The Villain Keeper

by Laurie McKay

  The soft whispers turned to loud and impatient whistling. “WHEWWWW. WHEWWWW.” Caden turned toward the sound. Then the whistles turned into shouting. “Caden! Get me out of here!”

  Caden felt panic start to wash over him. For Chadwin to yell like such, he must be in peril. Never had Caden heard him so frantic. Caden couldn’t lose him again. Like his father taught him, he stopped and took a breath. To save him, he must find him.

  As he inhaled, he noticed a strange scent in the air. The woods smelled of fire and leather. They smelled, he realized suddenly, the way magic smelled when it was intended to ensnare. For Caden, that smell was his father’s study, where he and his brothers would gather. It smelled like home.

  The voice of his brother and the safety of the castle still felt very near, but Chadwin’s voice was not real. And as he realized this, the magic around him dissipated, and something else became clear.

  “Caden, I heard you whistle. Where are you?” It was Brynne calling, not Chadwin. She yelled his name again from the same direction as the whisper of his lost brother. Whatever ensnaring trap he’d found, she’d found it, too, and been caught.

  There wasn’t time to revisit grief for Chadwin, or to dwell on the fist now crushing his heart. His ally needed help. He darted toward her shouts and the false hope of those lost. Fir trees and leafless oaks towered on all sides. His nose itched and mud buckled under his boots. The drizzle intensified once more to cold stinging rain.

  Within moments, he was at the edge of a clearing. He could feel rain soak his back, hear drops pad against the earth, and smell it. In the clearing, though, all was dry. No rain fell. No plants grew from the strange sand within it. No animals scampered across the bare ground.

  Brynne was stuck in the sand and thrashed like a butterfly in a web. When she saw Caden, she reached for him. “Get me out of here!”

  He was mere strides from where she was stuck waist-deep in the sand. Her hair fell in perfect waves, long enough to touch the sand, which stuck to her skin and sparkled like Razzonian diamonds. The more she struggled, the deeper she sank.

  Looking around, Caden realized something else. Had Sir Horace also sunk into the sand? “Where’s Sir Horace?” He’d lost his brother. He’d been stranded far from home. He couldn’t lose Sir Horace.

  “He’s around,” Brynne said. “I’m the one who’s sinking.” She was now shoulder deep. Her arms were under the surface and trapped.

  Caden let out a breath. He searched for something he could use to reach her, then glanced again at the sand. It made sense Sir Horace wasn’t nearby. “Sir Horace is too clever to be caught by such a trap,” he said.

  Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say. Though she still sounded scared, her tone turned murderous. “Your concern for that beast is greater than for me.”

  “He’s a true friend.”

  “He left you to those policemen.” In a smug tone, she added, “They took you down easy enough.”

  “Says the sorceress stuck in the sand.”

  She was fury in a sandpit. “Get me out, prince. Or else.”

  With one hand, he grasped a prickly evergreen. He reached out with the other and stepped into the sand. He sunk, but not much. Not much at all. He frowned. “Why are you so much deeper than me?”

  “I think it responds to those strong with magic.”

  At the rate he was sinking, it would take Caden weeks to be sucked into it. He shook some of the sand from his boots. “Perhaps it only responds to thieves with bad manners.”

  Brynne looked like she might bite his ankles. “If you had any talents, you’d sink, too,” she said. He could tell she was trying to contain her fear and anger. “Now, get me out.”

  He crouched beside her. “Ask nicely,” he said.

  Before she could answer, before Caden could react, the sand pulled her down. Her face and nose went under. Caden felt his mouth fall open. He let go of the prickly tree and lunged for her. The sand felt heavy on his hands as he pulled. She popped up, her hands and shoulders now freed—but he sank in the sand to his knees. Sand fell from Brynne’s hair.

  He glanced around, unable to meet her gaze. “I’ll pull us out,” he said quietly. He took off Rosa’s drenched sweatshirt and looped it around a sturdy-looking fir tree.

  “You should’ve done that as soon as you found me.”

