First Kill (Cain University Book 1)

by Lucy Auburn

  I shake my head, trying to get him out, and his mouth curves up at the corner just a little.

  "What's the matter, Killer Ellen? Don't want me to see more of that particular memory?" He's looking at me now, eyes narrowed in focus. The image of my mother's face rises up again, accompanied by my hands pressing down in the blood on her neck. "Oh dear. You didn't do that to her, did you? Because it would be a shame to discover that all this time, you were lying to us."

  Hot anger makes me flip my hands up and force my power at him like a physical wall. It pushes out—and veers to the left as he flips his fingers dismissively, hand still on his cane.

  I stare, open-mouthed, as the force field topples half the weapons Headmaster Shu is standing next to. I aimed my powers at him—I know that I did. Eve drilled me in my aim and control for hours yesterday, and refreshed me this morning. Besides, I didn't miss when I faced Mason or Levi.

  He's in my head.

  He made me do that.

  I didn't even feel his influence until he changed the direction of my power with a thought. Now that I'm aware of it, though, he's like a rider on my back, grasping reins that control which way I look, how fast I go, even whether or not I can raise my head. I thought it would take him ages to completely subsume my free will and subvert it with his own influence, but the battle has barely begun, and already I've lost.

  No. I have to resist him. Just like I resisted Jack's manipulation and lies. This smirking, red-haired asshole won't be the reason why I die without even getting to clear my name and do something with my life.

  There has to be a crack in his control, a subtle weakness that I can use to pry him out of my head.

  "Now that I've got you where I want you," Grayson says, "let's walk through the day that your mother died. I want to see all of it, every bit—including the part where you stabbed her just like you stabbed Jack."

  Gritting my teeth, I shake my head, fingernails digging into my palms. Maybe the pain will center and refocus me, just like it did the night Mom was killed, when I managed to fight through the drowsiness and force myself to get up and interrupt her murder—too late.

  It takes every ounce of will inside me, but I manage to tell Grayson, "Get. Out. Of. My Head."

  "Oh my." Chuckling, he raises his hand and lazily twirls it in front of my face. I find my eyes following the motion, even though I don't want to. "You're a real spitfire. But there's no point in resisting now. Once I can control you, I can see inside your mind—completely."

  He sounds so confident, but I'm not sure he's telling the truth. I have the feeling that if he could call up all my memories, he would do so right now, without all these theatrics. It must be easier for him to exert small amounts of effort over people's will than it is for him to access the insides of their minds and see what they see.

  My mother's face flashes before me again, her voice cracking open my heart. "You're a killer, Ellen." These weren't her words when she died, but it was part of what she said to me. I'm just like my father. He was a killer too. "Oh, Ellen."

  A tear slides down her cheek. I reach out to brush it away. The memory shifts, pulling backward as I resist letting Grayson see it fully and truthfully. Whoever killed my mom, hunting them down is my task—and the secret that they had powers, like I have now, like everyone at the university has, is for me to know and me alone. I don’t trust anyone here with that knowledge, especially because there’s a good chance they know who the killer is and are protecting him.

  I've already decided that if I make it to the end of the graduate studies program at this godforsaken place, my chosen Mark will be my mother's murderer. I'll kill him, even if he's one of Eve's beloved Shadow Fold, or a teacher here, or even another student. His death will be my crowning accomplishment. Bathing in his blood will be the sweetest reward.

  Narrowing my eyes at Grayson, I study him as he stands nonchalantly before me. There's a subtle twitch in his jaw, as if he's clenching his teeth—he's clearly frustrated. No doubt he wants to see more of my memories, but he's struggling inside my head. Each time he calls forth an image or a sound, I bat his invisible fingers away, forcing him out just like I forced Jack to stop touching me.

  For several moments we're just standing in the arena, staring each other down, the air around us crackling with tension. It must be the most boring battle the university has ever seen, but no one breathes or makes a sound. Every person in those stands knows what Grayson Hughes can do, and they're waiting to see if he can make me get down on my knees and beg him for mercy.

