Museum of Masks (Paranormal Public Series)

by Maddy Edwards

  “But Ms. Rollins, you should know, we are fast running out of time. Dove was only on his feet through sheer force of will. He is stronger than granite, but anything can break with enough pressure. This has to be fixed, now. Or we will start to lose the vampires.”

  When I didn’t reply he said, “Rest. When you have your strength back, go to Lough. Lealand is keeping vigil.” With one curt nod he was gone.

  I tried to stay awake, because I wanted to go to Lough immediately. But I knew I didn’t have the energy, so I let myself sink into a dreamless sleep.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  When I woke up again, daylight was pouring in. My mouth felt cakey and dry and my body acted like it wasn’t used to movement. I checked my magic and found a deep pool of bluish white light inside me. My stores were filling again. I would be able to fight.

  Throwing off the covers, I hurried to dress. What that really meant, under the circumstances, was that I hobbled around like an old woman who needed a hip replacement. I was that tired.

  Once I’d thrown on jeans and a black fleece I went in search of food. It wouldn’t do for me to have magic, but to be so hungry I couldn’t concentrate. As I was leaving my room I found a note on the door. It read:

  Ms. Rollins,

  The school has been on lockdown since you, Ms. Quest, and Ms. Verlans went into the Museum of Masks three days ago. You will be happy to know that although the Tower has collapsed, the section that held the Museum was lowered to the ground. Crews have worked around the clock and the Museum is almost entirely intact. There is smoke damage, but even that seems - somehow - to have been kept to a minimum. The vampires are worsening. We had our first death last night. It is a terrible way to die, and others are soon to follow. Lough is still in the infirmary and Lealand visits him daily.

  Risper

  I frowned at the note. How could the Museum be intact? How could it not have plummeted to the ground, even if it hadn’t burned? After a moment’s though I decided that the answer to that question wasn’t as mysterious as it seemed, because there was surely enough raw magic on campus to have saved the Museum.

  But that line of thinking only revealed another mystery, which was why the Museum hadn’t been destroyed in the first place. If the whole point of the fire had been to destroy any evidence the masks might provide, or to destroy that note that had been dropped on the floor, the Museum should have been the first thing to burn. Instead it was the only thing that hadn’t.

  I shook my head, grabbing a bagel on my way out the door. I was now more confused than ever as I headed toward my confrontation with Lealand. I hoped Lough wouldn’t mind what I was about to do in his hospital room.

  I didn’t have any trouble finding Lough.

  “Hey,” I said, grinning at my friend. He had a room to himself, just like I always did, and he was sitting up in bed, happily eating a muffin. My initial assessment that he looked unharmed was not entirely accurate. His hand was bandaged halfway up his arm, and he explained that he had been severely burned. His bright smile made it all sound not so bad.

  “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asked. “Everyone is confined to the dorms.”

  “I have special permission from Risper,” I explained.

  “That’s what Lealand said, too,” said Lough. He must have seen my reaction to his mention of Lealand, because he asked, “You looking for Lealand?”

  “I’d like to talk to him about a thing or two,” I said off-handedly.

  “He usually spends a few hours over in the Museum, which is sitting on top of the basement of the former Tower. He is helping clean everything up and trying to preserve the masks. Even though they didn’t burn or plummet, they’re now exposed to the elements and smoke damage. Some will be ruined. When he’s done for the day over there, he usually heads back here.”

  Lough glanced at the clock, and we both saw that it was only a couple of hours until dinner. “He should be here soon.”

  “I can wait,” I drawled. “How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, excellent,” said Lough. His hair was a total mess, but his eyes blazing happily. “I feel great.” He took another big bite of muffin.

  “Thanks for saving us,” I said, smiling and taking his hand. There were no words for how devastated I would have been without Lough.

  His face darkened. “Lisabelle should be able to see now that dream givers aren’t useless.”

  “Oh, I think she knows,” I said quietly. “I don’t think she really meant it in the first place, and she was really upset when she thought that something had happened to you. She helped me save you.”

