Moonset - Scott Tracey

“Nicely said. And for the rebuttal, Mr. Daggett.”

The only problem with this scenario was that she wasn’t the only one who’d spent some time on a debate team. And I was good. If you counted the four aborted runs on various debate teams, I was technically undefeated. A lifetime of pulling defenses out of my ass translated well to debate. But this … this wasn’t just some debate about capital punishment. I was supposed to take the side of the people who were upset at the status quo. The witches that we now called insurgents. Warlocks. Traitors. Spurred on by Moonset.

There had always been tension between the Covens, who felt like they had been chosen to lead by some supernatural providence, and the Solitaires, the witches who were never swept up into a Coven bond. Moonset had appealed to the disenfranchised, and turned their discomfort and frustration into insurrection.

I ran my fingers along the edges of the podium, choosing my words just as carefully as

Maddy had. “My opponent talks about vigilance, but what she means is wedging the divide between the Haves and the Have Nots even further. Where does the power in our world rest?

Are we all equal? Or does an arrogant minority decide who lives in peace?” The fact that I could relate to this so easily wasn’t lost on me.

“The most powerful Covens had been the ones in charge for hundreds of years. Solitaires simply weren’t taken as seriously because they had no status in the eyes of anyone else. The

Covens had access to resources, strength, and even magic that they didn’t share with their solo-brethren. Since no one understood how, or why, the Coven bond formed, it only worsened the divide between the two. Covens felt their right to rule was almost a birthright.” I took a breath, pausing in case I was going to be cross-examined as well, but Mrs. Crawford didn’t say anything. So I went on. “The fact of the matter is that we’re not all equal. Some of us lord ourselves over the rest. A two-class structure can never be equal, and she has made it clear she doesn’t want it to be. By vigilance, what she means is the strong suppressing the weak, and by wisdom she means following only what those in power—”

“Time,” Mrs. Crawford said firmly.

But my point was made. I saw it in the widened eyes of Kevin and Luca, and the almost dumbfounded expression on Maddy’s face. If she’d thought I would stand up here and stammer how she was right, clearly she’d picked the wrong target.

“I think Justin has hit upon the crux of the issue. The Haves versus the Have Nots. That is, after all, one of the deciding factors that led to the rise of Moonset’s popularity with the disaffected Solitaire movement.” Mrs. Crawford was writing something on her pad of paper, but once she was done she looked up again. “Maddy, refine your view to a more proactive stance.

You’re coasting.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Maddy said, still a little dazed.

“She means stop assuming you’re right because history makes you right. And start thinking about your side of the argument,” Kevin said, before anyone else could say anything. “But this is still a bad idea,” he said, turning around to face the teacher. “Are you even allowed to do this? It’s harassment.”

“Enough,” Mrs. Crawford said with a flamboyant roll of her eyes. “While Madeline gathers her thoughts and tries to put together a coherent argument, let’s let Justin begin. Explain exactly why the establishment is wrong. How are you proposing to change things?”

I looked at Kevin, who was shaking his head. He’s right. This is a mistake. But was this some kind of test? Or was she setting me up? She was asking me to defend my parents—to stand against everything I was raised to be. Was I supposed to back down and concede? I couldn’t do that. “Well, if I was going to tell the Covens to shove it, I’d probably start by gathering the Solitaries together and making sure the movement was behind us.”

“History isn’t defined by the complacent, Mr. Daggett. You need action. You need passion.”

She coughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Her eyes were locked on mine, and for a moment I couldn’t look away. The room shifted like the stop and start of a car. My face grew warm, then my hands and legs. I shifted, suddenly unable to get comfortable.

“How about you just blow up a building?” Maddy remarked snidely. “That seems to work wonders.”

Suddenly things became very serious again. The temperature in the room had gone up at least ten degrees in as many seconds. Even my heart lurched to keep the immediate silence that blanketed the room. No one breathed for a moment. The pit in my stomach burned hot, becoming wildfire racing up my spine. “How’s that any different from advocating assassinations?” I demanded. “You suggested it earlier.”

“If killing a dozen people saves the lives of thousands, I think that’s an acceptable risk,” she snapped back.

My mouth moved faster than the words could form in my brain. It was funny—I didn’t feel angry, but my words were heated all the same. “And who decides who lives and who dies?

One of the Covens? What happens when they start abusing that power?”

Her eyes narrowed. “There’s no reason to even think that would happen. I’m talking about carefully removing the threats from the rest of us before someone gets hurt.”