  With a lazy twirl of his fingers, he makes his mental touch rake down my spine like claws digging into flesh. I shudder and fight the urge to make a sound. I refuse to let him see how much he scares me, how thorough his control over me is.

  Memories flash in front of me, ones I let him see because I can't resist him completely: Eve with her short hair and nose rings, practicing Hamlet in the theater when I was nineteen, the feeling of Jack's fingers gently pushing my hair back on our second date, my mother's voice on the phone while I was in prison, even the doors from the other day, when I woke up to discover a new world had been laid out before me by the insistent hand of fate.

  I don't let him see the night my mother died. Throwing every memory I can at him, I purposely evade him as he digs deep for the one he wants, eyes narrowed in frustration.

  "I'm going to win, Ellen," he says to me. "You can't resist forever. Give in, and it'll be easier for you."

  Never.

  The more he tries to pry into my mind, the more I feel my will shift and stretch. He can only concentrate on one part of his powers at a time: mind reading or mind control. As he tries to dig into my memories against my will, I wiggle my fingers and toes, feeling the loosening of his grip. He's a singularly focused man, and he doesn't even notice how thoroughly I've freed myself.

  I can attack him right now, and he won't be able to move away in time.

  He wants a killer, so I'll give him one. Just not in the way he expects. Palms aimed at the sand beneath me, I tense my muscles, prepared to lunge for him, and gather as much power in my hands as possible.

  His skittering fingers find their way to the part of my mind where the night of mom's death is, and he opens a door I thought was locked, waltzing through like my very thoughts belong to him. At the same time, his control over my body and my powers dissipates completely, and he's smirking in so much triumph that I'm sure he didn't notice I’m getting free.

  It's now or never. Leaping forward, I bring my palms up and aim them at his chest, power surging out of me. Grayson figures out what I'm doing at the last minute and dodges to his left, the force field clipping his arm and tearing half his shirt sleeve off. He spins on his bad leg, wincing in pain as his weight buckles, and tries to rein me back in.

  But his pain is overwhelming his control. I brush his mental hand out of my head. As I stalk towards him again, he pulls on the head of his cane, drawing a short sword from its recesses, and aims it at me. I stop short, staring at the sharp point, eyes raised.

  "No weapons in the arena."

  "You think cheaters are punished here?" He bares his teeth. "This place is for killers, Ellen, but the sooner you learn that you don't fit in, the better. It takes a cleverer mind than yours to make it to graduation alive."

  Glancing over my shoulder, I meet the headmaster's eyes—and she just shrugs, clearly unbothered by Grayson's cheating. Toppled weapons racks are at her feet, and I have no doubt that if I grabbed a mace or an axe from one of them, she would disqualify me. But I'm not Grayson, and his cane isn't something he can be expected to leave behind.

  He has so many advantages over me, but that’s not enough for him.

  No matter. I won't let him get the best of me. Pushing my force field at him, I lunge around his outstretched arm as he's distracted by dodging my blow, and grab his wrist. He tries to twist out of my grip, but I send a pulse of power through my hand, until I feel his bones creak. The sword topples to the sand, his face
clenched tightly with pain, brows drawn together in agony.

  "Fine," he snarls through gritted teeth, "kill me like you killed your family, you bitch. We both know the truth: you're a wild monster, and the world would be better off if you were put down."

  I draw in a sharp breath at his harsh words. His ice blue eyes are narrowed at me in hatred. I can feel his attempts to use his power inside my mind, but they're weak and futile, the pain of his wrist and leg combined overwhelming his mental acuity. This, then, is the weakness that's key to taking him down and protecting myself from his powers.

  I could knock him out right now. All it would take is raising my hand and sending a blow of my force field right at his head. I'd win the match, and probably my initiation too, without even having to draw blood. He'd be proven completely wrong about my supposed bloodthirstiness, and have to admit defeat even if he never admits to his mistake.

