Royals of Villain Academy 7: Grim Witchery

by Eva Chase

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, my head tucked against his shoulder.

  “I appear to have retained all my limbs and other parts in normal working order.” Jude jiggled his feet beneath the blanket. “Other than a few minor aches and pains, I’d think I just had a nice long sleep. I’m sure the asshole who came at me will be very unhappy to hear that.” A slight edge crept into those last words. He knew better than any of us who must have ordered the attack.

  “No more wandering off alone to isolated parts of campus in the middle of the night?” Declan suggested.

  Jude let out a huff, but then he hugged me harder. “I’m thinking that might be wise. And—thank you. I know I wouldn’t have gotten off anywhere near this easy if you all hadn’t charged to the rescue.”

  “I just wish we could have caught the prick and made him pay,” Connar muttered, the muscles in his arms flexing. He didn’t enjoy fighting, I knew, but he was more than willing to defend any of us with all his strength if he saw the need.

  “All in good time, I’m sure.” Jude brushed a kiss to the top of my head. He raised his hand as one of the doctors stepped through the doorway, and flicked it through the air with an extravagant flourish. “What I’d really like right now, instead of this godawful soup, is…”

  A casting word dropped from his lips with a glint in his eyes. I turned on the bed to see what illusion he might be drawing.

  Nothing had appeared in the air. Jude spoke again with another twitch of his fingers and then frowned. Before he could make another attempt, the doctor moved to the foot of the bed and cleared his throat.

  “Mr. Killbrook,” he said. “There’s a matter I think we should discuss. In private, I think would be ideal.”

  Jude turned his frown toward the doctor. “Anything you need to tell me, they can hear too. They saved my fucking life.”

  The man wavered. “If you’re sure…”

  “Do I sound confused? Go ahead.”

  Jude’s body had tensed against mine. I eased back so I could clasp his hand. The doctor looked down at the notes he was holding and then back at his patient.

  “The attack you faced included both physical and magical blows,” he said. “We were able to heal all the major physical damage. Unfortunately, it appears… the spells that hit you damaged the part of you that collects and holds your magical power. Some of that functioning will likely return as you continue to recover, but that will take time, and we can’t be sure you’ll reach the same capacity you had before.”

  The color had drained from Jude’s face. He snapped out a casting with a jerk of his hand. An image glimmered faintly in front of him, there and gone in a blink, so brief and hazy I hadn’t been able to tell what he was going for. His mouth twisted. He moved to try again.

  The doctor’s voice turned urgent. “Please. Putting strain on yourself will only exacerbate the injury. I assure you we’ve done and will continue to do whatever we can to aid that recovery.”

  Jude’s arm dropped like a dead thing. He stared blankly at it for a moment and then turned his narrowing gaze on the doctor. “Get out,” he snapped.

  The doctor all but fled the room. The rest of us stared at Jude. My stomach had sunk, an ache reverberating through my chest—through the place behind my collarbone where the churning thrum of my magic reassured me of how much power I still held. I gripped his hand tighter.

  “He said it should get better,” I ventured. “You’ll get your abilities back.”

  “Some of them. Maybe.” Jude touched the same spot on his own chest. He swallowed audibly. “I can barely feel anything there. He was scared of me, scared of how I’d react, and I caught that energy… and then nearly all of it slipped right back out of me like I’ve sprung a fucking leak. Well. Isn’t that fitting. My father has a perfect excuse to punt me aside now, and he’s got me defenseless.”

  He laughed, but the sound was so hollow and hopeless it wrenched me apart. But what could I say that would make it better when that remark was completely true?

  Chapter Seven

  Rory

  As soon as we’d walked a safe distance from the school buildings, Malcolm spun on Declan. “Is there really nothing they can do about an injury like that, or is this his dad’s bullshit meddling?”

  “No doctors could fix the damage I did to my brother,” Connar said with a pained grimace. “With some wounds, even magic isn’t enough.”

  Declan nodded, his expression solemn. “It’s possible his dad is interfering with his treatment, but we can see about getting him a second opinion from an outside party once he’s out of the infirmary. I have heard of other cases where mages lost part or all of their magical ability permanently. So… they could very well be telling the truth. He was pretty badly beaten up. If we’d gotten there even a few seconds later, I think he’d be dead right now.”

  We all stood in silence for a moment, absorbing those awful thoughts.

  It was hard to remember now that I’d spent the first nineteen and a half years of my life with no idea I’d ever have magic of my own. The heady pulse of energy behind my sternum was as much a part of me as the beat of my heart and the rise and fall of my breath. During the few hours when the joymancers had held me captive as I’d tried to negotiate my mother’s release with them, with the cuffs they’d put on me numbing my ability to sense and shape that energy, I’d felt so horribly empty and helpless.

  And I’d at least known it was a temporary effect. Jude had no idea whether he’d recover any more of his abilities than he already had.

  Malcolm let out a rough breath. “I guess there isn’t much we can do immediately, but I’ll figure out who best to bring around for a second evaluation. Baron Killbrook can’t have that many doctors in his pocket, not when he’ll want to keep his intentions secret from the rest of the barons. And as soon as Jude is out, we’ll need to set up defensive spells to ward off another attack, since he won’t be able to cast much himself.”

