“She completed the first phase of her plan to eradicate the world of paranormals when she murdered the elementals. It was just through incredible luck that one survived.”
I stiffened, as I always did when my fate was addressed publicly. I also wondered in the vaguest sort of way how much luck had been involved, or whether instead my family had very carefully planned to protect me, and protect me they had, at the cost of their own lives.
I remembered something Jenkins had said to me in A History of Death. “President Malle’s biggest regret, issue, and obstacle at this point is that Charlotte Rollins is alive and well. There are some who would say that Ms. Rollins is doing more harm than good, but that is obviously untrue. Ms. Rollins is our only hope, and every second she breathes is a second we are still fighting. As paranormals we must fight for her, as she is fighting for us. There is no one more deserving of respect.”
Once I finished reading the letter from Mound I found myself regretting it. I had never read anything so vitriolic and nasty. It went like this:
“The disgusting waste of life that is known as the last elemental of the paranormal kind resides in luxury, on the college’s dime, in Astra Dorm. I have never been so appalled by anything as I am by the duping that my fellow paranormals must have undergone to have let this happen. Who that girl must have bribed, or worse, to get into the position she now enjoys is a mind-boggling question. I hope she slips, falls, and rots to death. This is not an exaggeration. If she can sit there all high and mighty while other paranormals suffer, then she deserves the worst sort of consequence—read death—imaginable. If she is not dead by the end of the semester I will do the deed myself. I urge other paranormals to follow me in our effort to rid ourselves of the black plague known as the elemental.
“The most recent example of an attack by the Knights of Darkness is this. It involves the actions of their despicable hellhounds. Three werewolves were heading home after a long weekend spent under the full moon. They were in the forest, far away from where any humans might have encountered them. Their families knew of their whereabouts, because it was a common practice to visit this part of the sparsely populated woods during the full moon. They never made it home, but what happened is not up for debate.
“They were torn to pieces. We know, because we found every body part, every limb and every finger. Six eyeballs rotting on the ground in pools of dried blood and smelling of decay. There were hellhound prints everywhere, proving that the hellhounds, surely on the orders of President Malle, killed the three young and innocent werewolves.
“This despicable action is the fault of several parties, but none more than the elemental known as Charlotte Rollins. She, and she alone, could have stopped this unspeakable evil from befalling three werewolves who had their entire lives ahead of them. Instead, she chose to sit back in her ivory tower and salaciously date a fallen angel. Pray tell, does she not realize there are far more important efforts to be made on behalf of the paranormals, or can she not see past her own selfishness? She spends her time with her head in the clouds, acting however she pleases, with an Erikson no less.
“My friends and colleagues, let me just say that there is no bigger shame than the one perpetuated this year. I am ashamed to call myself a graduate of Paranormal Public and I call on all of you, pixies, werewolves, vampires, and fallen angels alike, to help stop this madness. Bring the criminal known as Charlotte Rollins to justice!
“—President and Proprietor of Paranormals First, Last, and Only, Michael Mould.”
My stomach churned. Paranormals actually read this and believed it. How could he say it was all my fault? How could I not believe him too? Paranormals were dying. Even if Dacer said that I wasn’t the cause, that even if I turned myself in the deaths would continue, after reading something like that it was hard to give a hundred per cent of my belief to what Dacer said.
I felt ill. Mould was urging other paranormals to boycott me and try to kill me, and what was worse was that they were listening. Camilla’s hissy fit last night was proof of that. She believed every word that this man was saying. I didn’t even want to think about the consequences, but they weren’t going to be good.
Once I had finished with the Tabble I hurried to dress in jeans and a fleece. I was eager to find my friends and talk over the events of the first week. We had had only one other chance to talk, and a lot had happened since then. Also, of course, I wanted to know what had happened last night with Daisy.
“Hey,” said Lough, meeting me in the entryway of Airlee. “How’s it going?”
“Oh, swimmingly,” I said dryly. Getting to Airlee had been easier than I had expected. Whenever any other students saw me coming along the paths between the dorms, they skirted around me, avoiding making eye contact. Camilla wasn’t the only one who read Tabble.
“Sorry about Mound,” said Lough giving me a sympathetic look. “I’m sure no one cares.”
Just then a Starter, some tiny brown-haired girl, came out of her room holding shampoo and with a towel wrapped around her body. At the sight of me she let out a tiny yelp and darted back into her room, slamming the door behind her.
Lough’s eyes danced. “Wrong again. Come on, Sip and Lisabelle are arguing in their room.”
“For something new and different,” I said.
“Hey,” I said, following Lough into my friends’ dorm room.
“Tell Sip to give me back my monkey heart,” said Lisabelle, eyes glinting and anger etched in every line of her body.
“Gross,” I said.
“That’s what I said,” agreed Sip. “No way.”
“Fine,” said Lisabelle. “But you’ll regret it sooner or later.”
“I’ll just add it to the list,” said Sip stoutly, sitting down on her bed and wrapping her arms firmly around a pillow.