  There's a question I want him to answer first, though, and it's been bugging me ever since last night. "Why are you so sure I killed my family? You act so certain, and so angry, like it's personal or something. There has to be a reason."

  He flinches, an expression of pain rippling across his face before he settles back into that stubborn, hard-eyed stare of his, jaw clenched in anger. "Does it matter? I'm right. I know I am."

  "How?" I clench his wrist tightly, until I can see the pain drain the color from his face. To my surprise, I don't enjoy it; Grayson is an asshole, but he's no Jack, and I can't enjoy his weakness like he enjoyed his control over me. "It didn't happen, and I know that, so you have to be wrong. Or lying."

  Goading his ego worked where simply asking didn't. Snarling at me, he spits out, "I interrogated a witness. Your stepbrother was sure it was you. He had a memory of that night, and it was clear as day."

  Shock ripples through me. "Bernard was away at college the day they died. I haven't even spoken to him since that night."

  "Yeah, well, he must've... come home early or something. He saw it." Doubt flickers across Grayson's face. "The memory was there. It was."

  There's no point in insisting otherwise; clearly he's convinced. He must've seen some sort of nightmare Bernard had, or... something. My stepbrother and I have never been the closest, since we were both teens when our parents married, but he doesn't hate me enough to believe that I killed them. He even visited me in prison a few times, deposited money in my commissary, and sent me an apology for being too busy to make it to my court date.

  Grayson's answer to my question has just left me with more questions, but there's no point in trying to get to the bottom of them. Raising my hand, I prepare to knock him out and declare victory—then pause as I sense a presence behind me. Eyes lifting, Grayson stares slack-jawed in horror at something just behind my head, his hand trembling in my grip.

  "Is that... it can't be." His gaze is transfixed. "Mom?"

  Certain this is a trick, I hold tight to his wrist as I look over my shoulder, wary he'll somehow gain control of my mind again if I'm not vigilant. The instant I do, though, I see her.

  And I know somehow that she's dead.

  It's not just that her form is somewhat translucent and airy, the hem of her white dress turning into wisps of nothing. There's the fact that she has blood running down her forehead from a killing wound, and the melancholy expression on her face as she looks at her son.

  I know she's dead because I know, somehow, her appearance here is connected to me, just like that specter of a man I saw in the bathroom was connected to me. I feel it in the shockwave of cold energy going back and forth between my fingers and Greyson's skin at my wrist, as if I'm a lightning rod and he grounds me, drawing power to me and pulling it towards my feet. I feel it in the way her eyes flick to me, every tense line of her unearthly form leaning forwards with gratitude.

  A moment after she appears, a man appears beside her, and Grayson makes a choked sound as if he's been hollowed out in the middle. The man is followed by a little girl and an older boy, the former cradling an injured arm to her chest, the latter hale and hearty, a smirk on his face as he swings a bat in his hands.

  Grayson's eyes travel to the little boy, and he snarls. "You!"

  His voice is loud enough to echo off the arena walls; when I look into the stadium seats, everyone is staring at the ghosts, murmuring among themselves. Yanking at my grip on his wrist, Grayson stumbles to his feet, visibly limping but seeming not to care, eyes stuck on the young boy. Forced to choose between following in his wake and letting go of his wrist, I step forward with him, trying to make it seem purposeful instead of hapless.

  But the mind reader doesn't seem to care at all about me anymore, even though just moments ago he was swearing up and down that I needed to die. He stalks towards the ghost boy and snarls at him, reaching out as if to swipe at him only to get empty air where the spirit stands.

  "How dare you." His voice is a low growl now, so intimate I'm certain only I can hear his words. "You don't deserve to be with them. You don't deserve to be a spirit at all. After everything you did..."

  The ghost doesn't talk; none of the four of them do. He just swings his bat back and forth, that same smirk twisting up his mouth. The other three spirits have moved away from him somewhat, and are gathered close together, the man holding the woman close and the woman holding onto the injured girl. They're staring at the scene before them, eyes going back and forth between Grayson and the boy.

