A Study In Shifters

by Majanka Verstraete

  He turned toward me, and any illusion I had of my presence stopping him from doing the unthinkable vanished. He had been everything I’d ever wanted. Mysterious, charming, an intellect that matched my own and sometimes even surpassed it. When I’d first met him, he’d turned my world upside down. The world came alive with colors I’d never seen before. Every sensation felt more vivid than ever before.

  I had never thought he could turn out to be such a monster.

  My fantasy world came crashing down all around me, until only ashes were left. Ashes and a horrible, big, enormous, overwhelming sense of betrayal.

  Mannix shifted into wolf form.

  “Help me!” Amaranth cried in the memory as she writhed underneath him, trying desperately to get away. Her eyes were wide in terror, her face ashen pale.

  I was frozen to the ground, captured like one of Medusa’s stone statues, and I couldn’t move, not in time. I couldn’t get to her…

  Amaranth reached out for me, her tiny hand begging for me to save her.

  “No!” I screamed, and my scream joined in with Amaranth’s in a horrible chorus as Mannix’s claws ripped her torso apart.

  “No!” The cries racked through me, destroyed me, as blood gushed out of my cousin’s body and onto the snow-covered ground.

  Blood and snow, such a stark contrast, such a sharp image, forever burned into my mind.

  The painful red-white image faded, and I pushed the memory away to the back of my mind. I was back in the cab, back in the present time, but the stench of blood clung to me as vivid as it had been that day.

  I looked away, out of the window, and didn’t say another word for the rest of the ride. Although I couldn’t begin to explain why, I had a sinking feeling, not based on any logic at all… That somehow Mannix, the person I had struggled so desperately to get away from, was wrapped up in all of this.

  Chapter Seven

  Waynard Academy was the poster child of boarding schools: over the top, gargantuan in size, preposterous, arrogant. My jaguar didn’t like it at all. The building stretched for about one hundred meters from left to right, featuring four levels, Greek columns supporting the stone structure, and Gothic windows, thirty per floor. If Jane Eyre or a character from Wuthering Heights had come out of the front door, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Heck, if Charles Dickens himself had strolled through the gardens, he would have looked like he belonged there.

  The building, although enormous, looked completely out of place in the twenty-first century. Ancient, a mix of neoclassical and Gothic, it seemed to have existed in a time capsule for decades, cut off from the rest of the world. When we got out of the cab, I didn’t even hear any cars, although we’d only just left the highway that was bursting with traffic.

  It felt like stepping into another world. If not for the security officers at the entrance, I would’ve expected we’d travelled back in time to the 1800s.

  The gardens resembled those of Versailles—fountains and hedges cutting up the front gardens in four almost identical squares. A wide entryway led straight to the building.

  I gulped. Being here made everything more real. With the huge building towering above me, I started to doubt if I could actually do this. If I wouldn’t screw this up like I’d screwed up my last case.

  My jaguar sent me a mental image of rubbing its head against me, kind of like a cat would do. At least my jaguar had my back.

  Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to stand up straighter. You can do this, Marisol.

  Indra paid the cab driver, and I held on to my suitcase while I spun around, taking in my surroundings. Students strolled through the gardens, some of them with their noses buried in books, others talking pleasantly to each other. You wouldn’t expect this place could be the scene of a hideous murder. Picture-book perfect.

  Picture-book perfect also meant wrong. Because nothing was ever perfect, and something that looked too good to be true usually was. Elise Felton’s death certainly proved my point.

  My jaguar sent me a mental picture of Mannix, and I understood right away what she meant: he had been too good to be true as well.

  The cab took off, leaving me and Indra standing there. “Let’s head to the main building where we can check in,” she said. “The headmaster, Mr. Duval, knows of our upcoming arrival. I’ve also made sure we’ll share a room for the duration of our stay.”

  “You what?” I burst out, anger flaring through me.

  “Everyone has a roommate at Waynard, so we have no choice but to bunk up. We’ll need privacy if we want to talk about the case, so I couldn’t exactly pair you up with an innocent student who has zero idea as to the real reason why we’re here,” Indra explained, as if it was no big deal.

