Guardian of the Dead by Karen Healey

allowed to be sympathetic, because they’re pretty and passive, but we’re never allowed to like enchantresses or witches.’
    Mark frowned and looked about to respond, but La Gribaldi cut him off with another wave. ‘Interesting points both, and I look forward to seeing them explored in your Odyssey assignments, due on Monday. No exceptions.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘For now, sadly, our time is up. Mr Nolan, a brief word.’
    The rest of us escaped gratefully into the hall. Usually any mention of assignments came with one of La Gribaldi’s famous spiels on how New Zealand students were lazy and underachieving compared to the competitive Advanced Placement students of her adopted country. I couldn’t see the appeal of working yourself ragged and doing ten thousand extra-curriculars. So New Zealand only had seven universities, and most entrance courses required entrants to meet a bare minimum of standards. So what? How were you supposed to know what you were going to do for the rest of your life when you were only seventeen, anyway? Medicine and Engineering were restricted-entry courses, and there were students at Mansfield killing themselves to make the grade. One student had killed herself a couple of years ago, a horrible event that was now a whispered cautionary tale. One of the science scholarships was named after her, which seemed a peculiar memorial to me.
    With a start, I realised I was still hanging outside the classroom door, leaning against the cream-painted walls. Geography was in five minutes, and I hadn’t done the homework. Why was I standing here noodling about poor suicidal Kathy someone? What was I — I’d wanted to talk to Mark. Or had he wanted to talk to me? I peered through the door’s glass inset, rubbing at my aching temples. The wire mesh in the little rectangle made everything look fuzzy and undefined, but I could see La Gribaldi shaking her crowned head at Mark, big arms folded over her breasts again. Mark seemed to be pleading for something. An extension? La Gribaldi looked unconvinced. Abruptly, she moved toward the door, and I sprang back to lean against the corridor’s far wall as she came out of the classroom, stiffening as she paused to stare at me. She surveyed me from toe to top, much as Reka had done in the mists, but her dark eyes met mine, a little puzzled, a little wary.
    â€˜Interesting,’ she murmured, and walked on.
    Mark tried to scoot out after her, but I made my move, lurching to block his path like a transportable human wall. ‘Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?’ I asked. As conversational gambits go, it probably lacked a certain something.
    He stopped, but didn’t look at me. ‘No?’
    â€˜Oh,’ I said, confused all over again. Maybe I had wanted to talk to him? There had been something , damn it. I improvised: ‘Um, I was wondering. Do you want to study for the Classics midterm exam with me?’
    Mark hesitated, pale face guarded. Something silver glinted at the wrist of his ragged sleeve. ‘When?’
    â€˜After school sometime? In the library?’
    â€˜I have a job after school. And on the weekends.’
    I didn’t ask, Then why do all your uniform pants have holes ? ‘Just an idea,’ I said, trying not to sound huffy about the rejection. What had I expected? That after crashing into him at the gates we were going to be best buds?
    The headache eased and he nodded, smiling slightly. ‘It’s not a bad idea. I’ll think about it and let you know?’
    I brightened. ‘Sure!’
    â€˜See you later.’
    I frowned after him. His final sentence was a perfectly normal farewell. Why did it sound so tantalisingly familiar?

FOR WHAT YOU BURN
    F INAL PERIOD E NGLISH was my only class with Kevin, science nerd that he was, and it was, to the joy of nearly everyone, a movie screening day. We’d had the option of Heavenly