by CY Jones
He’s right. I know he is, but I can’t fight this driving urge to protect her. I hate that she’s over there, having to fend for herself at all. She should have just joined me here and let me take care of her like I’ve always done. No one would question her being my number two, and if they did, they would have me to worry about. Fuck she can be so stubborn sometimes. I’m an ill-tempered fucker, quick to go off the handle, but I also feel bad. It’s my fault her room wasn’t warded properly because she was with me and then got dragged into my shit. Sitting back, Marcel waits patiently for my order as I work my shit out in my head.
“I’ll handle her room myself, but I’ll leave everything else to my sister. Send a clean up crew to sneak over there and take care of the damages and I’ll ward it once they’re done.” He nods and turns away, taking the messenger with him while I go to class. Being king is awesome, but it’s not killing all the time. I have to do actual class work to graduate.
In the gym, I remove my shirt, anticipating getting challenged, but to my surprise, no one makes a move. In fact, they all look outright scared. I guess what I did to Cayden’s body has already spread through the campus. I should be relieved, but I’m bored. It can’t be this easy to rise to the top and keep it. It just can’t. What am I to do with myself for the rest of my time here?
“Hey there, Quinn,” Nora calls out, sashaying her way over. One of her long, bubble gum pink tipped acrylic nails makes a trail up my chest and I grab her hand tightly, squeezing her fingers when I remember this morning. She lets out a squeal of pain, but I ignore it.
“Tell me, Nora. What on earth made you think I’d be happy to see you?” I ask astonished. I must have missed something when I was fucking her and she had a pair of brass balls hidden in her cooch this whole time. “First, you jump in my bed, knowing damn well your boyfriend would come after me.” She opens her mouth, probably to deny my accusation and I squeeze harder to shut her up. “Then, once you realized you fucked up and I’m not as easy of a target to take out as you thought, you hid my prey from me to save your precious boyfriend. Did you really love Cayden that much to do something so damn dimwitted?”
“I… I..”
“Please don’t fucking talk or I’ll cut your tongue out,” I threaten. “Then,” I continue with my list because this haughty bitch has done a lot to piss me off in a short period of time, “the most damning thing out of everything, you went after my sister. I mean, how stupid are you?”
“Please, Quinn, you don’t understand.” She’s pleading with me with wide, frightened green eyes, but I’m beyond the point of caring. My two fucks died with her boyfriend.
“Please what? You called her a brother fucker. Not only did you insult her, but your dumbass dragged my name into it as well.”
She looks really scared now, realizing her mistake. I love the smell, it’s invigorating. Joker takes a deep whiff, inhaling deeply and she whimpers. I’m going to peel her apart as the whole class watches on, happy my earlier fantasy can still be done, but without warning, she screams this blood curdling scream, and I let go of her, shocked. What the fuck? She stumbles back, holding her hands to her mouth. Tears from intense pain stream down her cheeks and I’m standing here, completely bewildered, wondering what the hell is going on until her screams turn into muffled cries and see the neat stitching across her lips, gleaming with her dripping blood.
When realization hits, I buckle over and laugh. “What did my sister tell you this morning?” I laugh. “That she’ll sew your lips shut.” Oh my, I’m so amused right now. Joker watches on, feeding off the girl’s pain. Sweet, sweet, angel pie, you’ve outdone yourself this time.
Nora’s lips are completely sewn shut with nice and neat little X’s, and they bleed, drenching her chin, dripping down her neck coating it a dark crimson. Angelica did not go easy on her as she sewed her up. Nora must have really pissed my sister off. I can practically feel the hate coming off her in waves with each stitch. Suddenly, she stands up straight and gives me a bow before twirling across the floor. Angelica’s magic always intrigued me, but we stopped sharing with one another when we were kids. Those days of coming home from training and showing each other what we can do are long gone. In some ways, I feel like I lost my sister. Magic is so much of a part of us. It's also the one aspect in our close lives we were not allowed to share.
