The Midnight Orchestra, page 7
With a mutter, Mr. Pinwhistle gives up waiting, turns on the projector, and shines it on a screen that rolls down from the ceiling above the stage.
The video he plays shows a student chamber orchestra like ours. They’re on an outdoor platform, set against a dramatic backdrop of snowcapped mountains. A banner over their heads reads THE ORPHEAN TRIALS.
“These are the Souza Musicraft Academy students,” says Mr. Pinwhistle.
Immediately everyone starts booing.
He waits, pinching the bridge of his nose, until we quiet down again. “They are, of course, the winners of last year’s Composium. And the year before that. And the year before . . . well, you get it. Now, until Miss Jones completes her Composition, we’ll prepare by studying the spells of previous winners. Such as this one.”
He steps back as the kids in the video begin playing.
The spell is beautiful and complex. It’s a white spell, affecting only the mind, so I can’t tell what it’s doing, but when the camera pans to the audience, I see its results. There’s not a dry eye in sight. Everyone is smiling and crying, holding their hands to their hearts or faces as if they’re overwhelmed.
A cold sweat breaks out on my neck. How in the world am I supposed to top something like that?
“Here,” says Mr. Pinwhistle, tapping the screen where a tall, dark-haired boy is playing piano, “is the Composer of this spell. Luca D’Alessio, who will be a senior this year, competing in the Composium for the fifth time . . . for his fifth win.”
I lean forward to better study my competition.
Luca D’Alessio, a tall, tanned boy with black curly hair, smiles as he watches his fellow students perform his piece while he coaxes the melody from the piano. Ribbons of silvery-white magic flow from their instruments and curl like fog around the audience members.
“This was a memory recall spell,” says Mr. Pinwhistle. “It summons the happiest memories in its listeners, as real as the day they happened. The spell created a unique experience for each listener, a very difficult trick to pull off. Compositions are judged for their musical technicality as well as their magical complexity and sophistication.”
“So what’s our spell going to be?” asks Kjersten.
Everyone looks at me.
My ears burn. “Um . . . I haven’t really decided yet.”
“But you’ve got something in mind?” says Kjersten.
“Sure. Yep.” I clasp my hands in my lap, hoping they don’t hear the tremble in my voice. “Working on it.”
“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Jai says loudly, waving his hand. “Amelia summoned an army of ghosts. Like, from the dead. She’s got this in the bag. The other Composers will run scared.”
The rest of the students laugh and add their agreement.
“Amelia’s our secret weapon!” Trevor declares.
“Sure,” calls Mia from the back. “Unless, of course, she’s a one-hit wonder.”
She’s met with a stunned silence, and more than a few questioning looks turn my way. Clearly, most of them hadn’t considered that possibility, but now they do.
Now I do.
I’m getting that queasy feeling again, as if I’m about to jump straight into the deep end of the pool without knowing how to swim, only now I know that the deep end is also full of sharks.
“My my my, what is going on in here?” rings out a sunny voice. “I love a party!”
Miss Motte has arrived, in grand fashion. She sweeps through the red curtain on the stage, wearing a rainbow assortment of draped, flowing clothes and one long, dangly feather earring. Her locks swing in a thick braid down her back.
“You’re late,” gripes Mr. Pinwhistle, his voice strained. Pausing the video, he stares hard at the clock on the back wall, not even looking at the other Maestro. “Very late.”
“Why, Mr. Pinwhistle,” Miss Motte says slowly as she descends the steps to the floor. “I suppose I am.”
Mr. Pinwhistle waves a hand at us students. “Here’s what we’ve got to work with. I’ll make sure they’re in tune, so long as you make sure there’s an actual spell to play.”
“I’m sure Amelia and I will be just fine,” she says, coming over to wrap an arm around me. Her feather earring tickles my cheek. “But darling, you forgot your emotive energy necklace!”
“Oh,” I say weakly.
