by Lucy Auburn
Hand on the door latch, I pause. This close, it more than beckons to me; it sings in my ears, pulses through my veins, tugs at my every nerve. Whatever is on the other side of the door, it beckons to me. The doors want me to walk through and embrace something inside of me that I've tried time and time again to put to sleep.
Based on the scenes depicted in the heavy oak wood, it wants me to become a killer. Only special people see this door. The darkness inside me whispers that I am my father's daughter. The knife clutched in my hand tells me that I come from a long line of people who disappeared into the shadows and deceived others in the light.
I am a killer.
I open the doors.
They swing inward, the scrollwork and heavy wood bathed in a bright golden light that hides what's on the other side of the threshold. For a moment I hesitate, afraid of what's on the other side. Scared of who I'll become once I walk through.
Then I feel hands on my shoulders, cold as ice, and know somehow I'm being touched by a ghost—and not in a happy, spiritual sense. A great, otherworldly force pushes me through the doors and towards what's on the other side.
I blink in the golden light, eyes adjusting slowly. On this side, it becomes clear that the light, instead of being an all-consuming, heavenly kind of ethereal light, is simply the golden glow of two round street lamps. They're planted on either side of a broad, tall stone arch, which has a long gravel path running through it, and iron gates that have been propped open.
Looking up into the sky, I wonder how it is that it was early morning on the other side of the doors, but it's later in the day here. Turning around, I resolve to go through the doors, and check the sun on the other side—but yet again they've vanished. The only thing behind me is a long, wide-open field of nothingness, wild grass and weeds stretching to the horizon in every direction.
I turn towards the stone arch, and frown as I realize there are two words on the wide-open gates, one on each side. I sound them out loud as if that'll make all of this make sense.
"Cain... University." It takes me a moment to place the name; my mother wasn't much of a church-going woman. "Like Cain and Abel."
The sons of Adam and Eve, one of whom murdered the other. At least I'm pretty sure that's the story—it's hard to keep these things straight sometimes. I hope I'm wrong, though, because from what I remember, Cain was the world's first murderer. At least according to Christian belief.
Since there's nowhere else for me to go, I head towards the large stone arch and walk along the path of the winding drove. The whole time I find myself looking over my shoulders, tense and wary, certain someone will follow through the disappearing doors at any moment—but no one ever does.
Walking around the curve of the long gravel drive, I come out in front of a large, hulking beast of an academic building. The so-called Cain University is large enough to drive a fleet of cars through, but that's not what sends shockwaves of surprise through me.
There are other people everywhere.
Students walk down wide paved paths towards outbuildings, heavy bags slung over their shoulders. In a daze, I pass by a grass-covered quad where two fencers face off, swords in hand, feet moving back and forth as someone on the sidelines calls out points. Neither fencer is wearing protective face armor, and when they strike their opponent, bright red slashes of blood show through the white uniforms. A crowd that surrounds them cheers louder with every drop spilled, and I get the sense that I'm not in Kansas anymore.
Because I don't know where else to go, I let the curving path guide me towards the largest building in the middle of everything. A tunneling archway leads towards a courtyard in the middle of the long rectangular building, and on either side wings branch out, doors dotting one side, columns leading to the courtyard on the other. The bustle of human activity breezes by, and familiar smells greet my nose: paper covered in ink, books that have had a hundred fingers caress their spine, and the sharp iron tang of blood.
I walk over to the courtyard and stare out towards the stone paths, little gardens, and four different fountains dotting the ground, figures in the fountains representing things I don't understand. One is a large warrior with a brutal sword in his hand, one a wraith-like figure holding a lantern, one a scholar sitting on a bench with a book in his hand, and one a woman wailing and gnashing her teeth. Each of the dramatic figures has water pouring from them—the tip of the sword, the center of the lantern—to pool in stone basins beneath.
The garden smells like herbs and flowers, tanged with life but also, somehow, death.
