She was quivering, though—enough so that she barely noticed when the water orb exploded over her and then evaporated moments later. Everyone else had noticed, and they all stared at the puddle of water and ash at her feet and the redness of Calder’s chest, outlined by charred fabric.
Panting breaths filled the library, along with a new sense of respect. They’d all known what she was capable of, but no one had thought she could do it—not even she had. Really, she was shocked she hadn’t accidentally murdered the Pixie Prince; as counter-intuitive as it was, she was also relieved she hadn’t.
“We’ll be going upstairs now,” Adara announced, trying to sound as cocky as possible. Her voice was flat and weak to her ears, but the tone didn’t matter—the burn and the threat of more burns did.
Hugging his book once more, Tray skittered around Nero to follow Adara’s lead to the stairwell. Ackerly was at her heels, as well, and the others slowly trickled behind, Lavisa bringing up the rear.
No one impeded their path—not Nero, Nixie, or even Calder. Any one of them could have stopped her with ease—especially the Pixie Twins—but the fact that they thought they couldn’t defeat her was enough to win the fight, and if she could find a way to fuel this myth, her enemies would always lose.
“Took you long enough to do something,” Tray grumbled as they ascended the stairs. “Look at my book—ruined!”
“I thought you didn’t want her to use her Affinity?” Ackerly piped up, still trying to dry his face with his sleeve.
“Well, I sure as hell did,” Seth enthused. His face was speckled with red dots—acid burns—and his shirt was tattered, but he looked more alive than he had since his break-up with Kiki. “Dar, why haven’t you whipped that out before?”
“Don’t forget she has,” Tray mumbled, examining the bent cover of his book.
Indeed, she had used her Affinity, unintentionally, to spark a fire in Kiki’s house. For months, she had tried to convince herself it hadn’t been her doing, but this confirmed it. This confirmed everything.
She didn’t want to dwell on it, nor did she want to discuss it with the others. Her little display with Calder had served its purpose, but she had no intention of whipping it out again. Every inch of her body trembled, and as she replayed it in her mind now, without the distraction of her rage, the way the flames had flared in her hand brought nausea to her mind. Nothing would incite her to willingly whip out her Affinity again.
Eliana could sense the tension wafting thickly through every mind in the Mentals Building as she and the others arrived on the fourth floor. The hallway was dark and empty, but the double doors of Angor Periculy’s office had been left wide open, spilling light and sound from within.
Motioning for the others to follow, Adara positioned herself beside the doorframe of Angor’s office and pressed herself to the wall. Through the small crack between the door and the frame, Eliana could see the room bathed in various shades of red, all harmonious with the back of Hastings’s head.
He stood only a few feet from the door, unnoticed by the adults. Eliana needed to find some way to drag him out of there. That was the reason she’d come here—the reason she’d abandoned her promise to Zeela. She could interrogate the Wacko tomorrow. Today, though, she had to do something to remove Hastings from this situation—to extricate this foreign fog from his mind.
Desperate, she was about to start whispering at him through the crack, but then Angor’s cherry-pink eyes focused beyond the guests of his meeting, settling smugly on Hastings.
The principal sat behind his desk, the dull November landscape visible through the glass panes at his back. His vibrant hair was slicked neatly and his angular jaw was set rigidly, despite his smiling lips. The wine-colored suit he wore matched the hair of the woman who sat across the desk from him, and from behind, Eliana heard Tray hiss, “That’s Olalla Cosmos!”
Eliana squinted to get a better look at the former vice-presidential candidate, who sat with the two Regg ambassadors at her left. Her posture was stiff and formal in the black suit she wore, but there was something inherently less confident in the way she glanced back at Hastings. Pinkness surrounded her purple irises, and her lips were stuck in a perpetually sad smile.
