Royals of Villain Academy 6: Foul Conjuring

by Eva Chase

  My legs balked, every inch of my skin crawling with the longing to get away from her while she was in this state. “No,” I said, reaching for the door. “I won’t—”

  “Walk to the center of the chamber, no more arguing,” my mother snapped out. A sear of persuasive magic sliced through my mental shields as if they’d been made of tissue paper. It felt as if the spell stabbed right into my brain with a cold shock of pain rattling my thoughts. Before I could even process that, my feet were moving, carrying me to the spot she’d indicated.

  “Mom.” The word broke from my throat like a plea. It was the first time I’d ever called her that, shocked out of me by the terror racing up inside me, as if the woman I was calling out to wasn’t the same person causing that terror.

  Something stuttered in my mother’s expression, but so briefly I couldn’t have said whether it was sympathy or disgust or something else altogether. “Begin!” she hollered at the room, her hand already on the doorknob. The light blinked out. Through the darkness came the sound of the door thudding.

  She’d left me alone. Alone in this place with whatever would rise up to—

  Forms were already emerging from the darkness, lit up with an unnatural glow that didn’t diminish my horror. My mother stood over Shelby, sprawled slack on a table. She lifted a glinting knife over my friend’s body.

  “No!” I cried, throwing myself at them. My mother jerked her fingers, and the air closed around me like a vise. She plunged the knife into Shelby’s chest.

  Blood spurted up and splashed across Shelby’s clothes, the floor, my face. The sticky substance burned my skin as my nose clogged with the metallic smell. My stomach lurched.

  My mother dug the knife deeper. A gristly sound filled my ears. My muscles strained against the magical hold, and something clicked in my head beneath the panic.

  This was just one more Desensitization illusion. None of it was real. I knew how to deal with this scenario now. My mother’s declaration had put me so off-balance that I’d reacted out of emotion rather than any mental preparation. I could get back the calm I needed and push away the horrors.

  I closed my eyes and stopped resisting the invisible vise around me. The bloody smell filled my lungs with each slow breath, but I kept up their even pace anyway. “You can’t really hurt her like that,” I said in the steadiest voice I could manage. “I won’t let you. I’ll protect her. Nothing that happens in here has anything to do with the world out there.”

  The stink started to fade. The sounds fell away. After a few more breaths, I let myself open my eyes.

  The illusion hadn’t disappeared. My mother was still standing there, motionless now, over Shelby’s gutted body. I opened my mouth to repeat the mantra I’d just said, this time to her face, and two more figures plunged out of the darkness that surrounded us.

  One of them was the woman I’d always thought of as Mom. The other was the man who’d tried to blast me and ended up disintegrating Deborah when I’d fled the joymancer headquarters last month. They lunged at my mother from both sides, conjured blades shimmering in their hands. A sound of protest broke from my throat an instant before they stabbed those weapons into my mother’s back.

  She crumpled, but the violence didn’t stop there. The man hurtled onward and slashed his blade through Mom’s chest the way the fearmancers had all those months ago. Both of my mothers, the one in practice and the one by birth, collapsed on the floor in a gush of blood.

  My heart wrenched. I spun around, trying to focus my breaths again. “It’s not real,” I reminded myself. “None of this is happening. None of this matters. It can’t touch me or anyone I care about.”

  A gurgled breath rose up behind me. I winced and trained my mind harder on the memory of the empty room, the black stillness of it. A gasp of pain rang out, just as clear as before.

  Nothing was working. Had my mother intensified the spells on the chamber somehow, added power to them to make them even harder to subdue? Was I stuck in here until she decided to come back and release me?

  How long would that take? I had to get out—I was supposed to be helping Connar—the guys couldn’t pull off our plan without me there.

  With a quiver of inspiration, my hand rose up to touch the dragon charm on my necklace. The magic in the chamber was a combination of insight and illusion spells. The insight part couldn’t hurt me if it didn’t generate the illusions. If I activated the spell on my charm, it’d show the falseness of the illusions, prevent them from working on my mind anymore.