  I gritted my teeth as I followed after her to the gates, resisting the urge to wring her neck. If I could shift, I’d probably claw her face off—so for once, it might be a good thing that I couldn’t. I had a faint suspicion Indra was using this as an excuse to keep tabs on me, and although I didn’t want to say it out loud, I was pretty sure I was right.

  After a quick look at our papers and luggage, the security officers let us through. If they were here day and night, this would certainly complicate matters for an intruder trying to get access to the grounds, furthering my train of thought that whoever had murdered Elise Felton either went to school here or worked for Waynard Academy.

  Indra had already briefed me about our roles on the train, and really, it wasn’t that hard. We wouldn’t even have to use codenames. I was Marisol Holmes, royal of a shifter family, sent here to study, and she was Indra Marraux, member of a snake clan, sent here for the same reason. So basically, we were pretending to be ourselves, but no one, not even the headmaster, knew of the real reason we’d arrived here. And even if the timing was suspicious, who would expect two girls our age to go around solving murders?

  The existence of the Conclave wasn’t known to all shifters. Only those chosen to be members of the Conclave and the royal families knew of its existence. To regular shifters, its existence was as much a secret as the location of the Nazi gold that disappeared during the second World War. Indra had assured me that the headmaster, while a shifter – an owl shifter, to be exact – had no idea of the Conclave’s existence.

  It might’ve been easier to inform the headmaster so we had a way to cover our activities should we be spotted, but we couldn’t trust anyone.

  My jaguar roared in approval, again sending me an image of Mannix, as if to drive the point home that nobody could be trusted.

  This was enemy territory. From this point on, anyone could be our murderer or at least have something to do with Elise’s killing, even the principal.

  I dragged my suitcase along while we walked to the school entrance. I counted twenty-three students in the gardens, and at least one of them was a shifter of the cat variety. I could smell her scent, and although my sense of smell wasn’t good enough to make out if she was a leopard, cheetah, jaguar, tiger, or lion, my eyesight certainly could.

  Because the shifter I smelled was Reyna Felton.

  She sat on a stone seat in front of a neatly trimmed hedge, talking to another girl. I recognized her features from the picture of her that Indra had briefly shown me and from the stark resemblance she had to Elise. She too had luscious, light brown hair that sparkled in the sunlight and a face many actresses and models would be jealous of. The twin relationship between Reyna and Elise was obvious, and the resemblance was uncanny, especially when seeing her in real life.

  The girl she was talking to, a brunette with a short bob of hair and bright blue eyes, put a hand on Reyna’s shoulder. Reyna looked sad, and I could guess their conversation was about her deceased sister.

  “Let me do the talking once we get inside,” Indra said when we reached the front door. “And don’t say anything that could give us away.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “I’m not new at this, you know.”

  She didn’t respond, but instead pushed open the door and
walked inside. The entrance hall was gigantic, as I’d expected from a building this size. It was also ancient and smelled a little musty. The grand stairs, wide enough that four people could walk side by side upstairs, dominated the room. Red carpet decorated the stairs, and wooden panels lined the walls.

  Hello, 18th century.

  We reached the administration office where a helpful secretary checked us in. “The headmaster is out today, I’m afraid,” she said as she handed us our school schedules. “But I have asked a student to come escort you around as you get used to the place. Usually our headmaster likes to introduce students himself but…”

  She didn’t finish her sentence, but I guessed the reason why the headmaster wasn’t present had something to do with Elise Felton’s murder. Probably talking to the police or parents, or something like that. “Anyway, Wyatt should be here soon. You’re both in room 245, which is on the second floor, but don’t worry, Wyatt will show you where it is. And here are the school rules.” The school rules were apparently a booklet long, and I wondered if I should read it or burn it.

  My jaguar voted for the latter, and for once, I had to agree.