“Welcome, Hastings,” Angor greeted, inclining his head. “There are some people here I would like to introduce you to. This is Olalla—”
“We’ve met,” she informed Angor, her gaze on Hastings as he stiffly approached. The two Reggs had swiveled now to look at him, and both glowered. “It’s a pleasure to meet again—”
“We don’t enjoy surprises, Angor,” the female Regg said as her dark eyes shifted from Hastings to Angor. With her hair pulled into a tight bun behind her head, her skin looked less wrinkled and she appeared not much older than Angor or Olalla. “This is getting ridiculous. First you invite her here without informing us—”
“You say her like you have a grudge against me, Artemis,” Olalla said, though judging by her tone, she wasn’t overly affronted.
“You were the Affinity ambassador and then you abandoned your post to run for vice president, as if that could ever happen,” Artemis scoffed. “William and I were left to do your work while you frolicked around the country—”
“Harold and I were working for a good cause,” Olalla said calmly. “We were hoping to improve conditions for the Affinities, which you can surely understand. I appreciate the work both you and William did for me in my absence.”
Artemis’s demeanor mollified, but Eliana couldn’t tell if it was because she had actually forgiven Olalla or if it was because of Olalla’s peace Affinity.
“We need to discuss future regulations that will be placed on this town, Angor,” the male Regg said, his hands folded in his lap. Like the two women, he wore a dark suit, and his peppery hair was styled plainly. “We don’t have time for more student introductions. Mr. Ventura has already relayed certain interests to us, and we would like to discuss them with you. He enjoys the prospect of your Affinities eliminating the Wackos—”
“That is precisely what Hastings is here for, actually,” Angor said. “Hastings Lanio spent the past ten years of his life in a juvenile detention center for the accidental death of his mother.”
From this angle, Eliana couldn’t see Hastings’s face, but he didn’t move a muscle, nor did his mind buck or alter at the reminder of this harrowing fact. The haze was still present, like a blanket that sheltered him from reality.
“Hastings has the ability to burst the blood vessels of others—mentally,” Angor explained, simpering at the Reggs. Their mouths now hung open in disbelief, while Olalla was overcome with sympathy. “He discovered this power accidentally, killing his mother in the process. Hastings has a good heart and is a fine young man, but he has been given a deadly ability. If used correctly, his Affinity could do good—depending on your perception of the word. Hastings is powerful, and if the president-elect desired it, Hastings has the capability to annihilate all of the Wackos just by mental will. There will be no need for the government to touch the rest of the town. He will be our single weapon, and the rest of Periculand can go on without a fight. You can imagine this will save numerous lives—”
“That is simply impossible, Angor,” Artemis cut in, shaking her head. “The ethics—”
“You would rather see a war of Affinities than the elimination of a terrorist group?” Angor challenged, raising his pink eyebrows. “Come now, Artemis—at least consider the possibility. Not all of my citizens have Affinities suited for combat, and Hastings would not even have to fight. He would simply enter the Wacko complex and silently kill. He would exit unharmed, and only the Wackos would need to die. The plan is flawless.”
“No plan is flawless,” William argued, but not very strongly. He gazed back at Hastings thoughtfully, his dark eyes awed but uncertain. His wife’s brain was a little skewed, but William’s was open, and Eliana could see the possibilities unfolding within. “I will say it’s intriguing—”
&nb
sp; “I refuse,” Olalla declined sternly. Her eyes, tone, and mind were full of compassion as she studied Hastings. “He is only a boy—we cannot place a mass slaughter on his shoulders. Even if he were of age, I would condemn the entire plan. There is still hope for peace, Angor, even if Harold and I haven’t won. We have to believe we can reason with the Wackos—”
“They are past the point of reason,” Artemis said. “The Wackos must be destroyed. But…I do agree this boy cannot do it—he’s too young. No, we’ll have all Affinities over eighteen fight, as planned. I’m sorry, Angor, but we cannot ask underage youth to be soldiers…”
“What is the King thinking?” Adara muttered, causing Eliana to jump. Recovering quickly, she refocused on the office and tried to decipher what lay beyond Angor’s mental wall.
“I can’t tell,” Eliana whispered, frustrated. “He’s exceptionally good at blocking mind readers…”
“Do you think he knows we’re out here?” Ackerly asked in alarm.
“If he has noticed, he doesn’t care,” Adara whispered.