  But Professor Burnbuck had warned me when he’d placed the spell that it wouldn’t work indefinitely. I’d get a limited number of uses before I drained its power. Challenging the entire Desensitization chamber would probably take a lot.

  Connar didn’t just need me. He needed this necklace too. I couldn’t take the chance that I’d use up the rest of that magic on myself.

  Probably drawn from my immediate thoughts, yet another form stepped forward. Connar glared at me, his chiseled jaw so tightly clenched the sinews stood out in his neck. I straightened my posture, committing to enduring what the chamber threw at me for as long as I could.

  It wasn’t enough just to brace myself. The Stormhurst scion charged at me with a snarl, shoving me so hard that I stumbled backward with the force of the impact even though it was all in my head. My heels jarred against something on the floor—one of my mother’s bodies?—and skidded on tacky blood. I tripped and only just managed to fling myself to the side so I landed on bare floor rather than right on top of a corpse.

  “Traitor!” Connar shouted at me. “You useless fucking bitch!” He swung a kick at my side, and pain slammed through my ribs. I scrambled away—and found myself crouched next to yet another body, this one cold and tinted black and blue where the flesh was starting to rot.

  Imogen. A putrid stench filled my nose. I gagged and backpedaled, and she sat up with a jerk, her eyes snapping open, pale and filmy. She stared at me. Bile spilled from her lips when she opened her mouth.

  “You killed me. Murderer. Some fucking friend. Making stupid promises you never intend to keep. You care too much about keeping yourself safe. Who cares about worthless Imogen?”

  “No,” I couldn’t help gasping out. “I didn’t—I never thought that way. If I’d known they were going to come after you—”

  Connar hadn’t vanished with Imogen’s arrival. My fears were multiplying on themselves rather than the chamber focusing on just one. “That’s right,” he hollered at me. “Stay down on your hands and knees where you belong. You don’t deserve to stand with us after what you’ve done.”

  The hurled insults and the awful mingling smells were making me dizzy. I shoved myself away to a clear spot of floor and hunched there with my face pressed to my knees and my arms wrapped around my legs. Not a graceful pose by any means, but the most impenetrable ball I could form.

  All I had to do was wait it out. All I had to do was listen to the rasp of my breath and tune out the sneers and the smell and, oh god, the viscous liquid seeping under me and soaking through my dress—

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t true. Not at all. Not at all.

  Someone yanked at my hair, smacked the side of my head. The smell thickened. I hugged myself tighter, repeating those words over and over to myself. The rest of my thoughts were fragmenting with panic and despair.

  It was too much. Somewhere in there, my mind blanked out.

  I came back to myself with a spill of light over me and a waft of fresher air. A hand rested tentatively on my shoulder. I realized I was rocking in place, my cheeks damp and eyes aching from tears I hadn’t noticed falling. My neck ached when I raised my head.

  Professor Razeden was kneeling next to me, his mouth bent at an anguished angle. “It’s all right,” he said in his dry voice, not quite as even as it usually was. “It’s over now. I—I’m sorry. Your mother put a spell on the door to stop anyone from opening it. I didn’t have the skill to unravel it. It took eve
n Isla quite a while to break through.”

  He glanced up, and I followed his gaze to the other teacher in the room. Professor Viceport was standing over us, her stance rigid, her face even more sallow than usual. I tensed automatically at the sight of my mentor. If it’d been a physicality spell sealing the door, it made sense that Razeden would have gone to her, but I couldn’t imagine this incident was improving her opinion of me.

  I swiped hastily at my eyes and moved to stand. My legs wobbled, cramped from having stayed in that awkward position. Razeden grasped my arm gently to help me up.

  “Thank you,” I said to both of them, fighting the urge to cringe at the thought of the state they’d found me in. “I tried to think my way through it the way we’re supposed to—it just didn’t work.”