"I was wondering where you'd gotten to." The familiar voice makes me whip around in alarmed shock. "I didn't realize you'd heeded the Call. I should've guessed, though, when I caught Levi in my house and woke to a note from you the next morning. And here I thought Jack was a one-off."
"Eve." Blinking at her, I stare all around me at the wings of the school, wondering if this is yet another figment of my imagination. "I don't... I would've called you, but I kind of don't have a cell phone right now. Prison and all that."
"Right." A corner of her mouth quirks up. "Have you gotten the orientation spiel yet?"
"The what now?"
"Did no one guide you through the doors?"
Her words only make the barest sense to me, but I shake my head. "I saw these doors three times... and someone was after me. So I went through them, and now..."
"Huh." Eve frowns. "The doors should only open to someone escorted by a member of the Shadow Fold. But no matter—I'm sure Headmaster Shu can sort it out. She's an expert at these things. Follow me."
Because Eve is the first face I've seen in hours that belongs to someone I trust, and because I don't really know what else to do, I let her guide me down the long hallway. Students flow past us in either direction, none of them wearing uniforms per se, but all sharing similarly determined facial expression. I spot all types in the flow of the crowd: a skinny boy with a green mohawk and tattoos, a curvy girl with a bounce in her step, a woman shrouded from head to toe in a black niqab, and even an impossibly tall, blond man wearing a thick parka with a fur-lined hood, despite the unseasonable warmth on this side of the doors.
It's as if they came from everywhere across the world, all social classes. The only thing they have in common is that they all seem to be about my age or a bit younger or older; there are no curious retirees at this school, and no fresh-faced undergraduates either. Everyone has a slightly hardened look in their eyes, as if they've seen something.
I have that feeling something is death.
No, more than that, I know that it's murder.
I don't know how, but Cain University is a place full of those of us who have been through things. People who have seen shit no one should see, endured and lived on by the skin of their teeth. The only thing I don't understand is what Eve is doing here, but I decide I can ask her later, when I've got my bearings and understand how a magical traveling doorway brought me here.
"Here it is." Eve stops in front of a wide recessed door and knocks, giving me a sympathetic smile. "Don't worry, it'll all make sense in a bit. Everyone finds their first few days here overwhelming. You're lucky you've got an alumnus on your side."
A woman's voice on the other side of the door calls out, "Come in, Evelyn Lionsdale."
Eve goes through the door. I'm about to follow her, when a familiar face catches my attention, and I jerk back, staring at a photo on the wall.
Sandy blond hair. An infectious smile. The uniform of an Air Force pilot. Even if I hadn't seen him a thousand times in my mother's house growing up, there's a helpful name plaque on the bottom of the frame, letting me know who this familiar face belongs to.
VINCENT ARIZONA: 1990.
Scanning all the other, similar framed photographs on the wall, I make a connection: my father went to school here. This is where he graduated before he joined the Air Force and became a pilot.
Mom had to have known something about this. How, and why, she kept it from me,
I wish I knew. Maybe whoever Eve is about to introduce me to has answers.
Following her through the door, I find myself in the strangest office I've ever been in. The carpet is a stark white shag that sinks beneath my feet, but the walls and the ceiling are painted a deep matte near-black. A chandelier overhead is made out of a hundred deer antlers and glows an eery white-gold, almost like candlelight. The only pieces of furniture in the room are a heavy desk at the opposite end of us, two straight-backed chairs, and an entire wall covered in weapons: swords, axes, mace, at least three machine guns, dozens of throwing stars, plus more I can't even count.
A slim woman stands on the other side of the desk, her jet black hair drawn back from her head, red lipstick stark against pale skin, wearing a satin embroidered kimono that somehow makes her appear more formidable rather than laid back. The name plaque on her desk declares her Headmaster Lya Shu, and the expression on her face says that no one should doubt her authority here. Leaning forward, her delicate fingers spread out on the mahogany top of the desk, she examines me closely.