“What happened to Daisy?” I asked, sitting down in Lisabelle’s desk chair. She had painted it black since the last time I had been there, much to Sip’s dismay.
“She’s still in the infirmary, but I’m pretty sure she’s been put on probation until the end of time.”
“Is she going to get in any other trouble?” Lough asked indignantly.
“Don’t know yet,” said Lisabelle. “She scared everyone, all to win a game, but I’m not sure she did anything wrong.”
“We have such a lackadaisical view of attempted murder these days,” Sip muttered.
“Our Tactical Trial is going to be just peachy,” Lough muttered. “How could they have stuck us with three Starters?”
“I’ll tell you how,” I said grimly. “Someone out there wants the demons to get us. They want me dead.”
“Mound obviously does,” said Sip. “But that doesn’t explain the Tactical pairings. Who at Public wishes you harm?”
I thought about it, chewing my lip. Zervos was the obvious choice, but I knew he wasn’t the one. Anyhow, he never did anything so obvious; all his nefarious behavior was secretive and underhanded. Dove was also not happy with my continued presence at Public, but he too would have tried something more underhanded to get rid of me if he was going to do it at all.
“Maybe Professor Erikson?” I said at last. “She was furious yesterday when Keller and I kissed.”
“Yeah, she was. It was amazing,” said Lough. “Do you really think she’d try to get you killed?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “The deans aren’t supporting me. They proved that the first night when they ordered me not to practice my powers.”
“I think she’s crazier than she looks,” said Lough, eyes grave.
“Probably,” said Lisabelle. “All the best paranormals are.” She grinned wolfishly.
“And what are we supposed to do?” Lough demanded. “Just sit here?”
Sip shrugged. “This stuff is out of our control. We practice our powers, we keep our eyes open, and we figure out a way to protect Charlotte for Tactical. That’s all we can do for now. We have classes, there’s the homecoming dance, we have a lot to do.”
“All right,” said Lough. “But those demons better keep their distance or else.”
“I can say with pretty much absolute certainty,” said Lisabelle grimly, “that the last thing they intend to do is keep their distance.”
Chapter Twenty
I was so tired when I got home from the second week of Tactical that I just wanted to crawl into bed. We had lost. Badly. I had been caught early and so had Lough. Once that happened, our teammates hadn’t had a chance. I wanted to yell and scream in frustration. What were we doing with a bunch of Starters? How could we possibly survive outside the force field? It was insane. I was tired and angry.
What was worse was that A History of Death had turned into a history lesson on President Malle. Jenkins knew all kinds of stuff about the former President of Public and her history, and instead of avoiding all the questions students were shooting at him about her he had decided to answer every single one, in detail. That was all well and good, but it was hard for me to hear about the woman responsible for my mom’s death and not be upset. I had squirmed through the whole class, at once trying to catch every word and block it out entirely.
Jenkins didn’t hold back. “I know a lot of you are wondering about what happened to turn such a promising mage into pure evil,” he said, in answer to Camilla’s question about President Malle running the Knights of Darkness. “Yes, she does run them,” he insisted in response to a skeptical murmur that went around the room. “They follow her. Both the demons, all kinds, and the hellhounds.”
“What about President Malle? If she was a darkness mage here, how was she turned?” Camilla asked. “She was so well respected.”
Jenkins paused in his pacing. A small frown furrowed his brow, as if he was deep in thought. “Yes,” he said at last. “She was very well respected. No one knows what set her off, except that it was something deeply personal. She was the best in her class, you know. The best in the school. She was head and shoulders above the other students.
“Part of it, at least, must be attributed to the demise of her family. Her mother, her father, and her older brother were killed by a lawless band of pixies. Her family was at home when the pixies broke in, including her brother, who had come home for the holidays. To this day no one is sure what the pixies’ goal was, only that the murders were brutal. It looked as if her brother was kept alive the longest, or maybe he just withstood the pain better because he was younger.
“She was a nineteen at the time. She was supposed to be home herself, but had delayed her return. In fact, as the story goes, she was over at Lace Erikson’s when she got the news. Those two were best friends. Something changed after that. She had completed her first year at Public and was on to her second, but after her family was murdered her interests changed.
“Her parents were tortured by burning pixie dust. The stuff can be deadly. You’d think it was mostly dangerous to the skin, but that’s only the beginning. The more creative pixies use it in the eyes and for their captives to breathe in, so you are breathing fire, only you are not a dragon, or a fire elemental. It is excruciating, or so say the few people who have lived to tell the tale. After they used pixie dust, the pixies got into their knife collection. Pixies love small weapons, especially knives. They are easy to carry and can do a lot of damage in a short period of time. Most pixies who are worth their green skin magic their knives so that they do extra damage. Unfortunately, these pixies were especially brutal. I won’t go into details, but during the knife attack portion of the evening is when Mrs. Malle died. Her husband withstood the brutality a little longer, at least until they started cutting off his fingers and toes. That only left Malle’s brother Grecko. As a young darkness mage he was especially powerful, but at that point he was no match for the pixies. They wanted to toy with him a bit, though. You know how much pixies like games. So, they let him escape. Three times. Then they chased him and brought him back to the house. By let I mean they loosed his bonds and turned their backs, giving him a head start. Each time he ran and each time they caught him and brought him back and ‘punished’ him for trying to get away.”
