by CY Jones
“We reported everything we saw,” he lies with conviction. I need to tread lightly. For now, we’re allies, but if I take it too far, insult him past repair, that will not be the case anymore. We have a common goal, that’s the only reason why the five of us can work together. In this upcoming war, it’s better to pool our abilities than fight it alone, but she is becoming a problem. A big one. My plans did not include a Boudreaux.
“You need to stop thinking with your dick. She’s a threat to everything we’re trying to do. If you need to fuck her to get her out your system, then do so. I need you and your brother alert and thinking straight. Don’t let a new pussy and a pretty face derail you.”
“I think it’s you who needs to fuck her and get her out of your system,” he sneers. “You can hide how she gets to that cold demeanor of yours all you want, but we see it. All of us do. You’re not fooling anyone. You’ve had a hard on since she got here and I suggest you use it. Get on with it and just fuck her already. Your orders are starting to get as unhinged as she is.”
“I’m not attracted to her,” I growl.
“Liar,” he hisses through clenched teeth and slowly turns to walk away.
“We’re not done here yet.” I grab the sleeve to his arm and he growls an inhuman sound. When his gaze meets mine, they blaze with death.
Power surges between us. The air around us crackles, it’s a warning for all to stay the hell back unless they want to become collateral damage. Despite our friendship, neither of us want to concede to the other. We’re two strong mages gearing for a fight. It would be interesting to see who would win between the two of us. This is insane. This is exactly what I fought to avoid when making this alliance after everyone told me it was a fool’s choice. A coward’s choice my father had said. Ignorant and disrespectful my mother seethed, yet I went against them to do what I knew was the right decision anyways. Bearing down on my teeth, I try to hold the flames of my anger in to keep it from lashing out at my brother in arms. Closing his eyes, Oliver listens to a voice in his head, probably his brother’s, and takes a deep breath before letting it out. I let go of his sleeve and take a step back to give him space to work his shit out. When he opens his eyes, they are a clear blue, void of the promise of violence.
“In a couple of days, those chosen by the Champions will bear their mark as they are blessed with command seals. Let’s wait until then before we decide what to do about her,” I suggest, offering an olive branch. Today's blowout is long overdue, but I rather delay it ‘til after the war.
“And if she is chosen, then what?”
“We kill her before the summoning.” I leave with that damning statement. It’s the best move and he knows it. She’s too unstable to wield a Champion. We cannot let our past history be repeated. A Boudreaux should never wield that kind of power ever again. It’s the reason they banished themselves from this academy… until now. Why are they back? That is something I intend to find out and the others better get on board. I have my objective, but I don’t deny what he said rang true. I may be able to lie to him; I cannot lie to myself. Despite how hard I fight it, she stirs something in me. A desire I have been keeping carefully locked away in a cage, surrounded by fire and lava. A monster that, if I let free, will destroy me because it’ll run straight for her. Its salvation and my undoing.
Chapter 11
Angelica
I get through the whole day without killing anyone and the next. Rumors of Allister’s passing have been running rapid and the fear toward me has amplified. I guess he was a big deal. With the way he fought, I’m not surprised. Taking his place, I have made it into the top ten, but I still have a ways to go. Paranoid or smart, I’ve been continuously watching my back to the point it’s obsessive. I never know when someone will jump out the shadows, aiming for the target on my back painted in blood.
To pass the time, I have been dedicating myself to my studies. Dad’s education wasn’t easy. He didn’t half ass any of my studies, but it’s clear I’m behind. A lot of what I hear in class is new information to me. The experiments we conduct, the first I have ever done them, and I don’t always get them right on the first try. In fact, it takes several attempts before I can complete them.
I haven’t seen Quinn in the last couple of days either. He hasn’t sought me out in our free hour and I stopped going over there looking for him like a total loser. I guess he’s too busy being king of the empire to spend time with his little sister anymore. I mean, isn’t this what I wanted? For him to stop hovering and to let me take care of myself? I wanted it, sure, but I didn’t want to lose my brother. I feel like I’ve lost some vital limb, but I can still feel the phantom pain.