  “I know, but only because you made her,” said Lough bitterly.

  “No,” I corrected quickly. “It was her idea.”

  Lough’s face showed real surprise. He had apparently been laboring under the delusion that Lisabelle would have left him at the top of the Tower to die.

  “Really?” he asked, leaning forward excitedly. “She didn’t want me to die?”

  “Of course not,” I scoffed. “How could you think that?”

  Lough fell back against his pillows, grinning from ear to ear. “She didn’t want me to die? It’s all about little steps. That’s progress.”

  I laughed and laughed.

  We were interrupted by Lealand’s entrance. He was closely followed by Trafton, and they made quite the contrast: the young, strong, greenish pixie and the surfer boy from Airlee. Both were dressed casually in winter jackets and jeans. Though some of the pixies were flamboyant and colorful, Lealand was not. He always seemed conscious that he was a leader and therefore had to set an example for everyone.

  “Well, if it isn’t the hero of Public,” was Trafton’s greeting.

  “How are you feeling?” Lealand asked, concern plain on his face.

  “I would feel better if the vampires weren’t sick,” I said icily. I had decided the best approach with Lealand was direct.

  I saw Lough’s face flash with surprise at my tone.

  “So would we all,” said Trafton, sitting down in one of the chairs next to Lough’s bed.

  I folded my arms across my chest and glared at Lealand. “Look,” I said. “I’ve seen you go into the Museum when no one else was there. I even saw you there with Trafton. Care to explain that?”

  Lealand raised his eyebrows and glanced at Lough, whose mouth was hanging open in shock.

  “What exactly are you accusing me of?” he asked quietly. I had to remind myself to rein in my hostility. I knew that Lealand was dangerous; he had proven himself to be a very strong pixie. But I was prepared. He would tell me what, if anything, he knew, even if it meant giving up Trafton.

  “Of using the Cruor masks against the vampires,” I said flatly. “Or knowing who is.”

  The reaction I got was not the one I was expecting. Trafton basically keeled over with laughter. Lough guffawed, and Lealand, who was doing his best to keep a straight face, had to sit down. His breath came in fast and hard, like he was trying not to laugh. I stared from one to the other of them in bewilderment. Lealand had been my first suspect and Trafton my second, and they were both laughing at me as if I had just made the best joke in the world. I would have thought they were trying to throw me off, except that Lough was also laughing, and I trusted Lough as much as I trusted Lisabelle and Sip.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded. I had seen him sneaking around numerous times, and Risper had told me to talk to him. What else could it be?

  “You haven’t figured it out?” Lough scoffed. “I thought for sure you or Lisabelle or Sip would figure it out. Amateurs.”

  “Figure WHAT out?” I cried. “What is going ON?”

  “Who Lealand really is . . .” said Trafton. He was laughing so hard he was crying. “Now I know why elementals were always known as so formidable. Lealand, she almost took your head off!”

  Lealand was grinning. Somehow, with that smile on his face, he looked different, a bit older.

  “I mean, you have it right, th
ere’s something suspicious about Lealand. He is keeping a big secret, but it definitely isn’t that he is the Mask Thief. I figured it out weeks ago and didn’t like that they weren’t telling anyone else.”

  “Who are you and what are you talking about?” I demanded, folding my arms over my chest and doing my best Lisabelle glare.

  “My name is not really Lealand,” said the pixie formerly known as Lealand. “It’s Oliva.”

  I felt like someone had picked up one of the books from the library and clobbered me over the head with it. Oliva, why was that name familiar? Where. . . .

  Oh.

  “He’s the other Committee member,” said Lough gleefully. “I cannot wait to tell Sip I figured it out and she didn’t. I would gloat to Lisabelle, but she would probably hit me.”

  “She would definitely hit you,” said Trafton with appreciation. Lough glared at him. Apparently he wasn’t entirely over Trafton flirting with Lisabelle.

