The Works of Julius St. Clair - 2017 Edition (Includes 3 full novels and more)

by Julius St. Clair

  “This is a crucial time, Vincent. Bringing you in was a priority because this is when you will surely begin to justify your act from within, and, ultimately, define yourself based upon it. You will try to believe that bringing that boy to your own version of justice felt good, and given the control over your emotions, you could do it again, with your criminal intellect helping you get away with it. I’m telling you right now that it’s pointless. Not only will we be keeping a close eye on you, but you know deep down that any illegal act you perform will be wrong. If you choose a criminal lifestyle, you’ll think that you’re justified based on how people have treated you all your life. But then you would be no different than a thug, wouldn’t you, Vincent? Justification – isn’t that what they do? Isn’t that what they do, Vincent?”

  “Yeah…all of them,” I said monotonously. His filibuster had taken all the fight out of me. He had done this before.

  “Don’t succumb to those thoughts. There’s no benefit in it. No reward. Do you understand me?”

  Silence.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I asked innocently.

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “You’re not a psychologist, are you? You said that for my parents’ sake.”

  “I’m not a psychologist,” he confirmed. “I’m a criminal intelligence analyst. I specialize in handling people of your profile.”

  “And do you have a criminal intellect?”

  “I do, Vincent, and that is why I can read the signs. Why I figured you out from the start.”

  “You use your criminal intellect to catch other potential criminals?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Okay,” I nodded in defeat, “that’s all I want to know.”

  “So, have I made myself crystal clear?”

  “Crystal.”

  “I won’t see you again face to face?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No more trouble?”

  “No,” I replied flatly.

  “Good. Then you’re free to go. I’ll be surveilling you from a distance. Remember, you’re better than this. Don’t become one of them.”

  I nodded to his satisfaction and like a wounded animal, practically limped out of the door to my expectant parents. Dominic watched me the entire time, taking in my body language, the little ticks I was unaware of, the way I approached my guardians. My mother hugged me and my father reluctantly rubbed my shoulders, but I wasn’t aware of their condolences. All I could think of was the criminal intelligence analyst standing in the doorway, solving the Rubik’s Cube that was me. I couldn’t help but wonder if I passed the test, if my body language betrayed my thoughts to him unawares. The question lingered in my mind even as my parents led me out the door with heavy hearts: Did Dominic believe me? I wouldn’t have, and if his intellect was half of what he claimed, he didn’t either.

  He was right on all accounts. I was better than them. They moved like animals, no rhyme or reason to their actions but simple primitive instinct. I was not so lucky. My love of simplicity and ignorance could no longer comply with what now consumed my thoughts. It was no longer an appreciation for Jason’s compassion. It was no longer a drive to naively create a world void of pain and suffering. This new revelation was something I could envelop completely…

  Dominic had unintentionally showed me the path.

  My criminal intellect, or C.I.

  The phrase sounded like an ice cube sliding down my tongue during a blazing hot summer barbecue. The appeal sent chills down my spine as I took hold of destiny. Dominic, in all his grandeur, had made one terrible mistake. At the time of our meeting, I had hated being treated poorly because of my age, but that did not mean I was at full maturity. You see, he had made the mistake of labeling me, and the label he gave me was too big to simply ignore.

  I was not a stranger to labeling. Whether it’s a passing insult from a classmate or a teacher making sure you knew you were retarded, labels were a daily occurrence. However, it is up to the individual how much weight each label carries, and none had stuck to me so far.

  But now I had willingly received and accepted my label. A goal and a principle to abide by, for Dominic, this man who had rendered me speechless through an analysis of my classmates, intrigued me. He explained my peers in a clairvoyant way that I had already discovered myself, but had been unable to express articulately. The epiphany that we shared a similar thought pattern was equally thrilling, but…I would not pursue his career.