She clasps my mood beads around my neck while, behind me, kids start laughing. Miss Motte doesn’t seem to hear them, but she happily arranges the necklace until she’s satisfied.
“Why, look at this!” She taps the beads, which turn dark green. “She’s already burning with passion! Or perhaps—oh my!—romance?”
I’m burning all right, but not with passion. Definitely not with romance. While the others laugh, my cheeks are on fire. I eye Kjersten’s euphonium and wonder if it’s big enough for me to crawl into and hide.
“The important thing to remember,” says Mr. Pinwhistle, “is that no matter what spell you play, you play together. You’re an orchestra, and it’ll take every one of you at your best to have even a chance. I mean, these guys are good.” He points a thumb at the Souza kids, still frozen in place on the screen. “They’re really, really good.”
We wait, expecting him to add but you’re better.
He never does.
After Mr. Pinwhistle makes us watch three more videos of Luca D’Alessio’s past spells, the meeting ends and I leave the Shell in a daze. The other students file out behind me, chatting excitedly. The day is sunny and warmer than it’s been all week, but I still feel cold.
“Don’t look so scared,” says Amari, clapping me on the back. “We totally got this.”
“Yeah, I bet none of those Composers ever made a black spell,” Victoria adds. “Amelia’s gonna make toast of them.”
I grimace; Composing a black spell isn’t exactly something you brag about.
“Maybe,” Mia says, leaning in the doorway. “But Luca’s not just a good Composer. He’s brilliant. I once saw him Compose a spell that convinced an entire roomful of people that they were peacocks. You should have seen how many of them tried to fly!” She looks directly at me and adds, “His specialty is white magic—the rarest kind. Except for, obviously, black spells.”
“You know him?” asks Jai.
“Sure. We used to perform on the same tour circuit. He’s almost as famous as I am.”
“Well, Amelia opened a doorway to the afterworld,” says Victoria. “I’m betting on her.”
She pats my hand and smiles before rolling away, her guitar case slung over the back of her wheelchair. I smile gratefully after her.
Everyone heads off in different directions, to classes or study hall or free time. I wave to Jai and Darby, who have Musicraft history together across campus.
“When are you going to tell them?” Mia asks when it’s just the two of us standing in front of the concert hall, Orpheus Lake glittering a short distance away.
“Tell them what?”
“That you can’t do it. That you got lucky once, made up a spell you didn’t even know you were Composing, and that you’re leading them all down a dead-end road?”
My hand tightens on my backpack strap. I could just turn and walk away. I could ignore her.
Instead, I look her square in the eyes. “What’s your problem with me?”
She scoffs. “Don’t tell me you don’t see it? How they all humor you just because you’re like, an orphan or something?”
“I’m not actually—”
“Whatever. I don’t care. Which is probably why I’m the only one around here who’ll actually tell you the truth. Like how you’re going to let everyone down at the Trials.”
My teeth grinding together, I push past her and march away, even though it’s in the opposite direction of my next class. I just want to get away from her.
“Face it, Wondergirl!” Mia laughs. “You’re in over your head!”
I don’t give her the benefit of looking back.
But deep down, I’m scared she might be right.
Chapter Ten
Opus Pocus
BREATHE, AMELIA JONES. INHALE and exhale. Take deep breaths and relax.”
“I’m fine, Jai.” We walk across campus, headed for Harmony Hall. Classes are over for the day, and despite my words, I feel like a giant alarm clock has been hung around my neck, counting down the days to the Composium.
Absently, my hand digs into my pocket to toy with the dandelion seed in the vial. I’ve gotten into the habit of carrying it around so Phoebe doesn’t find it during her room checks. I’m just keeping it safe so I can be sure to give it back to Mr. Midnight, untouched, with no favors owed. I’m definitely not keeping it close because I’m tempted to use it.
At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
“Are you really fine?” Jai lifts an eyebrow. “If I were you, I’d be screaming into a pillow. I’d be chewing my nails off while hiding under my bed. I’d be thinking I need to invent a bloody magnum opus so everyone at this school wouldn’t hate my guts forever.”
