He popped his head back in, a mischievous grin on his face. “We were making out.”
Jose threw a skein of yarn at him. “Shut up!”
The yarn fell short by a foot and would have been too far to the right to hit him anyway. Hopefully I wouldn’t need to rely on Josie to throw any books at the heads of the dead to save me.
Pinky winked at me and closed the door.
“Okay, for reals this time,” I said. “What were you and Pinky doing?”
“We were just . . . talking.” She looked down as she said it. Had she blushed, I might have thought she was involved with Pinky, but she looked more melancholy than anything else.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah.”
“He isn’t threatening you or blackmailing you or anything?”
“God no! He’s just annoying. He keeps butting into my life trying to help me, and I didn’t ask him for any help.”
“I can relate,” I said, thinking of Thatch.
She nodded with understanding. “Oh, you mean Elric.”
I supposed that would be the logical conclusion since I hadn’t told her most of the annoying ways Thatch had tried to “help” me.
She sat down beside me. “How is everything with him? It must be hard seeing him here all the time. Khaba said he ‘visits’ your class like three times a week or something. He’s infatuated with you and won’t take no for an answer.”
I considered that. “He took no for an answer. Sort of. I think he’d be happier if I gave him a different answer.”
She laughed at that. “I bet!”
“He would take me back in an instant. But I don’t trust him. He lied to me. And when I’m around him, I become a different person.”
“Is it the muse magic drawing out the artist in you? Or because he’s a gorgeous Fae hottie and you can’t resist him?”
It wasn’t either. It was his touch. Every time he held me, I forgot my resolve. Resistance was futile. I became putty in his hands, and he knew it. My affinity made me more powerful than a Fae . . . and completely useless when he kissed me.
A spider scuttled across the wooden floor, disappearing in a crack between boards. If I moved into a room with Josie, she was not allowed to bring spiders with her.
“Anyway, that isn’t why I came here, to talk about Elric. It’s about that night with the lightning.”
Josie stiffened. “Yeah. What about it?”
I noticed the wariness in her voice. Could Vega have been right about Josie purposefully attacking with spiders?
For the moment, I decided to avoid that topic. “So I was doing some research, and I found out there was this librarian who once worked at the school named Galswintha the Wise. She was poisoned by her assistant and died, locked in a secret room under the library, but—”
“Oh yeah! I heard about her!” Josie squealed in excitement. “I didn’t know anyone knew how she died. Everyone said she mysteriously disappeared. She was the Madam Cleo of the Dark Ages. She’s the one who started the school prophecy. Of course at that time, the school wasn’t Womby’s.”
I grabbed Josie by the shoulders. “No way. No. This can’t be real.” Josie had told me about the school prophecy back when I’d first started. I had met the woman who had prophesized my destiny—the fate people had thought was my mother’s—about uniting Fae and Witchkin. But Vega hadn’t mentioned anything about it to me!
Josie laughed. “What’s gotten into you?”
I wanted to tell her I’d met Galswintha, but I couldn’t. I fell back onto Josie’s bed, groaning. Curse all these stupid secrets!
“What?” Josie asked.
“Nothing.” I tried to come up with a practical lie. “I found out her assistant librarian killed her to steal her books and secrets. I guess he never got access to her knowledge because she had a secret way of locking up her books.”
Josie shrugged. “The joke was on him, then.”
“His name was Ludomil Hummeln Ba’Izabul.”
“Weird name.”
“Yeah, but think about it. Ludomil. We have a man named Ludomil working at our school now.”
“So?”
“What if he’s the same Ludomil? He might just be pretending to be a custodian. Secretly, he might be a powerful wizard who wants me dead. Or he might want to help the Fae kidnap me. He might be the reason things went haywire during the meteor shower.” Someone wanted to out me. Ludomil Hummeln Ba’Izabul knew about the powers of the Red affinity and wanted to use them to his advantage. That night everyone had almost discovered my secret and Imani’s. This individual surely knew some inside information about us.
