Nightshade Academy Episode 4: Den of Demons

by Kestra Pingree

  After he’s finished, bones and all, Kian licks his chops. He awkwardly paws at his face too, doing his best to clean off the gore. He takes a bite of pristine snow. Then his tongue finds me. He licks my cheek, forehead. “Kian, stop.”

  He blinks softly. If stoplight-red eyes can be soft.

  “I hate it here,” I say. “I wish we could run away without any adverse consequences.” I sigh. “Where’d you leave your clothes? We should get back.”

  He points his nose and I stand. His too-yellow chartreuse hums when I touch his snout. I can feel my lotus pink doing the same, though I can’t see it through my thick glove.

  “They like playing with us,” I whisper.

  Kian nips at my hood and tugs a little.

  “Right,” I say. “We’re in this together. I didn’t forget.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “Try again.”

  A chill crawls up my spine as I look between Archer and Kian. Ginzo is at the other side of the lab, lying down, but I know he’s awake. I avoid Helena. Looking at her Color makes the chills worse.

  Archer squeezes the spherical watermelon tourmaline in her hand. Her knuckles are white. Her Color is more pink than blue with all the hand-holding Helena’s been demanding since we returned.

  “Well?” Helena says.

  “I don’t see them,” Archer replies.

  “You’re either lying to me or your sixth sense is more unreliable than I thought. Nova, your turn.”

  Archer takes my hand and presses the watermelon tourmaline into my palm hard enough to leave an impression. Our Colors meet again, brighter with the aid of the crystal, but more lotus pink enters her sky blue, chasing it away. There’s hardly any lavender to be had anymore.

  Helena shakes the glass bottle she’s holding. “See anything?”

  I can, but it’s not as bright as it’s been before. “I see granite.”

  “Granite?”

  “The Color of the ‘soul’ inside of there, I guess.” I’m not sure how much I should say. I’ve never played any dangerous games like this before. You’d think I’d be good at deceiving people, but Mom and I always just ran away.

  Running is all I really know about anything.

  “It seems to me, Archer’s gift is fading while yours remains mostly the same,” Helena says. “Why is that, darlings? Perhaps we need to strengthen Archer’s aura? Her spirit?” Hazy purple condenses, showing the way Helena squints. “Replace what isn’t there, perhaps?”

  Archer swallows. I wouldn’t have noticed, but it’s so quiet suddenly that it’s impossible not to hear.

  A couple ice fires leave their school to float around me and Archer before settling their koi-like swimming circles over Kian’s head.

  “Boy,” Helena turns on her heel to face Kian, “you’re the one Nightshade’s fairies favor, correct?”

  Kian hesitates before answering. “If you’re asking me if I’m the one they tend to swarm, then yes.”

  Helena hums. “Nova, the last time I released some of my captured souls, you let them escape. I’d advise you not to do that again. I think your sister might need them.”

  My skin crawls with the thought of completely “absorbing” someone’s soul, their Color. I haven’t done it yet. Neither has Archer. If you don’t count plants.

  I think about the deadly nightshades in Madeline’s office, the ones turned to ash, dust in the wind.

  “Hold hands,” Helena instructs. “Your power is stronger when you do.”

  Archer takes my hand.

  I stare at the point of contact, at the overwhelming lotus pink. It’s mostly me. If not for the crystal in my other hand. I pass the crystal to Archer’s free hand to see if it’ll make a difference. It doesn’t.

  Maybe I have nothing to worry about. Archer isn’t on the same page as me and Kian, but maybe she won’t be able to trap Helena’s souls like this. All I can do is watch and wait.

  Helena twists the bottle cap, and the granite-colored soul drifts loose. It floats like a puff of smoke. Archer spreads her fingers and reaches for it. As soon as her fingertips meet the fuzzy edge of the soul, the granite Color shudders. It sinks into her fingers, but it doesn’t replace her sky blue. It just turns our joined Color a darker shade, a grayish pink.

