by Ilana Waters
“I’m just as shocked as you are.” Victor’s mocking concern was so overdone, it bordered on theatrical. “I mean, I passed Cerridwen on my way back from lunch, and she was fine. And no one could have broken her after three o’clock, because that was the start of the Mabon assembly. Then dinner, then the bonfire . . .”
“Say, Joshua,” Miles tapped me on the shoulder, “after lunch, but before three o’clock . . . isn’t that right around your new free period?” Several others heard him, including Professor Yen. Penelope pointed her index finger at him, and he winced as a sting of fire magic hit his arm.
I looked daggers at Miles. “Yeees, but a lot of other students have that same period free.” Damn. I knew that switch was too good to be true. Why couldn’t Victor have been the one who got transferred out of Stone’s class? I’d still be bored senseless during that time, but at least I’d be in the clear.
“I don’t know, Alderman . . .” Mason ran his thumb over the few sparse, pitiful patches of hair on his chin. “You were the first student to be sent to the headmaster’s office this term.” Professor Yen cocked his head at me, and the surrounding students got quieter.
“That was just bad luck,” I shot back.
“Then you threw Victor through the track barrier—” Johan started.
“Because he clearly had it coming,” I said under my breath. “Speaking of Victor, why is no one looking at him for this?” Victor’s jaw dropped, and he put his hand to his chest, feigning shock.
“Son,” Professor Yen said, “the Wright family has been here for generations. And never in that time has one of them destroyed school property.”
That anybody knows about. “That just proves there’s always a first time for sociopaths,” I said. But the crowd was frowning suspiciously at me. Even Miles and the rest seemed confused. I knew how this looked. New student . . . outsider . . . troublemaker. But they didn’t know the real me. I’d never take my frustration out on an innocent statute. It was entirely too childish. Victor’s face . . . now that was someone whose features I’d have liked to rearrange.
“Oh, come off it, Alderman,” Victor scoffed. “You’d do anything to taint the name Equinox. Everyone knows you hate the school.”
“I haven’t been here long enough to hate it,” I protested. Though it’s understandable, right now, if I’m not terribly fond.
“Besides, you destroyed that bench in the courtyard,” said Dirk.
“Defending myself from Victor!” Dirk, Mason, and Victor all looked at each other smugly. Crap. I just admitted I destroyed the bench. But could no one else see how insane this sounded?
It seemed no one else did but me.
Chapter 9
Specs stared at me, his face immovable as stone. “I see we’ve moved from benches to statuary.”
“It wasn’t me!” I blurted. “I didn’t destroy Cerridwen.”
It was later that night, and I once again sat across from Specs in his office. He was sipping tea from his blue teacup. Next to it sat a small plate of rose petals whose colors matched those on the bush outside. It was strange . . . even though the plate was covered in petals, I didn’t see any fewer roses on the bush than last time.
We’d just returned from an emergency assembly, during which Specs officially notified everyone of what had happened. How “the destruction of Cerridwen represents a great loss to the Equinox community,” how there would be “a full investigation with the intent of apprehending the culprit and bringing them to justice,” et cetera, et cetera. But we all knew the truth. With so many potential suspects, and no witnesses, there was little hope of finding out who was responsible. Or any reason to bother, I thought, if you’re convinced the perpetrator is sitting across from you, even though you can’t prove it.
Specs sighed and finished his tea, which instantly swirled up again in his cup, filling it. “Perhaps not the entire statue.” He placed the teacup back in its saucer. “But as near as. Cerridwen will never grace the entrance of Equinox Academy again.”
“Can’t you just get Professor Stone to fix it?” I asked. “I mean, she fixed the ben—er, she’s good with that kind of thing.”
“Yes, but we have no reassurance the goddess will not suffer the same fate when she is repaired.” Again, Specs looked at me as if I were the only one who could offer such reassurance. “She will remain in storage until we can determine a more satisfactory solution,” he continued. “I’m sure no one—or nearly no one—has the desire to see Cerridwen stand in front of the school. Disfigured. For centuries.” He put his fingers to his temples. “Speaking of potential disfigurement, what is this rumor that you are assisting certain students in poisoning others?”
