Scion of the Sun

by Nicola Marsh

  “She’ll recover.” I didn’t add and when she does, I’m so outta here.

  “Yes, Rose is a fighter.” She clicked her fingers and the cauldron switched off, the suddenness surprising me. She waved at it and gave a wry smile. “A party trick I use to tease newcomers. It’s like one of those noise-activated lamps. Clap or snap your fingers, and poof, gone.”

  I revised my earlier assessment. I’d be damned if I stood there with the chief crazy and her props. I was bitter and resentful, but even I knew you didn’t put new students through bizarre initiations.

  She pointed to a worn suede couch while she settled into a mismatched chintz chair opposite, her paisley caftan draping over the arms and cascading to the floor. “Sit. We’ll talk.”

  I stood, torn between wanting to flee and the unrelenting, irrational, unstoppable hope she could deliver what I wanted most in this world: answers to questions too convoluted to contemplate.

  Brigit didn’t say anything else; she sat back, clasped her ringless fingers in her lap, and waited, her nonjudgmental gaze edged with sympathy.

  I was unnerved by the comforting warmth seeping through my body, as if she’d reached out and enveloped me in a squishy hug, the kind of hug Nan used to give me whenever I aced a test, whenever I said something to make her laugh, just whenever.

  Tears stung and I swiped at them. I was angry—furious, in fact—that I’d ended up here through my own stupidity. I’d never given Nan cause to worry about me, had always striven to be the model granddaughter from some deep fear that if I didn’t, she’d end up leaving me just like Mom had. Irrational, considering she’d never given me one moment to doubt her.

  Anger was good. It helped me banish the tears. Crying wouldn’t get me what I wanted. Maybe Brigit could. Plopping ungraciously onto the couch, I folded my arms and assumed my best nonchalant I-don’t-give-a-crap slouch while my heart pounded with expectation.

  “I need answers.”

  Brigit inclined her head. “That’s what I’m here for, to help you on your journey of self-discovery.”

  I rolled my eyes and refrained from sticking two fingers down my throat in a gagging motion—just. “I’m not so much into the journey as much as the destination. Where I’ll get answers.”

  Her lips compressed at my rudeness, but I didn’t care. She’d done nothing but antagonize me with her stupid tricks and condescending calmness since I arrived. “When’s the last time you spoke to Nan?”

  “A few weeks ago.”

  “What did she say?”

  She frowned at my tone. “Nothing, other than boarding here for a while may be a good option for you.” She paused, and her eerie stillness made me squirm. “Though maybe she should’ve told me how antagonistic you’d be. I would’ve pulled out more tricks.”

  I managed a tiny smile, a twitch at the corners of my mouth. More than I’d managed lately.

  She was right. It was wrong, taking my anger out on a woman I’d just met, a woman Nan recommended when I’d had my first episode. Nan loved all the spooky woo-woo crap: aura readings, tarot, horoscopes, even had the odd hit-or-miss premonition. It didn’t surprise me when she told me she knew Brigit from a few seminars she’d attended. While she’d never mentioned me attending C.U.L.T. before, I’d seen the way she lit up when I mentioned my visions and she’d picked up the phone to discuss my boarding with Brigit.

  I unfolded my arms, slumped into the couch, and sighed. “I’ve had visions.”

  She didn’t blink, didn’t seem surprised. Then again, considering America came to this woman for expertise in all areas wacky, I was probably her least complicated student yet.

  “How many?

  “Two.”

  “What of?”

  “The first was a car accident involving kids.” I’d told Nan about the first one—I’d freaked out when I saw a bunch of joyriding drunken teens crash into Lake Wolfe, down to the exact date and time. Nan put in a call to 911. The kids were rescued, but seriously shaken. I’d laughed it off as a coincidence.

  Nan hadn’t laughed. She’d rung Brigit immediately. An old mentor, she’d said, someone who’d know what to do with this kind of thing. An old mentor who’d advised Nan to offload me here for a year.

  “Tell me about the other.”