“Paranoid much?” Josie bit her lip. “Okay, I get the Raven Queen has her heart set on you, but seriously, this is a little bit overkill. Not every single Fae out there wants to eat you. Yeah, there was . . . Julian, but he was a freak and a pervert and he had a thing about coercing girls to do his bidding.” Her eyes turned mournful. “But not all Fae are jerks like that. Khaba is our friend. And Pinky, well, he’s a dork, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
If she understood why the Fae wanted me, she would see what I was talking about was true. “Motivations aside. Let’s say the custodian is pretending to be someone he’s not. How would we prove it?”
“Have you really thought this through? Remember the incident with Pro Ro and his turban?”
I would never be allowed to live that down.
“I’m not going to attack him. Let’s just talk shop. Vega thinks it can’t be him because he doesn’t like the library and he’s not the school librarian. But that doesn’t mean he might not be interested in books. He might be hiding them.”
Josie pointed a finger at me. “We are not breaking into his room. Remember when I told you not to break into Jeb’s office?”
“I didn’t. That was Julian. He stole one of the books and set the kids up to make it look like it was them. Will you please think about this seriously?”
“I hate to agree with Vega, but I think she’s right this time. Ludomil would have to be at least a thousand years old. No, maybe six hundred. That’s pretty old for a Witchkin. Galswintha made the prophecy about a thousand years ago. She mysteriously disappeared—or was killed—closer to six hundred years ago, so she was pretty old. I think it was back when the school was Nineve’s Academy for Girls.”
I swallowed. That meant my mother had been older than I’d ever suspected. She had been at least six hundred years old. I was fairly certain Jeb was only two or three hundred. Maybe he was younger if his Texas twang and his interest in cowboy fashion had any correlation to his age.
“It isn’t impossible, though,” I said. “A really good Celestor can age slowly, right? I mean, look at Thatch. He has to be at least ninety, right? Grandmother Bluehorse and Jeb are old.”
“Yeah, well, with Thatch, I suspect it’s a glamour. Witchkin aren’t immortal like Fae. Some of them have been around for thousands of years. Jeb is old, but obviously he has aged. Grandmother Bluehorse, she’s probably in her nineties, but she’s as spry as any sixty-year-old.”
How long ago did Galswintha die? How old would Ludomil have to be?
“It’s rare. It takes a lot of magic. Thatch probably steals his youth and beauty from school children the same way Alouette Loraline stole Gertrude Periwinkle’s—” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I wasn’t trying to be insensitive.”
I waved her off. “It doesn’t bother me. I didn’t know her.” It didn’t bother me much anyway. In any case, Alouette Loraline hadn’t stolen from Gertrude Periwinkle. She’d given her too much magic and caused the glamour to tone down her beauty to go overboard. I redirected the conversation. “But it is possible. Some Witchkin can use magic to age slowly.” Alouette Loraline had.
She shrugged. “Theoretically.”
“If Galswintha made the prophecy a thousand years ago and lived for another four hundred years, someone else cou
ld live for another six hundred. Especially if he figured out her secrets to long life.” He might have figured it out and turned himself into a Red affinity.
“You could distract him, and I could search his room,” I said.
“No,” she said firmly. “I have a better idea.”
I giggled. “What could be a better idea than breaking and entering? Okay, probably any idea.”
A trail of spiders made their way out of a hole in the floorboards and played follow the leader across to the door.
“Tomorrow, we are going to Khaba,” Josie said. “We’re going to the records of employment-history past. Mwa-ha-ha-ha.”
During lunch break, Josie and I sat in Khaba’s office, telling him my suspicions of who had tried to attack me with lightning the night of the meteor shower. Josie’s skepticism was evident while my enthusiasm bubbled out of me with each word. Khaba leaned back in his chair, considering my theory. His hot-pink shirt was unbuttoned down to his navel today.
