Chapter 6 Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Henna’s POV

My eyes run over the two of them for a moment with a gaping confusion sitting in front of my head. Ulric is leaning against a matte black truck, his arms crossed, looking at me with an expression that sits somewhere between awe and terror. Or maybe there is also a flicker of surprise that I wasn't sure of. 

But the question is, why won't I be able to cross the border? What is this sick experiment of Andre's and the sudden cold air he is beginning to spread between us again?

"The border," Ulric repeats, his voice barely a whisper. He looks at Andre, then back at me. "She crossed it. On the back of your bike. Without a single ward flaring?"

Andre doesn't answer. He just stands there, his leather jacket absorbing the morning sun, looking like a statue carved from shadow.  Still in his expressionless face, he was quite chatty a while ago, at least not this rigid and now, I tried to even see a flicker but all I can see is a muscle jumping in his jaw.

As if that is the only emotion he has left to share or maybe he wants to be annoying? Whichever way, I am beginning to get irritated. 

"Why wouldn't I cross it?" I snap, a question that is on my mind even when every other thought is trying to push it away as irrelevant, I'm here already, so I shouldn't pay heed to how weird they're trying to make everything sound for me. "It’s a road. I’ve crossed thousands of them." I said, my eyes going from Ulric who is a bit interested in what I said to Andre who I didn't think wanted to be interested in my question. 

"It’s not just a road, Henna," Ulric says, stepping toward me. He looks like he wants to touch my arm to see if I’m real, but he keeps his distance. But real? Wait, why won't I be real?  "The Gray Ridge border is... selective. It doesn't let things in that don't belong." 

"Well, I have an acceptance letter," I say, pulling the crumpled envelope from my pocket and waving it like a shield. "So clearly, I belong." I said because that is the only available explanation and an understanding that I'm supposed to have between them. Or are they trying to say that there's a discrimination between the elites, like the richest, richer, rich, with different stratification? 

Is this a reason? They see me as one of those non elites or brilliant enough types? Because nothing is making sense to me with an unusual awkward look and appearance? 

Andre lets out a sharp, cynical sound, that is not quite a laugh but enough to get me furrowing my brows. 

"Belonging and being permitted are two different things, Henna." He turns his back on me, his cape-like stance making him look even more imposing. 

"Ulric, take her to the administration building. Get her a map. Get her a schedule. Just get her out of my sight."

What? Get me out of his sight like I have committed an offence even when I don't know what I have done. Out of growing impatience or maybe a fury I wasn't sure of, I reached out my hand; 

"Wait!" I scurry forward, grabbing the sleeve of his leather jacket.

The moment my fingers touch the material and the skin of his wrist beneath it a shock of electricity bolts up my arm. It isn't a static pop. It’s a roar of heat that makes my vision blur for a split second.

Andre freezes. He looks down at my hand like it’s a venomous snake. His gray eyes bleed into that terrifying, beautiful gold again, right here in the daylight. And I saw it, it was so shocking that I froze in the space looking into his eyes with my hand still burning from that soft touch. But those eyes...I swear, they're gold. 

"Don't," he growls. It’s a low, vibrating sound that I feel in my bones more than I hear with my ears.  "Don't touch me again."

He yanks his arm away and stalks toward the massive stone arches of the main building without looking back. I watch him leave, before I feel Ulric's presence beside me. 

"He’s... he’s just not a social person," Ulric says, though he sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. He walks over to me, his blue eyes searching mine. "Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

"I saw it," I say before I turn to look at him. "The gold eyes, it was there again and it didn't have anything to do with the light or something..." 

"Pay no attention to that, come, lemme show you around the school before I take you to your dorm or maybe, have you registered in school, get you a class." 

"Why are you helping me?" I ask, being utterly overwhelmed about his need to take me around. "You know, now that I think about it, you and Andre, I don't think I understand why both of you are helping me?"

Ulric leans close, his face almost an inch away from mine, sucking all the air out of my lungs and I struggle to inhale or exhale, he peers into my eyes and then smiles, 

"Why? I thought we became friends yesterday." He says grinning harder as he strengthens himself and walks away. 

I stand for a minute, trying to wrap my head around so many things, but just one thing I have not been able to address properly, I walk and I catch eyes staring at me, the students have a weird way of looking at people, or are they just fascinated by me being the new student?

I catch up to him; "Ulric," I call, "Andre said something about a theory, what was it?" 

"Theory?" He repeats what I asked but not stopping to answer and I did not stop walking to get a reply. 

"Yes a theory, he was testing a theory, I think with me and ..." 

"Don't take whatever Andre says to heart," he says, casting a look at me, the type that always made me wonder why he looked so handsome in every expression, "Andre says some foolish things sometimes, don't pay heed to everything he says." 

I want to push him more to demand what "foolish things" Andre says but the moment we step through the massive oak doors of the main building, the words die in my throat.

I thought I’d seen luxury in Seattle, but this? This is ancient. The ceilings are so high they’re lost in shadow, crisscrossed by dark wood beams. Every inch of the walls is covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves or portraits of people who look like they’ve never smiled a day in their lives.

This academy, when Andre drove me in, I was thinking I'm in heaven but now I'm sure, I have to be in heaven. This can't be America. Where is this place? 

"Welcome to the Great Hall," Ulric says, his voice echoing off the stone floor. "Most of your core classes happen in the west wing. History of the Ridge, Advanced Literature, Ethics... the usual boring stuff."

I barely hear him. My head is tilted back, staring at a chandelier that looks like it’s made of real stag antlers and wrought iron. "It’s... it’s like a cathedral," I whisper.

"Cathedral? What is that? " He asks, looking at me as if there's actually nothing to be awed about in this place. 

I feel mocked but I don't mind, not when utter luxury is screaming before my face. 

We walk past a set of double doors that lead to a courtyard. Through the glass, I see a group of guys practicing what looks like combat, but their movements are too fast to be humanly possible. They’re blurs of gray and black, the sound of their bodies hitting the mats with a thunderous sound. 

"What is that?" I ask, slowing down.