"Who's this? We've never met, so you must be new. But Evelyn, you didn't tell me that you were fetching new recruits or shepherding them through the doors. We leave that to retired members of the Shadow Fold, and you’re still very active, unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”
"I didn't fetch Ellen—that's who this is, Ellen Arizona." If my name is familiar, the headmaster doesn't let it register in her eyes. "She came through the doors on her own."
"Really?" Thin black brows raise in my direction, the disbelief clear as she takes me in from head to toe. I find myself absentmindedly shoving the hunting knife deep in my jacket pockets, wincing as the still-sharp tip cuts a tiny hole and bumps against my skin. "She doesn't look like she trained anywhere."
I'm getting tired of being talked about, so I tell her, "I didn't exactly choose to go through those doors. They followed me everywhere until I had no other option. I'll gladly go through them and back home again if you tell me why my father's picture is on the wall outside your office."
This gets the woman's attention, and she motions towards the chairs in front of her desk. I take a seat first, Eve cautiously following, clearly ill at ease in this situation for some reason. From the way she and the headmaster are acting, you'd think I was some kind of stray puppy brought in from the street, about to take a massive dump on the inexplicably pristine carpet. It's annoying, and it makes me finger the handle of my great-great-grandfather's knife, my temper running hot.
"Tell me, your father..." The headmaster narrows her eyes at me. "Was his name Vincent Arizona?"
"Yes." I lean forward, eager to know more about him. "Did he go here? What do you know about him?"
"Interesting." Her mouth purses, and she takes another look at me. "Normally I would say your presence here was a fluke, and advocate for a wipe and removal, but if your father really was Vincent Arizona..."
"He was."
"Then you must have some kind of affinity for the killing arts." A cold, invisible finger runs down my spine at the words she uses, and I find myself taking my hand out of my jacket pocket, the knife there suddenly a heavy weight. "The doors don't pursue just anyone. Tell me, Ellen Arizona, who have you killed?"
My mouth goes dry. I flick my eyes to Eve, who gives me a go on now kind of look, but I notice her hands are clutched tight to the arms of her chair. There's a tension inside the room, a sense that I don't belong, and based on the weapons hanging on the wall I doubt they'd kick me out gently.
Clearing my throat, I tell her, "I killed my boyfriend."
Several seconds tick by. Headmaster Shu's eyebrows jump up. "That's it? One man?"
"It was kind of all over the news. I'm surprised you didn't hear about it." Honestly, this is the first time I've been irritated not to be known for what I did. "Even in prison they knew my name, and the only TVs there are pieces of shit."
"And you were caught?" She throws a look in Eve's direction. "Ms. Lionsdale, did you know who you were bringing to my office before you walked through this door? Legacy or not, we don't accept run-of-the-mill criminals here at Cain University. I'm disappointed in you for not being more discrete. Now that she's come into the inner sanctum, erasing her memory will be even more difficult."
Eve starts to say something, a bead of sweat running down the side of her cheek, but I snap and jut in before she can try to defend me. "You won't lay a fucking finger on my memory, no matter how many sharp weapons you own." My temper rises inside me, flickering dangerously towards rage. "I didn't ask to come here, and I'm certainly not going to get shit on by someone I've never even heard of before."
"Prove me wrong, then," she challenges me, a fierce look in her eyes. "Tell me why a simple one-off killer like you deserves to know these hallowed halls, where only the most elite train for the highest calling in the universe."
"I'm Ellen Arizona." I put emphasis on my name, the way I've heard it spoken on the nightly news. "I stabbed my boyfriend to death and cut him into little pieces because the bastard didn't deserve a neat burial. I don't know what kind of racket you're running around here, or why my father went to your sanctimonious school, if that's why his photo is on the wall, but I do know that if you try to do anything to my head I will cut you open and turn you into so many pieces they'll need a whole team to reassemble the evidence."