“No reason?” I laughed. “Power corrupts. Or have you never cracked a history book? If you give a man too much power, he will abuse it. Men with power become despots, people like you who think they’re better than everyone else.”

“Who are you better than, Justin? You’re broken-down white trash with warlock blood in your veins. You think you’ll ever have a place in this world? They should just lock you up and save us the trouble.”

“And who are you? Some small-town fish who thinks the world has some great destiny in store for her?” I snorted. “You’re just another vapid Mean Girl clone who’ll peak in high school.

It probably kills you that you’ll never find a Coven. People like you are the reason people like me stop taking it anymore.”

All focus on a debate, or even on anyone else in the room, was long past. We were nearly screaming at each other. Even if someone had tried to interject, I don’t know if I would have heard them. My pulse was pounding so loudly in my ears I could barely hear the sound of my own voice. The room was washed out in pulses of red and black, the only thing I could see was the girl across from me.

“So what are you going to do? Start another war? Recruit for your terrorist cell? How about you read your history. The last time that happened? Wicked old Illana Bryer hacked off your

Mommy’s head.”

YOU CANNOT HIT A GIRL . My vision wasn’t flashes of red and black anymore. It was just red. Solid, painful red.

The things that happened next were hazy. I remember shoving the podium out from in front of me. Screaming something about terrorists. Then I remembered Kevin was suddenly in between the two of us, and I was snarling incoherent things.

Things were happening fast, but the blood pumping through my veins was so loud I couldn’t concentrate. There were loud noises, I was being moved, but I couldn’t get control of my tongue. I was still shouting, screaming, and it didn’t even matter that it didn’t make sense.

And then I wasn’t in the classroom anymore.

I was in the hallway, sucking in huge lungfuls of air, with Kevin standing in front of me with his arms held out, as if at any moment I might try to shove my way back into the classroom.

It was like the air in the hallway was somehow cleaner than the classroom. My head started to clear immediately, and I came back to myself. I didn’t know what had happened … but I didn’t like it. No one had put that rage deep inside me—I’d already had all that. Just waiting for an outlet.

Somehow Maddy was able to tap into it. Even at my worst with Jenna and the others, I’d never lost control like that.

I sank down onto the steps, putting my head in my hands. I didn’t trust myself to speak.

Eighteen

“No one knew how to react. Do you grieve?

Or do you mobilize? We were attacked, our governing body martyred. It was an act of terrorism, plain and simple. But no one claimed responsibility. Not at first … ”

Robert Cooper (C: Eventide)

Interview for Moonset: A Dark Legacy

Twenty minutes later, I was waiting in the hallway directly between the principal’s office on my left and a conference room on my right.

“Someone will deal with you eventually,” the secretary had said. Mrs. Crawford had come to the door, handed my bag to Kevin, and directed me to the office. Kevin had walked to the office with me—escorting me or making sure I actually went.

I’d never lost my temper like that before. So why now? Shouting, throwing things. Everything from the last few minutes of class was hazy, like it had been something that happened to someone else. None of that was me. I didn’t lose control like that.

“ … Daggett doesn’t know?” My ears caught my name, and I looked up. It was coming from my left, from the principal’s office. The door was still open a crack, and whispers of private conversation filtered through.

“I know what I told you,” the first voice said. Illana Bryer. Her voice was encoded in my brain.

“Then how do you explain it? Threatening other students, losing his temper? Illana, you assured me that bringing them here would solve our problems. Not create new ones.”

“Justin is not your concern,” Illana said in an icy tone. “I think you should be more concerned with what Marisol was thinking. Using spells like that on a student? Not to mention on him?”

“I … ” the other woman trailed off helplessly. I could almost hear her stiffening. “I will handle

Marisol. She’ll be reported. But the boy?” Marisol? Were they talking about Mrs. Crawford?

She’d used a spell on me? She’d provoked me?

Why?

“The children are doing exactly what we need them to be doing,” Illana replied. “Being visible.

Focusing the attention upon themselves. This is crucial to the stratagem.”

“And you’re sure everything else will stop?”

“We’re working on it,” she confirmed.

The next thing I knew one of the secretaries was standing in front of me. And she was repeating something.

“I said, go into the conference room, and they’ll be with you shortly,” she said, raising her voice.

The conference room was not like the rest of the school. It was huge. A large rectangular table set in the center was surrounded by those ritzy-looking office chairs with wheeled legs and plush cushions. Thirty people could easily have sat around the perimeter, with another fifty filling in the sides and corners of the room.

I was still standing there, trying to figure where to sit when I heard the clack of heels behind me.

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