Royals of Villain Academy 4: Horrid Charms

by Eva Chase

  He drew to a halt just a few steps into the room as the door clicked shut behind him. Something in his stance shifted, uncertainty tempering his usual cocky confidence. We eyed each other from across the room.

  Malcolm and I… Well, calling our relationship fraught was putting it lightly. He’d struck me as an asshole from the first time I’d seen him, divine good looks notwithstanding, and he hadn’t cared for my more compassionate attitude at all. He’d spent most of the last few months trying to bully my defiance out of me by every means at his disposal.

  But during the summer, things had taken a turn for the strange. I’d realized he was jealous of the interest Jude and Connar had taken in me, and I’d thought I could turn the tables on him by reminding him of what he was definitely never going to have with me. The trouble was, it’d turned out some part of me was attracted to him despite his assholery, and wow, did he know how to fan those flames.

  Our attempts at provoking each other to get the upper hand had ended in catastrophic fashion. We’d collided in a sudden desperate make-out session that Malcolm had gotten so wrapped up in, he hadn’t registered when my reactions had switched from desire to fear.

  He’d backed off when I’d forced him to, and he’d seemed genuinely horrified that he’d pushed things farther than I’d wanted. Ever since that incident, he’d been more careful around me, even intervening when a few members of his unofficial female fan club had tried to hurt my familiar. It had seemed as if he was offering some sort of truce, but I wasn’t sure yet how much faith to put in it—or how much I wanted to interact with him ever again regardless. A couple of small kindnesses didn’t make up for months of torment.

  “What are you doing here?” I demanded.

  My voice prompted Malcolm into action. He looked away for a second to mutter a few words under his breath and made a quick sweeping motion with his hand. A quiver of cast magic rippled past me. “To make sure no one’s spying on us,” he said in reference to the spell, and then, “I told them I had urgent scion business I needed to discuss with you.”

  That explained why they’d let him in here but not what he actually wanted. “Do you?” I said pointedly.

  He gave me a smile with a glint in his dark brown eyes and spread his hands innocently. “It’s all scion business between two scions, right? I thought you’d want—” He cut himself off and opened up the messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder. When he drew his hand out, his fingers were cupping a small white form with a black splotch on its hip.

  My heart leapt. I jumped up as he held the mouse out to me, and Deborah scrambled from his grasp onto my palm in an instant. She darted up my arm to perch on my shoulder, hiding in the waves of my hair.

  She didn’t say anything, but then, I wasn’t surprised she’d keep quiet while Malcolm was so close. Even the few people who’d met my familiar had no idea that Deborah wasn’t just a mouse. The joymancer authorities had arranged for a dying woman’s spirit to be transferred into the animal so she could watch over me—and watch out for any threat I might begin to pose if my magical powers awakened.

  Deborah’s human aspect meant she could telepathically communicate with me in actual words, unlike most familiars, but if the fearmancers ever found out what she really was, we’d both be in deep trouble. My new community saw the mages who worked with happiness instead of terror as mortal adversaries.

  “She wasn’t all that enthusiastic about coming with me, but I made a case she must have understood the gist of,” Malcolm said. “It’s ridiculous that you’re here at all. I figured you’d at least be able to cope better if you had her with you. I know it can feel pretty awful being far apart from your familiar for longer lengths of time.”

  I guessed he’d have discovered that from experience. Despite all the things I could have criticized about the Nightwood scion, I’d seen him show real caring for his own familiar, a wolf named Shadow that I’d ended up befriending as well.

  “How do you think the blacksuits are going to feel about you bringing her?” I asked.

  “Who gives a shit what they want? She’s small. I’m sure you can keep her hidden.” He paused. “If you’re really worried, I could take her back to school.”

  “No.” Every bone in my body balked at the idea of losing this one small ally now that I had her with me. Deborah was very good at staying out of sight.

  The rest of what he’d said sank in. I sat back down on the chaise lounge, bracing my hands against the firm cushion. “What’s ridiculous about me being here?”

  Malcolm gave me an incredulous look. “You obviously didn’t kill anyone, Glinda.”

  He’d taken to calling me “Glinda the good witch” after I’d made it clear how much I disliked the way he bullied the other students. If that was the worst way he could insult me, I’d take it.

  “What makes you so sure about that?” I couldn’t help saying, even as relief fluttered through me. If the guy from school who’d most wanted to tear me down could see that this case was a load of bullshit, I might have some hope of proving my innocence after all.

  “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I’ve never seen you be the slightest bit physically violent with anyone, even when violence might have been sorely deserved.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his smile turning wry. “Somehow I doubt that pushover dormmate of yours managed to piss you off so much more than any of the rest of us ever have.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So, you’re sure because if I were that kind of person, I’d have already murdered you.” There was a certain logic to that reasoning, I’d give him that.

  Malcolm chuckled, relaxing a little at the mild humor in my tone. “That’s one way of putting it.”

  He grabbed the nearest chair at the table and spun it around to sit on it with his arms resting on the back. When we were on the same level, his presence wasn’t so imposing.

