Outwit: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Enforcer of the East Book 1)

by Annabel Chase

  She made a halfhearted gesture inviting us to sit. The sofa was old and stained with faded brown material stretched over lumpy cushions.

  “The police don't seem to know anything,” Jennifer said, clearly distressed. “His parents are a mess. I’m a mess. It was supposed to be a brothers’ camping weekend. It’s like a horror movie. I don't understand how something so awful could’ve happened.”

  “That's what we’re trying to figure out,” Callan said. His voice was calming and Jennifer seemed to respond to it well. Her shoulders visibly relaxed as he continued to speak. “We’re private investigators hired by one of the boy’s parents. They’ve asked to remain anonymous.”

  “I understand.” A single tear escaped and Jennifer wiped it away as though the contact with her skin was painful. “The police seem incompetent. They don't even have evidence from the crime scene. It makes no sense. There were twelve bodies there. How do they have no evidence?”

  I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. The League had a hand in that, no doubt.

  “What did Dan tell you about the weekend trip?” Callan asked. He locked his arms around his knee, a casual gesture probably meant to put Jennifer at ease. Like she was talking to a friend and not a werewolf investigator for the League.

  She grabbed a tissue from the box at the corner of her desk and dabbed at her eyes. “It was a top-secret fraternity field trip,” Jennifer said. “It didn't strike me as odd because a lot of what they do is secret. That's the nature of fraternities. It’s all about bonding.” She wore a vague smile. “And beer.”

  “Are you a member of a sorority?” Callan asked.

  Jennifer shuddered. “No way. I don't have time for mindless socialization. I have a newspaper to run and A’s to achieve. This is my last year and I’m graduating at the top of my class come hell or high water.” She heaved a sigh. “I guess hell is rather apt.”

  I scanned Jennifer's desk. Other than the yogurt carton and the spoon, every item on the desk was neatly organized. Each book and paper was perfectly aligned with the desk and each other. The pencils and pens were clustered in a cup adorned with Superman's logo.

  “Are you a fan of Superman?” I asked, inclining my head toward the container.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. “Not particularly. That was a gift for my birthday last year.”

  “From Dan?” Callan asked. He knew perfectly well the gift hadn’t been from Dan. He was baiting her.

  Jennifer shook her head. “Warren. He was one of the…” She covered her face with her hands and fought back sobs.

  “He was a friend?” I asked gently.

  Jennifer shook her head, unable to speak. “Not really,” she croaked. She wiped away a few more stray tears. “I mean, I guess we were friends, but I didn't really like him that much.” She grimaced. “Oh my God. That sounds so awful to say now that he's dead.”

  “We’re not here to judge you,” I said. “In fact, we’d like you to be as honest as possible because it’ll only help the investigation.”

  Jennifer rolled her chair back from her desk. “They came as a package deal, that group,” Jennifer said. “To be fair, if it weren't for Warren, I never would have met Dan.” At the mention of his name, she swallowed a cry. “I’m just glad that Dan was with friends when… when the horrible thing happened.”

  “Is there a particular reason you didn't care for Warren?” I asked.

  Her body sagged. “I knew he had a crush on me and I guess that made me uncomfortable.”

  It didn’t surprise me that she knew. She seemed sharp and Warren…not so much.

  “Did he do something that made you uncomfortable?” Callan asked.

  Jennifer waved her hands. “No, I think it was just the fact that I knew he liked me and I didn't like him that way. He was nice enough to me, but he could be very bossy and I didn't like the way he spoke to Dan a lot of the time, like Dan was his servant or something.”

  “That seems risky,” Callan said. “Considering that Dan was more than twice his size.”

  A sad smile emerged. “It took a giant heart to run that giant body. Warren’s behavior never bothered Dan. He understood that Warren was just jealous and he tolerated it because he felt sorry for him.”

  “Tell us about Dan,” Callan said. “Did he have any enemies that you know of? Seems a guy like that would be an easy target for jealousy and hatred.”