  “One of us should be with him anytime he leaves campus or is heading out of the dorms after dark,” Connar said. “Now that his father has gone this far, the next time he comes after him…”

  He trailed off, obviously not wanting to say the words, but we all understood. Baron Killbrook had crossed a clear line the other night. Jude might have kept quiet about the Killbrooks’ secret for his own safety, but if he decided throwing himself on the other barons’ mercy was a better bet than risking another attack, the baron was screwed. He wouldn’t want to take that chance.

  “We should keep an eye on Jude in general,” Declan said quietly. “You know how he gets when he’s upset about something. And he has a hell of a lot more reason to be upset than he’s ever had before.”

  My stomach twisted. “He’ll drink.” I’d encountered drunk Jude a couple times after our brief break-up. Alcohol definitely decreased his sense of self-preservation and overall common sense. Not a good combination with having a death sentence hanging over his head.

  “He’s got all of us,” Malcolm said. “He knows we’re on his side, no matter what. That’s got to keep him from totally bottoming out.” A shadow of worry had darkened his eyes, though.

  I looked to Declan like Malcolm had before, knowing the Ashgrave scion had studied far more of fearmancer law and history than any of the rest of us. “Is there any way we could stop Baron Killbrook without bringing Jude’s parentage into it? This can’t be the only messed-up thing he’s done in his entire life.”

  “I’m sure it’s not, but knocking a baron from their place…” Declan’s mouth set in a grim line. “Generally that doesn’t happen except by death. We’d have to uncover a crime on the same level of treason as arranging the conception of and passing off a false scion, along with enough proof to make it stick.”

  Yeah, that didn’t seem incredibly likely. The only reason we knew about even the one act of treason was because Jude had overheard an argument—and the only reason we could prove it was that Jude himself served as proof.

&n
bsp; Malcolm turned back toward the Stormhurst Building. “I’m going to lay down some extra protections for the infirmary now. We can’t be too careful.”

  “Connar and I have a class to get to,” Declan said, “but after that I’ll see if I can turn up any defensive spells more effective than the ones I know off-hand.”

  I latched onto that idea, one small thing I could offer Jude right now. “I’ll head to the library and start researching. I don’t have class until later.”

  We split up, Malcolm heading back the way we’d come, Declan and Connar making for Nightwood Tower, and me crossing the green to Ashgrave Hall. I hurried into the library and up to the second floor where the magical texts were kept in a section warded to repel Naries.

  How long would the librarians keep up those measures now that we were allowed to freely demonstrate our powers in front of the nonmagical students?

  I walked down one aisle and then another, skimming my fingers over the spines of the old texts as I scanned the titles. The smell of ancient leather filled my nose. Hushed voices carried from the library seating areas, but nothing clear enough to distract me. One thing the fearmancer library had in common with those in the Nary world was the expectation of quiet.

  Here, this row looked promising. I was just sliding out a text on personal protective spells when the floor by the end of the aisle creaked.

  I looked up to see a young man I didn’t recognize slinking toward me. He looked a little too old to be a student here, maybe twenty-five, with a trim beard shading his narrow jaw and limbs that were knobby at the joints. He was watching me so intently that my skin prickled with apprehension. I turned to face him, drawing a protective spell for myself onto my tongue.

  He was lucky I wasn’t my mother, or I’d have been eyeing the most vulnerable spot on his forehead like he was one of those shooting range targets.

  He spoke a casting word, but with a gesture behind him, not toward me. The already faint sounds from the rest of the library faded even more. A privacy spell. As he stopped a few feet away from me, I stayed tensed.

  “Miss Bloodstone,” he said in a low voice. “I was hoping I’d get the chance to talk to you.”

  I eyed him. “Who are you? What would we have to talk about?”

  He gave me a slow smile. “Let’s just say I know people who are interested in your situation—and in bettering it. You could use some help in attaining your goals, couldn’t you?”

  I relaxed slightly, still prepared to cast a spell if I needed to. Was he from one of the families who believed Naries deserved better treatment? Or someone concerned for Jude? Of course, this could also be a trap to encourage me to admit something that’d be passed on to my enemies… or to my mother, who in some ways was my enemy too.

  “What goals exactly do you think you’re going to help with?” I asked warily.

  His smile widened, as if we were already in on some conspiracy together. “We’d like to see you take your proper place in the pentacle. Your mother has been gone for seventeen years. Why should she steal that spot from you when you were so close to having it for yourself? She’s already had her chance to revel in that power and glory, and she couldn’t even defend herself when the chips were down. It’s your turn.”

  With each sentence that spilled from his mouth, my hackles rose higher. Who the hell did this guy and whoever had sent him think I was? I’d never been the slightest bit interested in glory or lording power over the other fearmancers.

  Maybe he had been sent by my mother—maybe our talk about the possible consequences of the Nary policy had made her more paranoid about me all over again.

  Well, in a case like this, I didn’t see any need to be subtle with my magic. I’d treat this offense like she’d expect a strong scion to.