  “I think the feeling is unanimous within the pentacle of scions,” he said. “Declan is running around looking up every court case he can get his hands on, and Jude and Connar insisted on staying at school into the break to poke around for evidence.”

  I let myself lean back in the chaise, some of the tension wound inside me dissipating when I exhaled. I did have other allies, even if they weren’t right here. Declan Ashgrave had been keeping his distance from me because our attraction while I was a student and he was working as a teacher’s aide could put his career and his family’s security on the line, but he’d spent most of his life using policies and precedents to get his way. If there was anything in fearmancer law that could help me, he’d find it. I didn’t know if Jude or Connar would be able to turn up anything the blacksuits hadn’t, but it sure as hell didn’t hurt having them try.

  I rolled the question around in my mouth for a moment before deciding to say it. “What about the pentacle of barons?”

  Malcolm’s father was the most powerful current baron. Professor Banefield had implicated both him and his wife. How well did they bother to keep their attitudes hidden from their heir?

  Malcolm’s expression tensed. “I haven’t been part of those discussions,” he said.

  I couldn’t tell whether he was dodging the question or just frustrated that he was on the sidelines. He ran his hand through his hair, bringing out the hint of curl in the short locks. Then he glanced around the room, speaking another casting word I didn’t know the meaning of, maybe testing the protective spell he’d put up earlier. When he turned back to me, he looked both hesitant and grim.

  “Declan suggested your mentor might have been murdered too.”

  My pulse stuttered, but from Malcolm’s phrasing, Declan had been careful to make it sound like the theory was his own idea and not a fact that I’d told him. The Ashgrave scion knew how to be careful when it came to internal politics.

  “Are you bringing that up because you’re thinking I might actually be a serial killer?” I said with forced nonchalance.

  Malcolm made a face at me. “I’m bringing it up because
this latest murder makes the possibility sound a whole lot more plausible. That someone else did it, not that you did.”

  How far had he gotten with speculating about who that someone else might be? Would he have believed his parents were involved? It didn’t seem worth taking the gamble that he’d accept my story and not give away to them how much I knew.

  “Well, if you figure out who this murderer is and turn them in so I can go free, I’m all for it.”

  “Rory…” He studied me for a long moment. His smile had fallen away completely, and there was something weirdly vulnerable in his expression with the cocky front stripped down. “I’m not here to hurt you, okay? I know what happened in the boathouse was awful. I never should have gotten so caught up that I wasn’t paying attention to how you were responding, and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s not—That was never— I don’t want to keep fighting with you. I’m done with that.”

  His voice had gone raw with the apology. I couldn’t cast any spells myself, but even without supernatural insight, I felt the truth in his words. It might be the first time he’d ever been completely honest with me, without any posturing or calculation.

  That fact made my heart squeeze in an uncomfortable way, because the apology was completely unexpected and yet wasn’t quite enough all at the same time.

  “Are you sorry about any of the rest?” I said. “I never wanted to fight in the first place.”

  “I’m… still sorting all that out. Can we table that discussion for now? Until you’re no longer under suspicion of murder, say? I don’t expect you to absolve me of whatever all you think my wrongdoings are. I’d just like us to be able to work together while we figure out where we stand on everything else.”

  He might have had a point. And if he wasn’t asking me to forgive him, I didn’t see why I should argue about it, especially when “working together” right now was mainly going to mean “get Rory out of this goddamned jail.”

  I dragged in a breath. “Okay. I accept the apology given and will be patient about the ones that had better be forthcoming eventually.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched upward, even though otherwise he still looked serious. “Spoken like a Bloodstone.” He got up from the chair. “I don’t know how long I can get away with staying. Mostly I wanted to deliver your familiar and let you know the pentacle is on the case.”

  Mostly. He’d also wanted to ask me about Banefield’s murder. I hesitated as he headed for the door. I didn’t have to tell him anything that would definitely get me in trouble, only enough to plant a seed, if he was already open to it. He’d put himself out there for me by coming here, by saying what he had. I could repay that with a little honesty of my own.

  “Malcolm,” I said, and he stopped to look back at me. I spoke cautiously but evenly. “What if I told you I know my mentor was murdered?”

  His jaw tightened. I braced myself, but all he said was, “Then I’d say someone has a lot to answer for.”

  He let that statement hang, watching me. Waiting for me to offer more detail if I was ready to? I wasn’t going to point the finger at his parents right here, right now. I wavered and then said, “If you come up with those answers, I’d be happy to hear about them.”

  He tipped his head to me. Then he stepped out of the room, leaving me feeling suddenly exhausted.

  Deborah scampered from one shoulder to the other with a faint prickling of her tiny claws behind my neck. Thank goodness. I’ve been so worried about you, Lorelei. They haven’t hurt you?

  I wasn’t sure if Malcolm’s privacy spell had lingered or how long it would. To stay on the side of caution, I simply shook my head, as if to myself.

  My familiar must have caught on to my apprehension. She tucked herself close to the crook of my neck, still enveloped in my hair. I wasn’t sure about that Nightwood boy, but he seemed like my only chance to get to you. Better not to put too much trust in him after the way he’s shown himself to behave in the past.