Jenkins was so lost in thought that Sip had to clear her throat to get him to look up and see her. She looked upset.
“Yes, Ms. Quest?” he asked.
“Why didn’t he stay and fight?” she asked. “Were there just too many?”
“He might have,” said Jenkins. “It was the Malle way to fight, and Grecko was an especially gifted darkness mage. And he was very close to his sister. He wouldn’t have wanted her to find him like that, so it’s entirely possible that he fought like a tiger and still died a horrible death.”
Sip’s face had gone white. With a trembling lip she managed to ask, “How did they kill him?”
“They made him eat the knives,” said Jenkins. “Lots of them. Since the knives were magicked and heated, they tore his insides to shreds at exactly the right places. When he was found, knives were essentially crawling out of his body.”
The entire class shuddered. I felt ill.
“And who found them?” Lisabelle asked quietly. Even she looked a little upset. They were fellow darkness mages, after all.
“It was Cynthia Malle,” Jenkins confirms. “She came home alone the next day and walked into a living room washed in her family’s blood. The neighbors came running when they heard someone tearing the place to shreds. Turns out that was Cynthia. In her rage and grief she had started to rip the very plaster off of the walls. No one ever again questioned which was the more powerful darkness mage of the Malles’ children. Everyone had always thought it was Grecko, because he had been bright and outgoing and flamboyant while his sister was more quiet and reserved.
“We don’t know when, after that, she started turning against her fellow paranormals, or when she first made contact with the demons, but it’s thought to have been soon after the slaughter of her family. In hindsight, she never should have been allowed into such a prominent leadership position at Public, but she had powerful friends. The Eriksons, for example.”
Once Jenkins finished with the history of President Malle, he moved on to other topics. He had been coming to Tactical every Friday night, and he liked to talk about how good Lanca and Keller’s team was. He tried to talk to Ulrik and Dobrov about how bad our team was, but they never said a word.
“Does he look off to you?” Sip whispered to me, nodding toward Jenkins. He did and I told my friend so. Normally vibrant and full of life, now he was walking with a slight limp and looking tired.
“Maybe he’s sick,” I whispered back.
After that class Lisabelle said, “I had no idea that President Malle was so impressive, but I guess she’d have to be, since she’s leading the Knights of Darkness against us. Jenkins also obviously knows why she’s Keller’s godmother. THAT’S interesting. I wonder how his well-to-do family feels about being associated with the most evil woman to ever grace the history pages of Public,” Lisabelle mused.
When I got back to Astra Mrs. Swan was nowhere to be found, but in the hall I found a plate of cookies, some sandwiches, and a glass of milk. I smiled. She always knew exactly what I needed. The only other thing on the table was the day’s Tabble. She must have found it in my room and brought it down to set next to my snack, knowing that I liked to find different rooms in Astra to read over the day’s news in.
Today I decided to settle in one of the back studies, a room I hadn’t even known was there at first. You had to go through the ballroom to get to it, and Mrs. Swan had told me that it was the former elemental king’s private study. He would sit there before big events in the ballroom, collecting his thoughts and any information he would need. Now I used it as a refuge in which to get away from the worries of sophomore year.
The door was made of a heavy wood and I had to put my shoulder into it to push it open. The long black hinges swung soundlessly inward and I breathed a sigh of relief, drinking in the room’s aroma of old leather and old books. Now that I had started to have fires i
n the fireplace (practicing my fire magic), there was also a hint of smoke. From the furniture to the rugs to the wall hangings, everything in the study was dark and earthy, but not in an intimidating way. I felt instantly comforted when I walked in, with the room sending the tacit message that someone who had really loved the place had used it.
I hurried to my usual spot, the big arm chair next to the fireplace, where I had left the book I was reading, A History of Elemental Dreams. I picked up the book and put it on the side table next to a dark blue lamp with a white shade and the glass of water I always kept nearby, so that I wouldn’t have to go all the way back to the kitchen for a drink.
Sighing, I sank happily into the chair, pulling the blanket that was draped over its back around my knees for the sake of some extra warmth. This corner of Astra was drafty, and the fire needed a long time to heat the room, so I liked having the blanket at hand along with my glass of water. Once I was settled, I hurried to scan the Tabble.
There was the usual drivel, from minutes on local council meetings I knew nothing about to major headlines about decisions the paranormal government was making—like whether to allow pixies to use their stardust outside regulated times. Stardust made it a lot easier for pixies to manipulate other paranormals and cause trouble, so of course they were advocating its use all the time, while other paranormals were wary. Another headline discussed how well the vampires were doing after last semester’s attack on Public. There was even a quote from Dacer, saying that all the vampires needed was a little time in the Museum of Masks and everything would be fine.
Elemental Shining (Paranormal Public Series) Page 16