Royals of Villain Academy 4: Horrid Charms

by Eva Chase

  “It matters because if I make it through this hearing, I’m going to be a baron soon too. And I’ve got to think that having one baron in your corner is better than none.”

  Cressida let out a scoffing sound. “That’s an easy thing to say when you’re backed into a corner. We’re not friends. I’ve got no reason to think you’d actually follow through on any promises once you’re past this.”

  I swallowed hard and clasped my hands together. “What if you didn’t have to count on promises? What if we magically sealed the deal?”

  That flicker of eagerness came back, but her skepticism hadn’t vanished. “What do you mean? You can’t give me anything right now, and you don’t know what you’ll be able to offer in future.”

  “No. So you could think of it as me writing you a blank check. I think I found an approach that’ll let me offer you one favor if you testify at the hearing tomorrow. You’d be able to come to me at any time during the rest of your life and ask for one thing, and I’d have to do that for you, whatever it is.”

  Just saying the words made my chest clench up. Cressida’s eyes widened as the enormity of what I was proposing sank in. “Are you serious? You lay down magic like that, and—I could ask you to actually murder someone. I could ask you to give me your entire estate.”

  Of course she’d immediately see the ways the spell could be exploited. I gave her a slanted smile. “I was planning on including a couple of caveats about the favor not being a criminal act and not doing me or anyone else direct harm, so the really questionable stuff would be out. But yes, I know it’s a risk. I’m willing to take that risk, because I’m asking a big risk of you. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

  Disbelief lingered on her face. I’d be surprised if most fearmancers would ever have considered putting themselves at another person’s future mercy like this. But I wasn’t an average fearmancer, as she should know by now.

  “Do I have to decide right away?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “We can cast the spell now—you need to contribute a little to confirm your end of the deal—but it’s conditional. If you don’t show up at the hearing tomorrow and share everything you know that would help my case, then I won’t owe you the favor. You can make up your mind on your own schedule.”

  She paused for a moment, her gaze going distant as she took that information in. Her lips pursed and relaxed again. She shifted her focus back to me.

  “All right,” she said. “What do we have to do to work this spell?”

  Relief washed over me. I got up, infinitely glad that I’d spent all my time between breakfast and this meeting studying the magical techniques involved.

  “We can cast it right here. All we have to do is agree on the exact wording of what we’ll each offer, and the rest is actually pretty simple.”

  “And you won’t tell anyone else we made this deal, whether I go through with it or not?”

  She was still nervous about the repercussions. I couldn’t blame her for that. “I won’t,” I said. “I know you don’t have the highest opinion of me, but I think you’ve at least seen that I’m not in the habit of publicly airing private business.”

  “Then we’ll put the spell in place,” she said, getting to her feet. “And I’ll decide about the rest… when I’m ready to decide.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Rory

  The hearing room in the blacksuits’ building looked a lot like a regular courtroom, at least from what I’d seen of those on TV. A raised seat with a sort of podium for the judge stood in the middle of the far wall, two lower seats on either side of it, and several rows of benches filled the other end of the room. All of the furnishings gleamed with dark hardwood. An inoffensive beige hue colored the walls.

  Someone had cranked the air conditioning even though it was a cool September day outside. I’d worn a jacket over my blouse and dress pants, and I left it on, restraining a shiver, as I walked with Declan to the judge’s end of the room. Our shoes tapped eerily loud on the polished floor. I curled my fingers around the hem of my jacket, resisting the urge to hug it closer around me.

  Several people were already taking spots on the benches: Jude and Connar, the professors who’d agreed to testify about my temperament and approach to casting, and a number of blacksuits, including a few I recognized from my arrest. How many of them really believed I was guilty?

  I dragged in a shaky breath as we came to a stop at the seat to the left of the judge’s spot.

  “This is where you’ll sit for the entire hearing,” Declan said in a low voice. “Anyone else giving testimony will come up on the other side. You’ve got about fifteen minutes before they’ll get started—the blacksuits are usually pretty prompt. We’ll get through this.”

  I wished the steadiness of his voice was enough to reassure me. I nodded and sank into the chair, resting my forearms on the narrow desk-like protrusion in front of me. My thin cuffs clinked against the wood.

  Declan went to join the other two scions. A few more blacksuits arrived, including Lillian. She caught my eye and strode over. I tried not to tense too much at the thought of talking to her.

  “Is there anything you need before we get started?” she asked. “Even a glass of water?”

  I grasped my purse. “I brought a bottle of water. I can’t think of anything else at this point.” I hadn’t been sure I could trust anything the people here might give me to consume. And really, I just wanted this day to be over. I didn’t think Lillian could give me that, at least not with the outcome I wanted.

  A woman built like a football player marched into the room and up to the judge’s podium with barely a glance around. She didn’t even seem to make note of me. Maybe this one wasn’t an Insight enthusiast, but she still looked awfully intimidating.

  The next figure to step through the doorway unsettled me even more. Baron Nightwood stalked over to a bench at the back of the room and settled onto it, resting his hands on his lap. Apparently he wanted to watch over the proceedings he and his colleagues had set in motion first-hand. I was probably lucky I didn’t have to stare down all three of them.