  She was right. He should have helped her first, and pointed out her foolishness for getting caught second. But it had been too hard to resist. He rarely had the opportunity to mock Brynne. He said nothing as he dragged them toward the edge.

  The sand was caked on his calves and feet. His legs ached as they moved. Eventually, he stepped free onto the wet earth beyond the clearing. The magical sand melted in the rain.

  It washed off Brynne in glittering tears. “Water must counteract the spell,” she said, and he heard the anger in her voice. “I was almost lost within the magic sand. Such traps never pull victims to easy fates, prince. Why is it here, anyway?”

  It was strange to find a magic trap in what seemed to be a magicless land. No local he’d spoken to seemed to have knowledge of such things. He looked at Brynne. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes narrowed.

  To share information and distract her from being mad at him, he told what he’d learned about the missing Jane Chan, and his theory that their arrival was connected to her disappearance. He also described the foster prison and people in it.

  Brynne nodded, but her anger seemed only dimmed. Then she stretched up beside him, young and elegant, and slammed her palm into his chest.

  He dropped to the ground. Gnarled roots dug into his knees. He looked up at her and whatever guilt he felt for not pulling her out immediately vanished like the magic sand.

  “That’s for waiting to pull me out,” she said.

  The words were too cold and the radiating warmth in his chest was too real. “What did you do to me?” Caden said. It was surely a spell.

  “You started it, prince.”

  He stumbled to his feet and patted his head. No horns. He reached around his back. No wings. No tail. There was nothing extra and there was nothing missing. He was wet and covered in nonmagical mud, but seemed the same as always. “What did you do?” he repeated.

  Tito’s voice bellowed from below. “Caden! Hey, Caden! Time’s up, man.”

  She looked down the path and shrugged. “It should be an interesting two days for you.”

  He didn’t want to ask. He didn’t want to know. “Why?”

  “You’ll see,” she said. “Maybe you’ll learn a little humility. Meet me back here at midnight and tell me what else you find out about the missing girl. And bring me some real food.”

  Instead of throwing her back into the magical sand trap like he wanted, Caden nodded. “As you wish,” he said.

  Agreeing with Brynne. That couldn’t mean anything good.

  Later that morning, Caden waited at the kitchen table while Rosa took Tito to school, but he was certain it wasn’t what he wanted to do. When Rosa returned, she ordered Caden into the large transport she called her “pickup.” It had an enclosed cab with front and back seats, and a flattened bed in back. He definitely didn’t want to ride in it to the market, then let her buy him ugly clothes. His body and his mouth, however, seemed to defy his brain. Brynne’s revenge was obvious. For the next two days, it seemed that Caden would have to do whatever he was told to do.

  That’s how he found himself outside the middle school dressed in what Rosa called “blue jeans” that were so long he had to roll them up, and a collared shirt with a pattern that Rosa had called “plaid.” At least his enchanted coat covered most of it.

  “Follow me,” Rosa said.

  “As you wish,” said Caden.

  She paused and frowned at him. “You’ve gotten good at taking orders since yesterday.”

  Caden felt the blood drain from his face. She’d come to the same conclusion as he had—though he doubted she understood why. There was nothing he could say. He was at he
r mercy.

  “Did your father give you a lot of orders?” she said.

  Caden’s father was a great man, not the tyrant these people thought. “My father gives everyone a lot of orders,” he said. “It’s his right.”

  “You believe that, don’t you?”

  “I know that.”

  Rosa touched his arm. “You don’t have to defend him, not to me,” she said.

  He jerked away. “Apparently I do.”

  The school was built of stone and stood cut into the rock of the mountain. It was a gray towering building against a brown mountain and a blue sky. Inside, it smelled of mud. Caden pulled his coat tighter around the plaid shirt and followed Rosa to a front room.

  “Do your best,” she said.

  Caden always did his best. “I will,” he said and sat where she directed, at a smooth flat table of polished wood, cool to the touch.

  “I’ll be here to pick you up at the end of the day.”

  Rosa left, and Ms. Primrose, the placement counselor, tip-tapped in and sat across from him. She was small and frail and smelled like the rose in her namesake. Her shirt and skirt were covered with a blue flower pattern. Her eyes were a faded blue.

