The Kerrigan Kids Box Set Books #1-3

by W. J. May

  “It’s not, Mr. Hastings,” Tristan interrupted curtly. “Please take a seat.”

  Unsure where to go, Oliver and Alexander settled nervously on the couch across from the rest of them. Jason glanced uncertainly at his friends before following suit. An invisible line was burning in between the two groups. He was used to being on the other side.

  “Aria,” Tristan prodded gently, gesturing to the trio of pale faces across the room, “you were with all these gentlemen tonight?”

  She blushed. It sounded terrible when he said it like that.

  “No, I was...I was just with Jason.”

  She threw him a stricken look—horrified to have potentially gotten him in trouble. He stared back intently, trying to read her expression before volunteering the information himself.

  “I knew she had a late detention, so I was walking her back to the dorms.” His eyes flickered nervously between Tristan, Luke, and the agent who’d brought him. “Is that what this is about? I know it was technically breaking curfew, but—”

  “Professor Dorf is dead.”

  The agent threw it out before Tristan could stop him, lacing each word with a precise amount of menace and flair. It was a tactic, Aria realized. Hit them with the information, then study their reaction for any trace of guilt. Unfortunately, the boys didn’t give him a lot to go on.

  They stared back without expression. A trio of handsome, blank faces—as if they were simply unable to process the words. Then Oliver said the thing they were all thinking.

  “What?”

  There was a restless stirring amongst the agents as Tristan and Luke shared a quick look.

  Both had been working in the field long enough to recognize a guilty conscience when they saw it. The boys were cold and scared...and had no earthly idea what they were talking about.

  “Dorf...” Alexander repeated slowly, trying to place it. “He teaches history, right? Taught?”

  Aria flinched at the callous correction, while Jason leaned forward in shock.

  “He’s dead?” he repeated incredulously, staring between them. “How?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” the agent answered, folding his arms in a threatening manner. “Seeing as all of you were breaking curfew when it happened.”

  He may have been forced to release Aria, but he’d been first at the scene of the crime. The self-appointed man of the hour. Taking point on the investigation was the next natural step.

  Or so he thought...

  “That’s enough, Maize.” Tristan kept his eyes on the children, while the agent cowered in shame. “Go see what’s keeping the others.”

  The man clenched his jaw, but vanished without a word. Not that it mattered, as the accusation had been timed perfectly. The damage had already been done.

  “How could we...?” Oliver trailed off, like an invisible hand closed around his throat. His eyes darted wildly between the dean and the remaining agents. “Wait. You think one of us did this?”

  This time the reactions were much more pronounced.

  Both Jason and Oliver were somewhere between shock and outrage, while Alexander was strangely unsurprised. Aria watched him secretly as the others mounted their defenses.

  “You’re serious?” Jason asked in disbelief. “This isn’t some kind of joke?”

  “You can’t possibly think we had anything to do with this!” Oliver cried. “To even suggest that we...wait a second. Does that mean you guys think he was murdered?!”

  At the word murdered, Tristan held up his hand.

  “No one is accusing you of anything,” he said calmly. “We simply called you down here to gather the facts. It has come to my attention that you were all out after curfew.” He leaned back in his chair, deliberately slowing the pace of the conversation. “I want to know where you were.”

  Alibis. He can sugar it up all he wants...but he’s looking for alibis.

  The three boys clammed up at the same time, fidgeting nervously on the couch. Finally, after a pointed look from both Luke and Tristan, Jason forced himself to speak.

  “Well...you know where I was,” he said tentatively. “I was walking Arie back to the dorms.”

  “And before that?” one of the agents interjected sharply.

  Jason shook his head blankly.

  “...before that was dinner.”

  The agent took a step forward, staring unfeelingly at the panicked teen.

  “Before she got out of detention you were just waiting outside in the dark? Standing alone in the trees?” There was a chilling pause. “Can anyone corroborate your story?”

  Aria stiffened nervously as Jason went pale.

  “I don’t think so.” He shot a helpless glance at Tristan, but tried very hard to look the agent in the eyes. “I mean...maybe. Maybe someone saw me there.”

  Tristan suppressed a sigh, holding up his hand to stop further questioning. Not for a second did he consider Jason to be an actual suspect. He’d attended the young man’s cowboy-themed sixth birthday party. But certain appearances must be upheld.

  “Mr. Jack,” he intoned, directing the spotlight down the row, “what about you?”

  Oliver shrank into the cushions with an unexpected flush. The firelight burned across his cheeks as he glanced from one person to the next, feet bouncing nervously in place.

  “I was just...getting something from my car.”

  Aria looked up sharply as Jason shot him a sideways glance.

  He’d been upset earlier—saying that he’d almost run Alexander down in the student parking lot. That meant he hadn’t just been looking for something in his car. He’d been driving it.

  Should we say something? she asked telepathically.

  Jason glanced at her for a split second, then shook his head.

  “Getting something from your car,” Tristan repeated with a touch of surprise. He didn’t think that Oliver had anything more to do with what happened than Jason, but the boy’s evasiveness surprised him. “What was it?”