  It was the second vision that freaked Nan out and induced her stroke. Frustration curled my fingers into fists, the sting of nails digging into my palms a welcome relief from the constant ache gripping my heart.

  “I saw my mom.”

  With a monster. A shrouded, hooded black figure exuding evil. Holding her hand.

  Brigit didn’t question the validity of what I’d seen or ask questions about my mom as expected. She merely nodded, clasped her hands together, and rested them in her lap. “You’ve had visions before?”

  “Never.”

  “Tell me exactly what you saw.”

  I closed my eyes, willing the disjointed scene to flash into my mind again.

  Nothing.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose, pressed thumb pads into my eyes until red spots danced with black across my lids.

  Nothing.

  “Don’t force it. Tell me what you remember.” Brigit’s soothing tone washed over me, soft, low.

  I opened my eyes before she could hypnotize me or perform any of the other weird crap she was probably into. “My mom. Wearing some long hippie dress. And a guy. In a Grim Reaper get-up so I couldn’t see his face … ”

  I swallowed, glad I couldn’t remember that part of the vision in too much detail. The cloaked figure had flashed across my mind’s eye for a split second, gone before I could identify him, but that fragment in time was all I’d needed for terror to snap me out of whatever I’d seen.

  “What else?”

  Dragging a breath into my constricted lungs, I closed my eyes again. “A room, possibly underground, the size of the gazebo in Market Square. Dark. Damp.”

  Like the caves on the east shore of Lake Wolfe I’d explored as a child. I’d liked the cool darkness and the sandy floors, but I’d never ventured too far in for fear of getting lost and being gobbled up by a faceless cave dweller. Nan had teased me about my imaginary boogieman. Not so funny now that I’d seen his adult counterpart.

  “Good. Go on.”

  “No furniture. Though some kind of stone slab, like an altar.”

  The altar was off-putting. Though I’d never been religious, I knew altars were sacred. The altar in my vision didn’t give me that feeling. Its lack of reverence made me want to run as far away as I could get from that cold, lifeless stone.

  Brigit remained silent. I had to remember, had to have answers to why this was happening to me, and why now. But the further I delved, the uneasier I became. Poking my nose into mysterious corners as a kid had only ended in spider bites and bee stings, and I had a feeling that I was going to end up in the same pain.

  “And there’s another person in the far corner, hidden in the shadows.”

  “Male? Female?”

  “Can’t tell. Too dark.”

  That’s what bugged me the most, that maybe, just maybe, I’d inherited some of Nan’s gift, but couldn’t use it well enough to discover what this was all about. A small masochistic part of me hoped I was getting a glimpse into what happened to my mom. That probably explained why I blocked the rest out.

  “You want to know more because this involves your mother.”

  I nodded and opened my eyes slowly this time, blinking to adjust to the sudden light.

  “She’s fine.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Because the gift of precognition is just that. Allows you to see forward, to foresee future events, not look back.” Brigit drummed her fingers on the spare tire around her middle. “Your grandmother has limited precognitive powers which may now be blossoming in you. She doesn’t have post-cognition, which means you don’t either.” My confusion must’ve shown, because she explained, “The ability to know facts of an event after it has occurr
ed.”

  She leaned forward so fast I jumped. She placed a hand over mine, its cold clamminess revolting. Her narrow-eyed glare was tinged with ice. I snatched my hand back, spooked by her momentary malice, before she blinked and eradicated any hint of malevolence I might’ve imagined.

  “That vision is leading you to your mother.”

  My relief at having my flashes analyzed evaporated as the implication sunk in. Mom was in that dark, dingy hole with a monster. Why? The thought of her holding hands with that thing filled me with dread.

  That’s when it happened.

  I froze.

  Cold seeped beneath my skin, a rimy trickle that started at the nape of my neck and spread frigid fingers outward. I shivered despite the mild day, despite the claustrophobic confines of the room.

  The first time this happened two weeks earlier, I’d been terrified. The second, horrified yet curious. This time, I just wanted answers. I willed the image to come.

  A damp cave. Sound of a constant drip. Faint screech of nails scrabbling against hard, unforgiving stone.

