Royals of Villain Academy 4: Horrid Charms

by Eva Chase

  “Wait a moment,” he said. “I don’t think you’ve fully thought this through.”

  I got up from the chair. “I have, and that’s my final decision. When I’m absolved of the crime, then we can discuss my place in the pentacle.”

  Before he could argue more, I walked out of the room with a thudding heart, hoping I hadn’t just risked my freedom and my magic in vain.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rory

  Shelby was in the dorm room kitchen when I came in. She startled at the sound of the door so badly the glass in her hand slipped. It hit the counter with a thunk, water splashing out. She checked it for cracks and let out a sigh of relief.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m a little jumpy this morning.”

  I frowned, coming over to join her. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty much normal.” She grabbed a dish towel from the knob of a cabinet and swiped it over the puddle on the counter. “I feel like the regular students are being a little more… pushy than before with people like me here on scholarship. Maybe they don’t like that we have the clubhouse now? I don’t know. It’s nothing major, more just a vibe.”

  I didn’t think “just a vibe” would have her flinching at the sound of the door. Shelby had a habit of downplaying her problems. And between the weird incident in Persuasion class and the discussion that guy in Physicality had brought up today, I was also noticing some kind of shift in attitude toward the Naries compared to the past two terms.

  It could be about the clubhouse—that made a certain kind of sense. Seeing the Naries have a safe space to escape to could have rubbed a lot of the fearmancer students the wrong way, diminished their sense of power. I really hoped my attempt at helping the Nary students hadn’t backfired spectacularly.

  “Let me know if anyone in here hassles you, all right?” I said, motioning to the bedroom doors around us. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that kind of crap, and… they’re all a little scared of me because of the rumors about Imogen. I might as well put that nervousness to use getting them to back off on you.”

  I didn’t like the way most of my peers looked at me now, but at least that way I’d get something good out of the whole mess.

  The corner of Shelby’s mouth twitched with what looked like amusement, but she shook her head. “I think it’s better if I fight my own battles—or don’t, when it’s better to keep my head down. They’ll just be worse when you’re not around. That’s what bullies are always like.”

  Having been homeschooled most of my life before now, I didn’t have much direct experience to go by, but she sounded as if she did. “Fair enough. If you change your mind, just give me a shout.”

  “For sure.” She perked up. “Oh, one of the guys came around looking for you about an hour ago. Connar? I told him I was pretty sure you’d gone to a class. He wanted me to tell you to meet him at the ‘lounge’ if I saw you before he did.” She gave me a speculative look.

  That request sounded more urgent than him just wanting to spend time together. “Thanks,” I said to Shelby. “I’d better go find him now.”

  When I opened the door to the scion lounge, Connar was standing by the pool table with Jude and Declan, his expression stormy. “I know it can’t be anything—” he was saying. He stopped and turned at my entrance, relief washing across his face. Jude set down the pool cue he’d been fiddling with.

  “Hey,” I said, taking in the worry they were all exuding. “What’s going on?”

  “Malcolm’s dad is going to come to make you an offer to do with the murder charge today,” Connar said. “I’m not sure exactly what the barons are going to try to arrange, but—”

  Was that all? I gave him a wry smile. “I know. He was already here. I talked to him after my class.”

  Connar tensed. “What did you tell him?”

  I waved off his concern and walked over to the alcohol cabinet to grab a pop. It was way too early in the day still for anything alcoholic. “It’s fine. I told him thanks but no thanks. They wouldn’t be trying to bargain with me if they didn’t think there’s a decent chance I could pull through this, right?” I hoped I sounded more confident saying that than I felt.

  “What did they want?” Declan asked, putting his own cue back on the rack.

  “For me to hand over veto power for my decisions as baron to one of them for five years, and let them monitor my magic through these for one.” I wiggled one of the cuffs. As I took a gulp of the tart cola, the fizz bubbling down my throat, I glanced over at Connar. “How did you know Baron Nightwood was coming?”

  His chiseled jaw tightened. “My parents paid me a visit last night. They were hoping I could help convince you to take the deal. The fact that it mattered that much to them makes me pretty sure that going along with it would have been a bad idea.”

  His parents had dropped in out of the blue last night—rather than just calling him or something. I studied him. “Is that all they wanted to talk about?” Yesterday had also been the day of his big public show of affection toward me. It was possible word about that had gotten back to them quickly.

  He shrugged. “Nothing else worth mentioning.”

  I’d take his word for that. I dropped onto the sofa’s cozy cushions with my drink. “I know the barons think I can beat the murder charge… but I still don’t know how I’m going to do that. I’ve only got a week left before the hearing. What else is there we haven’t tried?”

  Jude took the chair next to me, his eyes bright. “I’ve been doing some additional research on illusions,” he said. “Tricks for differentiating between magic and reality. There are a couple factors I hadn’t realized that might apply even via an insight spell into your memories.”

  My spirits lifted. “Like what?”

  “Did Imogen have any small but distinctive features the illusionist would have had to duplicate? Like… a dark mole on her face, or an obvious scar, or maybe she was wearing something that day that had a pattern or image that wasn’t totally symmetrical?”