My face flushed with anger. “You know, you really shouldn’t believe everything you hear.” I doubted Zaira or my friends had told him. Yet, it was maddening: if Specs could fish out every little event at this school, why couldn’t he see I wasn’t to blame for Cerridwen? Unless he had some sort of grudge against me. Or worse: he was the one who destroyed the statue. But each idea seemed equally illogical.
What the hell? I thought. Maybe it’s time I stopped defending myself. Nearly everyone here has all but tried and convicted me anyway.
“But what if I was?” I folded my arms across my chest. “Teaching students about poisons, that is? What are you going to do? Sentence me to death by hemlock for corrupting the youth of Athens?”
I expected Specs to get indignant, or upbraid me for insolence. But he remained strangely calm. “You must be careful what you say, Joshua. What you encourage in others. In case you haven’t noticed, people follow you.”
I blinked. “Excuse me? I think you have it backward. I’m like a leper—people run from me.”
Specs shook his head. “You’re a natural leader. You focus single-mindedly on a goal and pursue it. Not unlike your father when he was a general, I imagine. People gravitate toward that kind of passion.”
I felt my whole body tense. I resented the comparison to Titus, no matter how flattering. I wasn’t exactly sure who I’d be in this life, but I knew I didn’t want even a passing resemblance to my father. And why was Specs suddenly lavishing me with compliments, or at least his version of them?
“Have you ever thought about what you want to do with your life?” He took another sip of tea.
“Oh, I thought I might become a knight-errant,” I said offhandedly. “Like Don Quixote. You know . . . sally forth into the world, righting all wrongs.”
“Ambitious.” Specs moved the cup away from his mouth, and I thought I saw a hint of a smile. “But I doubt it would fit on a business card.” He sighed. “I admire your rebellious spirit. But you can’t rebel against everything in this life. You’re going to have to choose.” He lowered the cup again and looked straight at me. “You must choose, Joshua.”
Clearly, Specs still didn’t believe I hadn’t—literally—defaced Cerridwen. “I told you,” I protested, “I didn’t do it!” I flung my arms out to either side. “You know, I’m not the only one you should be looking at. With all due respect, sir, I’m still wondering why a certain someone wasn’t called in here with me for the bench incident. Then again, perhaps anybody whose family makes donations to the school can get away with murder. For instance, Victor Wri—”
“Do not compare yourself to Victor Wright.” Specs’s teacup clattered to its saucer, and he looked up sharply. “There is only so much that can be done to change a student’s behavior, irrespective of who their family is. And while it behooves the administration to remain cognizant of potential donors, they are not the primary determinant of how I run this school. Is that understood, Mr. Alderman?”
There was a pause before I dropped my gaze and answered, “Yes, sir.”
After that, I was summarily dismissed with the knowledge that my father would, again, be notified of this incident. I began stomping back up to my room. It was almost lights-out; most of the house would be asleep by now. My boots brought air magic
down so forcefully, they left dents in the wood and stone on the floor.
Just one more thing they can blame me for. “Unlawful assault against the hallowed grounds of Equinox.” Well, let them. Let them all think what they like, regardless of the truth. What the hell does Specs know, anyway?
“Trouble with the law again, eh, love?” A warm voice seemed to come out of nowhere. I turned around just as I was about to descend the stairs out from Equinox’s main building. A middle-aged woman was sweeping the stoop, her hands only hovering around the broom. It was Rosemary, one of our janitors. Miles had told me that her father was a witch, and her mother a mortal. A half-breed, like me. Maybe that was why she was among the only staff who didn’t look at me with suspicion every time I passed.
“You know it,” I sighed. “Sometimes, I think Specs would like to sweep me out of here, like the rest of the trash.” I jutted my chin at the debris Rosemary had collected on the stoop.