  “First class begins tomorrow at eight thirty. Breakfast is between seven thirty and eight fifteen. Try not to be late. Curfew is at ten o’clock. By then you should all be inside the building and you’re to stay inside your dorm. A hallway monitor comes to check attendance at ten thirty.” A hallway monitor. Indra and I exchanged a look – there had been no mention of that in the police report. The hallway monitor checking up should’ve already noticed Elise was missing the night before.

  “Ah, there’s Wyatt.” The secretary nodded at a boy who’d appeared in the doorway. He had shoulder-length dirty-blond hair and pale blue eyes. He smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. The typical boy-next-door look, but he seemed quite muscled too, more so than I’d expected from an otter shifter.

  “Hey.” Wyatt offered both of us a hand. “I’m Wyatt Johnson. Nice to meet you. I’m here to lead you around.”

  His handshake was firm and confident, another thing I hadn’t exactly expected from an otter.

  My jaguar was a little wary but also curious and less bothered than she was by Indra’s presence. Obviously she liked otters more than snakes.

  “I’m Indra Marraux, and this is Marisol Holmes.” Indra introduced us. “Nice to meet you too.”

  “Well, Mrs. Church, we’re off,” Wyatt said to the secretary. “See you tomorrow.”

  She nodded at him and then at us. “I hope you’ll enjoy your time here, girls,” she said.

  I didn’t need to enjoy it here; I just needed to solve this case, and put the ghosts of the past behind me.

  Chapter Eight

  “So here is your room.” Wyatt had told us he’d bring us to our room first, so we could deposit our luggage. “Are you curious about the inside?” He smiled, and his eyes twinkled, which made him look surprisingly handsome.

  “Tada.” He opened the door for us, revealing our new room. It looked comfortable, but pretty basic. Since I was sure most regular boarding school girls would either be excited, or if they’d been sent off without wanting to go, downright annoyed, I tried to sound as excited as I could. “Looks great.”

  Indra shot me a pointed look. She smiled sweetly at Wyatt. “The room looks perfect, thank you.”

  Perfect was a far shot for the room. It wasn’t luxurious, not like my mother’s penthouse or our chateau on the outskirts of Paris. It had antique wooden furniture—two single beds, two mahogany wooden desks, a bookcase, two clothes closets, and two nightstands. It looked cozy, kind of like the Harry Potter dorms, but also old and musty, and I wondered how many girls or boys had slept here before us in eras long past.

  Yet, I liked that it wasn’t perfect. It seemed…just right. Besides, I’d stayed in far worse. One time, I had to live at the bottom of a trench for a week to find a crocodile shifter, and that was, hands down, the worst place I’d ever stayed in. Compared to that, this dorm was a palace.

  I dumped my suitcase on the bed to the left, and Indra put hers on the spare bed, groaning as she struggled to lift it up.

  “I put sandwiches in the fridge since we’ll be missing dinner, so I can show you around.”

  My jaguar growled in approval at the thought of sandwiches.

  “Once you get back, have at it. There’s also some Coca Cola and water bottles.” Wyatt pointed at a mini-fridge hidden in the corner of the room. “The bathroom and toilets are at the end of the hallway, to your right. You can’t miss it.” He wrung his hands. “So, are you ready for the grand tour?”

  “Sure am.” The words came out more sarcastically than I intended, but Wyatt didn’t seem to notice. Still with a big smile plastered on his face, he went back outside to lead us around. I started to follow him, but Indra grabbed my arm.

  “At least try to act normal,” she hissed at me. “Happy. Casual. Not like you’re being haunted by a whole army of ghosts.”

  I yanked my arm away and followed Wyatt. I knew Indra was right, but pretending to be something I wasn’t was tough for me. I knew the right words to say, but I didn’t know how to say them to make them sound real if I didn’t mean them. Human interaction was often a mystery to me, a trait I’d apparently inherited from a long line of Holmes’s who had excellent minds and horrible people skills.

  “See, there are the showers and toilets.” Wyatt pointed to the end of the hallway. “I’ll show you the classrooms now. Do you know our school even has its own swimming pool?”