“Will you get us Ludomil Sokoloff’s employment records to see how long the custodian has worked here?” I asked. “He might be Ludomil Hummeln Ba’Izabul.”
Khaba grimaced. “As an administrator, I do have the privilege to look up personnel files, but I’m not supposed to share it with others. Not unless I have a valid reason.”
“But you’ll make an exception for us?” Josie batted her eyelashes at him.
“Nice try. No.” He laughed. “Here’s what I’ll do. I will look into the employment records to see if I notice any red flags. But I don’t want to accuse the man of something he didn’t do. He’s always been an exemplary employee, and he works well with the brownies. They don’t get along with just any Witchkin. That takes some real tact.”
I wanted to thank him, but I knew it wasn’t a good habit to get into with a Fae. Maybe it was fine to do since he wasn’t bound by the same rules.
“Can I thank you?” I asked.
“Go ahead, honey. Show me how much you apreci-hate me.”
Josie groaned. “Let’s get out of here before he gets all punny on us.”
Khaba stood. “I’m doing this to humor you. But you have to understand, this theory of yours doesn’t give much credit to the person I suspect is the actual culprit.”
“Who do you think is behind this?” I asked.
“Felix Thatch, of course.”
Mrs. Keahi caught me reading up on the history of the school at my desk during class—probably when I should have been circulating and teaching art instead. I had borrowed good old Womby’s: A History of the School, with the chapter on my mother still torn out, from Pinky’s class set. I ignored the missing section. Instead I looked up Galswintha the Wise.
An entire chapter was devoted to her, and she hadn’t even been a headmistress! Her prophecies were fairly simple, usually written as rhyming poetry in Old High German. Seriously, I wondered what it was about Old High German that enticed her so much. She was old. Maybe it had been “new” German to her at one time.
Unlike Nostradamus, Galswintha the Wise didn’t use cryptic riddles. Her prophecies were reported to be ninety percent accurate. The ten percent that hadn’t come true were considered by her supporters to simply not have come to pass . . . yet.
She had several prophecies about the school. The one I was most interested in went:
One student, a misfit of the affinity fire, unable to be sorted,
Will be the chosen one who will rise with power.
She will bring back the lost arts
This will unify all Fae and Witchkin.
Or lead us into war.
The Old High German version was way longer and from what I could read, poetic and flowery. I did notice the word “Red” in the Old High German version, one of the few words I could understand. The original said, “the Lost Red Court,” while the modern translation omitted it.
That misfit could have been my mother, but she hadn’t succeeded in her research. It could have been Galswintha if she hadn’t been poisoned. I wasn’t certain whether this was a prophecy or what Galswintha wanted to happen—what she wanted to make happen.
It was what I could make happen. Two years before, Vega had claimed this prophecy, coupled with her own Celestor divinations, was why she wanted to help me. She intended to be at my side when the world toppled, for better or for worse.
Reading the book, I’d become absorbed in the prophecy, wondering where the Fae Fertility Paradox would lead—to unity or war. As I reread the text, I’d tuned out the chaos of my students.
With Mrs. Keahi standing before me, I was afraid I was in trouble. Someone threw a paper airplane. I dropped the book and stood, feeling as guilty as a kid with her hand in the cookie jar, or in Trevor’s case, with his hand caught in the tub of crayons as he happily chewed on a few broken bits.
“Hey, stop that,” I said to Trevor as I caught him, clapping my hands to get his attention.
His eyes went wide with guilt, probably the same expression I had on my face only seconds before. I turned to Mrs. Keahi, greeting her and trying to look innocent.
She eyed me with her usual disdain. “Immediately after school you are to go to the principal’s office.” She said it like I was in trouble.
“Oh sure. Thanks for relaying the message. Do you know why?”
“Obviously for something important if Principal Bumblebub is seeing you today.” She surveyed my classroom and shook her head.
Elric had said he would delay the investigation against Thatch. Was this meeting about using forbidden magic or something else? This couldn’t be good.