  A girl in the far corner? Thin chain circling her neck. A medallion … gold … an engraved sunburst …

  Mom touches it, traces the outline and the sun’s rays, before the monster extends a hand, clamps on her shoulder.

  He yanks Mom back, hard.

  She stumbles, falls onto jagged rocks, slices her hand, blood everywhere …

  I gagged and grabbed my throat, gasping. Brigit stilled my clawing hands, her stable monotone urging me to breathe and relax. Easy for her to say. She hadn’t just seen her mom being manhandled by a monster.

  “Your mother?”

  I nodded, panic threatening to engulf me again. “With someone else. A girl, I think? And him … ” My breath hitched as I rubbed the spreading ache in the centre of my chest, willing the last image freeze-framed in my brain to vanish. “Mom fell. Cut her hands. There was a lot of blood.”

  “Don’t worry. You’re here now. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Maybe I didn’t want to get to the bottom of anything. Maybe I was happy being a sixteen-year-old with a passion for books and ballet flats and Ben and Jerry’s Chunky Monkey. Maybe I wanted to ignore the fact I’d just had my third vision in two weeks and I absolutely hated every freaking second of it.

  But I couldn’t turn my back on Mom no matter how much I’d vilified her over the years. I was desperate to ask her why. Perhaps I’d finally get my chance.

  “What can you do to help me?” What I really wanted to know was what they did at C.U.L.T. And, if any of it could help me understand what was happening with my messed up mind.

  “We can hone your gift.”

  “Gift?”

  “What would you call it?”

  “A pain in the ass.”

  Brigit’s smile bordered on patronizing, as if she knew something I didn’t. “Would you prefer power?”

  “Makes me sound like a superhero,” I muttered, back to my ungracious best.

  Brigit stood. “Precognition is a gift. Accept it.”

  She waddled toward her desk, leaving me to slouch along behind her. She’d told me nothing so far. Nothing I didn’t already know.

  “I can help. But first, formalities.” She handed me a bland beige folder from the mess on her desk. “Your schedule. You have a week of spring break, and then your classes will begin.”

  I flipped it open and saw the usual breakdown of hour-long lessons: English, history, chemistry, biology. The subjects alongside the basics were far from usual: psychic scrying, divination, parapsychology—and that was just for starters. “Why all the blank study periods?”

  “Because once you start the basics, students discover they want to specialize.”

  She opened her mouth to elaborate before clamping it shut. That made two of us. I wanted to blurt out my misgivings about being here, about these visions, about everything. Instead, I focused on the schedule and tried to pretend I was back at Wolfebane High starting a new school year.

  “Classes aren’t allocated by age.” She pointed to my Year One level, the equivalent of beginners, and I almost fainted. “We use a different method here.”

  “But I’m sixteen!” I blurted, horrified at the thought of being dumped in with a bunch of freshmen.

  “You look younger.”

  Bane of my life, resembling an underage pixie. Scruffy blonde hair, wishy-washy blue eyes, pale skin, skinny—unremarkable in every way. Except the visions, and thankfully, no one could see that particular attribute.

  “All newcomers start in Year One,” she continued. She sounded arctic, as if she didn’t like being questioned. A tiny frown line appeared in her creaseless brow. “Your talent is raw. You need to start at the beginning, learn the basics, learn control.” She paused to give me her best intimidating glare. “There are no exceptions.”

  Yeah, that’s me, not exceptional in the least. “Fine,” I mumbled, flicking through the rest of the info. I needed time alone to assimilate it all.

  “Do you have any other talents?”

  Considering what this place was all about, I assumed she wasn’t talking about my speed-reading ability or snowboarding skills, though I thought they were pretty impressive.

  “No.”

  Her astute gaze bored into me and I eyeballed her back, not giving an inch. She might have thought she had all the answers, but I hazarded a guess Chief Crazy would be glad to see the back of me when I was through asking questions.

  “Our learning is intensive and exhausting. You’ll have limited social time.”