  A different venomous trio arrived a couple minutes later: Victory and her two best friends. I couldn’t take any comfort from the sight of Cressida in the room when it was in the company of my long-time nemesis. I guessed the blacksuits had wanted them here to give their account of my earlier conflict with Imogen.

  I watched Cressida cross the room, waiting to see if she’d give me any sort of sign of whether she meant to go through with the deal we’d set up, but she kept her gaze averted. That alone made my heart sink.

  Reflections of the assembled figures wavered in the mirror that stretched along one side of the room. Declan had told me that observers, mostly blacksuits, often watched from behind that one-way glass, some of whom the judge might consult with for a second opinion if she felt she needed one. The thought of the gazes that might be following me from behind that surface made my skin itch.

  The judge clapped her hands together, and the murmured conversations on the benches fell completely silent. “Judge Blazehed, bringing the proceedings to order. We’re here today to consider the case of the murder of a Miss Imogen Wakeburn, contended to have been carried out by Miss Rory Bloodstone.” Finally, she turned her dark gaze my way. “That would be you, I assume.”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” I said, falling automatically into courtroom lingo.

  I thought the corner of her mouth twitched at the title, but so briefly I couldn’t tell whether it had shifted up or down. She set a sheaf of papers on the podium area in front of her.

  “I’ve read over the written reports, but I’d like to hear directly from those involved. I also understand both the prosecutor and the accused have witnesses to offer support to either side of the case.” She turned to the blacksuits sitting on the front bench. “Let’s begin with your account of the discovery of the murder and the arrest.”

  The blacksuits got to give their version fi
rst? That didn’t strike me as particularly fair.

  I willed myself to sit still without fidgeting as one of the men who’d arrested me took the seat on the other side of the judge, where I couldn’t even see him. Maybe that was the point of this layout—to ensure the witnesses couldn’t be influenced by anything they saw of the accused. But the situation gave his voice an oddly disembodied quality as he recounted the call they’d received from a fellow student, their arrival at the scene, their observations of Imogen’s body and my behavior, and how they’d taken me into custody.

  The judge took all this in with nods here and there and an occasional question. When she was satisfied, she dismissed the blacksuit and turned to me.

  “Miss Bloodstone, can you give me your account of the events leading up to and around Miss Wakeburn’s death?”

  My chest constricted with nerves, but I cleared my throat and started speaking. I gave her the same story I’d given the blacksuits—the party, noticing Imogen was missing, going back to my dorm to get better shoes for driving, finding her body, being gripped by magic as illusions bombarded me.

  “I see,” the judge said, with no indication in her expression of whether she believed me. “And will you allow me to verify this version of events as well as I can with an insight spell?”

  “Yes, I’ll allow that,” I said, and remembered to add, “One thing you should make note of that I realized afterward—in the illusion of me casting the killing spell, I use a casting word. That’s part of my evidence that those are illusions and not memories. Because I only came into the magical community recently, I’m not yet at the point where I feel comfortable working magic by using my own invented words. I pretty much always use literal words to fit the intent of the spell. Some of my professors are here today to confirm that.”

  “Noted for the record.”

  The judge’s seat swiveled with her so she could face me straight on. I kept my head turned toward her, my pulse thudding as I willed down my instinctive mental shields. She focused her gaze on my head and asked the question charged with magic: “How were you involved in Imogen Wakeburn’s death?”

  Like with Declan, I had no sense of her intrusion into my mind other than a faint shiver of energy. I held still and tried to keep my breath even. After several uneasy minutes, the introspective haze cleared from the judge’s eyes, and she leaned back in her seat.

  “All right,” she said. “I’ll hear from your professors next. Before I do, is there anything else you’d like to offer in your defense?”

  I’d rehearsed this speech in my head over and over. To my relief, it spilled out easily.

  “Imogen was my friend. Even if I’d been arguing with her, I wouldn’t have hurt her. I haven’t hurt anyone since I arrived at Bloodstone University, even though people have done a lot worse to me than argue. A few of my fellow scions who are also my classmates have come to vouch for that.”

  The judge’s expression stayed impassive. “I’ll hear from them after the professors, then. Thank you, Miss Bloodstone.”

  My fingers twisted together in my lap as Professor Viceport, Professor Burnbuck, and then Professor Crowford went to the other side of the podium and testified that during class, they’d only heard me using real words that literally fit the spell I was casting. Viceport even submitted herself to an insight question so the judge could check her memories. I couldn’t tell how much weight this one detail was being given, though. It sounded so small when they talked about it.

  The judge called the scions up next. Declan came first and gave a firm, articulate declaration that he’d never seen me to be anything but fair and even-tempered, sometimes to my own detriment. Jude followed and said he agreed with everything Declan had mentioned.

  “I gave Rory a hard time when she first got to the university,” he added. “The fact that she not only took that treatment in stride but had the generosity to set the past behind her and consider me a friend is all the proof I need that she’d never lash out at someone in violence.”

  He shot me a quick smile as he went back to the bench. Connar passed him to take the same spot.