  “The chamber’s magic isn’t meant to be amplified,” Razeden muttered, confirming my suspicions.

  My gaze darted toward the open doorway. “Is she still here?” My voice quavered despite myself.

  Razeden’s grip firmed with a reassuring squeeze. “As far as I know, she left campus as soon as she’d finished with you here.”

  “Okay.” No relief came with that knowledge. What did it matter whether my mother was here right now? She’d outright told me that she’d do this all over again until I was acting the way she expected of her heir.

  My arms crossed over my chest again. The words spilled out on the back of a wave of fear. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t be the person she wants me to be. I—”

  I forced my mouth to close before I could babble any more of the desperate thoughts racing through my mind. I’m not strong enough. I can’t stand up to her.

  But I had to. I’d find a way. I was still a fucking Bloodstone. Even if right now I felt like a stone that’d been shattered into too many pieces to fit myself back together.

  Viceport’s gaze darted to the floor and then back to me. Something passed through her expression. Was that a… flinch? Her jaw worked.

  “I’m sorry,” she said abruptly. “I haven’t been the support you’ve needed—I haven’t done my job as your mentor or your professor anywhere near as well as I should have. That was unfair of me. We should set another meeting, soon, so we can get properly on track. And if there’s anything I can offer you right now…”

  Right now. Those words cut through my surprise at her admission and the shakiness that still gripped me. There was somewhere I was supposed to be.

  “What time is it?” I blurted out.

  Both of the professors blinked at me. Razeden murmured a casting word. “Eight o’clock,” he said.

  Urgency rattled my nerves. I’d been shut up in the chamber for nearly an hour. “I’ve got to go,” I said. “I—I’ll set up that meeting as soon as I have time.” Then I was dashing for the stairs, hoping I wasn’t too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rory

  There was no sign of any of the scions when I burst into Ashgrave Hall. I walked as swiftly as I could to the door to the lounge stairs, not wanting to draw too many stares from the other students I passed, and then raced down those steps as fast as my feet would carry me.

  When I barreled through the doorway, just Jude and Declan were standing there by the threshold waiting. “There you are!” Jude said triumphantly as Declan let out a sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching to unclasp the silver chain from around my neck. “I—I got held up.” There wasn’t time to get into the punishment my mother had subjected me to.

  Declan was already tapping a message into his phone. “Malcolm was able to dawdle for a few minutes since you hadn’t arrived,” he said. “As soon as I give him the signal, he’ll get Connar over here.”

  “Connar’s still listening to him?” I asked.

  “Well, Malcolm hasn’t announced an epic failure yet, so at the very least he hasn’t given up,” Jude said in a chipper tone that had a manic edge. He bobbed on his feet as he stepped closer to his post right next to the door. As the illusions expert among us, he was going to be the key player in unraveling this spell once we’d subdued Connar… if we even managed to do that much.

  None of the guys had spelled it out when we were discussing the plan, but I could tell they were all nervous about trying to restrain a guy who was both physically stronger than any of them and a master of Physicality. Who knew how the rage built into his parents’ spell would fire him up on top of that? We’d all have preferred to find some way to get through to him without launching what he’d take as a full-out attack, but there didn’t seem to be any options left.

  If this worked, the temporary distress we’d put him and ourselves through would be worth it.

  Declan braced himself by the other side of the door, and I stepped off to the side beyond the entertainment system, so Connar wouldn’t be able to see me until he was already inside. My fingers closed around either end of the necklace. My part in this first stage of the plan was going to be plenty challenging too.

  A minute slipped by, and then another. A prickle ran down my back. I was just starting to worry that maybe Malcolm’s nonmagical persuasive techniques hadn’t managed to win his best friend over enough to get Connar all the way to us when footsteps sounded on the stairs. Both Jude and Declan tensed. I readied myself, the metal links digging into my fingertips.

  “I don’t really see why you’re so convinced—” Connar was saying as he pushed open the door.