  “I’m not much of a swimmer,” Indra said. “But Marisol likes it.”

  I didn’t like swimming at all, so I groaned inwardly and hoped Wyatt wouldn’t burst into a monologue about one of my least favorite sports. “It seems like you like it here,” I said, trying to stir the conversation to more useful topics. “How long have you been going to school here?”

  “Since I was twelve years old. My parents are both very busy,” Wyatt said. “Father has a doctorate in history, Mother in archeology. They’ve been all over the world, working on their projects, digging up pyramids, investigating Stonehenge.”

  “Wow.” Now, that had me impressed. “That’s amazing.”

  Wyatt looked over his shoulder at me. “It is. When I was younger, they took me along on all their travels. I saw Egypt, Mexico, the Great Wall of China. But then they figured they best start sending me to school so I could learn something besides archeology. They wanted to try homeschooling first, but they were too busy to properly keep up with it. And I’ve been here ever since.”

  Wyatt seemed so innocent, so trusting… And maybe also a little naive. Even so, I missed being like that, being so innocent, and I would’ve given a lot to go back to those days.

  “Do you miss it?” I asked. “Traveling. Research.” I knew I would.

  “Sometimes. But Waynard is a great school, and I have a lot of friends here.” Wyatt walked back down the stairs. “The dorms are up on the second and third floor, but the classrooms are on the downstairs floor. The gym and swimming pool are on the basement level, and the library is on the first floor, along with the school cafeteria.”

  “Okay,” Indra said.

  “I’ll show you the classrooms first. They’re divided by subject, so if you have history, just head over to the history classroom. If you have English, you go to English.” He chuckled. “It’s probably like that in a lot of schools, but it was weird for me at first that you had to change rooms every period. I thought you were forced to stay in the same room for the entire day, and the teachers switched.”

  “Which teacher is your favorite?” Indra asked. “My favorite subject is literature, but a lot of that depends on the teacher.”

  I was impressed by how good she was at small talk, especially considering how horribly bad I was at it, so I decided I’d let her do the talking and only intervene when I could steer the subject back to more pressing matters—the murder, for example.

  While he led us from classro
om to classroom, Wyatt erupted into a lengthy monologue about the teachers, who was good at teaching their subject, who was an absolute failure. I focused on some of the teacher’s peculiarities, but mostly tried to memorize the layouts of the classrooms. Every now and then, he pushed up his glasses when they slid down his nose, which my jaguar found hilarious.

  My career as a detective had told me that every detail, no matter how insignificant it seemed, might be of importance. So, I’d rather memorize an unnecessary detail than glance over a crucial one.

  After we finished the tour of the classrooms, Wyatt brought us to the cafeteria. Dinner was wrapping up, and only a handful of people were left. The lunchroom was a long, spacious room with heightened ceilings. Four long tables and over a dozen smaller ones were spread across the room. I caught sight of Reyna Felton talking to the girl she had been speaking to outside earlier today.

  “Hey, Reyna!” Wyatt called out to her. I cringed and widened my eyes at Indra—talking to Reyna had been on my to-do list at some point, but not now, not yet.

  Reyna waved slowly at him. Tears still clouded her face. I squared my shoulders and tried to stay relaxed; I hated talking to relatives of victims whose murder I had to solve. I was socially awkward enough as it was, and talking to them, I never could find the right words.

  Wyatt gestured for us to follow him over to Reyna’s table. “Reyna, this is Indra Marraux and Marisol Holmes.” Wyatt introduced us. “They’re new, have just enrolled.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Reyna’s voice sounded a little shaky. “I’m sorry, I’m still…” She shook her head. “Well, anyway, I hope you enjoy your time here, and hopefully we can get to know each other better.” She reached for the hand of the girl standing next to her. “I need to get some rest. Excuse me,” she said as she and the girl left.

  Wyatt stared after her for a while. He shook his head sadly. “Reyna’s sister passed away yesterday,” he said. “It’s been horrible for her. I’m trying to be a good friend, but it’s hard to find the right words.”