When third period rolls along, I’m sure Quinn isn’t going to show for our meet, so I head toward the headmaster’s office. I don’t know why, but I feel like he can help me discover myself. Tap into that unlocked power hidden deep inside me or at least help me navigate how to do it myself.
“Miss Boudreaux, this is quite the surprise. How are your classes going?” he inquires when he sees me step through the door. The sitting room is empty. I wonder, does he even have a secretary? I’m glad I caught him here and don’t have to spend the hour tracking him down.
“They’re going all right, I guess.” I take a seat in the same chair as before and just like last time, a tea set flies over. This one is painted with cherry blossom trees. The falling reddish pink leaves look so real, as if they are floating down the cup and I marvel at the detail. Whoever painted these is a talented artist.
“Do you have anything stronger? It’s already starting to be a long day,” I ask and the tea set flies away and is instantly replaced with a cup of coffee. I grab it and greedily take a sip, relishing in the bitter liquid as it makes a path down my insides.
“Better?” Headmaster chuckles.
“Yes, much.” I hold the cup, letting it warm my hands as I think of a way to start this conversation. I have so much to ask, but not sure how to go about doing it.
“Your instructors have been saying a lot of nice things about you. I can tell they are impressed by your progress so far.”
I give him a doubtful look. It’s almost been a week and I’m still struggling. What could they have told him besides I have the makings of a mass murderer? Granted, each time I killed my life was in danger, but still. Nine people in five days is a bit much. Scratch that, three days, even worse.
Reading the look on my face, he gives me an understanding smile. “They have seen how hard you have been working. We all know the challenges you faced when you came here and you and your brother started your lessons late. We were all young once. We know what’s expected of a young mage.”
“What exactly is a headmaster’s job?” I ask, curious. With all this death, what exactly does he do?
“We are the overseers. It’s our job to observe and record. Take that book you borrowed from the library for instance. It’s updated by the headmaster. Our records, our history.”
“And all the deaths? What about those? Do you just watch and do nothing as the death toll piles up? Recording them in your little book. Sure it’s our right to weed out the weak. I get that, but what is too far? Is there even a limit?”
“As I told you before, it is not my job to interfere. Death is part of our society. Anyone who’s too weak to survive in here won’t make it long out in the real world. In a way, we’re predators. We sniff out the weak and annihilate those who won’t make it like wolf cubs when they are born. Only the strongest will survive to live amongst the pact. What do you think happens to someone who slips through the cracks? Someone who should have died, but survives and goes back to their family? What if they inherit a position of privilege or power? What do you think happens then?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to answer before he continues on. It’s not like I have one anyways. “They are taken advantage of, preyed on, sending our society spirling because of its spineless leader until eventually they are not useful anymore and are killed. Academies like th
is keep that from happening. Allister Caster was being primed to be a Prime Minister. Can you imagine the catastrophe that would have ensued if he survived? As a beginner, you were powerful enough to take him out. Years later, someone just as powerful could have used him to do their bidding and then killed him once done.”
I hear his words, but I’m still having trouble computing them. Something screams inside me, you don’t deserve to be justified. Murderer. Slut. Fraud. Leslie’s nasty insults turn around in my head on a broken record, haunting me.
“I’m all seeing, but I’m not heartless. I can tell you’re struggling with the role you had no choice but to play. Your start here is the roughest I have seen in my many years as headmaster. With your brother, it was easier, but with you, you’re taking the hard road. It’s lonely at first, but I can guarantee it has its just rewards. You just have to stick with it. Did you know I come from a long line of headmasters? It was always my destiny to be here,” he supplies, rapidly changing the subject. It’s a weird topic change as my brain is still trying to extract Leslie’s taunts and process what he just told me.
“No, I didn’t,” I finally answer. “I admit, I don’t know much about this place.”