Rosemary just tsked me and shook her head. “I know the ’eadmaster seems like a cold one, but ’e’s not as bad as all that. You’ll see. Sometimes, there’s more to a body than meets the eye.” She winked at me and went back to sweeping.
“Right.” I nodded and went down the steps. “Night, then,” I called over my shoulder.
“Night, love,” she called back.
Talking to Rosemary had interrupted my train of thought, and dissipated some of my anger along with it. But a good deal of my irritation with Specs remained. And his last comment had me confused.
“There is only so much that can be done to change a student’s behavior, irrespective of who their family is.” Was he referring to Victor, or to me? If it was the former, I might have gleaned some insight about Specs himself. Did he see the same thing in Victor that I did, that so many of the “weaker” students here did? That, despite his high social standing, he was a sadist? Clearly, some part of his nature was fixed. Irredeemable.
Or perhaps Specs only held that opinion about one student here. And, unfortunately for me, that student’s name did not in any way resemble Victor Wright’s.
***
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU?”
“I don’t know, Father, but I’m sure screaming into the phone at full volume will cure it.” It was shortly after I’d returned from Specs’s office. I was once again alone in House of Air’s phone booth, positive that Titus’s shouting was going to bring on a migraine. I’d barely gotten back to the house when a grumpy Oliver—in rumpled T-shirt and drawstring trousers—let me know I had a phone call. I know faeries move fast, but did Specs have to call my father quite so quickly?
“You have no idea how lucky you are to be at that school. Do you know the kinds of trials by fire I was going through at your age? Literally.”
“Yes, yes. And you had to walk to vampire school in the snow with no shoes, uphill, both ways.” I scratched a sliver of red, peeling paint off the side of the phone booth. Between Cerridwen getting smashed and Specs and Titus chewing me out, this whole day had felt like a hurricane. All I could do was keep my head down and wait for the shitstorm to be over.
“Arrrgh,” he growled. “Why do you always have to be so sarcastic?”
“Because murdering people is illegal.”
“I’ve never had an issue with it. Something you’d do well to remember before grieving me with things like this.”
“Yes, Father. My entire motivation in being falsely accused was to antagonize you.” I almost wanted to ask if he’d made any progress in tracking down Abigail, but sensed this wasn’t the time. I also wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer, or that it would even be the truth.
Silence. During which I was sure my father was thinking of all the creative ways he’d like to kill me.
“I don’t care if you were falsely accused or not. I do not want to receive any further phone calls from an ancient elf about my son being in trouble. Any kind of trouble. Do you understand?”
He must have assumed I did, because he did not wait for an answer, and the line went dead.
***
To remove myself from all possible suspicion, the next thing I did after speaking with my father was to sneak around the school grounds.
Oh, do stop clucking your tongue, dear reader. I had to. It was the only way to conduct an investigation of my own as to the real perpetrator of crimes against Cerridwen. The one person who knew I was still awake was Oliver, and he’d returned to our room after handing me the phone. Even I hadn’t expected the call to end so abruptly, so Oliver probably assumed my dad was still lecturing me. I bet he’d be asleep by the time I got back. I quietly hung up the phone and tiptoed out of the house.
It was long past lights-out now. I made a ball of light to see by and cast a quick invisibility spell over it and myself. I left the front doors to the house unlocked so that I wouldn’t have a problem getting back in.
Even my own father thinks I’m guilty, I thought as I slunk through the night and onto Equinox’s front lawn. Or I assume he does. Or maybe he was disappointed I hadn’t taken to bashing in real people’s faces. Taken after him. At least the way he used to be, long before I was born. And sometimes still was, when he “needed to get things done,” as he put it. Either way, he seemed to have little interest in a son whose primary mode of contact was through a headmaster in the wee hours of the morning.
