“I guess this is our chance,” he said, gesturing toward me. “Exhibit A, no known spell has been able to remove the cuffs. Exhibit B,” his dark eyes, so much like Rowan’s, bore into mine, “do you happen to feel mighty and capable of everything, by chance?”
Four additional pairs of eyes angled in my direction. I blushed and stared at my shoes.
“Um, not particularly,” I lied.
I didn’t want them to decide I was dangerous and murder was the only option to get the cuffs off me before I went on a world-domination campaign.
“She’s lying,” Underwood said.
“I’m not,” I protested, but I sounded as convincing as a defendant on Judge Judy.
“Who put you up to this?” he asked as if I were really on trial.
I finally met his gaze. “Who put me up to what? What are you trying to say?”
“If we search her room, I wonder what we’ll find. Our missing staff, perhaps?”
Missing staff?
Was he talking about the item that was taken during the Rumble in the Jungle?
“You’re crazy,” I spat. “I don’t know anything about a staff. Search my room if you want!”
Everyone stared at me with raised eyebrows. I squirmed in my chair. I’d yelled at a faculty member, but what the hell? He’d just accused me of stealing.
So much had changed, yet so little.
“Macgregor,” Dean McIntosh said, “we don’t accuse anyone of theft without proof.”
Damn right! I sat straighter.
“Ms. Rivera,” she turned to me, “students don’t raise their voices to teachers, nor any faculty members for that matter.”
Shit. I deflated again.
Silence hung over the room. I armed myself with courage despite the scolding from the dean herself.
“You are all asking the wrong questions,” I mumbled.
The sneer I sent in Answorth’s direction must’ve been pretty good because even Underwood shifted his gaze toward the mentalist. Though, too late, I remembered I didn’t have any proof to accuse him, which would probably only get me another reprimand.
“Um, like I told you before…” I said, backpedaling a bit, “I went after Georgia because she left the test and was acting weird. I’m pretty sure she was being controlled by... someone.”
There. If I kept things vague and let everyone draw their own conclusions, they might just start looking at Answorth more carefully. To my satisfaction, Underwood did exactly that.
“Wasn’t Georgia Copeland one of your most improved students, Julian?” Underwood asked the blond professor.
Instead of going on the defense as I expected him, Answorth’s face fell with sadness.
“She was,” he said. “She really cared about her studies. This is bloody awful.”
All the others nodded, and, at last, I found my heart growing heavy with sorrow and guilt. Answorth’s words were like a slap in the face. The girl had died because of some bastard who was using her for an evil purpose, and it had taken me this long to stop thinking about myself and the damn cuffs.
What was wrong with me?!
Answorth focused his full attention my way, then knelt, placing a hand on the arm of my chair, and peering up with clear blue eyes.
“What makes you think someone was controlling Georgia?” he asked.
I blinked at his spellbinding gaze and shook my head.
“Um… well, she was moving like a robot and her eyes were glazed over. Also, when I talked to her, she didn’t seem to hear me.”
Answorth nodded sagely. “Yes, very common characteristics of someone under a controlling spell.” He stood, pulling on his cufflinks. “Not an easy spell to cast, especially on a strong mind like Georgia’s, but not impossible for a powerful witch or warlock. Any of us could have done it.” He cast a dark glance in Henderson’s direction, which was not wasted on anyone.
With a sharp exhale, Dean McIntosh took a seat behind her desk. “This conversation is hardly productive. We need to decide what to do about the rest of the semester. A student is dead, and there will be hell to pay for our failure to protect her.”
“There is no question about what should be done,” Underwood added. “The semester should be canceled and the Academy closed.”
What?! They couldn’t do that, could they? Where would I go? Homelessness was simply not an option. Not again. Not without Trey.
“There will be an uproar amongst the students,” Henderson said. “They won’t want to repeat their subjects.”
Damn right.