“It’s beautiful, full of its challenges as you know. It also has a long history. You were on the right path when you visited the library. I’m sure that book you found will help fill in some of the blanks you have.”
“The building is beautiful. Is there more enchanted buildings like that one?” I inquire.
“Ah yes, that building is quite unique. It’s been here since the academy was established in 1877. The magic used to make it is ancient and unfortunately forgotten, but there is one other place like it near the campus.”
“Really! Where?” I ask excitedly. Architecture isn’t really my thing, but enchanted buildings have always piqued my interest, even though coming here was the first time I’ve actually seen one.
“Through the woods there’s a waterfall. Behind the spray is a cave and only on the night of a full moon does the flow of the water let up long enough for people to enter before it returns to gushing in a relenting force at dawn. I never explored it myself, so I can’t tell you what’s inside and not many students are curious about history like you are to go seek it out.”
“That sounds very Nancy Drew,” I chuckle.
“Tomorrow night is a full moon. Maybe you can check it out yourself and tell me all about it. Oh dear, look at the time. I’m late for a meeting,” he replies, rising to his feet before setting a comforting hand on my shoulder. A feeling of familiarity blossoms and I feel better like I do when Quinn shares his power with me to calm my nerves. I smile, thanking him before I set the coffee cup down on the table and follow him out where we part ways on the cobblestone path.
He has given me a lot to think about. I didn’t get to ask him about my magic or my other fears, but I do feel better after going there. He did answer why we have to kill, but just like the weak can slip through the cracks, what of the bloodthirsty? Those strong enough to survive, but can’t stop the urge to kill? What of them? Out of the academy, it’s illegal to kill another mage without the Council’s permission. The crime punishable by death or life imprisonment, but just like with normies, it happens. Those who take matters in their own hands and are smart enough to not get caught. They are the ones at the head of our society who places the pieces on the board where they please. They make the laws, break them, then extract some unfair justice to the calamity they caused. I don’t want to be like that. Ever. I’m not a manipulator. I may have alluring powers, but that’s the extent of where I can cross. He’s right. I need to find a way to make peace with the deaths or my soul will die right along with them or worse, turn me into my worst nightmare.
At the end of the school day, I go back to my room and find a gift laying on my bed. I’m wary of it at first, but then laugh when I realize how ridiculous that is. Only one person can get through the wards of my room and that’s because I let him. Quinn must be feeling bad about ditching me. I pick the tiny box up and shake it, hearing something rattle inside. When I open it, it’s a nice size golden bell with a picture of the Joker painted on it, the details painstakingly similar to the mask Quinn wears. Quinny knows I’m not a fan of harlequin wear. I have my own unique style, but still, a tear slips past my defenses over his sweetness.
In my hand, the bell is warm, covered in Quinn’s love. In our culture, it’s symbolic to gift a bell like this one. It’s usually done when proposing. Instead of a ring, you wear the bell with even bigger ones exchanged at the wedding. I know this is Quinn’s way of saying he is here even if he’s not always around. Instead of putting the bell away, I braid it in my hair, spelling a strand of my hair to secure it tight so that I never lose it. When I move, I can faintly hear it jingle in Quinn’s alluring tune. This must have been one of his own bells, which makes the gift even more special.
There’s a knock on my door and I open it to find my trunk I packed back at home laying in wait outside my door. I squeal in delight and those lounging nearby watching TV turn their heads, but as soon as our gazes meet, they quickly turn away scared. Geez, I’m not the Boogeyman. Am I really that terrifying? I guess while I’m killing I am.
Flipping them off, I drag the trunk inside my room. Not even they can ruin my good mood of getting my stuff. The trunk is spelled and I have to prick my finger and drip a drop of my blood into the lock where it absorbs it and makes a loud clicking sound as it unlocks. Then I undo the latch and flip it open. I grab a handful of my stuff and hold it close to my body, inhaling its scent. I can smell my room at home and the coconut oil I rub on my body. I can also smell the herbs I sprinkled on the bottom of my trunk, just in case. I don’t trust Leslie and wouldn’t put it past her to try to bypass my blood spell.