  “I don’t understand,” I said with despair. Lealand/Oliva. Why was a Committee member masquerading as a student? “Is this some kind of joke?”

  “No. We wanted to have someone on the inside, so to speak,” said Oliva. “I was the best choice, because no one knew me. I had grown up abroad and I was the youngest. Once the vampires became sick I started trying to discover what was happening, which was why you saw me ‘sneaking around,’ as you so flatteringly put it.”

  “And you and Lanca?” I asked. I remembered the two of them always together. I had thought that he liked her, but now I knew that was probably unlikely. A committee member would never be so careless as to fall for a student, even one as beautiful as Lanca.

  “Lanca figured out who I was early,” said Oliva. “She paid attention and saw that the other committee members, Risper especially, treated me differently. She confronted me, I think partly because she might have sensed that something was wrong with her. She wanted my help and I liked her. Besides, she is well respected on campus. Once I had her approval I didn’t really have to worry about anyone else. Well, Camilla didn’t like it, but she doesn’t like anything that she didn’t think of all by herself.”

  I stared at the pixie, who I now knew had already graduated from college. He had obviously befriended me and my friends in an effort to better understand the climate on campus, but that had gotten sidetracked when the vampires were attacked by a faceless foe. Now he was here, explaining everything, and to my deep relief it all made sense.

  “So, you do believe me when I say there’s something with the masks?”

  “Absolutely. At this point there’s no reason not to. Look what happened to the Tower,” said Oliva.

  “And how does Trafton fit into this?” I asked, my irritation returning so insistently that I glared at the surfer boy dream giver. I wasn’t even upset that I hadn’t figured out Lealand was not who he said he was. At the moment, in fact, I barely cared at all. What frustrated me was that all my assumptions had been wrong and I was back at square one. What’s more, I had been hanging out with a Committee member all semester!!

  “I’m here too,” said Trafton. “I exist as a person. A very good-looking person at that, if I do say so myself. You can speak directly to me.”

  “He’s just a goof,” I continued, still not talking to Trafton. I was annoyed and I wasn’t going to be annoyed alone.

  “He already knew me,” Oliva explained, “so he had to be in on it. Otherwise he would have caused all manner of trouble.”

  “Geeze, that’s so hard to picture,” I drawled.

  “I am so stealthy,” said Trafton, lounging back in the chair and grinning like he owned it. “I played like I was a goof and everyone believed me.”

  “Best acting job I’ve ever seen,” I muttered.

  “I second that,” added Lough, polishing off his muffin and grabbing another.

  “So, if you aren’t the Mask Thief, who is?” I asked.

  Oliva shook his head. I was still thinking of him as Lealand, but it would be disrespectful for me to call a Committee member by anything other than his name.

  “I have no idea. I’ve ruled out students and I’ve ruled out professors, which leads me to believe it’s staff. Possibly one of the guards, maybe someone who has it out for the vampires because of stories from the old histories.”

  “Wouldn’t the screening process have dealt with that?” I asked. “I thought it might be an undead, but how could one get onto campus?” The people who worked at Public were totally checked out before they were hired. Mrs. Swan had told me about the rigorous screening process she had been through.

  Oliva shrugged. “Obviously, whatever we think is going on isn’t really what’s going on, because the vampires are dying.”

  He had a point.

  “Besides, it’s entirely possible the President helped an undead onto campus ages ago and he’s just been biding his time. There are endless possibilities, but it’s obviously someone with a grudge against the vampires.”

  “That makes sense,” said Lough, “but there’s no way to tell the undead from normal-looking paranormals or humans, is there?”

  “Undead are difficult, because they’re just super strong, and if they want to let you see them in their true form, and how gross it really looks, then they can, but if they want to hide it, that’s easy for them too. Other than that there isn’t much that’s special about them.”

  “Which makes it easier to hide in plain sight,” Lough mused.

  “Exactly,” said Trafton. The two smiled at each other, then remembered they were fighting over the same girl. Lough chomped on his muffin angrily.