Finally, I reached the scene of the crime. Most of Cerridwen’s broken pieces had been picked up, but smaller shards of marble still littered the grass. According to Specs, the entire statue would be removed shortly. Soon, there was just a brown square of earth where the goddess and her pedestal had stood. But for now, I found myself staring up at the silent figure. A faceless woman, just like the faceless coward who destroyed her.
I scanned the area around the pedestal. There were a few singed bits of grass, the faintest scent of burnt blades. All this didn’t necessarily implicate Victor, or the two reptiles he called friends. The damage could easily have been done by another fire witch—or a witch of any element who was good with fire magic.
Or a mage, as everyone already believes.
Nothing more about the site revealed who her attacker might be. I stopped trying to use my five senses. Instead, I let my intuition take the fore. I closed my eyes and tried to feel what happened here. And what I felt was warmth. Warmth turning to anger, viciousness. Rage.
Of course, you didn’t need to be pissed off—or have magical powers—to bash a statue’s face in. Brute force could do that. Still, a witch’s magic left memories. Imprints. Whoever the witch was, they hadn’t even bothered to cover their magical tracks. I’d been around fire witches my entire life—my father was one. And there was fire magic at work here. I was sure of it. But that didn’t mean I could prove anything.
I was tired, and my ball of light was fading. With no further clues to be gained, I sighed and headed back to House of Air. I was just at the front door when I yawned widely, and my light flickered. I took a step forward in the darkness, knocking over one of the tall, potted ficus on either side of the doors. There was a loud noise as the planter hit the stone steps. I swore and held my breath.
All was silence. Quick as I could, I righted the planter. Lucky for me, it hadn’t broken. Hopefully, no one had heard it fall. Or, if they had, they thought it was a stray cat. Sorry, what? Reader, if you would be so kind as to ask me about cats as familiars some other time, I’d be ever so grateful.
My hand was almost on the handle of one of the front doors when it swung open of its own accord. It took all I had not to cry out in surprise. Standing right in front of me, glaring, was Oliver MacLeod. His own ball of magic light hovered over his shoulder. He looked straight at me, mouth in a firm line, ready to dispense justice—or at the very least, discipline.
Except he hadn’t seen me. I was still invisible, as was my light. I stood very still and tried not to make any sounds, like breathing. Oliver glanced right, then left. He took a few
steps back inside and looked around, during which I managed to slip in. He glanced at the threshold one more time, then closed the door.
Dammit! I was sure he’d be asleep by now. He’d seemed so annoyed at being woken up to tell me Titus was on the phone. He must have heard the planter get knocked over, and come out to see what happened.
I had to get back before he realized I wasn’t in our room. Or maybe he already had, and that was why he was here. I looked closer and saw a fistful of biscuits in his hand. Yes! He hadn’t gone back to bed after all. He’d gone to House of Air’s pantry to grab a snack after handing me the phone. Which meant he never returned to our room.
I still have a chance.
Quick as a fae, I hightailed it to bed. I barely had time to change into my nightclothes, shoving my daytime ones under the sheets just as the door creaked open, and Oliver emerged from behind it.
“MacLeod, is that you?” I croaked, trying to disguise the fact that I was breathless from rushing about. “Good god, man, must you make such a racket with that door? And put out that light, would you? Trying to sleep over here . . . been one hell of a day.”
Through slitted eyes, I saw Oliver open his mouth as if to say something. Slowly, he closed it, chewing quietly on a biscuit. He finished it and put the rest on his nightstand. The ball of light above him faded. I listened to him get back into bed, his breathing becoming slower and more rhythmic, until finally, he was asleep.
If only I could have that kind of peace, I thought as I lay staring at the wooden canopy above me. And if I’d known the sound thrashing that was in store for me the next day, I’d have surely given anything to trade places with Oliver MacLeod that night.
Chapter 10
“He eats them?” I said.
Miles shrugged. “It’s the faerie version of stress eating, or at least his version. Why? What did you think the plate of roses on Specs’s desk was for?”