“The academic impact is hardly an issue when lives are at stake, Thadeus,” Underwood said, walking back to the window. “But they shouldn’t have to repeat their subjects. Those who have already passed will keep their grades. Those who were hoping their final exams would help them achieve a passing grade can use the holidays to study further. Then they can do their examination when the school reopens next semester. Meanwhile, we will use the time to reinforce security, do damage control, and, of course, investigate Ms. Copeland’s death as well as the other incidents.”
Dean McIntosh was nodding her head thoughtfully like she believed this was the best plan ever, but it wasn’t. It didn’t take me into account. It left me hanging over the jaws of a canned turkey Christmas dinner at a shelter.
“As far as Ms. Rivera is concerned,” Underwood said, not glancing my way as if I wasn’t in the room, “she cannot be left unattended until we know what effect those cuffs will have on her.”
“Indeed,” Answorth said, his cerulean gaze drifting to my wrists.
Underwood quickly added, “Aware of her situation as I am, I will willingly offer my home to her during this difficult time. My wife, sons, and I can keep an eye on her to make sure she’s safe.”
The what… ?!
My brain did cartwheels. He’d told Rowan to stay away from me, why do this now? Did he want the cuffs back on that pedestal? I bet that was it. He didn’t want a lowly witch like me—someone with blood from an unknown family—to possess one of the Academy’s precious relics. He would prefer to put them back in that museum to gather dust.
I shook my head. “I… I don’t think that will be necessary. I don’t want to impose.”
“You have no choice in the matter,” Underwood said. “Not while you are wearing school property.”
My jaw dropped. I peered toward Dean McIntosh for some sympathy. The guy was saying I was worth less than the stupid cuffs. Excuse me? We were talking about a human life over two circles of metal.
But all of this seemed to go over the dean’s head because she looked relieved. “What an excellent idea, Macgregor. Will Bonnie mind?”
Underwood waved his hand. “Of course not. You know her. She’ll be glad to have another female in the house. She always complains about all that testosterone, what with three sons.” He said this as if he thought his wife was stupid for feeling that way. Typical male.
Three sons? I had no idea Rowan had brothers. Why didn’t anyone tell me anything?
“It’s decided,” Dean McIntosh said. “Nurse Taishi, could you make sure Ms. Rivera is in good health? Well… besides the… you know...” She gestured toward the cuffs.
“Of course,” he said, inclining his head respectfully. He was dressed in blue scrubs, his black hair slicked back to perfection, looking out of place among all the suits.
“And please, can you stay with her until we figure out the best way to keep an eye on her while we establish if Aradia’s cuffs will have a negative effect on her?”
“Certainly,” Nurse Taishi added.
No no no.
This plan sucked. I didn’t need a babysitter.
“Dean McIntosh,” I said. “I don’t think that will be necessary. I feel fine, and I—”
“Ms. Rivera,” the dean interrupted, “I know how you must feel, but please understand we only have your wellbeing in mind. As you’ve heard, those artifacts are kept in a restricted area for a reason. Many deaths can be attribute
d to them, including your poor classmate’s, Ms. Copeland’s. We don’t want yours to be added to that unfortunate list.”
I swallowed the knot that formed in my throat as I remembered Georgia’s expression of terror as she fell dead. That could have been me. It could still be me if the cuffs suddenly decided I was chopped liver.
I nodded. I could take this. Besides, going to the Underwood’s lair might yield important information toward Trey’s killers. They’d been the ones there to save me when it all happened, after all. I had a sneaking suspicion all of this was connected somehow.
Nurse Taishi and I exited the dean’s office, leaving the rest behind to discuss the gory details of what to do next.
Outside, we found a large group of waiting students, Disha and Rowan among them. Everyone straightened to attention, their curious eyes examining every inch of me. I wished for a sweater to pull over the cuffs, but everyone could see them. Some regarded me with fear, but most just wore hard expressions of distrust.
Disha pulled away from the bunch, Rowan trailing behind her. “Are you okay, Charlie?”