  Helena releases another soul, and the previous events repeat. Our joined Color becomes grayer yet more vivid. Archer holds my hand tighter, a smile twitches on her lips. My eyes go to our hands, where the swirl of Colors seems to be densest. The gray breaks apart until blotches of individual Colors swim between our silhouettes. They bubble, fizz and foam, and suddenly the foreign Colors are expelled. They shoot up and up like an erupting volcano, phasing through the thick ice ceiling.

  Helena tracks their ascent as easily as I do. She saw what happened, or some version of it.

  Archer shakes. Her grip is weak, frail like an old person’s. Her lungs sound sick. She’s wheezing.

  “Ginzo,” Helena says.

  An unnatural gust of wind fills the lab. I tuck a lock of pink hair behind my ear to get it out of my eyes. My eyes track Kian. Ginzo’s at his back. Kian’s as stiff as a board, and I mirror him.

  “We’re trying,” I say. And silently, I plead. Don’t. Don’t do it.

  “Archer?” Helena sets her empty glass bottles back on the ice counter.

  “It’s not working,” Archer says through gritted teeth.

  “Oh? You’re not just saying that to cover for your twin?”

  “I’m not. It’s not working.” Archer wipes sweat from her brow and crouches. She ends up on her butt when her knees refuse to support her.

  “I don’t believe you. Ginzo, give them an incentive to cooperate. Kill Kian. Slowly. Make him hurt. You can stop before actually killing him when Nova’s found the proper motivation.”

  “I’m not lying!” I say.

  “Maybe. But Archer can’t do what I want, while I think you can. So dig in a little deeper, darling. Give me what I want.”

  Archer taps the ice with a fist too weak to bash through.

  “Ready, Ginzo?”

  “Wait!” I scream as Ginzo binds Kian with his rock-solid arms.

  Helena grabs unopened containers and sets Colors loose, one after the other. I can’t see them, though. “Catch them.”

  Ginzo seizes Kian’s right hand. “Fingers first? Peeling off fingernails always hurts.”

  Kian doesn’t make a sound, but he squirms, trying to wriggle out of Ginzo’s hold.

  “Catch them,” Helena repeats.

  Archer passes me the watermelon tourmaline. The freed Colors become fuzzy balls in my vision.

  “Please,” I beg as I claw at a Color. It’s smoke, something I can’t hold no matter how hard I try. This one, a creamy orange, gets away unscathed.

  “Really, Nova,” Helena says. “Try harder.”

  “I am!” I grab at another Color, beige, but the same thing happens. How did Archer do this?

  “Well, I suppose I’ll decide that for myself soon enough. If you really can’t, Kian will only be out a few fingers. Most likely. And they’ll heal soon enough.”

  How can she say that? Like the pain itself is inconsequential?

  I turn to the ice fires floating over Kian. They’re distressed now, producing tones, one on top of the other. The sound ricochets off the ice walls and amplifies. Archer covers her ears.

  “Ginzo,” Helena snaps, “I don’t hear any screaming.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m going. Such a fucking pain in the ass. There’s gotta be an easier way to do this.”

  “Stop complaining.”

  “What you really want are those ice fires, the secrets of these ruins,” Archer says and wobbles to her feet. Her azure eyes are trained on the almost-blinding Color of one of the ice fires. They expand their circle, reaching just above us with each lap they take.

  “Yes,” Helena replies. “I made that quite clear already.”

  Kian whimpers, bites back a scream, and Ginzo says, “That’s one.”
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  Archer grabs my hand and captures an ice fire’s tail at the same time.

  “Please” is the only word running through my head as Kian’s haggard breaths fill my ears as if he’s standing beside me.

  Instead of freezing Archer’s hand, the ice fire turns lavender, pure lavender. Archer’s Color is suddenly as opaque as mine. There’s no more lotus pink than there is sky blue.

  “Do as I say.” Archer lets the ice fire go, but its Color remains lavender. It resonates with ours, the Color extending outside of our silhouettes on a chain.

  Kian bites back another scream, and Helena says, “Ginzo, stop. Let him go.”

  Ginzo holds his hands out to his sides, fingers extended. Kian falls to his knees, clutching his wrist. His pointer finger is so bloody. It almost makes his Color look red.

  “Focus.” Archer tugs on my hand.

