“No, you will go with your Tactical team and there will be other teams out as well,” said Risper. “Demons will come. That is a given. Maybe they don’t wait at the edge of the protections like they did last semester, because Ms. Rollins’s reckless attack took care of that, but they still wait.”
“This is madness.” This time it was a vampire who spoke. It turned out to be Rake, the one who had almost run over Sip. “It’s suicide.”
“No, it’s a way to prepare you. Even here you act like children. But you are not children. You are young adults who in a very short time will be expected to take care of yourselves, something that I am confident at the moment that hardly any of you could do. Others’ lives will be in your hands. They already have been. It was just a little less than a year ago that President Malle, now President of the Knights of Darkness, was here trying to kill every single one of you. If not for some quick thinking, she would have succeeded.”
“Doesn’t he mean quick thinking by his own flesh and blood?” someone muttered behind me. I didn’t turn to see who was speaking. Lisabelle had been kidnapped by Malle and freed by Lough and me.
“It is time you learned something about your abilities,” Risper continued, ignoring the murmurs. “And about yourselves.” With that, he swept past the other deans and away.
I wondered if they were really going to stick me outside the wall I had almost died to create and let the demons have their chance at me. It sounded insane, but Dove might be just that evil. I wasn’t sure anymore.
One thing Risper said did ring true. It was time to gather information and take my life into my own hands. If they were going to stick me outside the protections of Public, then they didn’t care what happened to me and I couldn’t rely on anyone else to take care of me anymore. All the more reason to hurry to the Long Building and start practicing.
A cold penetrated my bones that I knew not even the warmest fire would get rid of.
We all left the field in silence. Instead of walking Lisabelle to her tutoring, Lough and Sip went off to find a house that both of their classes happened to be in. It was very strange without the Tower, and everything was more scattered, but I was glad to be headed to the Long Building. I really needed time to think. It was an eclectic building, so big that it was difficult to find your way around or run across the same thing twice. I loved it, and I was glad that only two classes were taking place there. What’s more, they were for seniors and on the opposite end from the new Museum, so I never saw anyone except Dacer when I went there. The Museum still wasn’t open for viewing.
I entered the Long Building in the middle of the long side. The building was low, only one story, and made of stone, and the grass around it had grown so high that in some places it touched the windows, creating the illusion that the building was disappearing into the ground. For as far as I could see in either direction, the only thing in sight was the walls of the building. It was a strange view. At different points along the roof were things sticking up: a large metal contraption here, a cupola there, and what it was all for I had no idea.
The entryway was covered in cobwebs, since not even the Public staff tried to keep up with such a big building. Dacer had guessed that it had been at least ten years since anyone had cleaned there, and since the building was mostly used for storage and experiments there weren’t even a lot of paranormals passing through the door.
The thick carpet had a heavy film of gray dust over what must once have been a beautiful blue oriental rug. Since it was still daylight and there were no lights on, the whole place had a creepy feeling.
In fact, the Long Building was famous for wild stories about antics perpetrated by students and professor alike. The most memorable, at least that I had heard, went down as famous legend, but I had no idea if it was really true.
A few students, mostly fallen angels, had snuck out of the dorms to watch an experiment by a renowned professor who had tried to harness and control magic without the knowledge of the mages. His ultimate aim was to keep magic from happening at all; basically he wanted to stamp out the mages’ magic, the lifeblood of the paranormals.
He had nearly succeeded.
What he had been trying to do was similar to what had happened to me during my first semester at Public when I wore an Airlee ring, not knowing—because no one did yet—that I was supposed to wear an Astra one.
The result had been that I could use my magic, but only in fits and starts. Part of the problem was that I didn’t know what I was doing, but the difficulty was mostly caused by my wearing the wrong ring.
The professor in the legend, known as Artle, had been trying to do the same thing. He thought that if he could harness this dampening power he could keep darkness mages in check. Unfortunately, he created a horrible and explosive reaction instead.
Legend had it that a group of fallen angels knew Professor Artle, who was in Airlee, and had realized that his experiment was nearing completion; many people now believed that he had been trying to invest the powers he was trying to harness in a necklace, working away like a madman in the basement of the Long Building. Periodically students would see different colors of smoke, some days blue and some days reds and greens and yellows, curling quickly out of the top of the building. Other days they would hear explosions as they walked to class through the snow.
Professor Artle worked day and night, allowing his student teachers to teach his classes for him. It got so bad that the President of that era had to intervene, telling Professor Artle that he was neglecting his real work and that he must stop and eat, if nothing else. But Professor Artle ignored him.
He continued to work feverishly until it got so bad that he was relieved of his teaching duties, but still he soldiered on. It had been clear to everyone that what had happened last year with me and my ring was an accident, but Artle wanted to be able to stop magic on purpose. He was searching for more than just a shielding spell that would protect one thing from attack by another; he dreamed of creating an elimination spell that would stop magic in its tracks. It had never been done before.
For good reason.
Finally, the night came when he was ready to test the experiment.
