest land creatures that have ever lived, and they have been known to kill predators with those horns. Never mistake a gentle spirit for weakness. There is no assignment more or less admirable than another—each of the creatures is beautiful and strong. It is up to each student to find his own beauty and strength with the gifts he has been given."
This struck Luke as so remarkably wise that he was momentarily speechless. The other students in the group looked similarly awed and for a while they proceeded in silence.
After nearly twenty minutes of steady progress on the slope, Luke's uneasiness grew. The pines were thinning the higher they climbed, allowing a better view of the mountain above them, and still he could see no signs of buildings or any manmade structure whatsoever, only wind‑bent scrub and scoured boulders. But Lunsford appeared completely at ease, and Luke wondered if he could see something that the rest of them could not.
"Um," said the girl with the blond braids timidly, at last. "Where is it?"
Lunsford smiled. "Up the stairs."
"What—"
And then, suddenly, they came upon the staircase. It was half‑hidden by a flurry of bushes, old and cracked, leading about a hundred feet directly up the slope and stopping abruptly. They clustered at its foot. "So," said Lunsford. "Who's first?"
Several of the boys took off at once and Luke was just behind them, leaping up the steps two at a time, craning his neck upward, waiting for the magic. And as he watched, the mountain began to bend, stretching upward from a horizontal line at the top of the stairs, and as he climbed he was able to focus and realized that this was no true magic at all, but a simple trick of perspective—from below the slope had appeared uniform, but as he neared the top Luke could see that he was approaching the lip of a large plateau…or so he thought, until he arrived at the head of the stairs and looked down on Emerald Hill.
It was a bowl, maybe half a mile across, that looked as though it had been scooped from the mountainside. Though the landscape all around was barren and dusty, the bowl itself was verdant and vibrant, a bright green jewel nestled against the mountain. Running every which way through the grass and trees and hedges were walkways of dark brick that from above looked like veins, and through them pulsed the tiny figures of upperclassmen. The buildings were ornate, with steeply‑pitched roofs and gables and dormer windows and iron railings, connected by covered walkways, and there were many spacious courtyards; Luke spotted a baseball diamond near what could only be a Quidditch field, a pond thick with cattails and marsh grass, and a railed walkway along the top of the largest building, which had a circular center with mirror‑image wings branching off to either side.
"If you think it looks small, don't be fooled," said Lunsford from behind them. "Only about half of Emerald Hill's building area is visible—the rest is built into the mountain itself. In fact, you don't have to go above ground at all if you don't want to. The buildings and dormitories are connected by tunnels. Useful in winter when the weather gets really bad."
"How do you keep something like this hidden?" asked Luke, unable to tear his eyes away from the glowing gem of life spread out below him.
"Magic," said Lunsford, and Luke could tell that he was smiling.
a
A narrow staircase, chiseled from the rock with a railing on the lower side, led in a crazy zigzag pattern down the side of the bowl, and the ten students in Luke's group took this single file, alternately talking excitedly and lapsing into wondering silence. Lunsford had gone back to the bottom to lead another group, leaving them to enter the campus by themselves. The grass started out thin but was soon a ubiquitous carpet, thick and green, and there were knots of trees that Luke knew and loved—oak, red maple, birch, white pine and hemlock, even willows near the pond. It was warmer here than it had been on the mountainside, with less wind, and the bricks of the path radiated the sun's heat. The stairs ended in a broad courtyard paved with white stones, and in its center was an ornate statue of the Emerald Hill sigil, a winged horse rearing. At its base several upper‑term students were lounging in the shade, and as Luke's group arrived one of the older boys stood and approached them.
"Hey," he said. "I'm Gary. Welcome, and all that. I'll take you to the dorms."
Emerald Hill was full of hedges but they were not well‑trimmed, having grown slightly wild, and that precise look was so rampant that Luke began to suspect that it was purposeful—what might have been garden beds were now tangles of wildflowers and long grass; bits of dilapidated stone walls that might once have had purpose lay in magnificent crumbling disrepair, covered in thorny vines; ivy crept up trees and stones, half‑obscuring several statues and even the path in places. The grounds had an air of comfortable age, as though they had been around long enough to not care at all what the students thought of the untidiness.