Eve puts a hand on my arm, trying to calm me down, but I shake her off and bare my teeth. Reaching forward, I impulsively slam the tip of my knife down in the headmaster's desk, enjoying the sound of it ruining the veneer. My blood is hot, my pulse racing, and I've never felt more alive than I do as I meet the woman's cutting gaze. "If you don't want me here, fucking fine by me. Just show me where those goddamned doors went and I'll walk through them—with all the pieces of my brain still intact, and no one's touching a single hair on my head. Whoever you are, understand this: you're not in charge of me. No one is."
The silence descends like a slammed door.
"She doesn't understand," Eve cuts in, sounding panicked. "You have to know—Ellen just got released from prison the other day, and that same night her family was killed in front of her. She's not thinking straight. I'm sure if I talk to her, I can convince her to take a memory draught and leave. There's no need for this to escalate."
A moment. I clutch the knife so tightly it's a wonder blood is still pulsing in my fingertips. I feel like I might actually try to stab the woman if she makes a single move, which is probably a mistake, since she looks like she could peel the skin off my body with her pinky finger and not even get a drop of blood on the hem of her silk kimono.
"She won't be going anywhere." The headmaster's voice is smooth and steady, and I wonder if she's just as fucked in the head as I am, because she's smiling even though I have a knife stuck in her desk. "Look at the weapons wall, Eve. This is exactly where she belongs."
I follow Eve's motions and turn my head with her, staring open-mouthed at the wall of weapons. There are dozens of them, maybe over a hundred, and they were all hanging on hooks set into the wall—until now.
Every single one of them is floating.
Just like, I realize belatedly, the string of my hoodie is floating in the air, and wisps of my hair are sticking up all around my head like a halo.
As soon as I realize what's happening, all the weapons fall down at once, and I feel like I'm relaxing some muscle I've never had. The sound of them clattering to the floor makes me wince, and I have to grit my teeth around an apology, reminding myself that the headmaster hasn't been acting like someone who I should apologize to.
Mulishly, I meet her eyes. "So you won't wipe my memory?"
"On the contrary. You need training, stat—and we'll give it to you. If you could just take your knife out of my desk..." There's a knock at the door, and her brows slant together in annoyance. "Oh, fucking hell. What is it?"
The door opens, and footsteps follow. "We were pursuing a target, and were wondering if—"
Looking over my shoulder, I meet a very familiar set of eyes, then see three more faces right behind them.
The four men who chased me all across town have followed me here, too.
Chapter 10
I don't give it a second thought. Rising out of my chair, I dive for the man in front, certain I can take at least one of four down before they counterattack.
Instead of dodging or falling to my knife attack, he lazily swings his cane out and hits me in the forearm so hard that my grip on the knife releases. Crying out in pain, I pull my arm back and lunge for him, hands coming up to squeeze at his neck.
An invisible vice-like grip freezes me in place. Sighing, Headmaster Shu paces around her desk and comes to stand beside me, staring between me and the man. "What the fuck is going on now? Eve, tell me why your recruit is attacking a student before I punt you in the vagina. Grayson, you've been told before: no more experimenting on your classmates. Leave that shit for the outside world."
The headmaster's foul mouth flits through my mind for a moment, but I'm frozen so still in place that I can't even comment on it. There's something off about so many curse words falling from a mouth lined perfectly with red lipstick. It's probably for the best I can't mention it—she looks like she'd slice my foul tongue off if I talked about hers.
Eve quickly says, “I don’t know why Ellen did that, but I’m sure she has a good reason. And Grayson shouldn’t be using his powers on her.”
"I'm only controlling her mind because she came for me, and I’m using non-lethal force to stop her.” Frowning at me, the man with the cane—Grayson, apparently—turns to the headmaster. "This was the target we were out hunting. She's a killer who unjustly got loose, and there's evidence she killed again. But she got the slip on us, and we were here to receive a Mark. We weren’t going to off her without permission.”