  She pulled out a strange contraption, flipped it open, and set it in front of him. It whirred to life with the press of a small button.

  Caden felt proud to recognize the foreign technology. “It’s a television,” he said.

  Ms. Primrose looked at him, her eyes widening. For a moment, she studied him. Then she frowned. “No, no dear. It’s a laptop computer.”

  Tito still hadn’t explained that one.

  She reached across and pushed more buttons. “You’re going to take your test on it.” The strange tech, the computer, flashed to life. Caden jumped, then peered closer. “It’s simple, dear. Read the passage, look over the answers, and push the button that corresponds to the correct one.”

  It was Caden’s turn to frown. The buttons matched the strange language on the screen. He understood that, but it made no difference. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I can’t complete this test.”

  “Caden, this is important. Ms. Rosa thinks you might place into the gifted class. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  “This tongue is not one I know.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked, startled. “It’s English. You’re speaking it.”

  It was all Caden could take. Soft people who smelled of flowers needed to stay as far from him as possible. He stood up. “I wish to leave.”

  She cocked her head and studied him. “Oh, I understand.” Suddenly, she seemed sharper than he’d first thought. Her faded eyes turned icy. “Many poor souls like you come to me. You’re here now. You can’t leave.”

  It was an odd thing for her to say. For a moment, they stared at each other. The quiet was broken only by a loud rumbling noise. It echoed in the small room like a growl. “Oh my,” she said, and rubbed her stomach. “Well, it has been a while since I ate.” Her cheeks were flushed, but she didn’t seem embarrassed. If anything, it seemed like this was part of the test.

  He cared nothing for the test. That, however, didn’t mean he was impolite. He was an eighth-born prince. This small room and strange, flowery old woman would not sway his good manners. “For days my diet has consisted wholly of starchy tubers and edible winter grasses.” He smiled at her. “I’ve heard much worse.”

  She smiled back but it seemed unnatural on her face, like it was an uncommon expression for her. She reached up and touched her lips, as if surprised. “You’re an interesting one, aren’t you?”

  It wasn’t the most humble thing to say, but Caden felt it best to agree with her. “I am.”

  She shook her head like he was the biggest of difficulties for her. “I suppose I could read the test to you. I don’t need to eat just yet,” she said, and sounded sad. “No lunch today. Relax, dear. Take the test.”

  It was an order. Caden took the test. As soon as they’d finished, she scored his answers with pursed lips and an irritated expression.

  Caden was not put in the gifted class. He was put in the special class. “It doesn’t sound special,” he said as he followed her through the long school hall.

  “You need to learn to read and write,” she said. Her manner had turned cool since his poor test performance. “After your morning literacy class, you have science, lunch, and math with the rest of the seventh graders. We have accommodations we can give you for those.”

  The floor was paved with unattractive tiles. Hundreds of overlapping shoeprints were scuffed atop. The walls were crowded with pale pink locked boxes. Despite the evidence that countless people usually walked these halls, it was now quiet except for the click-clack of Ms. Primrose’s steps.

  She squinted down at a paper in her hand. “Twelve-four. This is your locker.”

  Twelve-four—his age and the length of years until Brynne said the moon and sun would align such that she could attempt a spell to return them. No doubt, it was unlucky. The locked box opened with a creak. Inside were crumpled papers and stale crumbs. This was not the locked box of a well-mannered prince.

  “I must decline,” Caden said.

  “You’ll need it to store your things, dear,” she said.

  “It’s dirty.”

  She raised a brow. “You’re a picky one, aren’t you?”

  He snapped his gaze to her. “I have certain expectations. Cleanliness is one.”

  There was no rebuke. She closed the locker with a clank and glanced at the dirty tiles. “I’m afraid some of your peers like to roll around in the mud.”

  Some of the gentle dislike in Ms. Primrose’s expression dimmed. He could see her struggling to keep her distance, to squash any budding affection. His intent was to be gone as soon as possible, but gaining her favor might prove smart. The time had come for a well-placed observation.