Luke liked it very much.
Lunsford had told him that Emerald Hill was famous for its stonework, and Luke now saw the truth of that. There were statues everywhere, some monuments or tributes and others simply works of art, mostly in marble or bronze though Luke saw at a distance a running unicorn that he was certain was carved entirely from rose quartz. Famous witches and wizards stood surveying slightly overgrown meadows, fantastic beasts dominated cobbled courtyards, bronze figures sat at repose on benches with ivy twining up their legs. It seemed like an endless fascinating maze to Luke as they walked, but he remembered from the above view that most of the buildings had been situated close to the mountainside.
Two enormous oak trees stood sentinel at the entrance to the dormitory courtyard, their branches twined together overhead and shading the brick path as it spread like a river running into a lake. The yard was very large, square, with two dormitories on each of three sides and a patch of grass in the center with a few trees and benches. The dormitories themselves were very impressive, massive and sturdy, all brick and stone and beams of rich dark wood, with tall windows at ground level and round windows higher up. All six were identical except for the statues in front: each creature guarded the dormitory of its students, shaped from bronze, not as lifelike as the ones in the Heart Ring but life‑sized and impressive. Upperclassmen were scattered across the yard and on the broad steps leading to each dormitory's doors, looking perfectly at home.
"Here you go," said Gary, wearing a funny little smile as though he were seeing it again for the first time. "Unicorns and Kitsunes on the right, Phoenixes and Dragons straight ahead, Sphinxes and Gryphons on the left. Your dorm presidents will be waiting at the doors to give you your badges so you can get inside."
Luke's group splintered, walking in smaller clusters across the courtyard, and Luke found himself accompanied by a boy with gingery hair who looked very nervous. They passed the Gryphon dormitory and the statue of the kitsune, which was no larger than a biggish dog but with very long legs, and climbed the broad shallow steps of Kitsune to the stone porch and the fifteen‑foot doors, beside which sat a tall and very pretty girl. She stood as they approached, smiling. "Hi! I'm Mandy Kines, Kitsune president. So you're joining us this year, huh?"
Luke glanced at the other boy, who looked unable to speak. "Yeah," he answered. "I'm a Sky Kitsune."
"Great! And your name?"
"Luke Baxter."
The girl took out a notebook and a beautiful peacock‑feather quill, writing his name in golden ink. "All right, then, here's your badge. You wear it on your robes, like this." She indicated her own, on the left chest panel. "You need it to get into the dorm, and into some classrooms, plus the teachers go postal if they see you without it, so just keep it on all the time."
She handed him the circular badge. It looked handmade, the stitches tiny and perfect, and the kitsune and the border were white until Luke touched it, whereupon the white stitching faded immediately to the same sky blue that his hand had turned upon touching the gate. The back did not feel sticky, but when he put it to his shirt it held as though it had been glued.
"Go on in," said Mandy. "Boys are to the left."
He left the ginger‑headed boy squeaking out "Royal Kitsune" and went to the doors, which opened obediently at his touch, moving much more easily than he would have expected for something of their size. The doors opened upon a narrow tiled anteroom that ran the entire length of the building, and the walls were solidly lined with hooks and little floor‑level compartments, which Luke assumed were for boots. Several jackets and sets of robes were hanging here and there, and here and there a pair of sneakers or sandals had been kicked into a compartment. A broad archway led into the dormitory itself, and Luke found himself grinning as he entered.
The Den, proclaimed a small plaque on the wall, and the name was fitting. The ceiling was four stories tall, the floor was all deep carpeting, and the walls were hung with banners in all Emerald Hill colors. Part of the room was sunken, full of armchairs and low tables with cushions around, and a convoluted set of stairs and ramps connected several lofts with bookshelves and bean bag chairs. A fireplace took up nearly half of the far wall, and above it was hung a panoramic oil painting of kitsunes, which, after the way of wizarding art, moved—the kitsunes cavorted and whispered, alternately engulfed in flame and shrouded in shadow, some curled in corners and others staring brazenly out of the frame as though appraising Luke. He moved closer to look at them, and stood so for several minutes. "Beautiful," he whispered without meaning to.