“He’s probably trying to block out Olalla’s peace Affinity,” Eliana told them. “She means well, but if she wants to, she can convince them all to agree with her just by forcing peace on them. Her brain’s a bit hazy, as well—warped, I guess, is the right word… Hastings is so blank, though…like…like he doesn’t even have a mind. The Reggs are easier to read—they hate Angor. His plan sounds good, but I don’t like how he wants to use Hastings.”
“Hastings doesn’t seem particularly opposed,” Ackerly observed, watching Hastings’s statue-like form as he stood behind the quarreling adults. He’d barely moved since entering the room, and his posture was inhumanly robotic.
Eliana’s face twisted in a grimace as she groped for Hastings’s thoughts. It was as though they’d been erased, his body devoid of a soul. “He was before…”
“He doesn’t talk much, but you’d think he’d have said something by now,” Adara agreed, scrutinizing the scene within the office with eyes that were definitely redder than they had been before. “We should go in—”
“No!” Ackerly hissed frantically, grabbing her forearm before she could burst into the office. He released her hastily, and Eliana knew it was because her skin had been unusually hot against his fingers. “Y-you can’t, Adara. We’ll get in trouble—”
“When have I ever cared about getting in trouble? I don’t really care if we get in trouble, if Hastings is in trouble—”
“Wait,” Eliana said, tugging at Adara’s sweater. After minutes of the Reggs bickering, Angor was finally about to speak again.
“Listen, Artemis,” the principal said as he placed his folded hands on top of his desk, “I understand your concerns, but Hastings and I have been working together for months now—years, technically, if you consider the times I visited him in the detention center. He is highly trained with his Affinity, and no harm will come to him if he infiltrates the Wackos. We must also account for the fact that he has agreed to do this. I will prove to you he is as powerful as I claim. Hastings, will you show them what we have practiced?”
He remained motionless, and Eliana wished she could read his thoughts or at least see his face. Olalla and the Reggs watched, befuddled, waiting for something to happen, and then it did: Angor pulled up his sleeve to reveal his forearm, his expression placid, and showed the three adults a purple spot forming beneath his skin.
Eliana’s stomach clenched at the sight. It wasn’t a particularly grotesque injury—it was just a bruise, as though he’d bumped his arm—but she knew Hastings hated using his Affinity in that way. Truthfully, she’d never actually seen him use it in that way; together, they’d only ever practiced healing. Now Angor was forcing him to hurt, and Hastings wasn’t even protesting.
“Hastings has just popped the radial vein in my left forearm,” Angor informed them emotionlessly. “This will not kill me immediately, of course. Eventually, if my body failed to fix the problem on its own, it could lead to more serious medical conditions, but this is relatively safe. If, however, Hastings were to burst multiple veins, multiple arteries, or perhaps destroy the aortic arch, that would be deadly. To destroy all the blood vessels at once, as he did with his mother, would result in death. Hastings,” he prompted, “you know what to do.”
The boy nodded, his eyes still fixed on Angor. Eliana expected him to heal the vessel, as he’d done to her, but to her horror, Angor’s face contorted in consternation when another purple spot formed on his arm.
“Hastings—”
Artemis yelped, glancing down at her hand. From out in the hall, Eliana could just barely see her palm rapidly acquiring a purple tinge. Angor glared at Hastings, almost willing him to do something, but with his fortified mind, it was hard to discern his intentions.
“What is he doing?” Artemis demanded, clutching her hand as though it were externally bleeding. William glared at Hastings now, ready to pounce at him, while Olalla watched the whole scene with dismay.
A groan expelled from Hastings’s mouth as he grabbed his temples between his palms and doubled over. “No.” His moaning escalated to yelling as he shuddered and shook. “No—no! I don’t want—I don’t want to!”
“Hastings,” Angor said tersely at the same moment Eliana breathed his name. She and Adara had both emerged in the open doorway, but none of the adults had noticed; all of their attention was honed in on Hastings, his reddish hair flying wildly as he threw his head back and forth.
“No! No! I don’t want to kill anyone!” he shouted, pressing his hands to his head as the veins beneath his skin began to bulge.