  He was smart, but there was so much more he could do. Why spend his intelligence on those whose fate you’ve figured out a long time ago? No. That was a life well-wasted. Calling one a bully, no matter how articulate and grandiose you made it sound, was still calling one a bully. So, my course would be quite different from his. I decided to use my criminal intellect for my own ambitions. The possibilities were endless. And just like Dominic had said, I could use my C.I. to make sure I got away with everything, saving my jail cell for my peers...

  NOW AVAILABLE:

  The Rest Die Tomorrow (Part 1)

  The Rest Die Tomorrow (Part 2)

  The Rest Die Tomorrow (Part 3)

  The Rest Die Tomorrow (Part 4)

  An Excerpt from Witchfall

  Now Available for Preorder HERE

  Chapter 1 – Tricks

  The students of Tamarac Elementary school knew Madeline Chase was strange the second she stepped past the chipped paint door. She was trembling like a newborn kitten, and her eyes scurried from one classmate to the next like field mice. The teacher, Ms. Laine, slowly climbed to her feet from the crackling wicker chair and offered a shaky hand to the new girl.

  Madeline stared at the spotty and wrinkly skin as if it was plagued, and opted to remain standing against the warm, cushiony stomach of her grandfather. He hummed in amusement, patting her shoulders as she nestled the crown of her head up into his chin. She heard him chuckle under his breath as her curly brown hair tickled him, and it calmed her nerves to know that he was comfortable, although there should not have been a reason to be.

  After all, they were in the belly of the beast now. Or the lions’ den. The underworld. A perpetual hell. That last one was how Madeline described it before they left the house that morning, but her grandfather assured her that she would, “tolerate the flames by lunchtime.”

  “You can come in, dear,” Ms. Laine said in a soothing, disarming tone. “We won’t bite. Well, Kieran might.”

  Madeline’s eyes instinctively fell on the disheveled ash-brown haired boy in the far back corner of the room, sitting at a desk cluttered with unfinished workbooks, half-chewed pencils and discarded candy wrappers. They locked eyes and he silently roared at her, to the hilarity of his neighbor beside him.

  “Maddie,” her grandfather warned, “I must get back to work soon. You promised to make this easy.”

  “Why would you believe me?” she asked, glancing up at him. He kissed the top of her forehead, and then lightly pushed her inside. At the end of her third awkward step, she spun around, and saw that he had already left her. Her heart felt like it was being digested in the pit of her stomach.

  “Tut, tut,” Ms. Laine said. “Now, Madeline, there is nothing to be afraid of, darling. If you would please take your seat at the front of the class, then we can begin. Are you familiar with cause and effect? Did they teach that at—what was the name of your former school?”

  “I was home schooled,” she muttered under her breath. The class fell silent at the admission, and her throat constricted as if it was being crushed by a python. Did she say something wrong?

  “What’s home schooled?” a student shouted from the back of the classroom.

  “Please,” Ms. Laine said to Madeline, ushering her to her seat. Madeline noticed that the hand on her back was not as reassuring as her grandfather’s. There was an impatience in those old bones.

  Madeline sat down and tried to keep her frilly, neon pink and green dress from making too much noise. Each fidget in her seat sounded a
s if someone was taking their present out of a gift bag. She faced forward and sat up straight in the tiny rickety desk, keeping her attention solely on the teacher’s wide yellow smile as she avoided her seat’s cracked sharped edges.

  “There we are,” Ms. Laine said with a curt nod. “Now, someone asked what home school was. First,” she said, as she clasped her hands together. “We need to raise our hand before we speak. Second, home school is when a young boy or girl decides to get their education at home, and not in a public setting.”

  “Do you get recess?” a girl with raven black hair said, leaning in close. Madeline nodded quickly, and Ms. Laine leered at them in disapproval.

  “She gets all of the benefits of public school,” Ms. Laine was quick to say. “The same education.”

  “Then why be home schooled?” Kieran shouted. “What’s the point?”

  “Well,” Ms. Laine lifted her gaze to the ceiling to consider the possibilities. “I suppose that the parents want to provide the teaching.”

