by Laury Falter
Focus, I told myself, repeating that mantra the entire way to the shore. There, I found Isadora’s rusted, beaten-up truck. After tying the boat to the weathered dock leading to land, I leapt up to the driver’s seat and turned the keys still dangling in the ignition. It was a good thing The Sevens chose remote locations for their prisons, I mused, and turned the keys. The truck rattled, sputtered, and died.
“No,” I muttered. “You won’t stop me from going. You’ll just delay me.”
As if it understood, the truck revved on the second attempt and then settled to a quiet hum.
Driving back to New Orleans was surreal. The last time I’d taken this route I was covered in moldy water and mud, and fleeing an altercation that left two Vires dead. Now, I was dressed in dark jeans and a long-sleeved tee-shirt, nice and clean.
Traffic gradually increased as I approached the city, a welcoming sign that people still existed beyond the perimeter of the village. I was even happy to see the academy as I pulled into the parking lot. It was full, so finding a parking spot was a challenge, causing me to stand out more than I wanted. If any Vires hadn’t returned to the ministry they could be watching me circling the parking lot, I realized. Goosebumps rose on my arms at the thought of it, but I effectively made them disappear with my mantra.
Focus…
Oddly enough, I’d never actually snuck back into school before, so this posed an additional challenge. I figured the best way was to remain inconspicuous, which meant waiting until the students began crowding the hallways between classes. Once I found a parking spot, in the very back of the lot, I waited inside the truck, watching the windows for any sign of movement and searching my surroundings for any sign of a person wearing moldavite. Thirty minutes passed before I saw either one, thankfully it was not the latter. Nonetheless, I was cautious crossing to the school’s main hallway, and, once inside, I breathed a little easier. Unfortunately, that relief only lasted until I heard the latest gossip.
The Academy of the Immaculate Heart was known for passing along information, either true or false, from one student to the next. If medals could be given for speed gossip, this school would take the gold.
I stood just inside the door, directly across from Jameson’s locker. As I stopped and caught myself staring at it, missing him deeply, a voice intruded my thoughts.
“Well what happened to her?” asked a short redhead with a smattering of freckles across her nose. I think her name was Michelle. She had been in Jameson’s third period class last year.
“Who knows…guess that’s why her car isn’t in the parking lot,” said a boy next to her. He was completely unfamiliar to me.
“You know what kind of car she drives?” Michelle asked, mocking him.
“She drives a Knight XV,” he replied in a way that sounded as if Michelle should know what that meant.
“Ewww,” she teased.
“Michelle, it's the only fully armored SUV in the world," he retorted, and for extra emphasis he added, "Only 100 of them were ever made."
“Okay,” she said, tired of him proving his point. “So why has our principal gone missing too, genius?"
I was just about to step into the fray of students when she asked this question. Hearing this, I froze. The fact that our principal had gone missing was curious enough, but then Michelle had said ‘too’ meaning also and more than one. Or maybe it was pure intuition that told me her statement had something to do with why I’d come here.
“Who knows,” said the boy, offhandedly, as if he were commenting on the weather. “All of them are a little weird…Gotta get to class.”
He passed by me, slinging his book bag over his shoulder, oblivious to the impact his conversation had on me.
It took me several long seconds before I could move again, realizing that my time in the busy hallway was quickly coming to an end. Soon, everyone would be back in class and I would be exposed.
Having no idea where Maggie might be, I began searching every face in the crowd. People were rushing at me and crossing my path, but she was shorter than most, which helped eliminate a lot of them right away. Her curly brown hair and petite frame made her that much more distinct. Still, I didn’t see her anywhere in the hallways. And then I learned why.
“That girl who holds séances?” asked a female voice behind me.
I was on the second floor of the east wing by then, noting that posters plastering the walls were greeting students back.
“The one who talks to the dead,” the boy walking with her corrected. “Whatever…She’s gone.”
“What do you mean ‘gone’?”
“Gone. Was missing from her spot in Jackson Square for the last few weeks and she hasn’t been in class. Same thing with her boyfriend, Erin.”
“Eran,” said the girl.
“Whatever…They’re gone.”
“Huh,” she mumbled. “Sorta sad. I kinda liked them…”
“Why?” His tone was purely disgusted.
“I don’t know,” she said in a carefree manner. “They made school interesting.”
The boy snorted and replied, mockingly, “Like the Caldwells and Weatherfords?”
I heard him exhale abruptly. Because my focus had remained straight ahead, I couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like she had elbowed him in the ribs.
Apparently, I had been recognized, which effectively ended the conversation right there.
After only a few more steps, I stopped in the middle of the hallway, allowing students to briskly shove by me so they wouldn’t be tardy to their next class. Their effort suddenly seemed mundane as I contemplated something that held far more impact.
The ministry was attacked while Maggie, Eran, and our school principal were all missing. It could be coincidence. They could have a legitimate excuse for not being at school. Jameson, and I and our families certainly did. So why did I have the eerie feeling the two were connected?
