It could be a coincidence.
Realistically speaking, it almost certainly was a coincidence. Day wasn't that rare a name; it was actually quite common in the mundane world, and it wouldn't be too surprising if someone bearing the name had developed magic abilities. She was probably some first-generation mage, maybe second or third, who just happened to have the same last name as Finnian. In all likelihood she had nothing to do with Finnian's family at all; they weren't even the same ethnicity.
But the eyes.
He'd have written it all off—but her eye color gave him pause. Gray eyes. Unless she had an odd case of partial albinism (and he wasn't sure if that was even how albinism worked), she had to be mixed. She had to have a parent with the same gray eyes, or a grandparent. Who? Was that person named Day as well? And if so—
Well. That could still be a coincidence. After all, what were the odds that she was somehow related to Finnian? No one in the family had any connections to Dark Mages. Finnian knew all his relatives who carried the Day family name. There were no stories of there having been any more, of anyone getting involved with a Dark Mage and leaving or being sent into exile. And, sure, exiles were unpersons. They had to be treated like they had never existed, and not even their immediate family was allowed to talk about them anymore. But behind closed doors, where no one could prove anything, who would be stupid enough to actually stick to that rule? How could anyone pretend a member of their own family, or any close loved one, had never existed at all?
There had to be a different explanation, but that did raise the question—
If not for the conspicuous last name, why had Elaine sent him this video with that oddly-worded message?
~ ~ ~
The video remained on Finnian's mind for the next days, nagging him, taunting him with its constant presence. Over and over he told himself that it didn't matter. Over and over he couldn't help feeling like it did.
Mercury. He had heard that name somewhere, he knew. Somewhere in the general context of Let Us In and Georgiana DeVille, though he couldn't pinpoint where. It was familiar. And not from the video. But where?
Several times he found himself almost entering her name into the search bar. Several times he stopped himself and didn't know why. Somehow it felt like a crime. Forbidden knowledge he wasn't meant to unearth.
The day after Elaine had sent him the video, he had asked her about it at school. "Why did you say I might want to look at it?" he had demanded. "Do you think something's…up with her?"
A strange look had crossed Elaine's face, one he didn't quite know what to make of. "Up?" she repeated. "I just thought it was interesting. I never said you might want to look at it."
Finnian frowned. Had she forgotten? That wasn't like her. "Yes, you did," he insisted. "Verbatim."
"No, I didn't."
"I can show you the message if you want," Finnian replied, pulling out his phone. "Here, convinced now or should I make you double-check on your own phone too?"
There it was again, that strange, unreadable look. "Oh…right," she said quietly. "Right, I remember. Sorry, that was dumb phrasing." She smiled lopsidedly. "I was tired, you know? I just meant you should have a look at it too. See what we're up against." She gestured loosely towards Finnian's phone. "I hate to say it, but she's good. If she gets better at winning people than our side, we'll be doomed, you know?"
"Right," Finnian had heard himself replying back then, his voice distant in his own ears. It still felt distant now. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something Elaine wasn't telling him—something she knew or suspected, but didn't want to talk to him about.
Maybe he should ask Cassander. But Cass had always tried to keep his distance from politics—what were the odds that he even knew about the existence of Mercury Day? And even if he did, what were the odds that he would believe Finnian's concerns and not just say he was being paranoid again?
Which meant that this was his problem to figure out. If it even was a problem in the first place.
~ ~ ~
For now, Finnian couldn't investigate because he had a realer, more pressing problem on his hands: that of the competition, and of Hikaru.
Well, mostly of Hikaru. The competition was a no-brainer; with the two of them on the team, victory was a given. The one who he needed to beat today wasn't someone from the other schools; it was his own teammate.
His own thieving, usurping teammate who had stolen the anchor position from him. Who did he think he was?
So, needless to say, when it was time for the bus ride to the competition, Finnian's biggest wish was to sit as far away from Hikaru as possible. But also in a spot where he could easily keep an eye on him. Maybe observe him, see if he found any weaknesses to exploit. And maybe also taunt him. Okay, definitely taunt him.
In the end he sat down at the back of the bus, both because it made him look cooler and to keep an eye on Hikaru from behind. Then he waited as the others came pouring in. He didn't really care who ended up sitting next to him; since the bus was enchanted to fit exactly the amount of people it was meant to carry, someone would have to.
