by Lucy Auburn
"Leave that for later." Eve frowns at me, then points out into the arena. "You're getting your first challenger."
To my surprise, the man striding out into the middle of the arena isn't Grayson, who I expected to practically jump at the chance to maim or kill me.
It's Mason Kincaide, the illusionist himself. His braid has been wound into a tight coil at the nape of his neck, and he has a determined expression on his face as he paces to the center of the sand circle. Feet shoulder width apart, he stands, facing me. The entire arena goes quiet, watching and waiting, something almost hungry in the air, like a pack of dogs watching a cooked turkey, slathering over the juices.
"I challenge the initiate Ellen Arizona to a fight of her Emotional strength." He raises his chin, nothing kind in his eyes. "Survive, heart intact, or perish for its weakness. The choice is yours."
Meeting the warm brown of his gaze, I raise my chin and get to my feet. Eve is right behind me, her presence a comfort even if I wonder whether she's about to watch me die.
"Go get him, Ellen."
I stride into the arena.
Chapter 14
Mason Kincaide is a truly beautiful young man. With warm brown skin, tattoos that swirl and emphasize the strength of his arms, a broad, strong chest, and a face that would give every leading action star a run for his money, he looks so good that I almost have to wonder if his illusion skills extend to his body, like Eve's.
When I asked her what makes her a Mental Class illusionist, and Mason an Emotional Class illusionist, she explained that it's simple: Eve tricks the brain into seeing what she wants it to see, while Mason tricks the heart into seeing what his target wants to see. Which is how he was able to show me the golden doors that would've led me home—if they'd been real.
"He can't make you hallucinate dragons if you've never wanted to see dragons, but his Affinity is formidable. His powers of deceit are probably ten times stronger than mine—though half as useful, if you ask me, since I've slipped into some of the most secure areas of the world simply by making myself look like anyone I want. Still, don't underestimate him. Mason has a heart of gold, but he uses that heart to squeeze the life out of people."
I asked her what his first kill was, but she said she didn't know. That information is apparently a well-kept secret—unless, of course, your kill is public, like mine is. I didn't dare ask Eve what hers was, and she didn't tell me; that's a question for another day, if I survive this one.
Only a moment has passed since I stepped in front of Mason, my mind racing, before the headmaster raises her hand and rings the bell. She gives the call for us to begin fighting, and doesn't have to—the instant the bell tolls, Mason raises his hands and uses his powers.
All around me, the arena shifts and changes. The sand beneath my feet turns to hardwood floors. Where the stadium seats were, there's now a staircase that leads upstairs. And the light that was coming from lanterns in the ceiling is now the soft glow of streetlight from the door and window of a suburban house.
Herb's house.
That's where I am.
Knowing what night this is, what emotionally-charged scene Mason has somehow dragged up from my memory, I whip around and raise my palms. Powers leaves them, along with my anger, as I push outward and create a force field to take him down.
But he isn't there. He's somehow cloaked himself in his own illusion, disappearing to... somewhere, just like he was standing behind the doors last night. The power of my force field rips through his illusion and keeps going, no doubt hitting the arena's stone walls, which I can't even see.
"Coward!" I call out, rage rippling through my chest and setting my teeth on edge. "You won't even face me!"
Pacing through Herb's living room, I look for Mason everywhere. Last night the doors disappeared the instant I touched them. At first I think this illusion might be the same, but no matter how much I drag my fingers across the walls Mason has conjured up from my memory, they don't go anywhere.
A sound drags my attention away from my pursuit of the illusionist, and I find myself staring down at a tiny white maltipoo, his fur coated in fresh blood. Cheesecake whimpers, and my heart drops down to my knees.
Eyes darting to the master bedroom door, I know what's just beyond isn't real. But there's been a part of me that relives that night every waking moment. Each time, I try to save her. I get there before the killer and stop him before he lands his final blow.
I know it isn't real. That doesn't stop me from lunging towards the door, opening it wide, and throwing myself across the threshold.
There's so much blood.