  Jennifer gripped the edge of her desk as though it gave her strength. “No. Everyone loved Dan. That was part of his charm. Even though he was such a big guy, he was completely unassuming. He never sucked up all the oxygen in a room. He liked to let others shine.” She hugged herself. “That's one of the things I loved about him. He thought everyone deserved to be special.”

  “So no jealous ex-girlfriends or anything like that?” Callan asked.

  Jennifer exhaled. “No, I am…I was his first serious girlfriend.”

  “And you two were exclusive?” Callan asked. “For how long now?”

  Ugh. I knew where he was going with this line of inquiry and I felt a pang of guilt. Jennifer was grieving and we were going to rob her face of Dan’s perfection.

  Jennifer eyed him carefully. “I think I know what you're getting at. Yes, I know about the bartender at that seedy bar they liked to go to.”

  Interesting. She knew about Shayla. “Did Dan tell you?” I asked.

  “He would have, if Warren hadn't beaten him to it,” Jennifer replied. She seemed miffed. “Dan and I were always honest with each other. He said it happened a couple of times, but that it didn't mean anything.” She laughed at herself. “I know how that sounds. They all say that, don’t they? But he explained it in a way that made sense. He said he felt compelled, like she was drawing him in with a tractor beam.” She covered her face again, embarrassed by the admission. “What a Dan thing to say. I forgave him and asked him not to go back to that bar anymore.” She winced. “That was the last conversation we had before he left for Allegheny.”

  “Did Dan ever describe strange visions or weird sightings?” Callan asked.

  Jennifer rubbed her lips together. “No, but I know Warren did. As far as I know, he was the only one in the group.”

  “And what did you think of that?” I asked. “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

  Jennifer shrugged. “I’m a reporter at heart. I like facts. I think Warren wanted to be more special than he was. The other guys ate that stuff up. Dan used to share some of the stories with me and they were odd. I mean, werewolves and vampires? Come on.”

  Callan and I didn't flinch.

  “Why do you think Warren told you about the bartender?” I asked.

  “Because he wanted me to break up with Dan,” she said simply. “I imagine he thought that if I broke up with Dan, I would want to go out with him. That somehow Dan was the obstacle that stood between us. But it wasn't true. I would never have dated Warren.”

  “Was that the only time Warren tried to manipulate you?” Callan asked.

  “No,” Jennifer admitted. “He used the story of his adoption before that. He appealed to my love of reporting. Asked me to write an article on his efforts to find his biological parents. In reality, he just wanted to spend time with me and get me to sympathize.”

  “Did it work?” I asked.

  Jennifer offered a bitter laugh. “Of course not. I saw through it from the very beginning. This was part of the problem with Warren. He set his sights on someone who was smarter than him, but he was too full of himself to realize it.”

  I smiled, despite the heavy discussion. I liked Jennifer. She seemed smart and confident. She knew her worth. The world needed more Jennifers.

  “You knew some of the other fraternity brothers,” Callan said. “Can you think of any reason why anyone would want to hurt them?”

  “Not a single one,” she said. “They were harmless. They didn’t bother anyone.”

  “Are you aware of a particular professor they had a relationship with?” Callan asked. “Did
they seem to hero worship any of the adults on campus?”

  She shook her head. “No, definitely not.”

  “Did Warren manage to find information on his birth parents?” I asked. I’d at least want to let his adoptive parents know the truth. I knew it would mean something to them.

  “I’m not sure,” Jennifer said. “The last time we discussed it, he’d been in touch with someone with information about them and he’d arranged a meeting.”

  “You don’t know if the meeting happened?” I asked.

  Her eyes brightened. “It did.” She pulled open a drawer and rifled through it. “I have a file he gave me.” She laughed bitterly. “For my notes for the article. He wanted to be as helpful as possible.”

  “Sounds like he wanted to control the story,” I said.

  “That was Warren,” Jennifer said. “He was desperate to be viewed in the best possible light at all times. He had such an inferiority complex.”

  “What do the notes say?” Callan asked.