When Nora is done with Angelica’s little dance, she lies on the ground flat on her back. Seconds later, she screams again, but this time, it’s muffled from her sealed lips. There’s a slit in her hand, surrounded by a thick pool of blood.
“Sweet Nora,” I say, as I crouch over her prone body. “I see you have met Dagga, let me introduce you to Digga.” That’s the only introduction she gets before I take out my trusty dagger and slit her throat, watching delighted as she chokes on her blood. It’s a long painful process and I absorb her pain, feeding it to Joker. Her body twitches only a couple of times before folding over like a doll tossed away and forgotten. When the light finally leaves her eyes, I use a spell to cut her stitches and give her a Joker smile to match her pretty face. “Good night, bitch. May the devil’s angels rip you to pieces on your way to Hell.”
I stand and everyone in the room avoids eye contact as I laugh my ass off all the way out the door. Might as well let them all know now they are being run by the Mad King. No time to hold court, I have a favor to do for my sister. Warding her room is the least I can do for such top notch entertainment.
Chapter 9
Angelica
Quinn didn’t meet me for our free hour and I found out why when I got back to my room for the day. The disaster I walked in on this morning was long gone. Everything was picked up and scrubbed clean, even the wall with the dried animal’s blood. Opening my drawers, I pull out a shirt and sniff the fresh scent of laundry detergent. The clothes that were ripped couldn’t be saved, but they were no longer in here as a reminder that bitches can be petty. I’m pretty sure Quinn didn’t do all this by himself and sent his minions over to do it for him, but it’s the thought that counts. It was him, though, that made my bed and personally warded my room. I can feel his essence like it’s his strong arms wrapped around my body protecting me.
Just like in his room, playing cards dangle from the beams and on my dresser, centered promptly in the center, is his card. I run my fingers over it, lovely. I wonder how long did it take for him to hear someone fucked with my room? Mr. Meow steps out from who knows where, and I pluck him up while I gather the things I bought to ward my room. I appreciate Quinn’s help, but this is my domain. I’m perfectly capable of casting wards. I don’t completely undo what he did, but I do fortify them with touches of my own. Little dolls hang from the raptors, an army that will deploy and converge on anyone stupid enough to try to break in. Bored, Mr. Meow jumps from my arms and runs out the room. Sometimes, I wonder what the cat does all day. Most familiars stick to their mages like glue, but not him. He’s a free spirit with a mind of his own.
Carrying on with my work, I take a mixture of herbs I grew and dried myself and bones from cadavers I got from the local medical university, which I painstakingly grind into a fine powder and sprinkle it on my window and on the window sill as well as the top of my door frame. Spirits who have yet to pass over and are bored make useful guards. I even sprinkle the mixture on top of the beams, just in case. You can never be too careful in a school filled with killers. Using a mixture of my blood and some other ingredients you really don’t want to know what they are, trust me, I draw a sigil and imbue it with power from my blood. It’s a series of spells actually, one in which will summon a demon if need be. In this place, where you get extra credit for killing someone, having a demon on a leash is equivalent to a normie with a notebook in their binder. It’s just another form of school supplies. The last thing I do is light stalks of vanilla incense to get rid of the stuffy smell of an unused room. I’m here now, I want my room to smell like me.
When I’m done, I stand back and admire my work. There’
s no way in Tartarus anyone will be able to break in here now. I hope they try. I want to see what happens. Even at home, I never put this much effort in warding my room. With mine and Quinn’s magic mixing together in perfect harmony, my room is literally the Fort Knox of dorm rooms. With my room done, I can finally get something to eat. There’s a grilled cheese sandwich in the dorm’s kitchen calling my name.
Humming to myself has become a subconscious protection. Growing up, I never knew when one of my siblings would pounce. With the exception of Quinn, I was always on my guard around them. The kitchen is empty when I enter and I take out the groceries I brought here earlier between classes. As I wait for the oil for my fries to heat, I butter my bread for the sandwiches and take out two slices of cheese for each one. I might as well cook Quinn one too to thank him for his kindness.