One by one, the others sat down. Hikaru was one of the last people to enter the bus, his eyes scanning from side to side, searching for free seats. They tentatively landed on the one next to Bianca, but before he could make up his mind to ask if it was free, Clara was already sliding into it.
In his own subtle, blank-faced way, Hikaru looked crestfallen.
"Got nowhere to sit, Hiyama?"
Finnian couldn't help himself. He just couldn't; the opportunity was too sweet.
"Wow, would you look at that," he sneered. "Poor little ace, have your new friends abandoned you already? Or wait! Maybe they would've let you sit with them if you'd just bothered to ask instead of standing there and waiting for a formal invitation—"
"Actually," Bianca interrupted his speech, "I can still see a free seat. Why don't you sit with Finnian?"
Finnian opened his mouth and closed it again, but no sound came out. Hikaru simply turned away. "I'll stand," he said flatly.
Even though Finnian should be relieved, the words somehow felt like a slap in the face.
"Don't be silly," said Bianca. "You can't ride the bus standing up. It's only half an hour, even you guys can ignore each other for that long! Okay?"
Hikaru said nothing. "Hell no!" said Finnian. "I will not be made to sit next to—next to—Lucian, trade with me!"
Lucian put his headphones on and politely ignored him.
"Hikaru, sit with Finnian," Coach Greene demanded from the front. "It's not safe to stand during the bus ride. Boys, I trust you both to be mature and not start any fights for the ride."
Finnian winced. Now she'd done it: she had used that tone that always indicated she'd be horribly disappointed if they didn't listen, and Finnian didn't want to risk her disapproval right before a competition. So he shrugged with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Oh, fine. But the precious little champion doesn't get to complain about not getting a window seat."
Hikaru dropped into the seat beside him without meeting his eyes. "I don't want a window seat," he said in a tone that left the you idiot unspoken without diminishing its presence. Without waiting for another word from Finnian, he put on his headphones and turned away.
Awkward silence.
The engine of the bus rumbled to life. Outside the window gray streets drifted past. It wasn't raining, but the sky was overcast, and there wasn't so much as a breeze going; the kind of non-weather that offered itself well to flying, but to precious little else. Finnian watched the streets pass by, drifting, drifting, yet never seeming to change. Then he watched his own reflection. The boy staring back at him was familiar, but the interplay of lights and shadows, of overlapping reflections and shapes passing by outside, left him looking distorted into someone he wasn't.
Finally his eyes landed on Hikaru. The exchange student was facing away from him, staring through the window on the opposite side of the bus. There was no sound coming from his headphones. Maybe he'd just put them on to drown out background noises. To focus, even. Perhaps, Finnian caught himself thinking, it wasn't so much of a bad idea.
He shook off that thought. He should break them, he told himself instead. Break Hikaru's noise-canceling headphones and watch him suffer the stress, the noise. Make him crack. Make him break. He could win against such a Hikaru, a deep, dark voice kept whispering in his mind. What was stopping him?
Hikaru drummed his fingers, oblivious to Finnian's thoughts. Except for his restless hand, he was still as a statue. Finnian wondered what would happen if he forcibly held down that hand, pressed it against some surface and restrained it from drumming, that maddening tap-tap-tapping that Hikaru himself couldn't even hear. Would it annoy Hikaru? Would it upset him?
Clenching his jaw, he stared down at Hikaru's hand. It was bony and well-formed, with slender fingers and almond-shaped nails; but it was also roughened from years on the broom, the calluses on his palms and fingers eerily resembling Finnian's own.
He could grab it, the voice in his head whispered again, except now its tone was different, strange. Hold it down, hold it still. Watch Hikaru struggle and hold on regardless.
Hold his hand?
His face felt hot. Finnian shifted away from Hikaru, as close to the window as possible. Putting it like that, it sounded—different. Not right. He didn't like it. He didn't want to have these thoughts, didn't want to follow them down that path. It wasn't one he could take.
In the end, he didn't do anything. Not grab his hand or break his headphones. He just sat there and focused his entire attention on not touching him by accident.
Finnian told himself it was because he was just a coward.
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