I wasn’t given much time to consider it, though, as a boy turned the corner and came to an abrupt halt. It may have been the fact that he appeared to be too old for school or the reflection of a dark green stone hanging from his neck, but I knew instantly that not all Vires had returned to the ministry.
The last student slipped around the corner past the now motionless Vire, not bothering to give him a second glance. He was too busy hurrying to class.
That last student’s departure left the Vire and I entirely alone, at opposite ends of the hallway, our eyes locked on each other.
Almost undetectably, one corner of his mouth rose in a sneer. His body leaned forward for a good running start and then his legs began to move in a blur.
I first registered the light tap of his feet as they hit the tiled floor, and then I realized his steps were getting progressively faster. In the next second, I found the shape of him growing larger as he sped toward me.
He was going to reach me in just a few seconds.
This was it. I wouldn’t be returning to the village after all. A search would commence, but they would never find me. Jameson would be left to wonder where I had gone and what had happened to me, blaming himself for not being able to foresee that it could be stopped.
In the span of time it took for the Vire to reach me, I wondered if my death would be quick. Would I feel pain? Would I live on somehow, elsewhere?
What were their plans to destroy The Relicuum?
And then he stopped, skidding with one foot in front while leaning backward to end his momentum quicker. His eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared with rage, and his lip snarled in revulsion, an entirely different reaction from a few seconds earlier.
I could see no reason for it.
He was close to me, just a few feet away. Two steps, a lean forward, and his fingers could encircle my throat.
But he wasn’t looking at me any longer. He was drawn to something or someone beyond my shoulder.
I risked looking behind me and felt a powerful mixture of relief and guilt.
Jameson stood a foot from
me, legs astride, wearing an expression so cold that it chilled me. Gone was any sign of his carefree attitude. There was darkness in his eyes, a readiness in his muscles. He was testing the Vire, almost willing him to make a move toward me.
This was a side to Jameson I had never seen before.
“Nobilis,” said the Vire, with both respect and disdain in his tone.
Jameson chose not to acknowledge him, but the Vire didn’t make any motion to leave.
Gazing past us, he narrowed his focus to someone else who had arrived with Jameson. “Defecting has ensured a bounty on your head, Theleo.”
“Then I will die for a good cause,” he replied audaciously.
The Vire scoffed.
“I am not alone, Meyer,” cautioned Theleo, surprising me that the two knew each other. “Others will defect. Your forces will deplete and that will make you vulnerable.”
Meyer snickered, a sinister resonance. “You have faith in your army of feeble prisoners,” he stated. “But even you cannot train them to defeat us.”
Meyer meant this to be a jab at our weakness, but I saw it differently. He’d just revealed that The Sevens knew our plan.
Theleo appeared unflustered by it. “We shall see.”
“You will rue the day, my old commander.”
“We shall see, Meyer,” Theleo repeated flatly. In his usual manner, he sounded more paternal than offended.
The Vire began to back up, but he wasn’t finished. Before turning to flee, he made one final attempt to intimidate us. He delivered it in a whispered hiss that sent a chill through me.
“The Sevens are making arrangements that will end what you have started. Beware, Dissidents…Beware….”
13 CELEBRITY
Jameson didn’t speak a single word to me the entire drive back to the bayou, and I knew better than to try and make him.
They had come without a vehicle which meant my disappearance had warranted levitating. On the way back, it was a different matter. Being that it was daylight and the morning mist had dissipated, we couldn’t risk it. That would require Jameson, Theleo, and I to return to the bayou in Isadora’s truck.
Jameson remained reticent and tense, keeping his attention on everything but me, checking the mirror and our surroundings for any sign of Meyer or one of his associates.
Every bump in the road, every stretch of woodland made the drive that much longer, until we reached dock where I’d left Jameson’s boat. It looked lonely, if an inanimate object could, and I felt sad that I’d left it. It was almost as if it knew I’d been in danger and was nervously awaiting my return. Because I knew this was ridiculous and that I was displacing Jameson’s feelings onto it, I also understood that it didn’t offer much progress toward resolving his anger with me. So, I broke the silence.
“How did you know where to find me?”
My voice was just high enough to be heard over the hum of Jameson’s outboard motor. When he didn’t turn around, I repeated the question and his shoulders rose slightly. His head turned halfway and his mouth opened, but he snapped it shut and swiftly returned to staring straight ahead.
Noticing the tension, Theleo answered for him. “Jameson reasoned you’d be there.”
Of course, he would. Jameson’s primary trait, beyond channeling, was logic. It was one of his most attractive qualities and I’d seen him apply it to every dangerous situation we’d encountered. It made sense he would do it this morning when he’d woken up and found my side of his bed empty. And that was precisely why he was angry. I left him, after which he had to intervene on a Vire’s attempt to assault me. Being honest with myself, I couldn’t blame him for being angry. Yet, I wanted to tell him that there had been no way of knowing a Vire would remain behind to lurk the halls of our school, and that I had a valid reason for leaving the security of the village. Instead, I left him to fume, knowing he would have far better reasoning for me not to have gone.