Artle had spent time not only on the quest itself, but also on fortifying the whole building against disaster. Spells were in place to protect brick and mortar and to contain explosions, protections that had never been needed at Public before. Artle didn’t want to take any chances with his experiment.
Rumors said that Artle by this time looked like a mad scientist, small and hunched, with crazy white hair flying off in every direction. He wore glasses that were too large for his face and that he constantly had to push up his nose.
Some people also said that if Artle had had a family, if he had ever married, none of the mess that followed would have happened. But the truth is, who can ever say?
By the time the group of fallen angels arrived, it was too late. They were all seniors, used to seeing crazy things at Paranormal Public, but nothing had ever compared to this.
They were just arriving at the Long Building when there was a blinding flash of light. As they moved to cover their eyes an explosion quickly followed, shaking the very snow they stood on and the frozen ground beneath. Knocked backwards, none of them saw exactly what happened next, but one brave senior described the sudden blast of heat to his face and the burst of color that hurt his ears. He heard the slam and crack of breaking masonry and ruined work and smelled the odor of burning dreams and soot.
The Long Building was so far away from the rest of campus that it took several minutes for help to arrive, but of course professors came running as soon as they heard the noise, which carried in every direction. The students didn’t say much, but one observant professor thought that one of the students had been tramping around in the charred remains of the building. When questioned, the student said that she wanted to see what had become of Professor Artle. Of course, the question was a useless one. Professor Artle had blown himself to bits
. It had happened so quickly that it was unlikely he had felt a thing. So he never knew that his life’s work had not only failed, but destroyed him.
Even with so much destruction, there was enough residue left, and the experiment had been successful enough, that parts of the Long Building were to this day expertly shielded from prying spells, which was why my friends had suggested that I make the Long Building the place where I practiced my elemental powers. It made perfect sense, because that’s where the Museum and Dacer were, and HE would want me to practice my magic, even if none of the other professors did.
The Long Building had stopped being much used after the disaster. Professor Artle’s workshop, what was left of it, had been shuttered, and the legend had grown, a sorry reminder of what could happen with talent going awry, and of just how much damage and death could be caused by misplaced ambition, not to mention the loss of Professor Artle’s life and work.
At least, that’s how the story goes.
There were other stories about the Long Building, but that was definitely the most epic.
“Are you afraid?” a muffled voice asked behind me, as a hand reached out of the dimness and grabbed my shoulder.
I screamed.
“Dacer!” I cried, spinning around in surprise. Then I grinned. Today he was dressed like a large confection, with a pink top hat and a cane to match, plus a white suit and shoes decorated with purple trim. He looked flawless.
“You like?” he asked, spinning around and posing. “I have decided to have a themed semester and my first theme is cake!”
“You look so good it’s almost edible,” I said, still grinning. “Amazing.”
“Why, thank you, my dear little elemental,” said Dacer, taking a graceful bow. “And now, back to my question, are you afraid?”
“Of what?” I asked, a little breathless at the reminder of this morning.
Dacer looked one of his long arms around my shoulder and led me in the direction of the Museum.
“Of the catacombs in this very building, for instance, where there are unknown paranormals like Slime Dwellers lurking,” he said. “Or of the Map Silver falling into the wrong hands. Or of what happened this morning.” His dark eyes got even more serious. “You are not one of the ones vampires should fear, and yet if Daisy had her way they would. That Demonstration was disgusting. And then, of course, Risper made the deans’ declaration. Lots has happened.”
“Okay, maybe I’m a little bit afraid,” I said. I could say that to Dacer. He understood.
He smiled thinly. “Good, that means you aren’t stupid.”
I would have asked him what he meant, but at that moment I heard a hissing sound, followed by a howl.
“What the blazes,” Dacer muttered, glaring down one of the dark corridors we were passing.
“That sounded like a cat,” I said. “And a dog.”
“Obviously,” said Dacer. “Pests. I hope the dog mauls it. Cats think the world of themselves.”
“The nerve,” I said, grinning. Dacer squeezed my shoulder tighter.
“There is still lots to be done in here,” he said, ushering me into the Museum and letting his free hand trail reverently along the wall. “I talked to Dove, that despicable vampire, and he said that a new building right in the center of campus is to be built. Not where the Tower was and not nearly as high, but there needs to be a place for the dining hall, and the librarians are complaining that the Museum will be in the same building. I was delighted, which unfortunately Dove realized, because then he went off on some nonsense about how he wasn’t sure how much longer I should run the Museum. Blah, blah, snore fest, blah.”
I grinned up at my mentor and tutor. He had a flare for the dramatic and he definitely didn’t talk like a professor, let alone a vampire professor.
“Have you spent any time exploring around here over the summer?” he asked quietly, looking thoughtfully around at the decaying walls. My work with him had been restricted to the Museum itself, and oddly enough we had never talked much about the rest of the building.
I shook my head. “No time, and it’s kind of creepy.”
He nodded serenely. “I’m sure you’ve heard stories.”