  “At least,” Caden said, “the halls smell of roses.”

  “That’s my perfume, dear.” She leaned down as if to tell him a secret. “It’s my signature scent.”

  “Like your name,” he said, and he could tell she was pleased.

  Then she fixed him with a funny look. “Indeed.”

  She led him around the corner and knocked lightly on a nearby door. She glanced again at the paper in her hand. “Math’s your last class of the day. No time like the present to jump right in.” With a pat to the shoulder, she added, “I do hope you do well here.”

  Inside, he counted twenty-four desks. Students sat at all but three. Tito scribbled furiously at a first-row desk between two of the empty ones. The third empty desk was in the corner, hidden in shadow. The students looked riveted—somewhere between excited and terrified.

  At the front of the room stood a man with a gray beard and bald head. One of his eyes was dark, crinkled at the side like he laughed often, the other pale blue and split by the deep scar that reached from his eye to his mouth. His pants were dark and he wore a red wool sweater.

  “Don’t stare, dear,” Ms. Primrose whispered. She motioned in Caden’s direction. “We have a new student, Mr. Rathis. This is Caden.”

  “Welcome, Caden,” Mr. Rathis opened his arms in welcome. He motioned for Caden to join him at the front of the room. “Tell us about yourself,” Mr. Rathis said.

  Caden made eye contact with him and with the kids seated at the desks. “I’m new here. I live with Tito.”

  “Foster kid,” whispered a boy in the third row.

  Caden’s tolerance was thinned by his racing heart and sickening stomach. “I don’t like being interrupted.”

  The kid blinked like he didn’t know what that meant.

  “Anyway,” Caden said. “In time, I’m certain you will like me. Most people do.” He hoped he’d told enough about himself to satisfy the curse.

  Mr. Rathis laughed. “Now that’s the kind of confidence you don’t see often.”

  A lesser person would be insulted. Caden’s gut was too twisted for that, and he fel
l into silence. He was stuck in a strange land and strange school. He was cursed to do as he was told. He was at this math teacher’s mercy. He was at everyone’s mercy.

  “Thanks for sharing,” Mr. Rathis said, and his voice sent shivers up Caden’s spine. There was something strange about him. Something odd in his manner. Something that Caden didn’t trust. “Sit.”

  Caden had no choice but to obey. His magically traitorous feet were already following the order. He started to sit beside Tito in the front middle. Royalty sat in front.

  “That’s Jane’s seat,” a twangy girl’s voice said. “Don’t sit there.”

  Caden clenched his jaw. Again, an order. He was compelled to skip the front middle desk and instead take the end one on Tito’s other side. This desktop was covered in scribbles. In the corner, someone had drawn a bird. It made him think of the mighty Winterbird on his coat. Thoughts of the Winterbird always made him feel braver. They also reminded him he had a dragon to slay and a way home to find.

  He leaned toward Tito. “When does this class end?”

  Tito looked annoyed and didn’t answer.

  Caden asked again.

  “At three,” Tito said and sounded irritated. “I’m trying to listen.”

  Before Caden could say more, Mr. Rathis walked to Caden’s desk and tapped it. “Stop talking. Pay attention.”

  Caden stopped talking. He paid attention.

  Mr. Rathis smirked, and the scar tugged at his mouth. He raised a hand as if to strike Caden down—and for a moment, Caden was certain he was going to hit him. Then Mr. Rathis turned and wrote LONG RANGE ATTACKS on the whiteboard. He proceeded to explain how to find the trajectory of projectile weapons. He waved his arms and guffawed as he calculated damage centers and casualty rates.

  Mr. Rathis looked straight at Caden. “Fifty thousand dead.” His eyes glinted as he spoke of death. For a moment their gazes locked. Then Mr. Rathis waved his hand like a performer taking a bow. “That’s the importance of math!” he said, and began spouting information about fractions.

  As Caden listened, a memory tugged at him. There was something familiar about Mr. Rathis. He felt that he had seen this man’s face before—but not in Asheville and not in person. He fought to keep his eyes from widening, his heart from racing.