  I shifted the focus of the magic I’d been readying and stared at the guy hard. “I’m not interested in stealing a spot that isn’t supposed to be mine yet. Tell me why you came here and said this to me.”

  I propelled the persuasive spell with all the force I could summon. The guy had mental walls up like every fearmancer did, and they didn’t disintegrate completely, but my magic split through them like an arrow. He winced, his mouth already falling open to comply. Insight might have been more my wheelhouse, but I was hoping persuasion would get me clearer answers faster.

  “I don’t know,” he said in a vacant sounding voice. “I had to talk to Rory Bloodstone. I had to offer her a deal.” His forehead furrowed. “Someone told me…”

  That answer wasn’t particularly clear, but his confusion was obvious enough to tell the story anyway. Someone had persuaded him into coming here, without him even knowing who. A perfect way to cover their tracks. No doubt he was supposed to report back to them one way or another, and if I’d responded in an incriminating way, his memories would have served as evidence.

  “Tell me how you were going to let this ‘someone’ know what I said.”

  The second persuasion spell slipped into his head much more easily than the first now that I’d opened up a path. His hand dropped to the pocket of his slacks. “I have a number. I’m supposed to send a text and wait for more instructions.”

  “What number?” I asked, prodding the second spell farther.

  He rattled off a series of digits I didn’t recognize. A creeping sensation ran down my back. It could be my mother trying to catch me admitting treason using a different phone, but I had also received a hostile text not that long ago, and so had Professor Viceport. I didn’t think those had come from my mother. I’d been with her when I’d gotten mine, and if she’d wanted to check what my professors thought of my loyalties, it’d have made a lot more sense for her to ask someone like Professor Crowford directly with her authority as baron.

  “Text that number now,” I said. “Ask if they want to meet.”

  Unfortunately, this was where my spell clashed with the one already placed on him. The guy dutifully tapped in the number and wrote out a text, but the mage who’d compelled him must have asked him to report my reaction upfront. She refused offer, he wrote. Should we meet?

  I watched the screen over his shoulder. The response came no more than ten seconds later. No. Return to your work and forget about this.

  He lowered the phone and immediately turned to leave. Another command leapt to my tongue, but what was the point in questioning him any more? He didn’t know anything. And the person controlling him already saw him as useless now too.

  I had a direct line of contact with my mysterious harasser. Let’s see if I could get anything useful straight from the source—or at least set them straight.

  I retreated to the deepest end of the aisle and sank down with my back against the wall and my phone propped against my raised knee. The ominous text was still there in my history. I considered it for a while, composing and discarding several possible overtures in my head, and finally typed in a message.

  Whatever you think I’ve done, you’re wrong. After talking with your “friend” just now, I can tell you don’t know anything at all about me or what’s important to me.

  I waited, my spine rigid, as the seconds slipped by. One minute passed, and then another. They might just ignore me. Should I say something else, try to provoke them?

  As I debated, an answer finally popped up on the screen. It’s easy for you to say that, but I’ve seen you in action. Lies won’t get you anywhere.

  Seen me in action? What the hell did that mean? You can’t have seen much at all if you’ve convinced yourself that I’m after power and glory, I replied. I’ve never been in any rush to become baron. I’ve never pushed around my classmates just to prove a point. I honestly have no idea what you could be talking about.

  Oh, no? So you’ve never ruined anyone’s life just to get them out of your way? You need to work on your memory.

  I frowned at that text for a long moment. Whose life had I ruined? My thoughts skittered toward Professor Banefield, my former mentor, and Imogen Wakeburn, my friend and dormmate. Both o
f them had died because of the barons’ schemes against me. I could imagine someone blaming me for one or both—I’d certainly blamed myself enough times—but to say I’d intended their deaths so they’d be out of my way made no sense at all. They’d never been in my way.

  Can’t argue against that, can you? my harasser sent in my silence. So spare me the innocent act. One of us wants what’s best for this community, and it’s definitely not you. And soon everyone else will find that out too.

  The person was so sure I’d know what she meant. When else had I come even close to—

  Oh. Understanding clicked in my head with a jab of cold. Just a couple weeks ago, I’d told my mother just the right thing to get Lillian Ravenguard stripped of her career and her freedom in a matter of minutes. That’d been pretty life-ruining too.

  But how was it some horrible crime to defend myself against a woman who’d tried to have me lose my freedom, for something I hadn’t even done? Who would even have realized I’d spurred my mother’s anger rather than her figuring out Lillian’s treachery on her own?

  The question hadn’t even finished passing through my head when it hit me. One person would have known I’d prompted my mother’s confrontation with Lillian. One person had been right there watching it happen—a person who’d already been acting as if she suspected me of shady intentions for weeks beforehand: Lillian’s assistant, Maggie Duskland.

  I looked down at my phone. I could have challenged her right now, but it’d be too easy for her to simply not reply or pretend I was wrong over the phone, and then, if it was Maggie, she’d know I was on to her.

  No, I had a feeling this situation would be best dealt with face to face. As soon as I found out what Maggie was up to, she and I needed to have a real talk, before she tried to burn down my life for reasons I still couldn’t totally comprehend.

  Chapter Eight

  Declan