I go to her, desperate to save her, to staunch the bleeding and get her to the hospital—but she disappears in my hands like she was never there. All around me, the walls, floors, and ceiling ripple as the scene I'm in changed, Mason's powers turning Herb's house into something else entirely.
For a moment, though, the illusion is in between stages. So I look all around for him, searching for his figure—there. A tall, broad shape. I lunge for him, darting through the crumbling wall of the master bedroom.
"Bastard!"
Power leeches from my hands as I throw my force field at him with everything I've got. I feel it hit, and he goes down to his knees. Before I can declare victory, though, the illusion closes in around him, solidifying before my eyes.
I'm in the apartment Jack and I shared.
There's no fucking way I'm living through this again. But, according to what Eve told me, the only way to make it stop is to knock out Mason or injure him so badly his powers stop working. And since I can't see him at all anymore, that's a hard thing to pull off.
"Ellen." The voice that comes from behind me sets every hair on my body on edge. "Look at me, you stupid bitch."
This isn't what happened the day I killed Jack, but it's got all the emotions: nausea in my gut, anger in my chest, and pain in my cheek where he backhanded me. Even my shoulder is burning with that familiar surge of pain, as if it's been dislocated all over again.
They say our emotions can take control of us. Take over, and hijack our minds and bodies. I want to be stronger than that. I want to face my fears—and my enemies.
Turning, I face Jack. It's the same face I remember from all those days I spent in love with him, save for one horrible thing: there's blood dripping out of his mouth in a long line that brushes the ground. It pools on the hardwood floors in the apartment he insisted we rent, getting in the cracks of the flooring. His mouth is stained in it, his shirt red from the collar to the hem, every word he speaks sending more pouring out.
It's disgusting.
I want to look away, but I can't. There's something about Jack that seems off in a familiar way. It takes me a moment to realize: the Jack I knew had a slightly asymmetrical jaw, but this Jack is perfect in a way even the Italian sculptors and painters of the Renaissance period would've appreciated. Every angle of his face is carved by the golden ratio.
Because it's not really Jack, I realize, even as he advances on me as if to scare me away. This is someone pretending to be Jack. There are a lot of things illusions can do, but not this. Not completely.
Somehow I narrow my eyes and see the truth of Mason Kincaide beneath the surface of the illusion.
Reaching out, I grab his arm and pull, hard. He stumbles, eyes wide in shock, bruise blooming on his face from my attack a moment ago. Around us, the illusion begins to crumble, and this time there's nothing to replace it. As the magic falls away, I'm left staring into Mason's familiar, perfectly symmetrical face.
He can never find out that it was his perfection that undid the lie of the illusion. How embarrassing that would be for me. Looking up into his eyes, the warmth of his skin beneath my touch, I swallow and lick my lips. His gaze follows the movement. Heat blossoms beneath my skin, sharp and undeniable lust rising inside me. I have to forcibly drag my eyes away.
Which is when I see it, over his shoulder. An image that must be an illusion, but doesn't feel like it a
t all—because it comes straight from my mind, not my emotions.
It's me and Mason, pushed up against the wall of the arena. He's holding my legs—my bare naked legs—up in the air, twisted around his waist. His clothes are missing too, revealing tattoos swirling all the way around to his back and shoulders. With a ripple of the muscles in his shoulders and ass, he drives forward, plunging his cock inside me, and I moan and cry out, fingers digging into his flesh. Our mouths meet in mutual lust, and he presses me so hard against the wall, fucking me deep, that I cry out in pleasure.
I swallow. Mason's eyes—the real Mason—follow my gaze. His lips part in shock, and I realize that he's seeing the same thing I am. Frantic, I look towards the arena—but no one else is reacting or looking at the version of the two of us fucking. Suddenly embarrassed about the heat prickling in my skin, the way my real hand is digging into his arm even as the not-real version of me presses fingers and heels into his back to urge him to fuck me harder, I drop his arm and step away.