  She’s right. I can’t do anything for Kian’s pain. I might be able to stop more pain, though. If I focus.

  “Reveal your secrets.”

  The ice fire tethered to us doesn’t budge. A slight ripple through its body means it must be alive, but I’ve never seen one so still.

  Hazy purple flashes and darkens, lightning and thunderclouds.

  I risk saying, “I don’t think they have any secrets.” It’s contradictory to what they seemed to be saying to Kian before, but this ice fire is literally connected to us and nothing is happening. I feel it in my head, like its body is my own. I recognize its tail as another limb. if I told it to burrow itself into the ice, I’m sure it would. What I said must be true. How do I convince Helena it’s true?

  “Tell it to bring down that wall.” Helena points to the same ice slab Ginzo sucked into the ground when he gave us our sleeping bags.

  “Bring down the wall,” Archer repeats.

  This time, the ice fire moves. It twirls and swirls, a string caught in the wind, and taps the block of ice with its tail. Ice grinds and recedes into the ground, revealing the supplies behind it.

  “Ask it if there are any secret rooms,” Helena says.

  Archer does, but the ice fire doesn’t react.

  “Tell it to take us to the portal hidden here.”

  Once again, Archer repeats Helena’s words. And, once again, the ice fire doesn’t react.

  My eyelids feel heavy. They get heavier each time I blink. The lavender joining me, Archer, and the ice fire flickers. It starts separating, Colors reclaiming their identities. They break apart. The ice fire drifts free. Archer’s Color goes back to barely there while my Color retains lotus pink and that dab of brown created by Kian’s chartreuse. I think I’m the only one holding part of his Color. I’m relieved it isn’t split three ways now. If I’m the sole owner of it, I should be able to give it back. Soon. I wonder if it’d help him heal faster.

  Kian’s hunched over, red eyes blazing and watching the room, but his hand hurts. He’s shaking and sweat distorts his Color.

  I have to look away and bite my lip to stave off a shiver.

  I’m so sorry, Kian.

  “Disappointing.” Helena watches the ice fires continue their in-and-out patterns, traveling through the lab and its tunnels. “I’ve had enough of you cretins for today.” Like every time before, her Color distorts, dissolves, and she disappears, clothes and all.

  Ginzo lands on the ice ground with a thud and starts snoring. Archer goes to the open supply room and finds a cloth. She balls it up, throws it at me, and I crouch down in front of Kian.

  “It’s not healing very quickly.” I take his hand, glance at his ruined finger, and wrap the cloth around it. I squeeze, trying to staunch the blood. It seeps through, though, the appetizing scent sweet in my nose. I taste the spices and mint in the air.

  “God,” Kian gasps and grits his teeth. “Fuck, that hurts.”

  “Why isn’t it healing?”

  Kian squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s daylight.” Abruptly, he shoots to his feet. “I need to walk, get my mind off this.”

  “Don’t get lost.” Ginzo chuckles.

  I ask, “You’re not going to stop us if we walk through the tunnels?”

  His reply is another snore. I think he just snores on command.

  “Us?” Kian whispers.

  I whisper back, “Obviously I’m coming with you.”

  “What about you, Archer?”

  “I’m staying here.”

  “Have it your way.” Kian moves, taking one of the ice-fire lit tunnels. Sweat creases his Color. I want to wipe it away, but I keep my hands to myself. I stare at Kian’s twitching, bloody hand, and I wonder how much pain he’s willing to go through for a chance to stop Nightshade from burning. A chance. There are no guarantees.

  I think that must be love.

  I think Mom’s running, hiding, and rules were out of love, too. However fucked up it all was.

  I miss you, Mom.

  CHAPTER 9

  Two of the ice fires Kian followed slow their pace as soon as they notice him. I can’t really say they’re leading the way since they’re circling over him now, but when there’s a choice of directions to take, it sometimes seems like they tug toward one, just barely breaching their perfect circle.

  We walk and walk, but Kian’s finger still bleeds.

  “Did he do more than take off a nail?” I dare to ask.

  “Yeah. He peeled off skin too, layer by layer.” Kian brings both of his hands to his forehead so he can wipe away the sweat without letting up the pressure on his wound. “I wish they’d play these games at night. This wouldn’t be bleeding anymore.”