“Of course,” I said excitedly. “Professor Artle is legend.”
Dacer’s face closed. “Ah, yes, that. I do wonder what happened there.”
“The story says that he blew himself apart,” I said. “He destroyed all his work, not to mention his life.”
“Funny thing about stories,” said Dacer. “They are so hard to remember accurately.”
“What did you think about this morning?” I asked cautiously. Although Dacer had been there, as had all the other professors, I had never had a chance to ask what he thought of the Valedications.
“I think it will go down in history,” he said, “as the single most significant Demonstration ever witnessed at Public. With the exception, of course, of last year’s, when a little elemental joined our merry forces once again.”
“Oh, Dacer,” I said glumly, my shoulders drooping lower from my own despair and the weight of Dacer’s arm. “That wasn’t even a big deal. I thought it was a good thing after the first semester, but the deans told me I wasn’t even allowed to practice my magic!”
Dacer stopped in his tracks outside the Museum door. Since his arm was around me, I was forced to stop too.
He looked down at me, his eyes alight with fury. His face wasn’t as scary as some others I had seen wrapped in anger, mostly because it’s hard to be intimidating with purple eye shadow, pink lipstick, and a white-painted face. But Dacer was almost pulling it off.
“Well, well, well,” he murmured. “We might just have to do something about that.”
His decorated arm, draped around my shoulders, started us moving again. Somewhere nearby, a cat howled.
Chapter Twelve
“Now, what exactly is this class about?” Risper asked, clasping his hands behind his back. He was ramrod straight, his eyes probing. This might turn out be the first class ever in which no student cheated, even once. I had a feeling that Risper would know if someone was cheating from miles away. A History of Death had begun.
He paused before continuing, glancing out the window. It was a gray and cloudy day, my least favorite for fall. I liked blue sky, a crisp wind, and golden leaves blowing. Somehow this weather reminded me of demons, and demons reminded me how angry I was about what the deans were doing at Public.
They had ordered me not to practice my magic and were now planning to send groups of students outside the protections of Public—protections I had almost died to put in place—so that they could “learn to fight.” Whose idea was that?
My steely gaze returned to Risper.
Once he started talking I forgot my anger and got lost in his words.
“The History of Death isn’t about disease,” he began, “that would be the humans’ history. No, the History of Death for paranormals is about murder, plain and simple, because paranormals don’t die unless they are killed. Our magical powers are such that we are very good at saving each other from everything except extreme magical harm. The arc of history is such that our most important death question has been, is, and will likely always be, how do the Demonites factor into our lives?
“Rake, do you have a problem?” Risper’s eyes bored into the vampire, who was sitting slouched in his chair in the back of the room. I turned around to look. He was glaring at Sip, and therefore Lisabelle.
Caught by surprise, Rake started to stammer out a response.
“Shut up,” said Risper. He walked toward the back of the room, seeming to grow larger with each step, his features darkening. “Do I make myself clear?”
I watched Rake’s Adam’s apple bob up and down before the massive junior nodded. He looked like a scared little boy with Risper glaring at him so ferociously.
“Now, where was I?”
“I believe you had just said ‘the arc of history . . . how do the Demonites factor in?’” Sip
said. I glanced at her notes. There was a very good chance she was writing down every word our new professor was saying.
Risper raised his eyebrows at Sip. He hadn’t had much interaction with my werewolf friend except when she had stood up to Dove last semester. He smiled thinly. “You are just like your brothers, aren’t you? Definitely a Quest, through and through.”
Sip looked a little stunned, much like when Risper’s niece made sarcastic remarks. Before she could recover, Risper continued. “Of course, one longstanding event stands out among the others when we discuss the murder of paranormals in the modern age. The most serious topic of this class will be the systematic and nearly complete extermination of one of the five main classes of paranormals, the weakest and therefore the most vulnerable. I am talking about the elementals. We will also address the question of the sixth class of paranormals—”
Risper stopped mid-sentence, turning his black eyes to Rake. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled. “I am losing my patience.”
Rake was staring at Sip again. “It’s just,” Rake muttered, continuing to glare at the tiny werewolf, “she’s an Airlee.” He said the word “Airlee” like it was some confusing thing.
Sip stood up, her chair scraping across the stone floor. “SO?” Her fists were shoved onto her hips. “You want to do something about it?” Her purple eyes blazed. I looked at our professor, but Risper looked more amused than anything.
“Uh,” said Rake, looking confused.
“Just ignore him,” said Dirr. Lanca’s sister was one of three Starters in the class, the other two being the Valedication siblings, who were sitting in the back, the only students who were even further away from the professor than Rake was. Neither had said a word, and I was glad. After their Demonstration I was just a little scared of both of them, but when Dirr spoke Daisy looked at her in much the same way that a cat looks at a mouse she hopes to eat. I felt a chill run down my spine, and even though I didn’t know Dirr I was grateful for the other vampires protecting her.
Elemental Shining (Paranormal Public Series) Page 9