The second I'm not touching him, the illusion—and that's what it must have been—disappears. Clearly it was some trick of Mason's to try to distract me, but I'm not going to let it. Before he can try it again, I raise my hands and push at him with my powers. He goes skidding back, a shout of alarm leaving his mouth too late, just as he's forced out of the circle of sand and loses the match.
Overhead, the bell rings. I exchange a triumphant grin with Eve. She gives me a thumbs up, then jerks her chin towards Mason, mouthing, "What was that?" I shake my head, letting her know I'll tell her later, then turn to face the crowd as my next challenger steps forward.
This time it's Levi Ward, the poisoner himself. With his silver eyes and hair, and pale skin, he seems like a wraith. He doesn't sound like one though—every step he takes thumps against the ground like it's a hollow metal drum instead of sand and packed dirt. I frown as he approaches me and stops just a few feet away, wondering...
"Are you the one who showed up at Eve's house in the middle of the night?"
"I am." He sighs forlornly. "Who knew hardwood floors creak so badly? Or that she'd wake up and find me."
Eve didn't mention it was him she fought off, but then again, maybe she didn't get a good enough look before he disappeared. One thing is for certain: while Levi may have incredible powers of poison, he definitely can't sneak up on people at all.
Too bad that weakness of his won't do me any good here in the arena, where it doesn't matter if he's sneaky or not. All he has to do is raise a hand and he can drain the life right out of my blood, putting poison in my veins without even trying.
It's enough to make me think I won't survive this second round battle.
Overhead, the bell chimes. I throw up my hands and throw my power at Levi, hoping that I'll be able to knock him out before he even gets the chance to face off against me. He windmills back, irritation flashing across his face, only to flip over instead of fall and right himself.
The noises he makes as his feet hit the sand are improbably loud, but his actions are graceful, like a gymnast or a dancer. He'll be harder to beat off physically than I thought.
Flipping his own hands up to face me palm-first, Levi smirks and summons his powers. I know because I can feel it all at once: the weakness in my blood. The feeling of my strength and energy draining out of me like sand through an hourglass.
Groaning, I try to push him away with my powers, but they weaken by the second. All I can manage is a weak bit of force that barely brushes the hair out of his eyes.
It seems unfair, this initiation. Surely not all the students here could beat it using brute force alone. And there's very little room for cleverness in a sand arena with nowhere to hide.
"Oh, Ellen." Levi makes a faux sympathetic noise. "You'll never be able to make it here if you can't even survive two rounds in the arena."
He's right. I find my eyes going up towards the stadium seats, where spectators gather to watch me fail. A few already look bored; no doubt it's not fun for them when I barely put up a fight. One face catches my attention more than most, though.
Bright red hair. Dark clothes. One hand grasping a cane that leans against his knee, his leg stretched casually out in front of him, as if he's relieving the pressure and pain of his weakness but doesn't want anyone to see how much it hurts. Grayson Hughes is watching me as I fall to my hands and knees, fingers digging into the sand, pain radiating through my entire body.
He wants me to fail.
Levi paces towards me, staring down dispassionately. His fae-like face is haunting in its severity, cheekbones reminding me uncomfortably of skulls. With a sigh, he says, "You know, I really thought you'd be better than this. Killer Ellen—such a legend. To think, Grayson believed you were some kind of monster who had to be put down. Turns out he couldn't have been more wrong. You're no monster. You're nothing to be afraid of at all."
Rage surges up inside me, and with it an impossible amount of power. Just looking up into Levi's face, his chin pointed and his skin pale, makes me snarl with anger.
In his arrogance, he's stepped so close to me that I can see every hair on his ankles, which peek out between the bottom of his khaki pants and the top of his short black tennis shoes. Gritting my teeth, I stare down at my hand, the veins on the back pulsing with black and green poison, and force it to move.
There's so much power inside me, desperate to be let out. But my body is too weak, my spirit too crushed, to use it. My hand barely slides forward an inch as I try to raise it and blast Levi to smithereens.
All I can manage is to brush my fingertips against his ankle with a groan of pain.