“She’s fine,” Nurse Taishi answered before I could, then guided me toward the infirmary. “Dean McIntosh will soon have news for everyone, so stay calm.”
“Can we come with her?” Disha asked, walking behind us.
“It would be better if—”
“Please,” I begged. “She’s my best friend.”
Nurse Taishi sighed and reluctantly agreed.
I threw a narrowed glance in Rowan’s direction. What would he think when he heard the news?
Chapter Nineteen
WINTER BREAK
LATE DECEMBER
Never in my life had I witnessed a more silent car ride.
Macgregor Underwood sat up front, navigating his Mercedes down the highway, while Rowan and I rode side by side in the backseat. It was more awkward than that time I shot myself into the ceiling in Dr. Henderson’s class. And that event was in the history books of most awkward moments ever.
Rowan cleared his throat and shifted, making the hand-stitched leather seat creak underneath him. It had been a while since we’d been in close proximity to each other. Sure, the backseat was roomy, but, like any sedan, we only had about a foot of tense air between us. I could smell his cologne, hear the scratch of his jeans as he leaned back.
Jesus, would someone please turn on the radio?
But, then we turned onto a driveway blocked by a wrought iron gate. Dean Underwood rolled down his window and punched a code into a keypad, causing the gates to swing wide.
This was all too much. I was on an episode of Cribs, only I was the observer. These two were the rich snobs who lived it.
Or maybe, I was Little Orphan Annie and he was my Daddy Warbucks.
The thought made my breakfast threaten to lurch back up. Macgregor was the least fatherly figure I’d ever seen and that was saying something, considering my own alcoholic father.
The house came into view, confirming my suspicions. To call it stately would have been an understatement. The mansion that spread out across the manicured lawn was as perfect as a dream. A fountain bubbled on the brick paver driveway, ringed by square hedges and rounded shrubs. I counted twelve windows out front before Dean Underwood pulled us into a giant garage.
I guess knowing magic really paid.
The car turned off. Rowan and Macgregor got out, but I sat there, clutching my bag. How had I gotten myself into this?
Macgregor rapped his knuckles on the window, causing me to jump. The expression on his face was anything but welcoming. “Are you going to sit inside the car the whole time?”
Then he and Rowan strode away, leaving me in the car. I contemplated staying there for the entire two-week holiday. The stink I’d leave in the Mercedes would serve him right.
But then my cuffs throbbed as if telling me more awaited inside that mansion. Maybe answers. Maybe more than long, tortuous days and nights. The cuffs had started doing that shortly after we left the Academy, and it was interesting, to say the least.
I sighed, exited the car, and followed the path to the garage door which had been left open for me. Through it, a hallway led to a giant entryway complete with marble floors, soaring ceilings and a grand staircase that blew my mind. Hallways led in all directions and I had no idea where I was supposed to go.
“Oh, there you are, darlin’!” a chipper female voice called from down the hall.
A petite blond woman came toward me, her high heels clacking on the polished marble. Her hair was perfect, her dress expensive, but her smile was warm and genuine. She pressed me into a hug, flowery perfume invading my senses before she pulled back and gave me a once-over.
“Charlie, I’m so happy you’re here! When Mac told me we were having a girl as a guest, I about jumped for joy. You have no idea what it’s like to share a holiday with mostly men.” She winked at me as if she and I were in on some secret joke. Then she pulled me through a gilded archway into the massive kitchen.
Mrs. Underwood, or Bonnie as she asked me to call her, set me down at a bar stool behind a massive granite counter before plying me with a spread of food that could choke a horse.
“If you don’t see something you like, you just holler for Mariana. She’ll get you set up. You have a room upstairs, third door on the left and I put some toiletries in your bathroom for you. I have got to go. Running a Christmas charity auction, but I’ll be back at nine, okay, darlin’?”
Her lilting southern accent swirled around me like her perfume had. In a flash, she had kissed my cheek, hugged me again and disappeared.