  “But why?” Kieran asked. He couldn’t care less that Madeline was homeschooled. He loved the attention, and the fact that lessons were now delayed for an indeterminable amount of time.

  “That’s a question you will have to ask yourself,” Ms. Laine said. “Although…I am curious. Dear? Why were you homeschooled, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Madeline tried to force a smile upon her face, the corners of her lips rising higher and higher with each attempt as if they were hermit crabs being coaxed out of their shells. She took a breath, and remembered what Grandfather had once told her. “The education system needs work. Teachers babysit kids because they’re bad, and their parents don’t teach them how to act proper. It’s better to get the foundations and the basics down first, and then go to school to learn how to fit in the world. Learn first, and socialize second. There are—”

  A giggle interrupted her thoughts. Madeline looked back out of the corner of her eye to see Kieran shaking his head and holding his ribs. “You sound like a robot,” he said, bursting out laughing. “Bee-boop. Boop. Boop. I didn’t know computers could talk!”

  The classroom howled in reaction as Ms. Laine rolled her eyes. She shuffled her way back to her desk and propped a hand on its surface to keep her balance steady. As the laughter died down, and Madeline blushed in embarrassment, Ms. Laine slowly took her seat and reclined back in relief.

  Seeing that the teacher was going to ignore the remark, Madeline’s face turned red for another reason. She spun around in her seat and scowled at the annoying boy in the back. “If you didn’t know computers could talk, then you must have a really old model. No wonder your jokes are outdated, you can’t even look a new one up.”

  His face transformed from joy to rage so quickly that one would think she cast a spell on him. “You take that back!” he spat.

  “Maybe next time you should consider your words.”

  Kieran snorted like a bull that had caught a glimpse of the matador. He slammed the palms of his hands on his desk and stood up like he had been fired out of a cannon. He grit his teeth, stared at Madeline’s tranquil composure, and then decided to do the unthinkable. He pointed a finger at her and shouted for the entire room to hear. “ERITIS CAE—”

  “NO!” Ms. Laine roared. The silence fell like a monsoon. Though she remained sitting, the children dared not push their teacher further. They knew much about Ms. Laine—from siblings and parents who once had her, from rumors and overheard conversations in the teacher’s lounge—and there was nothing to suggest that she could incite the level of fear that she had now bestowed upon them. This was not their teacher anymore. This was a woman of the old generations, handpicked by the Coven personally.

  “I’m sorry,” Kieran stammered, but Ms. Laine kept her glare fixed on him like a wrathful god ready to bestow judgement. “You would attempt—no, you would dare cast a spell IN MY CLASSROOM?” She picked up the stone cane resting on the arm of her chair and rapped it against the chalkboard. “Do you know what I would do to you if I had the permission?”

  Kieran’s countenance softened as he realized the significance of her words—he could not be harmed easily.

  “Your father will know,” Ms. Laine promised. “The Principal will know, and this time, it will not be so simple to worm your way out of trouble. The punishment will be swift, and unforgiving, do you hear me?” Kieran nodded as his eyes fell upon his desk. “Now shut that disgusting void you call a mouth, and sit there like the gargoyle you are.”

  Kieran clenched his jaw tight at the sting of her insult, but he sat down, and kept his attitude in check. Madeline smirked in victory, but a hard rap on the chalkboard sent her attention back to the front. Now Ms. Laine was staring directly at her, and it appeared that she was none too pleased.

  “And you,” Ms. Laine said, keeping the cane pressed firmly up against the chalkboard. “You say that the teachers are babysitters, as if we aren’t qualified to handle a group of unruly children, but do you not know of our history? Or is that a subject your parents have elected to omit? If they had followed the curriculum provided by the Coven, then you would have learned that every teacher in this building, in this state, in this country, in this WORLD, have been chosen for a reason. What I cannot grasp is how this common fact escaped you.”