  “You shouldn’t have to wish for something like that. This shouldn’t be a thing at all.” And your blood shouldn’t smell so good when I’m full on Ginzo’s blood. I just have to get used to it. Kian will always smell mouthwatering. I don’t have to attack him, though. I can control myself, and that’s the important part.

  “Should we take a break?” I ask.

  “No. I’ll think about it more if we do.”

  One of the ice fires swoops down from its circle and knocks into Kian’s hands. The other bites down on a bit of the bloodied cloth and wrenches it free. The one that knocked into his hands puts its perfectly round mouth around Kian’s bloody finger. Kian yelps and pulls away, but the blood is gone. The ice fire sucked it away, and he’s not bleeding anymore.

  “Did they heal it?” I ask, dubious.

  “Froze it, but it feels better than before.” Kian shakes out his hand. “Thanks, I think.”

  The ice fires release airy, light tones. They swim ahead to icy arches that look a little too polished to be natural. An area much like the lab or any other open expanse of the cavern reveals itself to us.

  I stop and look around, but the arches are the only defining feature. It’s difficult to keep it all straight. The lab and the first room after descending the stairs are the only two areas I can keep track of. The tunnel leading between them, too. This area is bigger than both of those combined. Much bigger.

  “Whoa!” Kian’s arms flail. His legs are locked into place, but he must have taken a step ahead of me onto some slippery ice. He’s sliding with no sign of stopping. Eventually, the treads in his boots slow him down, and he manages to stay upright—though he keeps wobbling like one of those tube men at a car dealership.

  I try to hold it in, but I laugh. I’ve never seen Kian so ungraceful.

  “Keep laughing while I try to find out how to get unstuck,” he says, but his Color is that soft and spongy moss texture that means he’s content.

  “You’re not stuck.”

  “Try out this ice and get back to me on that.” Kian carefully lifts a foot. He has to set it back down again without taking a step. His balancing leg refused to do its job. He tries again. This time he takes a step, but he spins out before stilling himself again, legs spread out wide like a newborn fawn.

  “Your act is pretty convincing,” I say.

  “If only this were an act.”

  Something slams into me. Cold
and hard like a block of ice. The slippery ice surface Kian’s screwing around on takes hold of me, almost as if it's moving, but it’s just really slippery. He wasn’t kidding.

  I windmill my arms, trying to change my trajectory, but it doesn’t work. An ice fire floats by me and away to Kian, making his place the brightest spot in the area. The other ice fire pushes me again. Kian holds up his hands to brace himself for impact, and I crash into him. For a moment, I think we might stay upright. It doesn’t last long. Kian’s feet slide out from under him, and we go down hard. He gets the worst of this since his back is what hits the ice. But I don’t brace myself very well either. My Neck jerks forward and our lips press almost hard enough for our teeth to grind against each other.

  “Sorry,” I say and try to move away with my hands on the ice, but even my gloves can’t get a grip. They slip, and I drop again. Our lips press and teeth narrowly avoid the grind.

  Kian wraps an arm around my back, probably to keep me in place. When I look at his face, chartreuse doesn’t stare back at me. It’s brown. A pale muddy brown. No, it’s more like tree bark with the texture of Kian’s Color.

  Did this happen because our lips touched? Damn it.

  “I’m glad you caught yourself both times,” Kian says and laughs, “before one of us got a bloody lip or a cracked tooth.”

  “This is ridiculous,” I mutter. But Kian’s laugh is infectious. I find myself smiling despite myself, despite the craziness: Helena, Kian’s finger, Nightshade’s impending fire. My ribs ache like someone took them and forced them into a spiral. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, hot and cold on my face at the same time.

  The blue light cast by the circling ice fires touches the ice like the seafloor. I’ve never gone diving, but I’ve seen documentaries. It’s a different world down there. Completely different. Just like here with the auroras. I think, for once, I’d like to sit back and observe it all. Because there’s beauty even in the darkest places, after all. Just look at Kian, still smiling even though Ginzo hurt him, even though I keep letting them hurt him.