“Look what we have here. If it isn’t the little voodoo whore who likes to play with dolls,” a nasally voice says behind me. Briefly glancing over my shoulder, I see it’s the girls who trashed my room. Well, that’s convenient. Saves me the trouble of hunting them down. One is in my Physics of Magic class, but having missed class yesterday and already being behind, I was too busy to confront her. Besides, I said I was leaving the ringleader for last.
“What are you making us, slave? I’m starving,” nasally voice asks.
Breathe in, breathe out. My fathers advice to control my temper rolls through my head like a calming wave.
“Maybe she’s an idiot. You know how those inbred families are. All magic and no brain cells,” another girl contributes her uncalled for opinion.
“Yeah, I heard she fucks her twin every night and sucks him off each morning,” the other chimes in.
I grind my teeth, ignoring their sick words as the pot with boiling grease pops on the stove top. I want to kill all three of them right now. When did I get so bloodthirsty? Have I always been this way? Goddess knows I lived in a fight for your life family. It’s only natural I come here with a kill or be killed mentality.
There’s a hard tug on my hair and I’m yanked backwards. “Are you listening, bitch? Do you hear me now?” she replies, like the dude in the old Verizon commercials before he turned traitor and ran to Sprint.
“Don’t touch me,” I growl, pushing her off before balling my fists at my side as I stare all three of them down. One against three, not the best odds, but I’m a Boudreaux and I refuse to back down.
“Did you like how we decorated your room?” the nasally one taunts, twirling a lock of her curly brine colored hair around her finger. She’s pretty and she knows it. The leader of this bitchy ban of idiots.
“It wasn’t my taste. Unlike you, gutter trash doesn’t fit my personality.” Her nose flairs and I give her a toothy smile. If she expected me to be intimidated by her, she should have checked my home life out first. I survived Leslie. She’s no comparison.
“You think you’re all that just because you’re a Boudreaux, don’t you? Well, listen up, sweetheart, you’re weak. A pathetic little flea. A little nobody who gets off fucking her brother because he’s the only one desperate enough to touch you,” the other girl, a strawberry blonde contributes to this name bashing.
“Gee, tell me what you really think because you sound jealous to me.” Their accusations are pissing me off and calling me weak may have triggered what I thought was a long buried insecurity, but apparently, that sucker is still here with me waving, ‘hey, remember me’ with their words, but I will not let them know they’re getting to me. After I handle them, I’ll nip Mr. Insecurity in the bud for good.
Strawberry blonde laughs, moving closer until she’s right in my face. “Jealous of what? I don’t see a real mage, but a whore. After your brother is done with you, I’m sure it won’t take long for you to be on your back for every guy on campus.”
I roll my eyes and turn my back on her. I’ve heard enough. I know it’s stupid to turn your back on your enemies, but I’m not worried about them. My ears ring a warning bell, not for me, but for them. Strangely through the noise, I’m calm. Just like the saying, the calm before the storm. Well, behold the storm when I pick up the pot with the hot boiling grease off the stovetop and sling it in strawberry blonde’s face.
Her screams are like music to my ears as she claws at her face to only make things worse as her nails pick bits and pieces of her flesh away. “You bitch,” her friend shrieks, coming after me. Not expecting her to fling her whole body at me, we slip on the drops of grease on the floor and fall hard. Rolling around, grappling with each other, both of us let our anger take over, forgetting we both have magic and are using more effort than need be. She punches my jaw and I elbow her in the gut before climbing on top of her body and pounding on her face like a gorilla having a tantrum. Too busy helping her friend, the ringleader misses her other lackey getting her ass beat, but people can be distracted for only so long, so I pull a hair from my head to end this.
Like the turtle last night, I wrap the hair around her neck and pull as I hum my death song, but I don’t spell it to cut, just to hold firm so I can choke the life out of her. She gags, kicking her feet, trying to bulk me from her body, but I hold steady. Too soon, her efforts slow until she goes completely still. I keep hold of the string a second longer, just in case she’s faking, but she stays dead. Getting to my feet just in time, I dodge a bolt of lightning to the gut. Shit, that could have killed me for sure. The ringleader is up on her feet with sparks sizzling around her fingertips. Great, Curly Q likes to play with lightning.