I fall forward, face in the sand, hand curled above the top of his shoe. A moment passes, and I wait for the sound of the bell to chime, declaring that I've lost this match.
At least now Eve won't have to pay for my mistake. I womaned up and faced my initiation, win or lose. Now I'll be the only one to pay for my weakness.
I just wish I'd landed a hit on Levi before it came to this. I want to see him bleed.
Maybe I still can.
Snarling, I close my hand around his ankle and dig my fingers into his skin, hoping for blood. Instead I get an incredible feeling, almost an electric shock, like a dam bursting inside me and an entire ocean of power rolling out from within. The force field of my Affinity gathers strength in my chest and bursts out of my skin.
Levi cries out as his ankle snaps in two right where I'm holding it, but that's not the only thing that happens. As my power surges within me and moves outward like a wall, it pushes the poison out of my veins and restores my strength. I watch, transfixed, as my skin goes from black-laced, to green, to grey, all the way to a healthy tan.
Taking a deep breath, I push up to my feet, invigorated. Levi lies a few feet away from me, near the edge of the arena space, groaning and curling around his injured ankle. My eyes find the crowd, and I smirk, because they're no longer bored. Everyone is transfixed on my movements as I pace over to Levi.
Staring down at him dispassionately, I grab his injured ankle, ignore his cry of pain, and drag him out of the circle, dumping him on the other side. Above us, the bell tolls. In front of me, the crowd stirs.
Slowly, as if considering it, they watch me. Then they begin to clap—first a few, then all of them. Soon there are hoots, hollers, cheers, and whistles, every eye on me. A medic comes for the whimpering Levi, to fix his broken ankle. My eyes find Grayson, who's watching me with a downturned mouth, and I give him a little jaunty wave. Based on the way his frown deepens, he doesn’t enjoy my mocking him.
Two down. Who knows how many more to go. I had no idea that I could ever do that with my Affinity, but now that I do, I'm never going to be afraid of Levi again. There's nothing he can do to me when it simply takes a bit of my strength to force his poison from my veins.
As the crowd quiets down, Grayson turns his head and looks straight at Wyatt. It's clear that he wants the strong, impossibly tall and broad man to be the next conte
nder. But Wyatt meets his eyes and clearly, deliberately, shakes his head.
He won't be fighting against me.
Watching him, I wonder why it is that he'd refuse his friend's request. Surely it has nothing to do with me—we haven't exchanged a single word. Maybe he's tired of being bossed around by an asshole with a paranoia complex.
Though Grayson frowns, he doesn't look too upset. Instead of trying to force the matter, he straightens his leg, leans forward on his cane, and stands up. Eyes on me, he strides into the arena, putting just enough weight on his left leg to seem like it doesn't bother him at all—even as an imperceptible tightness in his eyes makes it clear that he's in pain.
Maybe it's the pain that makes him an asshole. Obviously that's the weakness that comes with his powerful Affinity. It's something I could use against him, but I have the feeling he won't give me the chance.
There's a reason why he looks so confident.
Grayson Hughes is certain that he'll win this battle.
And I'm not sure I can disagree with him.
Without losing a beat or even waiting for me to catch my breath, the bell overhead chimes, and a new match begins.
Chapter 15
I can feel him in my mind.
Grayson doesn't twitch a hand or shift his weight. He barely even looks at me. His attention seems to wander, his eyes sometimes going to Eve, who is standing by the weapons rack watching us intently. You'd think a mind controller would have to stare at his victims directly, maybe woo them with words to put them at ease, but Grayson doesn't do any of this.
Instead his presence in my head is like a finger softly stroking up the center of my spine, from the middle of my back to the base of my skull. He's a spider slipping into a crack, flattening itself into a pancake and getting where it doesn't belong.
It's subtle. I feel watched, or lightly touched, more than anything. The only way I know it's him inside my mind is the little flicker of important memories that try to rise to the surface. One moment I'm thinking about what it'll be like to pummel him with my powers, and the next the image of my dead mother flashes before my eyes for half a second.