  "You shouldn't even get to exist at all." Grayson chokes, something in his voice like anger and despair, listing over to one side on his good leg. "Fuck you for having any happiness at all."

  Staring at him, wondering why he's so angry, I give up and let go of his wrist. As his clammy skin falls away from my touch, a ring of bruises around his wrist where I injured him, I feel something in the ground shift. The spirits all look to me, the man's mouth open as if he's saying something I can't hear, the woman shaking her head in despair, the little girl starting to cry. One by one, they start to fade away.

  I look to the little boy, who turns away. As he does, he reveals a knife in his back, the type you get from a kitchen. Grayson stares at him, then clenches his right hand, licking his lips, panic on his face. He looks over at me, eyes wild, and I start to put it together.

  "That was your family." It's why he called her Mom, why he seemed so lost and angry. Slowly, I put it together. “The little boy... he did something, didn't he? He killed them. So you stabbed him to death. That was your first kill."

  Grayson bares his teeth at me. "What, angry because you're not the only family annihilator around? Your type has a name, you know. It's a special kind of serial killer who takes out their own family."

  "I didn't kill my mother and Herb," I tell him, voice soft, trying my best to swallow my anger. "Whatever you saw in Bernard's mind, it was wrong. Some kind of dream or a trick or just... a mistake. Just ask the police."

  He snorts. "You haven't heard? I guess Eve has had you cooped up in her room all this time. The police have a warrant out for your arrest. They've decided you must be connected to your mother's murder. So you better hope you get a place in this program, or you're going back to prison."

  My eyes fly to the people around us, their faces torn between fascination and boredom, and I remember all at once why I'm here. Before Grayson can push past the pain and invade my mind again, I raise my palms and slam a force field into him. He buckles easily, unable to fight as his bad leg twists beneath him and he goes down.

  Stalking towards him, I raise my hand out towards his head. Those heartless, empty blue eyes of his look up to meet mine, and I wonder if he was born looking so angry all the time, or made that terrible day when he lost everything, just like I was made in the pool of Jack's blood on the floor beneath my feet.

  "How old were you when you killed your brother?"

  Instead of answering, he stares up at me. The door inside him has slammed shut, just like the spirits left. He won’t say another word.

  Sighing, I push out my p
ower and hit him on the side of the head with it, knocking him out before he can take control of my mind again.

  Over our heads, the bell chimes. Looking at Eve, I grin, and she gives me a thumbs up, though there's an anxious expression on her face. At first I think that another challenger must have gotten to their feet—maybe Wyatt is mad I knocked his friend out—but no one in the stands has stood up. Levi and Mason are both nursing their wounds on the sideline, and Headmaster Shu is staring at me.

  No, not staring at me. Frowning at me, with her eyes narrowed, an expression on her face that seems troubling. Striding forward, she takes my left hand and holds it up in the air.

  "Ellen Arizona has passed her initiation," she declares, the crowd quieting for her even as the medics grab Grayson's prone form and pull him up onto a stretcher. "She will be enrolled under the Classes that fit the powers she's shown so far, and the others she's sure to have as a descendant of the Brutus line: Physical, Mental, Emotional, and Spiritual. Thus far she has demonstrated the Physical Affinity of telekinesis, the Spiritual Affinity of spirit summoning, an unknown Mental Affinity, and a believed Emotional Affinity for animal taming. Her studies will commence at once."

  The crowd roars, but I just stand there mutely, staring at the headmaster. What she said can't be true—Eve told me people only ever receive one Class and one Affinity—but she seems certain of it.

  She seems even more certain as she leans down towards me, and in a voice pitched low for my ears adds, “As a Brutus, you most certainly have four Conduits, and right now I believe you've met all four of them, and battled three: Mason Kincaide, Levi Ward, Wyatt Brown, and of course, Grayson Hughes. We must pair them with you immediately—time is of the essence if you're going to find four Marks to take out with each of your powers before your graduation deadline."

  Chapter 16