  Didn’t bother me. I hadn’t exactly been Miss Prom Queen at Wolfebane High. I’d been an outcast, one of those brainy nerds who didn’t go in for all the rivalry-for-popularity crap. I’d steered clear of the cheerleaders, the goths, the jocks. The Loner, they’d called me, in one of their nicer moments.

  “That’s fine.”

  “Good. New term starts next week, so you have some time to settle in, orient yourself, and get a jump on some of your new subjects.” She tapped a stack of textbooks on her desk for emphasis and I stifled a groan. Studying in my last week of freedom before I became a compulsive clock-watcher? Principals were the same the world over.

  “That’s it? Has Nan paid fees? How long will I need to stay? When do I—”

  Distracted, Brigit peered at the door. “Quinn will answer any more questions you have while he shows you around.”

  There was a knock and Brigit barked, “Come in.” Maybe her power involved seeing through doors—first me, now the newcomer Quinn. However, when the door opened and in walked a tall, cute guy with spiky caramel hair and deep green eyes, it wasn’t Brigit’s undisclosed powers that intrigued me as much as what a hottie like him was doing in a place like this.

  He swung toward me, slowly, fluidly. I stiffened as tiny prickles of electricity zapped my skin in awareness of something not quite right, something scary, something supernatural.

  “Hey, I’m Quinn.” He held out his hand, his smile warm and welcoming.

  I mentally shook myself for imagining anything strange a moment ago. “Holly.”

  As I placed my hand in his, I got more than a polite introductory handshake. His fingers closed over mine, strong and secure. I met his peculiar gaze and my world tilted. Staring into his fathomless green eyes was like peering into the deepest, darkest depths of my soul.

  I snatched my hand out of Quinn’s and barely resisted the urge to swipe my tingling palm down the side of my jeans, seriously spooked. I’d had the same reaction as I’d had to Drake. What was it with the freaky guys in this place?

  “Let’s go.” His deep voice held a hint of amusement, like he sensed my horrified reaction and found it funny.

  “Thanks, Quinn.” Brigit dismissed us with a wave, though I couldn’t shake the feeling she’d expected more from me, the way she kept staring at me like an experiment in a Petri dish. The principal of the New Age school was as offbeat as I’d expected, but I couldn’t forget
Drake’s warning: Don’t trust the principal, she’s one serious psycho. While I had no reason to take anything he said seriously, after meeting Brigit I had a suspicion there was more behind her apple-cheeked enthusiasm.

  I wanted to ask a thousand questions, wanted to demand clarification on what I’d actually be learning, wanted to ensure I’d finish with a normal high school diploma, wanted reassurance that I wasn’t going insane and everything would be okay. Instead, I got a tight smile and a “Welcome Holly. I’m sure you’ll fit right in here.” And she turned her back on me with a swirl of mauve paisley, effectively ending further communication.

  In a daze, I followed Quinn out into the corridor. Before I could speak, he laid a hand on my shoulder and I stiffened, expecting more peculiar tingling, my gaze firmly fixed on my ballet flats, refusing to meet his spooky, all-seeing eyes.

  “Don’t be scared. That buzz you felt back there? Part of my aunt’s bizarre little initiation process.”

  Screw scared. I’d moved straight on to terror courtesy of the nut-jobs here. I risked another peek at him; thankfully, all I saw this time was pity.

  “You’ve got some kind of power, haven’t you?”

  Not wanting to give away too much, but desperate to discover more about this crazy school, I nodded.

  “Figured as much. That’s why Aunt Brigit projects some of her hocus-pocus on me when I greet new students, to see how you react.”

  “Sicko,” I muttered, belatedly pondering the wisdom of dissing the principal to her nephew on my first day. Defiant, I jabbed a strand of hair behind my ear. “And you can tell her that, what with the principal being your aunt and all.”

  “Don’t remind me,” he said, his expression less than enthusiastic. “It’s mortifying being her stooge when she does that weirdo stuff.”

  Curious, I shot him a glance. “Aren’t you into the New Age crap here?”

  “No way.”