  No kidding. I gave a slight nod to show I’d heard her and agreed. Her dry, steady voice wrapped me in a thin but welcome sense of comfort, even though there wasn’t much she could do for me. I lay back down on the chaise lounge, careful not to put pressure on her perch.

  Maybe she could help. She’d often left my bedroom to scoop out unusual sounds or magic. I groped for the right words.

  “I wish I knew what really happened to Imogen,” I murmured.

  Yes, of course, that’s why the blacksuits brought you here, isn’t it? I can tell you what I know. I saw a fair amount of the altercation.

  My heart leapt with more hope. If she knew what’d really happened…

  Deborah snuggled closer. I heard voices in the common room—not yelling, but they sounded terse. I slipped out to a spot behind the baseboard where I have a view of a good part of the room. Your friend was there, and a woman—she had a shadowy spell around her to obscure the identifying details of her face and body, so sadly I can’t tell you anything useful beyond that. If I was near her again, I think I’d know her by smell.

  A woman. One of the barons was a woman—Connar’s mother—and there’d been several others on Professor Banefield’s list. That didn’t narrow it down terribly much.

  She forced your friend to stay in one place, Deborah went on. She must have had some way of knowing when you were on your way to the dorm. All of a sudden she lashed out at Imogen with a spell that hurt her the way you saw. It was only a few minutes before you arrived. She slipped away into one of the bedrooms before you came in. I tried to warn you, but the second you opened the door, this wave of magic hit me…

  “It’s okay,” I whispered. I hadn’t been able to fight the magic that had attached me to Imogen’s murder, so I certainly couldn’t blame Deborah for being incapacitated by it. I tucked my legs higher, my stomach twisting.

  Nothing in Deborah’s story gave me much of a lead toward the actual killer. I had a witness to the murder, but she was a witness that no one other than me could interrogate.

  One the other fearmancers would have seen as a crime in itself if they’d found out who and what she was.

  Chapter Three

  Malcolm

  Saying I was “home” when I was at the Nightwood mansion never quite sounded right to me. The truth was the first time I’d felt a place was really my own was when my first-year mentor at Blood U showed me to my bedroom in the junior dorm. That room was mine, no one dared to even try to breach the spells securing the door, and after a few weeks I finally discovered what it was like to sleep a full night in total relaxation.

  Everything in the mansion belonged to my parents. There was no inch of it they couldn’t touch if they wanted to. A fact that had been drilled into me to painful and occasionally explosive effect for as long as I could remember. When I drove back through that gate, my armor automatically went up.

  Dad and Mom had appeared to be in decently good moods since I’d arrived for this visit during the end-of-summer break, though. As they assembled their breakfast plates from the spread on the buffet before heading to work, I could have sworn I heard my mom briefly humming a melody to herself. A cheerful melody.

  It was hard not to wonder if the recent incarceration of the Bloodstone heir had anything to do with their sudden high spirits.

  I sliced my knife through a sausage as they sat down at the broad dining table. The smells of fried pork and buttery eggs normally would have made my mouth water—we had a damn good cook—but this morning the scents only made my stomach clench up. I forced down the chunk of sausage anyway, savory juices filling my mouth. If I was going to find out anything from my parents, I had to keep every appearance of cool.

  If you want to know more about what your father is doing, you should ask him about it, Declan had said when I’d questioned him about the uncomfortable insinuations he’d been making about Professor Banefield’s death. Ask him, and really listen.

  I’d talked with my parents about Rory before. I’d have said I’d bee
n listening. But the events of the last month had proven I’d missed a lot of things I should have seen because I’d been so focused on my own assumptions and goals. What might I have misheard or ignored because I’d taken for granted that my parents were approaching the problem the same way I was—firmly and aggressively but not murderously?

  I wasn’t getting answers anywhere else, that was for sure. Things had been less tense with my friends since I’d extended the olive branch for my earlier assholery, but they were still cautious about discussing anything to do with Rory’s situation. When I’d asked Connar about his and Jude’s investigations around campus, his response had been vague and wary. Which I supposed made sense considering how I’d treated Rory for most of her first couple semesters at Blood U.

  That was fine. I’d just have to conduct my own investigations, my way.

  “Quite the mess the Bloodstone scion has gotten herself into,” I remarked casually as I speared another piece of sausage.

  My father sat down with a flick of his napkin over his lap. “I’m sure the blacksuits will sort it out to everyone’s satisfaction.”

  “There are certain standards of behavior even a soon-to-be baron should be expected to maintain,” my mother put in, taking the chair beside him.

  By which she meant, if Rory had been going to murder someone, she should have made sure she wasn’t caught. I swirled the sausage briefly on my plate and wished I had ketchup to dip it in. My parents saw the condiment as too “pedestrian.” If I’d brought some with me, it’d no doubt have been rancid before I took a single bite.

  “Seems like an odd victim, if she was going to snap,” I said in the same offhand tone. “Some of the other girls had really been giving her hell.”