I was so concentrated on Jameson that I hadn’t realized the significance of Theleo’s return. If he was back…so was my mother.
My attitude didn't change until we entered the bustling village, docked at Jameson’s parents shack, and I heard her voice.
Theleo immediately headed inside but Jameson stopped me, gently taking hold of my forearm to gain my attention. I rotated at the waist, relieved that his anger had dissipated enough to allow him to address me.
To my surprise, he kissed me, hard and strong, as if he’d been fighting the need for it since we’d left the school.
After pulling away, he purposefully stared into my eyes. Whereas mine were questioning, his were concrete.
“Never,” he stated, emphatically, “do that again.”
He waited for an answer, which came only after I’d swallowed back my surprise. “I don’t plan to.”
Hearing my reply, his expression softened, weakening me from the inside.
His hand slipped into mine, and we entered the shack together.
My mother stood across the room from us with strangers gathered next to her, each of them donning black cloaks. It took me a moment to understand that she’d brought back several of her sources, five in all, one of whom was currently speaking.
“There are rumors of sightings in Istanbul, Thailand, and Turkey, but I believe those were planted to divert us from The Sevens’ true location.” The woman tucked a strand of grey hair behind her ear, exposing a scar of seared flesh down the side of her right cheek. There was a noticeable discomfort in the room as people shifted their stances and purposely averted their eyes. We all knew what we were seeing. The Sevens had done it to keep her in line.
Jameson was the first to overcome the shock. “So, no one has seen The Sevens since the attack?”
“And you won’t,” said the woman, in an almost automated fashion. Clearly, she’d exhausted every part of her personality in order to survive within The Sevens’ culture. “The Sevens won’t show themselves until they see a political reason to do so.”
“But you may not have to wait long,” said an elderly gentleman standing to the left of her.
“And why is that?” asked Mr. Caldwell, and I was briefly distracted by how his mannerisms resembled Jameson’s when he’s concentrating.
“The Sevens are planning something noteworthy.” Heading off our next question, he added, “We have no details, unfortunately, but there are rumblings about it in the halls.”
“We were just told the same,” muttered Jameson, contemplating with his gaze pinned on the floor.
“By who?” asked my mother, who thought she carried the only news back with her.
I stayed quiet, not wanting to use this meeting to chastise anyone. Jameson was shaken from his thoughts and replied instead, in an almost monotone voice, “The Vire we ran into.”
Every head in the room turned in our direction, but Jameson didn’t bother to elaborate.
“What about the attackers? Is there any new information?”
That detail was apparently enticing enough to pull their attention away from the mention of a Vire and back to my mother’s sources.
“They were winged,” said the older woman who had spoken before.
Aunt Lizzy interjected. “Yes, we heard that part, dear.”
The term of endearment, which was a natural part of speech for my aunt, seemed to fluster the woman, so the man next to her explained.
“They knew the layout of the ministry, circling once in a way that seemed preemptive, preplanned almost, to cause a stir amongst those in the courtyards and prompt them to flee. If that was their intention, they were successful. While witnesses fled, they entered through a private, secluded door and reached the main living quarters of The Sevens. There, Vires fended them off until The Sevens escaped.”
“They made it that far?” asked Oscar, speaking in amazement for all of us.
“They did and then left.”
“You’re…kidding,” muttered Mrs. Caldwell, her shock straining her ability to speak.
“I am no
t.”
“What happened to the Vires who fought them?” asked Jameson, and I knew precisely what interested him. They could identify the attackers.
“Dead,” replied my mother flatly. “Every one of them, but not at the hands of the attackers.”
The news stunned the entire room.
It was Jameson who was the first to infer the reasoning behind it. “Sartorius…,” he said, exhaling and marveling at the wickedness of it. Surveying the confused expressions staring back at him, he concluded, “He’s the only one with enough to gain by ending their lives. Prevent the Vires from identifying their attackers and eliminate the possibility of them protecting the remaining Sevens again.”
“Why would he do that?” contested the older man. “That would risk his life as well.”
“Not if Sartorius sent in the attackers himself.”
“You think…,” the man started to speak, before allowing his voice to dwindle.
“I don’t know what to think,” Jameson clarified. “I do know that Sartorius wants the other Sevens dead and that Sartorius is the most deceitful of them all.”
Interestingly, Jameson’s reasoning didn’t come as a surprise to my mother’s sources. They had lived in the ministry and had seen The Sevens’ behavior firsthand. Their lack of surprise was actually somewhat disturbing.
“If you remember or piece anything else together, will you let us know?” asked Jameson, directing his question at my mother’s sources.
“We will,” assured the older woman. “And a few confidants remaining at the ministry will send word of any news.”
Glancing briefly at my mother and then returning to her sources, he went on to say, “Isabella has given me some understanding of the ministry, but I’m sure it has changed since the attack.” Their expressions confirmed this. “We’ll need to learn how: actual number of Vires now guarding the ministry, their processes and schedules, their movements. Can you help?”
“Certainly,” replied the older woman, surprising us when she acknowledged Jameson’s birthright. “We will offer any assistance we can, Nobilis.”