Taste of Youth

The boys had disappeared into another dead horse chariot. Something about the slow way the horse had walked in front of the sleek black carrier had thrown my heart into chaos. How was something so wild and teeth-baring tamed? A group of young girls clutched to each other, voices high and jittery. A pair of girls leaned in close to each other, a boy smiled wider than necessary at a girl who laughed louder than needed. It was strange watching people the same way I had back home - no one had really changed.

“Hey,” Peter popped up at my side with a grin, “The others want you to come meet the rest of our house friends.”

I touched my ear to one shoulder and smiled softly; the motion felt like razor blades at the corners of my mouth. I allowed him to usher me into a seat and settled watching the thick stretch of leathery hide shift beneath the thestral’s powerful shoulders. The air was crisp with the fading summers, the wind sent leaves into spiraling dances. Pressure gentle and insistent on my shoulder captured my attention as the carriage charge forward.

Black’s smile was lopsided in the way all ludicrously handsome boys smiles where when they knew for a fact they were ludicrously handsome. One of the girls on the bench across from us kept crossing and uncrossing her long bare legs. He didn’t seem to notice that each movement was followed by a glance in his direction. His eyes were warm as he leaned a little closer toward me, as though private conversations were something to be had in a tiny carriage packed with teenagers.

“What do you think?” He asked nodding toward the opening space between the trees.

The rising walls of the castle swooped and ghosted the same way my mothers favorite evening dress did - all arches and grace and daunting strength. They could crush you, their feel much like the way she had walked in her heels. For all the hate I felt on my ride back across the ocean, these walls made me miss her. I remember with each step the way she reminded me to never step forward with fear. A vicious mother with the kind of disposition that makes warriors of children. Liam’s voice laughed in my ear. I couldn’t help leaning back into him a little more to follow the flow of stone up, up, up and up.

“It’s beautiful.” My voice was as soft as his had been, “Nothing like Salem.”

“No?”

“It looks more like home.”

“For wayward little boys.”

“And lost little girls, hopefully.”

“Hopefully.”

His breath was a ghost against the top of my head ruffling my hair. The words had been so soft they were little more than air. We didn’t talk much past that before the group dismounted their chatter increasing dramatically. I brushed my hand across the thestral’s side before wandering after them. The leg crosser dropped back from the group to walk beside me her strides easy.

“Mary MacDonald.” She tilts her head at me smile brilliant and white.

“Luciana Rein.”

She didn’t ask about my brother though I saw the recognition in her eyes. Something warm bloomed in my chest in response. Mary began pointing out people in absent minded ways sharing her obsession for people watching with me. In the length of the hallway we made up stories for the students we passed by. The tales we’re outrageous, the giggles breaking into honest laughter, so magnificently easy.