My nerves jittered all afternoon. When I showed up at Jeb’s office, Mrs. Keahi glowered at me from behind her glasses. “He’ll be right back. He’s attending to a disciplinary issue with Mr. Khaba.” She leaned forward. “Don’t touch anything in there.”
I scooted back from her. “When have I ever touched anything in Jeb’s office that I wasn’t supposed to?”
I understood her concern when I walked in. Jeb’s messy desk was messier than usual, piled high with files. Framed art leaned against the walls. I stubbed my toe on a marble bust that looked like it was made in the Roman era—or at least in the classical style that imitated the Roman era.
Art filled every space. A metal rack like one might find in a theater, full of ballerina costumes was next to the couch, almost hiding Elric. He examined a trunk of old coins, quickly putting the one he held aside.
He flashed a sheepish smile. “She told me not to touch anything, but it’s hard to resist when it’s all art, isn’t it?”
“What is all this stuff?”
“It’s for the auction. Just a few things from my father’s estate and that of my brothers’ and sisters’ they didn’t want anymore. I asked a few of my friends for some pieces from their collections.”
He nodded to an expressionist-style painting rendered with the swirling complementary colors of Vincent van Gogh’s self-portraits, only this one depicted a man with long blond hair who looked a lot like Elric.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to buy this one back in the auction, though,” Elric said. “I already miss it.”
“Um,” I said. “That’s very . . . generous.”
“They’re all legitimate donations. No strings attached. Except for Pinocchio over there.” He pointed to a wooden marionette carved with intricate artistry and laughed at his own joke.
“Does this meeting have something to do with the auction?”
“Indeed. I went to all sorts of trouble to get us alone so we could talk. Have you decided about the proposal you approached me about?”
“We need to talk about that. But not here. Somewhere private. And I need to talk to Vega first, but she’s being . . . tricky.”
“Have you made your decision, then?”
I nodded. I had. I prayed I was making the right decision.
“You will ally with me?” Elric said.
If I did this, I
would be saving Thatch. I would be saving my school. I would be saving magic. The only person who might be doomed was myself.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, but I don’t want to make the bargain now.” The heat in the room had gone up about twenty degrees since the start of the conversation.
“All I need to know for the moment is that you will allow yourself to be seen publicly with me. Also, there’s the venue to consider. I need you to side with me on this.” He took my hands in his. “You might not approve, but this school needs sponsors. It needs private funding so that you can teach the classes you need to teach, not what a board of Fae with their own unscrupulous morals tells you to teach. This year’s auction must allow people of influence, power, and wealth to attend.”
My affinity lurched, my magic responding to his touch. I slid my fingers out from his. “What about the students? It isn’t safe for them. Even if you don’t try, your magic influences them.”
“If we can’t bring the Fae to the auction, let me bring the auction to the Fae. Hold the festivities at one of my estates. You needn’t worry about security, nor would you have to invite the entire school, only the actors, dancers, and musicians involved in the entertainment.”
“You want us to bring you our artists,” I said.
“Indeed.”
“In a house of muses?” Elric didn’t behave as though he had a hidden agenda, but just because he didn’t, that was no guarantee that someone else in the Silver Court didn’t. “Can’t you see how that might be dangerous?”
“What other alternatives are there?” he asked.
I didn’t disagree that the school needed the funding. I wanted our school to do well so that we wouldn’t get closed down. What Jeb had said about our school being the only place for at-risk Witchkin to go had stuck with me.
“Can’t we have this auction and entertainment somewhere . . . else? Isn’t there a grange or a community center in this realm?”
“My late wife—my last late wife, Deborah—she adored going to dances at grange halls in the Morty Realm.” He stared off into the distance as he was wont to do when lost in nostalgia. “I told you she was a dancer, didn’t I? She won awards for her dancing when she attended Lady of the Lake School for Girls.”
Hex Crimes Page 17