I glare at him. “Is this your idea of relaxing?”
“Just saying,” he replies, pushing open the big wooden doors to Harmony Hall’s common area. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this Luca D’Whatsisface, the prodigy Composer. I’m glad it’s you going against him, not me.”
Cringing, I recall the Souza kid’s magic, how confident he looked leading his school’s team. “What if I did make a huge mistake? I didn’t even know I could Compose until a few weeks ago!”
“Hey, easy! There is one bright side. You’ve got us. Hey, Darby! Mia!” He waves at the girls, who are coming down the stairs from their afternoon language arts class.
I stop short.
“What’s wrong?” Jai asks.
Right. I haven’t told him the full extent of Mia’s coldness toward me—or how she warned me to stay away from Darby.
Mia matches gazes with me and smiles. Only now I see the look behind her smile, the one no one else seems to see. It reminds me of the way some animals have bright colors . . . to warn you of the poison just beneath the surface.
I need to figure out how to deal with Mia. I can’t seem to avoid her, not when we have classes and meals together and even share a bathroom. I have no idea how to win her over.
Maybe if I ignore her, she’ll get bored and find someone else to torment.
“I was just telling Amelia we’ve got her back in the Composium,” Jai says, giving them meaningful looks.
“Of course we do,” Darby says, clutching a copy of The Phantom of the Orchestra. “If we fail, we fail together.”
I give her a grateful smile even as my stomach sinks. That wasn’t exactly the vote of confidence I was hoping for.
“Yeah,” says Mia. “And I’m sure the whole school won’t blame her for blowing their chance at redemption. They’ll all totally move on, like she didn’t just embarrass them in front of the entire world. C’mon, Darby, let’s go.”
“You’re not going to embarrass anyone,” Darby tells me.
Mia scowls. “I said, come on, before someone else claims the showers!”
She drags Darby out by her elbow, and my former roommate casts an apologetic look my way. Honestly, why does she let Mia push her around like that? I’ve seen Darby put kids twice her size in their place. So what mysterious power does Mia hold over her? Does she not see how controlling and mean that girl is?
“Don’t let her get to you,” Jai says. “She’s probably just jealous of the attention.”
“It’d be easier if everyone at this school stopped looking at me like they thought I could peel the moon out of the sky.” When Jai lifts a questioning finger, I add, “And no, I can’t actually do that, so don’t ask.”
He pats my shoulder. “Chin up, Jones. We can figure this out. How far along is your spell? What will it do? Can I hear a few measures?”
I just look at him, until realization dawns on his face.
“Oh,” he says. “You . . . haven’t even started on it.”
“I want to, but all Miss Motte has me do in our classes is write down my feelings and make mood jewelry that doesn’t even work.” I hold up the beads, which are now registering relaxed blue. “Half the time I don’t know if I’m in Composing class or art lessons.”
“What you need is inspiration.” Jai begins pacing in front of the grand fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back, as if he were solving a crime. I sling myself sideways into an armchair and watch him. “What inspires Amelia Jones? Hmm. I have seen you look at a bowl of ice cream with something like passion.”
“I think this is going to take more than an Ode to Moose Tracks.”
“True, sadly.” He pats his stomach. “Well, when you Composed that black spell, you thought of your mum, right?”
“Yeah . . .” I sit up. “You know, I found the notebook where she recorded her Compositions when she was a student here. I wonder if she wrote down the spell she created for the Trials.”
“That’s it!” cries Jai. “Inspiration! Where’s the notebook?”
I sigh. “Too late. Someone stole her spells. The pages are torn out.”
“Show me anyway. Maybe there’s something you missed.”
Doubtful, I lead him upstairs to the attic classroom. This is the first time I’ve showed it to anyone, and I feel a little embarrassed when he sees how shabby and dusty it is.