  Jennifer flipped open the file and scanned the contents. “He met with a man called Mr. Hooks who claimed to know about the adoption. Hooks apparently used to work for the agency before it closed and said he could put Warren in touch with his birth parents, but that he might be disappointed.”

  “Disappointed in what way?” I asked.

  Jennifer peered at the notes. “It isn’t clear. Just that they wouldn’t be the solution to his problems.” She glanced up. “It sounds like Mr. Hooks persuaded him to give up the search.”

  “So your article wouldn’t have had much of a happy ending,” Callan said.

  “See, I think Warren saw it differently,” Jennifer said. “I think he saw it as being so sure and confident that he didn’t need to know. At least that’s what he wanted others to believe.”

  “Is there any contact information for Mr. Hooks?” I asked. “Any way of finding him?”

  Jennifer looked closely at the file. “No, just a name. Not even a first name. I can do a little research if you think it might be helpful.”

  “That would be great,” Callan said. “I’ll give you my number and you give me a call if you learn anything.”

  Jennifer handed him a pen and a piece of paper and Callan scribbled down his number. “I hope you catch whoever’s responsible,” she said, her voice low and hoarse. “Will you let me know if you do?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Everyone deserves closure.”

  Jennifer nodded, sniffing. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Chapter Nine

  “This is fascinating,” Callan said. He sat on the edge of the field during weapons training, while Master Horton had us sparring in small groups. “Spellslingers is so different from where I trained.”

  “And where was that?” I asked.

  “School of Hard Knocks, baby.” He stood and brushed the grass from his butt. “Best training there is.”

  “My sister is considering the League,” I said.

  Callan’s brow lifted. “You have a sister?”

  “Three of them,” I said.

  He whistled. “Are they all like you?”

  “You mean awesome and amazing?” Bryn interjected, jogging over with a crossbow in her hand. “Yes, they are. Are you planning to join in the fun or just observe from a safe distance?”

  “I wouldn’t want to show off,” Callan said. “Might make the trainees insecure.”

  “Ha!” I said. “These are Third Years. Insecurity was during our first year.”

  “Are you sure about that, lemon drop?” he asked.

  I pressed my lips together in annoyance.

  Bryn snorted. “Lemon drop? I didn’t realize you guys had exchanged cutesy nicknames. Now I feel left out.”

  “He calls you the red witch,” I said. “Because of the blood.” To be fair, he’d only said it once as an offhand remark, but I decided to run with it.

  “Hey!” Callan objected. “Now you’ve violated the blood buddy code of honor.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If only the punishment was to be separated.”

  “Cool,” Bryn said. “It’s not as sweet as lemon drop, but I’ll take it.”

  Mia took an interest in our conversation. “What are we talking about?”

  “Nicknames,” Bryn said. She looked at Callan. “Does Mia have one?”

  Callan appeared resigned. “Windy City.”

  “Not too imaginative but I guess it works,” Mia said.

  “I feel like nicknames should be short and punchy,” I said.

  Callan grinned. “Like you?”

  I gave him a shot in the arm. “Windy City is a bit long for a nickname. Her name is Mia. That’s shorter.”

  “A nickname isn’t only for brevity,” Callan said. “Cerys only has two syllables.”

  Master Horton blew a whistle. “This isn’t happy hour at the Lucky Cauldron. Let’s get back to work, witches. Cerys, the only thing your sword is good for on the ground is collecting ants. Pick it up and let’s go. Lucy needs a partner.”

  Terrific. Swords and Lucy. Two things I disliked.

  I plucked my sword from the grass. Lucy was already smiling when I joined her at the edge of the field.

  “Ready to eat dirt, Davies?” Lucy asked. “Oh, wait. You like the taste of earth.”

  “Are you going to let her trash talk you?” Callan asked. “Get in there, Cerys. Show her your skills.” He began to pace the border of the field the way I’d seen coaches do during athletic tournaments.

  Lucy threw her head back in a haughty gesture. “Cerys doesn’t have weapons skills. She gets by on magic.”

  I tightened my grip on the hilt. “Maybe if you were better at magic, you could get by on it too.”