  I knit my brow as I thought back to the memories, fighting the urge to cringe at them. “Nothing on her body or her clothes that I noticed, but she was always wearing a silver hair clip on one side.”

  Jude leaned forward. “How big?”

  I formed an oval between my thumb and forefinger. “Around that size. Not tiny.”

  “Hmm. That might not be small enough. Apparently when casting under stress—which I’m going to assume the mage who was working against you was operating under, at least a little—there can be a faint mirror effect in an illusion meant to copy an actual being or object. But it centers on small, high-contrast details. The pins wouldn’t have been that much lighter or darker than her hair either, would they?”

  “No. I don’t remember seeing any mirroring of the pin, but I was probably too distracted to pick up on things like that.”

  Declan sat down on the sofa beside me. “I can take an objective look at the memories again, if you’re okay with that, and see if anything shows up to an outside viewer.” He tipped his head to Jude. “You said there were a couple factors.”

  “Yeah. The same thing with stress and copying an existing thing—there may be a small vibration visible on areas of fine detail—like hair, or eyelashes, or if she had a particularly intricate design on her clothes.” Jude motioned from his head to his shirt.

  My hopes had started to deflate. “All of this is assuming the murderer was feeling stressed. The barons would have sent someone who’d be cool under pressure for a job like this, wouldn’t they?”

  “It can’t hurt to try,” Declan said. “Will you let me take a look?”

  “Of course.” It was easier the second time around. I exhaled slowly and willed my instinctive shields down at the same time.

  As before, Declan asked about what happened when I’d found Imogen, and a faint tingle rippled through my head with his intrusion. It felt like even less time had passed than before when he pulled back out
. His frown told me enough.

  “I didn’t pick up on either of those effects,” he said. “I don’t think we’re going to make a case that way, at least not from Rory’s memories.”

  “Who else’s could we use?” Connar muttered. “She was the only one there.”

  No, I wasn’t. I had to catch a laugh as a rush of inspiration hit me.

  Deborah couldn’t act as a witness at the hearing. Her perceptions of the illusion wouldn’t help me. But she’d told me that a mage could look inside an animal’s head using insight. Just as Declan had been peering inside my memories to get a more detached outside perspective… maybe I would recognize something from my familiar’s memories that would connect a few dots. There were all sorts of fearmancers I’d met that she hadn’t. Spells I’d seen cast that she wasn’t familiar with.

  Jude was watching me. “You look like a lightbulb just went off in that head of yours, Ice Queen.”

  I wrinkled my nose at the nickname—and to deflect from the point he’d made. The truth about Deborah was the one secret I still had to keep, for her sake more than anyone’s.

  “I just remembered a technique I read about a while back for clarifying memories,” I improvised. “I should go back to the scene and see if I can prompt anything else loose by looking around my dorm.” I pushed myself onto my feet.

  “Do you want us to come with you?” Connar said from where he’d stationed himself behind the sofa, looking like he very much wanted to be with me on guard duty.

  “You all aren’t really supposed to be in the girls’ dorms, are you? Maybe there are other illusion clues you can find, or—” I glanced at Declan. “Professor Crowford is involved with this group somehow. I haven’t gotten a good opportunity to take a peek inside his head, but maybe you’d be able to.”

  He nodded. “I’ll watch for an opening. You let us know if you turn up anything you think we could work with, okay?”

  “Of course.”

  As soon as I’d left them behind, I dashed up the stairs to my dorm room. Deborah must have sensed my urgency, because she came scampering out of one of her nooks in the wall seconds after I’d burst into my bedroom. I sat down on the bed, and she scurried up it to hop onto my palm.

  Did something happen, Lorelei?

  “Not exactly,” I said quietly, mindful of the thinness of the walls now that the other girls were back in residence. “I just realized there’s one important avenue I haven’t tried. You said you’d let a judge use insight on you to view your memories of the murder—will you let me see them?”

  Deborah answered without hesitation. Of course. I’ve told you everything I saw already, though.

  “Yeah, but… we’re not always the best judges of our own memories. And I’ve met a lot of fearmancers you haven’t had any contact with. Maybe I’ll recognize the murderer, or see some other clue that’ll help us prove my case. It’s worth a shot, right?”

  It certainly can’t hurt. You go right ahead, whenever you’re ready. Without my magical abilities, I couldn’t block anyone from taking a peek even if I wanted to.

  I peered down at her furry white head. Please let this get me somewhere. I couldn’t let the barons take total control over my life. I couldn’t be branded as a murderer.

  “What did you see when Imogen was murdered?” I whispered, and fell into my familiar’s head.

  As expected with an insight spell, the impressions that washed over me were jumbled rather than a clear replay of those events. I tasted the dry, woody air from the tight passages inside the wall, heard the faint squeak of the dorm’s door opening and a startled gasp. I saw a figure cloaked in shadow, even her edges blurred so it was impossible to tell her height or much about her frame other than she had a woman’s shape, whipping a spell that sliced into Imogen’s skin. I watched the figure duck into one of the bedrooms as footsteps sounded outside the door.