“I don’t think Miss Motte really notices things like cobwebs,” I say, brushing one off my sleeve. “And the maintenance workers seem to have forgotten about this place.”
“This is fantastic!” Jai turns a full rotation, taking it all in. “It’s like a secret club!”
“Yep, a jolly old club of one.” I take down my mother’s notebook and open it. “See? Her spells are all gone.”
“Weird.” Jai runs his finger over the torn edges. “Who’d steal your mum’s spells? And why?”
“Maybe she took them when she graduated.”
“Then why not take the whole notebook? It was hers, after all. No. Somebody tore them out so they’d get away with it. A missing notebook might’ve drawn more attention, but a few pages? Not so much.”
“I guess this is a dead end.”
A voice sounds from the doorway. “What’s a dead end?”
Jai and I turn to see Darby there, leaning on the frame.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I left my homework in Aeros class, but then I saw you two . . .” She pushes off the wall. “It looked like you were onto something. Thought maybe I could help.”
And if Mia catches us hanging out? I wonder inwardly.
But you know what?
Who cares what Mia thinks?
I’m tired of her pushing me around, and even tireder of her pushing Darby around. Darby deserves better friends than that.
“Come see,” I say. I show her the notebook and explain my mom’s missing spells, how they might have helped me Compose.
“So . . . you wanna know who took the spells?”
“I mean, I don’t know how—”
She groans. “Amelia! You’re a musician! Start thinking magically. If you want to know who stole your mom’s spells, just find out.”
“How?”
Darby picks up my flute case and pushes it into my hands. “A little thing called magic. Ever heard of it?”
“You know a spell to find them?”
“I know a hundred finding spells, but that won’t work here. If they’re not on school property, the trail could lead a thousand miles away. Just figure out who took them and go from there.”
“And . . . you know a spell for that?”
She looks away thoughtfully, then shakes her head. “That’s trickier. But I bet some kind of time spell would help.” Looking at my expectant expression, she adds, “And no, I don’t know any time spells. Which is why you’ll have to Compose one.”
“What?” I gasp.
“Wait,” Jai says. “No. No no no. Sorry. Gotta draw the line there, ladies. This is the worst idea. Haven’t you heard the old saying? Time is the strongest magic. Very, very dangerous. Probably as dangerous as black spells.”
“It’s purple magic,” Darby points out. “Which is really just a subset of blue spells. And those get played all the time.”
“There’s a reason you have to have a license to play teleportation spells,” I say. “And time magic is even more dangerous.”
“Which is why”—Darby grins—“it’d be especially impressive to perform a time spell at the Composium. Nothing too fancy. Just open a little window to the past and take a peek.”
There’s the Darby I’m used to seeing—full of bold plans and ideas, even if those ideas sound terrifying and borderline illegal. It feels like old times, when we were running around Mystwick trying to capture ghosts or kidnap Mrs. Le Roux’s musicat.
It figures that the real Darby would make an appearance only when Mia’s on the other side of campus.
Jai opens his mouth to argue with her, then stops and cocks his head. “You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”
I fling up my hand. “You literally just said this is the worst idea.”
“Which is probably why Mr. Luca Whatever His Name Is from the Souza Fancybutt Academy would never even think of it. He Composed a spell to let you remember your best memory. So? You can Compose a spell that lets you actually look back through time and see it. Talk about a magnum opus!” He grins. “Go on, Amelia. Try it.”
I look from Jai to Darby, speechless, waiting for someone to interject sense into all this.
But no one does, and I suppose that in the end, I’m just desperate enough to try.
I think briefly of the dandelion seed hidden in my pocket and feel a moment’s temptation . . . but no. Maybe they’re right. Maybe a time spell could win this thing, and maybe I can Compose one—all on my own, no favors from mysterious orchestras needed.
“Stand back.” I sigh, opening my flute case. “Like, really back.”
Right.
A window to the past.
That sounds totally doable, right? I mean, if I can open the wall between life and death, why not between past and present?
