The Elixir

~The Marked Door

Owain has never been the daredevil sort. In fact, the very notion is unsettling to him.

So Founders only know why he's currently scuttling behind Derald, his buffalohead of a roommate, Vieva Bestel, Xara Roffinnes, and Lysabel Axelane. It's bad enough that the five of them are stuck doing an assignment together, but breaking school rules in the middle of the night?

Just kill me now, sighs Owain in his mind. He's always had a voice of reason; not that anyone would listen to it. Xara powers ahead, fiercely determined. Vieva follows, but with a note of caution on her face. That isn't surprising. She's been conditioned to perfection, something she doesn't hesitate to tell everyone she's met. Derald just looks spurred on, nearly bouncing along, while Lysabel slinks next to Xara. She looks to have as much enthusiasm as Owain. None.

"C'mon, Owain, don't dawdle!" hisses Derald, slowing just enough. Owain's cheeks color in embarrassment, and he looks ahead, but the girls haven't even looked over their shoulders. No surprise there. Being ignored, especially by girls, is a frequent occurrence for Owain. Normally, he wouldn't care, but lately, he has found himself wishing that one girl would notice him.

And at the moment, she's trotting beside Xara, the two of them conversing in hushed tones. Owain slumps. The notion that Lysabel Axelane would notice him the same way he did is preposterous.

Xara skids in front of the door, turning back. Her unsettlingly sharp gaze lands on Owain, and he gulps.

"If you want, turn back now. I don't want anyone slowing us down."

Owain wants to shout that he would very much like to go back to his comfy, safe bed. But before he can even open his mouth, Derald grabs his arm, squeezing tight to shut him up.

"Let's go."

"Derald!" whispers Owain furiously to his roommate.

"You want a girl to see you? You have to impress her, Owain. Running away with your tail between your legs won't do that."

Owain struggles to come to a conclusion. The idea of Lysabel noticing him as someone impressive is appealing, but the thought of getting hauled to the headmistress's by the ear overrides his desire to influence Lysabel's thought of him.

Owain jerks his arm back to himself. "I want to go back. Right now."

"Owain?" A feminine voice calls to him, in a silk-soft tone.

His head whips up. It's Lysabel, with her emeralds for eyes. Derald elbows him and Owain stumbles a few steps.

"Are you coming?" her voice holds a hint of confusion.

"I-I-I'm-"

"We are." Derald grins broadly at her. "You girls go ahead. We'll catch up." She nods once, glancing to Owain once more before jogging back to Xara and Vieva, her golden hair fluttering behind her like a banner.

Derald whirls on him the second she's out of earshot. "What in Nessira's name was that?"

"Hey, don't judge," defends Owain, looking down.

Derald sighs dramatically, rubbing the nape of his neck. "I was wrong. You being here isn't enough to get her to notice you. You'd need a brain transplant for that."

"Ok, so can I go back now?"

"I'll see you back."

Relief lights him up from the inside. Thank the Founders, wherever they may be. Owain pivots and begins to walk briskly back when a spine-quenching shriek streaks across the sky. His blood chills, like autumn giving way to the winter.