Alone in the echoey kitchen, I stared around, wondering if I should retreat to my room or eat. The smell of smoked meats and buttery pastries won me over. If I wasn’t going to enjoy myself, I could at least get some good grub out of the deal.
After I’d eaten, I wandered toward the staircase, intent on heading up, but the pull of seeing the rest of the house was gnawing at me. Each room was more glorious than the last, and, with no one around to stop me, I couldn’t help myself from exploring. Plus, there was the constant pulse of the cuffs and that feeling at the back of my skull that there was something here I was supposed to see.
I stepped cautiously into a library lined with more books than Dean McIntosh’s office. The polished wood and furniture large enough to sail out to sea on reminded me of the staff offices in the Academy. The desk at the far end of the room had to be Dean Underwood’s. If he found me in here, snooping, he’d likely do more than glower.
And yet, a book laid open on his desk and, more importantly, a computer awaited, its screen on.
Glancing behind me, I tiptoed over.
But, the book was titled Ancient Breads of Eastern Europe, and worse, the computer screen held an unfinished game of solitaire on it. Useless.
What I did find were several family photos in cherry wood frames. I picked one up, staring at the Underwood family. There was Macgregor looking like the rich villain in a movie, his wife, who seemed blissfully unaware of what a bastard her husband could be sometimes. Beside them stood their three boys. The older two were golden-haired and beaming like their mother—the type of boys who would row crew and wear sweaters around their necks as they cavorted on ivy league campuses. Had they attended the Academy?
Then there was Rowan. Dark, brooding, and off to the side as if he didn’t quite belong. Even in this 2D image, one could tell he was the black sheep of the family.
More evidence supported this analysis when I scanned the rest of the contents of Macgregor’s desk. Pictures of both older boys abounded. They held up awards, or smiled at ceremonies honoring them in each of the photos.
There were no other pictures of Rowan.
I thought about how his father had spoken to him that day in his office like he was an employee he was close to firing. What must it have been like growing up under his brothers’ shadows, feeling like he was never good enough, but intent on trying to prove himself nonetheless.
<
br /> I had lots of daddy issues, myself, but this took the cake.
Feeling a strange pang of sympathy for Rowan, I turned and strode out of the office. I should find him and mend fences. If we were going to spend two weeks together, we should at least be civil about it.
But first, I needed to use the little girl’s room.
I went up the hall and headed to the bathroom Mrs. Underwood had mentioned before she left.
I opened the door and stopped short as my jaw nearly hit the floor. Rowan stood by the shower, soaking wet and bare-chested with a towel covering his lower half. Beads of water dampened his hair and slid down his sculpted body.
Sucking in a breath, a surge of heat pulsed through my body as my heartbeat sped up.
He stared at me, clutching his towel, a shocked expression on his face.
“Oh! I’m sorry,” I muttered.
But as I turned to go, my gaze locked on the dark blue veins spider-webbing his torso and arms. I’d seen a few of these before when his shirt had shifted, but this… This was nothing like I’d ever seen. It appeared as if his whole body were infected with some sort of disease that was eating its way out. Forget gangrene. He had gangblue.
“Oh, Rowan,” I said, realizing, somehow, that this was what the cuffs had wanted me to see.
Before I could think about what I was doing, I reached out and touched his chest.
My cuffs glowed, shooting pain down my arms as visions swirled in my brain—Rowan lurking around a dark forest, a flash of light, a figure wreathed in blue flame with blinding red eyes, that figure blasting him in the chest. Pain. Constant, agonizing pain.
He stepped back, breaking our connection. His eyes were hooded, and I couldn’t read his expression.
“Wh… what happened to you?” I asked, unable to draw my eyes away from the roadmap of pain on his chest.
He reached to the floor, grabbed his shirt and tugged it on. It was as if he felt, even now, that he should hide from me.
His answer came out slowly as his eyes sought the floor. “I was cursed. I went on a mission to help my family last year, one that proved... more difficult than I’d planned.”
Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch Page 15