  The fragments jumped back and forth. I was dashing to the opening to see what the fuss was. Then blood sprang from the wounds all across Imogen’s body. Then she was uninjured again, protesting in a choked voice. Then she fell and hit the floor with a limp thud.

  And something thumped faintly in the distance, like an echo.

  The disjointed memories swept over me again. I could piece together the sequence in my head. The murderer had taken too much care to ensure she couldn’t be identified on the off-chance someone was watching. But there was that distant thump again, just after Imogen’s dying body slumped on the floor.

  I yanked myself out of Deborah’s mind and swayed with momentary dizziness.

  Did you notice anything? my familiar asked anxiously.

  “I think… maybe.” I gathered my thoughts. “After Imogen fell because of her injuries, there was another sound, farther away, like something being hit or dropped. Do you remember that?”

  My familiar rubbed her paw against her nose. Yes. Now that you mention it, I did catch that at the time. It came up through the floor—someone in the dorm below, I assumed. Not anyone who could have seen or heard anything from your room, I don’t think. Those floors are quite thick. I barely heard the sound from down there even with my sharper hearing.

  “It came right after, though,” I said. “There’s a chance someone heard something. If they could even cast a little doubt on when Imogen was attacked—if their testimony could suggest it happened before I was even at the room— I’ve got to find out who was down there.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rory

  My eyes popped open, and I gasped for air. For the first few seconds, I couldn’t seem to pull more than a fragment of a breath into my lungs. My pulse thundered in my chest, and my mind scrambled to make sense of the shadowy room around me.

  Lorelei?

  Deborah’s familiar dry voice penetrated the haze of panic. I clenched my hands and found them grasping the sheets on my bed in my dorm room. My breaths started to even out as the pressure on my chest eased.

  Nothing was attacking me, at least not right in this moment. I was here in my bedroom alone, other than my familiar. It’d just been a nightmare.

  A nightmare like the ones Malcolm had used to send into my head: dark and formless, shot through with terror but with no sense of what was so terrifying when I woke up. A chill ran down my spine.

  I didn’t appear to have torn up anything like I often had in those fits during spring term. “Deborah,” I whispered. “Was I yelling?”

  No. My familiar’s voice became clearer as she scampered across the bed to rest her front paws on my arm. You murmured a little in your sleep—you sounded distressed—but I don’t imagine anyone heard you other than me.

  Thank God for that. I gave her a quick stroke of my thumb down her back and slipped out of bed to my open window. Leaning out, I checked the stone wall of the building between my room and Malcolm’s at the opposite end. The early morning light was thin but bright enough for me to see no unusual protrusions had appeared. Last time, he’d been using an amplifying piece to store and intensify the spells he’d been aiming at me in my sleep.

  All that meant was he’d decided to be more subtle about it. My jaw clenching, I yanked myself back into my room and grabbed the first halfway decent outfit I could assemble out of my wardrobe. With a rake of my fingers through my hair, I pulled the messy waves into some kind of order. Then I marched out of my dorm and across the short hallway to Malcolm’s.

  The guy who answered the door was tall and freckled with a mop of dark brown hair. He blinked at me over the top of the toasted wrap he was in the middle of eating, and a quiver of fear shot into me. He recognized the supposed murderer from next door.

  I gave him a tight smile. “Is Malcolm here?”

  “Just a second.” He dashed across the common room as if I’d threatened to fillet him if he didn’t hoof it fast enough. The other two guys eating breakfast at the dining table watched me with equal wariness. I decided I didn’t much care whether they saw me as some horrible threat if it meant they cared more about
appeasing me than potentially pissing off Malcolm by summoning him.

  The Nightwood scion emerged from his bedroom a minute later in a shirt and slacks that looked just thrown on, with a frown and slightly bleary eyes. He gave them a quick rub when he saw me and drew his posture straighter as he sauntered the rest of the way over.

  “What’s going on, Bloodstone?”

  My awareness of our audience prickled over me. I backed up, and he followed me into the hall. As soon as the door had shut behind him, I jabbed a finger at him.

  “It’s not much of a truce if you’re still messing with my head.”

  Malcolm’s expression turned puzzled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Those nightmares you sent at me before—I just had another one.”

  His frown came back. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. I haven’t cast any magic at you since… since that day when we were in the lake.” He gathered his composure after that momentary faltering. “I didn’t hear anything from your room.”

  “I didn’t freak out the same way,” I said. “I just—I woke up in the same kind of panic, without remembering the dream at all—that’s not how my regular nightmares usually go.”

  Something shifted in his face at my comment about “regular nightmares.” Maybe he hadn’t realized how many others I had to compare to. He looked down at his hands and then at me again, his eyes searching mine. “I don’t know what to tell you. I honestly had nothing to do with it.”

  He sounded genuine. Maybe it was just a coincidence that this nightmare had felt so much like those past ones. Maybe it’d been inspired by those past ones rather than directly caused by the same source. In which case I’d dragged Malcolm out of bed for nothing.

  On the other hand, he could be lying. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t jerked me around plenty of times in the past.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, just shy of hugging myself. “How do I know I can believe that?”