  Oliver turned a frightening shade of pale. “Sorry?”

  Tristan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “What were you getting from your car?”

  There was a faltering pause.

  “Oh—a textbook. I needed it to study tonight.”

  Another pause. This one even longer than the first. But Tristan didn’t make him stew in it indefinitely. Instead, he turned to the last boy squeezed upon the couch.

  “Mr. Hastings?”

  Alexander hesitated a moment, then looked at him straight on. “I don’t have an alibi.”

  Aria’s eyes shot up as the agents tensed at the same time. Oliver was edging away from him on the couch, while Jason was rigid as a statue. Only Tristan kept that unshakable calm.

  “I’m not asking for an alibi,” he said quietly. “I’m asking you to tell me where you were.”

  “But no one can back it up.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  The boy pulled in a deep breath, then looked down at his hands. “I went to see Mr. Phelps.”

  Aria glanced around in confusion, hoping for someone to clue her in. She’d gone to Guilder since she was eleven. She thought she knew everyone on staff. But she’d never heard of a Phelps.

  Tristan stared intently across the room. “He’s in London until the end of the week.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “You’ve heard?”

  “That’s what the note on his door said.”

  The two stared at each other for another moment, then Alexander dropped his eyes. Tristan continued studying him, even as an agent leaned forward and murmured something in his ear. He nodded once, dismissing the man with a wave of his hand.

  “Very well, that’s enough for now. Tomorrow morning, I’ll ask you all to come back here for a more thorough interview. One that will settle matters once and for all.”

  “But wait,” Jason blurted, “what happened to Professor Dorf?”

  Tristan’s face softened as Aria l
eaned into his arm.

  “He was killed before his time, Jason. But I assure you we’re going to get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, get some rest. Your mother will be here in the morning.”

  Jason pushed to his feet, nodding automatically—then suddenly froze.

  “My mom?” he asked with a hint of tension. “Why can’t it be Rae?”

  Aria almost slapped him.

  “Really?” she hissed. “You want my mom to go through our memories instead?”

  He shot her a pained look, trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “No, I want your mom to use her truth-detection tatù. So she can just ask us yes or no questions, instead of going through everything in our heads.”

  Aria sucked in a quick breath.

  Oh. Right.

  “That’s a great idea,” she promptly agreed. “We should do that instead.”

  Tristan glanced between them with the hint of a frown.

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Arie, you were the one who found the body. That increases the importance of your testimony tenfold. The Council won’t allow your own mother to be the one who clears you. It’s bad enough we’ll have to use your aunt.”

  “But don’t we have some expectation of privacy?” Jason asked quickly. “You guys are always saying that we need to be careful using powers that invade the sanctity of someone else’s mind.”

  He quoted the elders directly, but Tristan merely shook his head.

  “You do have an expectation to privacy,” he said slowly. “But I can assure you, Jason, it’s not something you want to insist upon right now. Not after what happened.”

  A shudder ran through Jason’s body as he glanced reflexively down the hall.

  “Right,” he murmured. “Of course not.”

  He was backing to the door a second later, yanking Oliver along with him but leaving the brooding Alexander sitting on the couch. “Ben, Arie—you guys coming?”

  Aria glanced hopefully at her grandfather, but he shook his head.

  “We’ll need you for a little longer, my dear.”

  She nodded mutely, secretly grateful for Benji still standing by her side. As the only one who hadn’t been breaking any rules at the time of the murder, he was conveniently exempt from most of the aftermath. That was a good thing, because things were about to get crazy.

  No sooner had Jason and Oliver stepped out the door than a trio of men stepped in. They paused a second to get their bearings then strode forward, stopping just in front of the fire.

  Dorian.

  The librarian looked just as he had earlier that evening. Tousled hair, crooked glasses, and a faint stain of coffee on the hem of his shirt. He glanced around in surprise when he saw the strange assortment in front of him, then fixed his eyes on Tristan—waiting patiently for an explanation.

  “Dorian, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Aaron Dorf is dead.”

  The room fell silent as Dorian stepped back in shock.

  “...dead?” His eyes flickered again to Aria, lingering there for a moment before drifting over her shoulder to the agents milling in the hall. “But I just saw him this morning. What—”

  “Someone snapped his neck,” Tristan said shortly. The man wasn’t unkind, but Guilder wasn’t like most other schools. Skin thickened. Pleasantries were dropped. “I called you here because Miss Wardell was the one who found the body. I understand you were with her last.”

  Dorian blinked quickly, trying to get back to his senses.

  “Uh...yes. I was with her for most of the night. She was helping me sort files, but...” He turned to her suddenly, face tightening with pain. “You went to apologize, didn’t you?”

  She nodded silently, unable to summon the breath to speak.

  “I told her to,” Dorian continued softly, shaking his head. “Aria, I’m so sorry. Who knows what happened to the man. If you’d gotten there a few minutes earlier, I shudder to think...”

  He trailed off, leaving the same horrific image in everyone’s mind. A tremor shook Tristan’s hands and he stood quickly, pulling his granddaughter along with him.