  Madeline noticed that her breathing had become shallow. Her posture was tense, and it seemed as if the teacher wanted an answer—she was not averting her gaze or her attention.

  “You come into this classroom,” Ms. Laine huffed, “and you make bold statements. You must have a prestigious heritage. Are your parents well known like Kieran’s? Are you the long-lost daughter of a Coven member? I have seen your personal records so I doubt it. Therefore, I would like to know—why didn’t your parents teach you the way of the world?”

  Madeline knew the truth, but she could not give it.

  It would mean the death of her family.

  “I—” Madeline knew what she could say to deter the conversation, but the ploy would still hurt, to the point that it could damage any chance she had in fitting in with her classmates. She sighed and closed her eyes. Whatever. She was fortunate to have even made it to public school.

  “I don’t have any parents,” she declared for all to hear. “They left me when I was a toddler.”

  The gasps that followed were nothing compared to the sting of their memory.

  However, the confession worked. Ms. Laine relaxed in her chair as she stared out into space, sighing heavily over the traumas of her own past. Madeline bowed her head in feigned shame. Yes, the sting had been there, but there was no poison behind the prick. Not anymore.

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Ms. Laine said. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

  “Thank you,” Madeline whispered.

  Kieran sneered at the back of Madeline’s head, gripping one of the few intact pencils he still had. With a huff under his breath and a grit of his teeth, he snapped it in two, letting the pieces fall onto the floor, and the dark lead stained his palm. He waited. He waited until Ms. Laine had completed her lessons, the children had cleaned up their desks, retrieved their lunches, ate them swiftly in the cafeteria, and then headed out the doors for recess. The world moved like a Round Up at an amusement park, for he had only one goal in mind.

  Madeline was the fifth student to walk out into the sunshine, partly blocked by an orange haze and rust-colored, upside down clouds. Laughter permeated the air as the children leapt onto the playground, climbing up slides and slapping each other on the back to determine who was “it.” Madeline held the last bite of her tuna sandwich at her side as the growing wind brushed against her like an ocean to the shore. Where should she start? Who should she talk to? This was her life now, and even the most miniscule and insignificant of decisions were paramount. She recognized early on that it was the little actions—daily—that determined the future of a person, and now that she was out in the real world, her journey had begun. The training was ov
er, it was time to head to the frontlines of war, even if she was only in the third grade.

  Something smacked her in the back of the head, and a smile began to form upon impact. She wouldn’t have to do anything herself, after all. One of her classmates must have found it in their heart to include her in the games.

  But then the vertigo set in, and the taste of metal coated her tongue. Something wasn’t right.

  She fell onto her hands and knees, coughing uncontrollably as she instinctively reached back and felt the back of her head—it was wet, warm, and tender to the touch. Slowly, she craned her neck around to see what had happened, and she was not surprised.

  Kieran stood triumphantly over her, with a rock the size of his fist gripped tightly in hand. He cast it to the pavement, unconcerned with leaving evidence behind—he had full confidence in the backing of his father.

  Madeline’s eyes frantically scanned the area. None of the children had witnessed the assault, and the teachers weren’t in sight. The faint smoke from cigarettes billowed past the corner of the school’s brick wall, a few yards away. The children on the playground would still be in sight, but none by the exit to the building. She was alone.

  “I bet you didn’t learn about that in home school,” Kieran said, looking down upon her as if she was a fly that had dared to invade his house. “You got the message, didn’t you? You take whatever I throw your way, and you better like it.”

  “How are you going to get out of this one?” Madeline asked. She bit her lip hard as she kept her gaze on the ground and not her attacker. She would hate herself if he saw her cry, and she wasn’t sure if she could keep all of the tears at bay.

  “Weren’t you listening?” Kieran scoffed. He glanced momentarily at the playground to make sure no one had gotten curious. If anyone had, at least they had enough sense to ignore it. “I can do whatever I want. Now, tell me you love me.”