  Lucy took a swipe at me, but I managed to dodge the blade with ease.

  “Loosen your grip,” Callan called. “If that sword were alive, you’d be choking it to death.”

  I shot him a menacing look. “I don’t need a backseat driver.”

  “She’s taller than you,” Callan said. “You need to use your height as an advantage.”

  “Since when?” I shot back. Callan seemed to treat my short stature as a deficiency.

  “Cerys, look out!” he called, but it was too late.

  I felt the blunt end of the sword as Lucy whacked me on the side of the head. I crashed to the ground and the last image I saw was of Callan rushing toward me.

  A few minutes later I opened my eyes, but everyone was gone. I jerked to my feet and realized I was no longer in the field. Instead, I was standing in the middle of a forest at nighttime. A canopy of treetops blocked the starlight, leaving me encased in darkness. I felt rocks beneath my feet and looked down to see they were bare. I wore my Spellslingers pajamas—the matching purple set with the large gold ’S’ that cut across the front. This had to be a dream.

  I looked around in an effort to get my bearings. The forest seemed vaguely familiar. I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to let the land guide me. Even in a dream, I could pull magic from the earth. My feet began to move in a northeasterly direction. I didn’t feel like I was in a dream state. I felt as corporeal as always.

  I spotted movement on the trail up ahead and immediately realized where I was. The sheer volume of energy I felt should have been the giveaway. I was back at Allegheny.

  A lone figure stood on the trail. I recognized the young man’s slight build and light hair.

  “Ben?” I called, approaching him cautiously.

  He spun around to face me. “Do I know you?”

  “My name is Cerys Davies.”

  “Cerys,” he repeated. His voice was softer than I imagined, almost lyrical. “Why does that name sound familiar? It’s so unusual.”

  “We’ve met…sort of,” I said. “Something happened to you recently.”

  Ben wore a bemused expression. “Something happened, did it? Like a pretty girl approaches me in the forest in her pajamas? There’s a story for my brothers.”

  “Your brothers,”
I echoed. “Your fraternity brothers?”

  He inclined his head. “That’s right. Do we have any classes together?”

  I decided to play along. Maybe it would help me figure out what was going on—why we were here. “Yes. I bet you can’t guess which one. You haven’t noticed me, but I’ve noticed you.”

  His brow rose almost imperceptibly. “It’s economics, isn’t it? I wouldn’t recognize anyone from that class. I completely zone out.”

  An owl hooted overhead, the only sound in our dreamscape aside from us.

  “Yes, you guessed it,” I said. “Such a boring class. What are you doing out here anyway?”

  Ben took in the scene as though he’d only just noticed where we were. “I’m…not sure. I think I’m supposed to meet people.”

  “Your brothers?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly. “And someone else.” He patted his pockets. “I have a vial. I need to drink it soon, but I’d rather not.”

  My pulse picked up speed. “A vial of what?”

  He scrunched his nose. “I don’t know. It’s green. Smells gnarly.”

  “Who gave it to you?”

  Ben squinted. “My buddy Warren had them. He brought them in a satchel for everyone.”

  “Why were you supposed to drink it?” I asked.

  Ben picked up a stick and idly began drawing in the dirt. He reminded me of a child, losing himself in a simple task. “It was the whole reason we came here. Warren says this place is special.”

  “Did he say why?”

  Ben concentrated on his drawing. “He said some places have natural power, the way nuclear plants have power, and that we could benefit from it.”

  “Benefit how?”

  Ben seemed mildly embarrassed. “Warren said that we’d be like superheroes. That if we drank the potion here, it would make us stronger and faster.”

  “And taller?” I added.

  Ben barked a short laugh. “That’s what Warren wanted. I was neutral on height and speed. Stronger was cool, though. I’ve always had weak upper body strength. I hated pull-ups in high school with a passion.”

  I swiped a long stick from the ground and started to draw as well. During therapy sessions, Alana sometimes had me draw or color pictures. She said that when my hands were occupied, I was more relaxed and able to express my feelings.