  “I haven’t always been the kindest to Rory either,” he admitted in his statement. “There were times I was horrible to her. But when she was hurt or angry with me, her reaction was to stay away from me, not to attack me. I’ve never seen her show any aggression that wasn’t in immediate self-defense, and even then, she’s moderate about it.”

  As he returned to the others, one of the blacksuits stood up. The judge nodded to him.

  “I’d like it noted on the record that by multiple accounts from their peers, Mr. Killbrook and Mr. Stormhurst have both appeared to be romantically involved with Miss Bloodstone, and as such their opinion of her is likely to be biased.”

  The judge glanced toward the guys. “Would you dispute that fact?”

  “That my feelings for Rory go beyond friendship?” Jude replied. “No. I dispute the bias. I’m hardly so starry-eyed I’d somehow miss murderous rages.”

  Connar nodded. “I don’t feel my relationship with Rory has affected my ability to see her actions clearly.”

  “All right. I’ll take that all into account.” The judge shuffled a few of her papers to the side and looked to the blacksuits again. “You have your own witnesses to make statements?”

  “Yes,” the man who’d given the initial testimony said. “I’d like to establish the underlying tension that had existed for some time between Miss Bloodstone and Miss Wakeburn, and I have three of their dormmates here to recount their experiences.”

  This should be fun. I clasped my hands together tighter as Victory came up to speak.

  She and Sinclair didn’t say anything I couldn’t have expected. Victory explained how Imogen had spilled the beans about my familiar, leading to Deborah’s being stolen by the scions—playing down the threats she’d used to get that result, unsurprisingly. They both commented on the chilliness between us in the days right after that incident and the distance that had never quite disappeared. None of it sounded like the prelude to a violent murder, at least.

  When Cressida walked over, my heart pounded faster. She vanished from my sight on the other side of the podium. I waited, forcing my breaths to stay even. If she was going to speak up about what she’d observed during Imogen’s murder, this would be the time to do it.

  “Tell me about what you saw of Miss Bloodstone’s associations with Miss Wakeburn,” the judge said.

  Cressida inhaled audibly and repeated most of what the other girls had said in her own words. Then she paused.

  The judge cocked her head. “Is there something else you’d like to add, Miss Warbury?”

  I braced myself. And Cressida said, “No. That’s all.”

  My spirits sank as she sauntered away without a backward glance. She’d decided even with my “blank check,” telling the truth to save me wasn’t worth the risk.

  My freedom depended on the testimony of three guys the judge could easily dismiss as biased and one minor detail of the illusion.

  I swallowed hard, fighting down a swelling sense of hopelessness. Baron Nightwood hadn’t stirred from his spot at the back of the room, where he was watching the proceedings with a small smile. He thought he’d already won. He might be right.

  “Have you found any evidence of anyone else who might have been present in the room during Miss Wakeburn’s murder?” the judge was asking the blacksuits, with a shake of the lead guy’s head in response, when a door at the opposite end of the room swung open.

  Malcolm Nightwood stepped in and strode right up to the judge’s podium, his handsome face set with total determination. I stared at him for a second before my gaze darted to his father… who was no longer smiling.

  The judge looked a little startled too. “Mr. Nightwood,” she started.

  Malcolm lifted his head at a typically cocky angle. “I apologize for the delay, Judge Blazehed. I have a few things to say in regards to Miss Bloodstone’s character.” He didn�
�t so much as look at me.

  A chill crept over my skin. Had all that fuss about wanting to prove himself to me been a front? Was this some kind of coordinated assault arranged with his father?

  But as the judge waved Malcolm to the testifying seat, the baron’s face only tightened. He was keeping his cool, but I’d swear he was upset. He definitely didn’t look as if he’d expected this.

  “Go ahead,” the judge said to Malcolm.

  I caught a flicker of movement, as if the Nightwood scion had waved his hand in the direction of the benches. He must have been indicating the scions, because the first thing he said was, “Those two told you how harsh they were on Rory when she arrived at the school. But they’d have to admit that the way they cracked down on her was nothing compared to my offensives. The truth is, Miss Bloodstone challenged me and insulted me on her first day at the school and refused to back down, and I couldn’t let that kind of disrespect stand.”

  “I see,” the judge said. My stomach churned with the uncertainty of where he was going with this. His testimonial didn’t sound all that complimentary yet.

  Malcolm’s voice stayed confident, but I caught a hint of rawness creeping into it, like the other day in the lounge. “I intended to break her down, and my actions in pursuit of that goal were undeniably cruel. As a few examples, I forced her to walk to a high window using persuasion and threatened to make her jump out. I organized the stealing of her familiar and the trick to make her think it’d be killed. I conjured nightmares so wrenching she woke up screaming several nights.”

  The memory made me cringe inside. Malcolm kept talking.

  “Through all that, no matter how badly I hurt her or terrorized her, she never once inflicted the slightest harm on me. Not a single bruise or scratch, not the slightest emotional scar. She refused to back down, but she also refused to fight on my terms. Even when I mocked her to her face, I never once had to fear for my safety.”