  “So you can attest to Miss Wardell’s whereabouts for the evening? You even support her claim to have been seeking Dorf out to apologize when she stumbled into the crime?”

  The questions weren’t his. They were asked for the benefit of those behind him.

  “Yes, absolutely.” Dorian was quick and concise. “I excused her from detention only minutes before I saw the lights snap on in the history building. She could not possibly be involved.”

  For the first time, Tristan nodded—regarding the newcomer with the hint of a smile. He turned to his granddaughter a second later, giving her a quick kiss on the head.

  “In that case, why don’t you and Benji wait out in the hall? Your parents should be arriving shortly, and I want to have another word with Mr. Locke in private.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  She flashed Dorian a tight smile then grabbed Benji’s hand and hurried away from the lobby, feeling the eyes of half a dozen agents still burning into her back. They walked in silence until they were a safe distance away before turning to each other at the same time.

  “What the hell is wrong with this day?” Benji gasped, running his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe...” He broke off with a sudden shudder. “Did you see the blood?”

  Aria wrapped her arms around her chest. Yes, she’d seen the blood. And the neck. And the way his eyes were staring blankly. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget.

  “Makes you wonder what could have...”

  He stopped talking when he saw her face. A second later he pulled her in for a hug.

  “I’m sorry you had to find him,” he murmured, squeezing tighter as she buried her face against his chest. “That must have been terrible.”

  They didn’t embrace often. They didn’t make a habit of admitting fear or weakness. But in that particular moment, in that particular hallway, she found herself clinging to his shirt.

  “I can’t believe they’re interviewing us. I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  She blurted the thoughts in no particular order and found herself surprised by what came out. She’d been dragged away so quickly from the crime scene, the death seemed almost like an afterthought. It was a fleeting comfort, one that had gotten her through the interrogation. But now that they were finally alone, she found herself peering fearfully down the unlit hall.

  “Do you think it hurt?” she whispered, wracking her brain for details. His neck had been snapped, which was relatively painless, but there was so much blood. “Do you think that he—”

  Thankfully, before she could finish the sentence there was a flickering of torchlight and Dorian strode into the hall. He took one look at their trembling embrace before walking slowly towards them, giving Aria a moment to compose herself and catch her breath.

  “What was that about?” she asked preemptively, turning quickly to wipe her eyes. “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you?”

  “Quite the contrary,” he replied. “I’m actually filling in for Mr. Dorf until a new history teacher is found. It’s what I taught in Sussex. I guess they thought it’d be a natural fit.”

  She raised her eyebrows, surprised they’d already moved on to logistics.

  “Oh...well, that’s a silver lining I guess.”

  The second it happened, she regretted opening her mouth. Her skin simultaneously flushed hot and cold as she dropped her gaze to the floor, trying to see through the tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I have no idea why I said that.”

  Dorian put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. Benji stood tall beside her, reaching down to take her hand. But before either one of them could say a word, the doors banged open.

  “Where is she!”

  Tristan pushed hastily to his feet as a handsome man swept into the building. A man who looked suspiciously like the dean, only twenty or so years younger.

  “J
ust calm down, everything’s—”

  “Calm down?” Devon exclaimed. “You text me ‘Aria SOS—come to the school’ and you expect me to calm down? Where’s my daughter?”

  He spotted her a second later, storming through the wall of agents like they weren’t even there. She was in his arms a second later, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her hair. “Honey, what happened?”

  Dorian and Benji stood awkwardly to the side as she clung to him, taking a second to catch her breath. “It’s Mr. Dorf. He’s-he’s dead.”

  Devon tensed in surprise, trying to place the name.

  “Your history teacher?” He took her by the arms and leaned down, those bright eyes shining with concern. “How did he—”

  “That’s a good question, Wardell.”

  The group turned around as one of the agents detached himself from those still talking in the lobby and made his way into the hall. It was the same man who’d grabbed her the second she’d screamed. Tristan may have cut him down to size, but he was already trying to rally.

  “Maize.” Devon eyed him with open dislike. “What are you doing here?”

  The agent’s lips quirked up into a mocking smile. “I’m the one who found her. Standing over the body.”

  Devon froze in surprise, then glanced down at his daughter. “You were the one who found him?” One look at her tear-stained face and he embraced her once more. “Oh, honey...I’m so sorry.”

  Since the subtle implication failed to hit home, Maize tried again.

  “Yep—standing right over the body. Only person at the crime scene.” He paused, eyeing the pair with a glimmer of anticipation. “Helped to question her myself.”

  Devon lifted his head, eyes locking on his face.

  “...question her?”

  It was at this point that Luke wisely detached himself from the Council and quickly made his way into the hall. He’d seen that look on his friend’s face many times before. It was usually followed by an extreme show of devastating violence.

  “Dev, your dad asked the questions,” he said peaceably, throwing Maize a look. “He also talked to Jason and two other boys who were out after dark. Natasha will clear them all in the morning, but he had to get the basics down for the record.”