I have two choices here. I can run or stand my ground and fight. It’s fair, one on one since one lackey is dead and the other is unconscious on the floor. Possibly dead... or getting there judging by the moans coming out her mouth.
“You’re going to pay for what you did. I’m going to fry you until you have no nerve endings left then I’m going to cut you to pieces and send that nasty cunt of yours to your brother.” Classic villain monologue. No one has time for that shit, so I interrupt her rant and throat punch her.
“Sorry, did I interrupt how you wish you were going to kill me? Silly me.” She recovers, coughing while casting another bolt and I dodge it in time, but the ends of my hair aren’t so lucky and they get singed. “Damn it,” I shout. “I’m growing my hair out.” With my ability, long hair makes the best weapons.
Kicking my death song up a notch, I gather from my pool until I’m surrounded in a fog of purple and blue. I’m pissed. The bloodlust consumes me and the only thing that will satisfy me now is her pretty little head. I pull two strands out, one in each hand and hum, weaving my intent into the strands until they hold firm like a whip and I go to town. She’s royally pissed me off and I’m far gone from caring. In fact, Angelica went on vacation to the deepest part of my body and someone more sinister is in charge.
She’s too slow to catch me as I twirl around her. When she ready to shoot a bolt at me, I slash at her with my hair like a whip. Her clothes tear and bleeding welts appear on her smooth skin. I hit her over and over again in a dance to the death as graceful as a ballerina, but deadly like a striking snake, until she starts to resemble something like a monster with the deep rooted welts. If I show her mercy and don’t kill her, she’ll still never be the same.
“You called me weak.” I laugh, striking her again, this time across her cheek, leaving a bloody line behind. “But look at you.” Another slash on the other cheek to match. “You’re the weak one here.” Strike, strike, over and over.
Die, die, die,
A madman sings
The dead tells no tales
And the devil isn’t picky
Got a secret, can you keep it? Swear this one you’ll save.
Cause two can keep a secret if one of them is dead.
I keep the deadly intent out of the last word. I don’t want my fun to end just yet. My song renders her defenseless as her powers sputter out of her like a dying flame. Is that it? Is that all she’s got? Isn’t that a shame? Here I thought I had a worthy opponent
when all she is is one trick pony. Mages with powerful abilities tend to rely on that one ability and nothing else. Stupid really. Now, I’d bet she’s regretting that. As her life flashes before her eyes, I’m sure she’s regretting a lot. Including fucking with me.
“Are you ready to die?” My voice is not my own. I’m completely taken over by the devil on my shoulder with the angel dead at his feet.
“No, please, I’m sorry,” she croaks through a hoarse voice. What is with everyone trying to kill me and then apologizing afterwards?
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” I tell her. Pressing my palms to her temples, I twist, and with inhuman strength, I crack her neck, giving her a parting gift of eyes behind her head.
The kitchen is a mess and my dinner is ruined. Apparently, while I was fighting, quite a large crowd gathered to watch. Kirito is in the front and beside him are the hot twins. I wonder how long they were standing there, watching. I can’t help but feel like they want something from me. Are they disappointed I didn’t die? I hardly used any magic, so I didn’t give away anything, that’s what’s most important. That and I didn’t die.
Going to the body of the one I strangled, I pull my hair free and pocket it with the other two strands. Later, I’ll burn them so they can’t be used against me. You can’t be leaving behind hair in a place like this. You don’t want someone like me to get a hold of them. I want to leave behind a statement. If three bodies doesn’t scream ‘don’t fuck with me,’ I don’t know what will. Under the sink, for some strange reason, is a long thin rope, but hey, this is a school of killers. Coiling it around Curly Q’s broken neck, I string her up in the doorway. Completely absorbed in my task, I ignore the outraged gasps. I couldn’t care less about my audience or what they think of the mutilated body. I’m all for having respect for the dead, but not her. This bitch was my kill. They’ll learn soon if they don’t already know, the Boudreaux twins are not stable.