  Declan and Jude rattled off casting words simultaneously. Malcolm’s voice carried from behind Connar. The Stormhurst scion winced and froze in place with an awkward stiffness as if he’d been wrapped in invisible bindings—which technically, he had.

  “What the fuck—” he started to demand as Malcolm stepped in and shut the door. I hurried toward him, and Connar’s gaze caught on me. So much fury lit in his eyes that it might as well have scalded me.

  He spat out a casting word of his own, his muscles flexing all across his brawny body. The other guys called out to reinforce their spell, but not quickly enough. Connar’s limbs wrenched away from their hold.

  He lunged at me with a snarl and rage contorting his face. He looked… he looked like he had when the illusion of him had battered me in the Desensitization chamber less than an hour ago.

  My heart stopped. The impulse shot through me to turn tail and run, to get as far away from the guy rampaging toward me as I could. In that instant, I could believe he’d happily tear me to pieces—and that he was capable of doing that in a matter of seconds.

  This must have been what his brother had faced when their parents’ torment had pushed Connar over the edge. He didn’t want this. He wasn’t in control. He’d have hated the way they were using him.

  That thought helped me hold my ground. I jerked my hands up, putting all my trust in the other scions’ support.

  Malcolm threw himself at Connar with a rough word that seemed to tangle the Stormhurst scion’s feet. As Connar lurched, he shoved Malcolm so hard the other guy smacked into the sofa with a pained grunt. Jude and Declan were hollering too. Connar spun around, lashing out with his fists, one of them connecting with Jude’s jaw before he could dodge all the way clear. Jude’s head snapped around, his shoulder slamming into the wall.

  Declan threw out another hoarse word, and Connar’s arms momentarily stilled. His lips parted to form another casting. My pulse stuttered. “Shut!” I shouted with a jab of guilt through my gut as Malcolm barked a casting word that I suspected had the same effect.

  Between the two of our efforts, a magical force clamped on Connar’s mouth. His eyes blazed. His muscles bulged beneath his shirt as he fought the bindings the only way he could, and even in that second I saw him regain a little movement.

  In whatever time I had to see this through, I leapt forward and slung the chain around his neck. Connar swung his head at me in an attempt to crack my skull with his. I whipped myself as far to the side as I could, but his forehead glanced off my temple. Pain radiated through my face. My fin
gers fumbled with the chain.

  My head spinning, I gripped the necklace with all my might and jammed my thumb down on the clasp. The click of the pieces joining was the most welcome sound I’d ever heard. I yanked my hands back, pausing for just long enough to press the two trigger points on the charm before letting it fall against Connar’s chest.

  As I darted backward, out of range if his arms wrenched free again, he strained against the magic for a moment longer. Then the fury in his expression started to dim. He blinked, his stance going slack, his forehead furrowing.

  I spoke a quick word to let him speak again.

  “What?” he mumbled. “I—There was—”

  Jude had recovered, rubbing his jaw where a red blotch had already formed from the punch. “We’re going to make things a whole lot clearer for you, big guy. Just hold steady.”

  “I don’t… What’s going on?”

  His bewilderment made my chest ache. We gathered closer around him now that he wasn’t fighting us. Malcolm moved in front of him to meet his eyes. His voice came out with the lilt of a gentle persuasion spell. “Focus on me. This could take some time, but we’re doing everything we can to help you. It’ll be okay. Relax as well as you can.”

  Connar let out a shuddering breath. Jude, Declan, and I started to murmur together, focusing our attention on the quiver of magic we could all sense housed at the base of Connar’s spine. I was the strongest at physicality magic after Connar, so we’d decided that I would work on breaking apart the bodily construct while Jude tackled the illusion elements of the spell and Declan pitched in where he seemed most needed.

  We were all on guard for some sort of secondary effect once we disabled the main spell. I had no idea what Connar’s parents might have decided was appropriate for that purpose, but the barons had included a little surprise in Professor Banefield’s spell, so it was hard to believe they’d pass up the opportunity to cause even more damage if they could.