“Make him stop!” Artemis cried, and her husband stood violently from his seat. Olalla was petrified as she watched the young boy thrash and tremble, but Angor remained calm as he continued repeating Hastings’s name.
Behind Eliana, the others had entered the doorway, all gaping in frozen terror as their friend incessantly screamed, “No!” She couldn’t understand why Hastings felt that he had to kill someone—all she could distinguish was desperation and hopelessness welling up inside of him as blankness faded in and out of his mind. His Affinity was surging at an uncontrollable rate, and as Eliana took a step closer to him, she felt an ache in her upper arm.
“Hastings,” she pleaded, forcing a sense of tranquility into her tone. “Hastings, please. Please stop.”
“No! I can’t—I won’t—I can’t!”
“Hastings,” Eliana whispered, reaching out to console him. The tips of her fingers turned purple as she neared him, the bruises appearing up to her wrist by the time she’d placed her hand on his shoulder, but she didn’t care. “You don’t have to kill anyone.”
But he did.
Springing up from his hunched position like a turtle breaking free of its shell, Hastings’s back arched, his arms flying outward, as his veins swelled beneath his skin. His eyes, wide and protruding as they stared up at the ceiling, were blazing the red of freely-flowing blood, and his hair was like a bloody mane cascading around his face. The expression in his normally equable features had morphed from anger to frustration to fear, but as the vessels of his body augmented and then exploded, all emotion drained and vanished. He would have appeared as stoic and nonchalant as usual, if it weren’t for his eyes, enlarged and fully red. Swollen but hollow, his limp body collapsed to the wooden floor of Angor’s office.
Eliana crumpled beside him, an involuntary cry escaping her throat as she watched the stillness of his chest. Purple spread through his face, and when she shakily rolled up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, she saw his arms held the same hue as his cargo pants.
“No,” she whispered, a faint shrillness to her voice. Mentally, she floundered for a thought of his—any sign that his brain was still functioning. It was just an empty space now, though—thoughtless, soulless, Hastingsless.
He had said he would die before he let anyone use him, and he had. Someone had compelled him to kill someone else, and he had used that will to kil
l himself instead.
“No,” a voice said, but this time it wasn’t Eliana’s—it was stronger and firmer but wrought with nearly as much emotion. “No,” Adara repeated, her body shuddering as her burning red eyes glowered at Angor Periculy. He stood behind his desk, his purple-spotted arm still outstretched as he stared, dazed, at Hastings’s body. “You killed him! He was innocent and you murdered him!”
“Adara,” Tray pleaded, grabbing her arm as she began to step toward Angor. Instantly, he yelped and tore his hand away, his palm throbbing red.
“You’ve been training Hastings,” she snarled, unaware the Stark twin had touched her at all. Her vicious attention was glued to Angor, who was utterly stunned where he stood. “You’ve been training him to—to kill these Reggs, because you don’t want them involved with your town. Hastings told us you hate them. He told us he didn’t want to go through with your plan to kill the Wackos, but it didn’t matter what he wanted. You could make him do what you wanted. You’re a mind controller.”
Angor’s mouth closed slowly as he swallowed. Eliana knew he was fighting to control his emotions, preparing some excuse, but she didn’t care about how he felt or what he wanted to say. For once, everything Adara had concluded made perfect sense. Never had so much hate welled up in Eliana than it did now for this wretched, evil man.
“You compelled him to try to kill them, but he resisted,” Adara spat. “He fought you off because he was a good person, and he was forced to kill himself. You selfish, power-hungry bully.”
“Bully?” Ackerly blurted. “That’s, um, mild—”
“I hate bullies!” Adara roared with enough volume that the green-haired boy cowered behind Tray. Her eyes were flashing with brilliant shades of red, orange, and yellow, and her normally olive-toned skin had deepened into an ashy gray. Smoke fizzed from her body, and Eliana struggled to pull Hastings’s wilted body away from her. Olalla scrambled out of her seat just as flames began to lick Adara’s skin, darkening her flesh to the texture of hardened lava as fire erupted from within her, consuming her entire form in a sweltering blaze.
Blood: An Affinities Novel (The Affinities Book 1) Page 44