  “Can I go to the Museum?” I asked thoughtfully. Something was nagging at me about the fact that it was still intact. I was sure there must be some clue there.

  Oliva hesitated for a second, but Lough said, “Oh, let her go. She has as good a chance of figuring this out as anyone. Other than Dacer, she knows the Museum better than anyone.”

  Oliva nodded. “Alright, go. I need to report to Risper and Professor Erikson, then I’ll join you there.”

  We agreed to meet at the Museum in an hour, and after Oliva made me swear to be careful I headed off toward the Museum of Masks.

  It had been a long time since it snowed at Public, and at this point the ground was just bare and frozen. The grass was dead, showing off a dull brown. Since the infirmary wasn’t far from the crumpled Tower, my mind did not have long to wander and invent what the Museum now looked like. The glass windows were all shattered and gone, and the walls of the Museum itself sat amidst large heaps of rubble. It must have been powerful magic indeed that had lowered that Museum from the top of the Tower, but why hadn’t the fire destroyed it in the first place? I kept returning to that question and to a desperate hope that finding out the answer would point me to the Mask Thief.

  I stepped carefully around burned and charred furniture and boards, some still smoking, towards the Museum’s rooms. They were covered in ash but appeared to be intact. I was sure that if anyone had described all this for Dacer, he must be having fits. His beloved Museum was in ruins.

  I picked my way through the rooms. The masks were still hanging on the walls, though some looked the worse for wear. My guess was that several had fallen from their pegs and been replaced in the aftermath of the fire, as people explored the rubble. Each room had a second, makeshift room above it, created hastily, with the help of a lot of magic, in an effort to keep out any rain or even snow that might fall before the Museum could be fixed. Everywhere I smelled burning.

  Other than dirt and superficial damage, the Museum had held up perfectly.

  I didn’t understand it.

  In the midst of all that fire it shouldn’t have survived.

  I stared around, from one room to another. It even looked like someone, probably Mark, had started to clean again. Well, he had done it every day for years, keeping the Museum perfectly preserved, why not now?

  I continued to pick my way towards the Cruor section, determined to ex
amine the masks that hung there, but to my surprise there was a magical protection across the doorway. That made some sense, since no one wanted anything else to go wrong before we found the Mask Thief.

  Then it struck me, as if Lisabelle had just slapped me in the face and yelled at me to wake up. No one had tried to destroy the Museum of Masks. All the damage was superficial, nothing of importance had been harmed. The Museum hadn’t been attacked by someone who wanted to ruin its contents, it had been attacked by someone who loved it. And who loved the Museum too well?

  There was only one someone left.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  I didn’t stand amidst the rubble much longer. There was no use staring at the devastation. It was what it was. Maybe if I hadn’t been so stupid I would have been able to stop this, but between suspecting Lealand and the demon threat I just hadn’t thought about the thief in the right way.

  It’s always almost physically painful when you go along thinking about something so carefully and you’re sure you’re doing the right thing, only to realize later, after there are no more opportunities to change the outcome, that you were totally wrong.

  That’s how I felt, standing in the rubble.

  If I had seen more clearly I might have stopped him sooner.

  Because I hadn’t, there was a dead vampire and probably more to follow.

  I thought about waiting for Lealand to get there, so he could go with me, but I had already wasted enough time. I didn’t want to waste another second.

  I turned on my heel and headed away from the Museum and towards my confrontation with the Mask Thief.

  Slowly I made my way down to the polishing shed, Mark’s territory and the place where he had tried to wipe the vampires out of existence. It had come to me all in a rush: Mark must be one of the undead, and he was seeking revenge for the death of his family ages ago. He had access to the Museum. It was the best taken care of place on campus, because he had been there for years and he loved it. The only reason that note had been lying on the floor was because he had dropped it there while he was cleaning. If it hadn’t been his and he had found it, he would have turned it over to someone in authority. Since he himself was the undead who had written it, that would never have happened in any case, and it was only good luck, if you can call it that, that had brought the scrap of paper to anyone’s notice.