Spelled trunks are the equivalent of the normies Mary Poppins carpet bag. They are bottomless and you can put just about anything in them because they never get full. I cart out more of my clothes and put them away, folding them neatly in the drawers provided. Rows of shoes I line up under my bed, careful to not smudge the sigil. It would be a real pain to have to draw another. My extra set of bedding I place on the top shelf of my closet, then fill the closet with more clothes that need to be hung up. I’m careful with my books, placing them on the hand carved bookshelves. I brought most of my favorites and would cry if anything happens to them. Learning from my past mistakes, I spelled them, providing an over layer of protection. Someone could burn my room down and they’d still be okay. I grunt when I pull out the mini fridge. I know we have a fully stocked kitchen, but it’s a pain to leave my room every time I want a snack. With my own means to store food, I can avoid kitchen attacks like the last one.
The next thing I pull out is my coat rack made from ash wood. It’s a gift from my father. He carved it himself, even the detailed skulls all over the body and all the flourished accents. Tiny hearts, diamonds, clovers, and spades. Picking it up, I can still feel the love that went into it. Like Quinn’s bell, it holds Dad’s essence and magical energy. I place it near the door and work on putting away the rest of my things. When I’m done, I don’t even recognize the room anymore. Before, it was empty, but now, it’s what I call voodoo sheek. The only harlequin decorations I have is stuff Quinn gave me over the years. The two blood red pillows covered in tiny white hearts, the delicate porcelain mask hanging on the bedpost that Quinn hand painted himself, an old handcrafted toy of a jester that flips and twirls when you twist the gold ring behind its back, and a red, white, and gold checkered jewelry box filled with precious jewels and harlequin jewelry I never wore. I was always intimidated to put any of it on. There’s a pendant in there that costs more than people’s houses.
When I’m done, I hum happily to myself and gather my things for a shower. I’m not in a rush for once and I take my time washing with my vanilla scented body wash before shampooing and conditioning my hair. When I step out, I massage the coconut oil I wear into my skin, paying special
attention to my sore muscles. I have a class on Wednesdays and Fridays that trains our physical bodies. Our instructor is demented and loves to beat us to a pulp. The oil is special and the magic infused in it soothes away my soreness and whatever bruises I may have attained. This stuff may be expensive, but it’s a lifesaver. If not for it, I would be walking around with a bloated blue and purple face and sporting a black eye after my fight with Allister.
By the time I dress and dry my hair, the sun has long fallen and the night sky is lit up by the almost full moon. When was the last time I laid outside on my back and counted the stars in the sky? It has been awhile. I think the last time was with my father when we laid on the grassy field he used to train me on and we made a game out of the different constellations we could point out. Out there, at that time, we were father and daughter, closer than two peas in a pod. I like him most when he's unguarded like that. Most of the time, he’s stern and to those who do not know him well, he comes off coldhearted. As clan leader and a Boudreaux, he has to be. His responsibilities have no room for weakness, but he loves his children dearly, and out of the five of us, it is I who gets the most of his attention.
Mostly because the house has taken sides. No one dares speak of the secrets that surround our family out of fear of ruin, but it doesn’t stop them from having their own opinion. Our oldest brother, Heartly, remains neutral, but he tends to dote on Leslie. Harley is team Leslie all the way. It’s no secret she hates my guts. Jackal, the demented fuck, loves catastrophe. Mayhem is his forte, so to amuse his inner demon, he tiptoes on both sides just slightly closer to Leslie, but thankfully, he’s not that mean to me either. It’s more like he couldn’t care less about my existence until I do something to make him take notice. Then there’s Quinn. For me, he remains on our dad’s side, even though it sometimes hurts him to do so. Quinn is ruled by his emotions. It’s both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. A weakness he has never been able to break and Leslie can play the victim card very well.