"Aren't they?" said a voice, and Luke turned, surprised, to see an older girl, maybe fifteen, sitting cross‑legged in an armchair with a large book open across her lap and wire‑rimmed glasses on her freckled nose. She did not look at Luke, though, watching the painting. "Sometimes I just sit and watch them. It's especially nice at night when the fire's going."
"I didn't see you there," said Luke. "Where is everyone?"
"Out and about, mostly. Or unpacking. Which you have yet to do, I take it." She pushed her glasses higher on her nose with a practiced flick of her finger. "Where's home for you?"
"Kentucky. I mean, I was born in North Carolina, but now I live in Kentucky."
"Wrong," she said, firmly but without malice. "You live here now. Unicorns always return to the place they were born, and gryphons live in the same eyrie all their lives, but kitsunes are nomads. Wherever we are is our home."
Luke considered this. "I guess you're right. I hadn't thought about it before."
The girl smiled. "I'm Zoë Fratelli. First Junior."
"Luke Baxter."
"Well, then." She returned to her book, but spared him a final glance over her glasses. She had very dark eyes. "Welcome home, Luke Baxter."
There were six doors set in each of the right‑ and left‑hand walls of the Den—boys to the left, and girls to the right—and the first door on the left had inlaid enamel panels of light blue, so Luke went there. Revealed was a stairwell leading both up and down, of sturdy wooden steps with a dark green runner; there were portraits on the walls that greeted him as he climbed. Each floor had several blue‑paneled doors marked with golden numbers, and at the second above‑ground floor he found doors marked 1, which he assumed indicated first‑year students. Beside each door was posted a list of names, and he found his name (with no little amount of relief) on the last door on the right, adjoining an outer wall.
There were six beds in the room, low to the ground and separated by rows of half-height shelves and drawers that ran the length of the beds; all was blue and white against the dark wood of the walls, and there were three large windows. In the center of the room was a large pile of suitcases and trunks, and perched on the top of this pile was a slightly battered pet carrier, through the door of which Luke could see a pair of white paws.
"Grimalkin!" he cried, and clambered up the pile to retrieve the case. The kitten, once released, submitted to his petting and then made a beeline for the bed nearest the door on the left. She curled up in the center of the blue‑checkered bedspread and set about combing her rumpled fur.
"That one, huh?" Luke pulled his suitcases from the pile—barely avoiding being trapped in a small avalanche—and tossed them onto the foot of the bed, sitting beside them. "If you say so." The bed shared a window with the bed beside it, and the sill was broad enough to accommodate a cat, so Luke was satisfied. He unpacked his meager belongings and arranged his clothes in the drawers and the rest on the shelves. Looking out the window, he could see a corner of the courtyard with more benches and a few apple trees, and a part of the Phoenix dormitory.
The door opened behind him and he turned to see a boy with wispy light hair. "Hey!" said the boy. "You're in here, too?"
"Yeah. I'm Luke Baxter. This is my cat, Grimalkin."
"Dave Cavanaugh. Hey, cat." The boy—Dave—extracted his two largish suitcases from the pile and stood indecisive for a moment, looking around at the other beds. He took a step toward the bed beside Luke's, asking with raised eyebrows and tilted head what most other people Luke had ever met would have asked with words, too many words. As he had with Zoë, Luke had the immediate sense of being understood by this person, and felt a surge of wordless gratitude toward whoever had implemented the herald system.
He nodded, and Dave went cheerfully about setting up his space. Luke explored the room and set up Grimalkin's litterbox in a corner of the bathroom, which was the sixth and numberless door on the floor. He lingered at the windowsill in the bathroom, fascinated to read the hundreds of names and dates that had been carved there; many of the very old ones were unreadable but he was fairly certain that a boy named Ben had been there in September 1845, by which he was duly impressed.
"What time is dinner?" he asked Dave, back in the room.
Dave shrugged. "Six, I think."
It was only eleven in the morning. With nothing to otherwise occupy his time, Luke filled Grimalkin's food and water dishes and set them up at the foot of his bed, and set out to do a little exploring of the grounds.