Maybe you should leave this one to the vampire, Icarus said from above me.
Leaves stirred around us. And wait out here alone? No thanks.
You won’t be alone, the owl reminded me. I’m here.
The hoot of an owl echoed around us, and I jerked my head upward. Was that you?
Would it calm you down if I say yes?
Craptastic. It wasn’t him.
“What’s the matter, Morrow?” Gray asked. “You look paler than my Aunt Mildred. Trust me, you’ve never seen a paler complexion on a vampire than the one on that woman.”
“This place gives me the creeps,” I said, shivering.
Gray’s light eyes danced with amusement. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been running around town with a dangerous vampire, went to the Obscura, fought a spriggan, saw a dwarf naked, but this place is hitting your creep button? Interesting.”
I shoved him gently, careful not to trigger the fangs. “Are you calling yourself a creep?”
“Come on, goofball,” Gray said. “Time’s a’wasting.”
I gaped at him. “Goofball?”
He shrugged. “That’s what you are.”
“You don’t strike me as the kind of guy who throws around the word ‘goofball,’ that’s all.”
“It’s what I called Riya sometimes.” His voice grew wistful.
“You must miss her,” I said.
“We worked together for a long time,” he said. “She was like family to me.”
“And you’ve worked solo all this time?”
“Solo suits me,” he replied. He gestured toward the house. “After you.”
“Save the chivalry for a less spooky place,” I said. “You first.”
I’m here if you want to make a run for it, Icarus said, landing on the head of a stone lion at the bottom of the steps. Hopefully, this one didn’t talk.
Nice pep talk, I said.
Gray pulled the long, thick rope that hung beside the front door. Somewhere inside the house, a horn blasted.
“I think Anton sent us here as punishment,” I said. “This is all your fault.”
The front door creaked open by itself. Gray and I looked at each other.
“If I start humming the theme to Ghostbusters, you’ll have no idea what I’m doing, will you?”
“No, but I bet your buddy Anton would. He seems to like Terrene entertainment, judging from the book he was reading.” Gray crossed the threshold and entered the foyer.
A bat swooped over our heads and zipped outside before I had a chance to react. Fast food for Icarus.
“Hello?” Gray called.
The foyer floor was made of dizzying black and white geometric tiles. The interior shutters were all closed, cloaking the house in near darkness, so that I could barely make out the ebonized woodwork.
“It’s creepier inside than outside,” I whispered. “I didn’t think it was possible.”
A smile tugged at Gray’s lips. “Really? I think it’s got a real cozy feel to it.”
At the mention of ‘cozy,’ flames burst from the foyer fireplace. The house was surprisingly cool considering the heat outside. A wailing sound erupted from upstairs, and I inched closer to Gray until our sides were touching.
“What is that?” I asked, my heart pounding.
“Keening,” he replied matter-of-factly. Nothing seemed to faze this guy. That was probably for the best, as I was fazed enough for both of us.
“Hello,” Gray called again. “We’d like to speak with the owner of Mystic Manor. We understand you had an attempted burglary recently, and we have a few questions about it.”
My heart thundered in my chest as we awaited a response. I suddenly wished for Betty, Kitty, and Peggy to make an appearance. I’d give anything to be served a casserole and a Manhattan right now.
“Visitors are most welcome when they’ve come for the right reasons,” a craggy voice said.
“We haven’t come to take anything from you,” Gray assured her. “We only want information.”
“Very well, then.” A gossamer woman materialized in front of us, wearing a forest green, floor-length dress. Her pale red hair hung loose over her shoulders. Her elderly voice didn’t match the rest of her.
“You’re a ghost,” Gray said. “You own this house?”
“I do, indeed,” she said. “A banshee, I once was, by the name of Selma Sloane.”
Hmm. Anton failed to mention that we’d be dealing with a wailing ghost. I had a feeling that he was laughing into his porcelain cup about now.
“My name is Graydon Alastair Mappleworth III, and this is my companion, Bryn Morrow.”
The banshee drifted closer to me, and I felt a distinct chill as her gaze swept over me. “You have family on the other side.”
A lump formed in my throat. “Don’t we all?”
“Aye,” she said. “But yours…” She cocked her head. “Your magic is strong.”
Did she know? I wasn’t sure what kind of information she was privy to as a ghost. I decided that my best course of action was to get the conversation back on track before she said anything more.
“We heard that someone attempted to steal a family heirloom from you recently,” I said. “Can you tell us about that?”
Selma made a disgruntled noise. “He was under the false impression that my house would be an easy target. That I had no defenses against intruders.” She laughed, and the sound was as unsettling as her earlier wails. “Follow me, and I’ll show you what he was after.” She crooked a wispy finger and floated into the next room.
It was a study of sorts. The woodwork was heavy and ebonized, like the wood in the foyer. The shelves were covered in cobwebs and dust. Selma went to a thin drawer at the top of an ornate curio cabinet.
“He expected it to be among the personal effects in my bedroom, the fool,” she said, pulling open the drawer.
“You can move physical objects?” I asked.
“I’m quite accomplished,” Selma said. “Not all ghosts can manipulate objects in the physical world.”
“This is the amulet?” Gray asked, peering inside the drawer. The interior of the drawer was lined with green velvet and a single amulet rested inside.
“Aye,” Selma said. “This necklace has been in my family for generations. My grandfather’s spirit resides inside.”
The black choker necklace was adorned with a ruby red gemstone.
“He doesn’t live in the house like you do?” I asked.
“No, dearie,” Selma replied. “His spirit is bound to the gemstone. He serves the wearer.”
“Serves?” I echoed.
“My grandfather was a fierce warrior in our native land,” Selma said. “When he died, the family decided to honor him by allowing his feats of greatness to continue. What better way than in defense of his heirs?”
“But you’re already dead,” I said. “Are there other members of the family living?”
Selma exhaled loudly, which I imagined was just for show since she couldn’t actually breathe. “I was the last, I’m afraid. And so I dwell in Mystic Manor, lording over our family treasures.”
“Why do you think someone would want to steal this?” I asked. “Is the necklace valuable?”
“The gem is valuable, to be sure,” she said, “but my grandfather’s spirit is even more so.”
“So, if I put on this necklace, he would be bound to protect me?” I asked. I didn’t dare reach for it. I didn’t want Selma to think I intended to take it. With the stolen healing stone in my pocket, I couldn’t exactly prove I was trustworthy.
“Aye, he would protect you.” Her eyes flashed with anger. “That thief knew about the amulet. What he didn’t know was that I would kill to protect it.”
“How do you know the thief was male?” Gray asked.
“Because I attacked him,” Selma said simply. “He shifted in an effort to escape, but he was in my home.” More flames blazed from the fireplace in the room and I jumped. “I control this envir
onment.”
“Did he say why he wanted it?” Gray asked.
“He didn’t have the chance,” Selma replied. The drawer slammed closed. “I chased him downstairs and managed to catch his paw with that spear on the wall by the staircase.” Her filmy arm pointed back toward the foyer. “I watched him limp outside until he returned to his male form.”
“He was fine when he shifted?” I asked. Did shifters heal automatically?
“It was his front right paw,” Selma told me.
“So his hand,” I said, more to myself. Calvin Motley’s hand had been wrapped in gauze during my first and only class with him. “I’m glad you managed to keep it safe. Sometimes pieces like this one are all we have left to remember our loved ones by.”
Selma offered a firm nod. “My grandfather was powerful and impressive.” She paused, her eyes boring into mine. “But you know all about that, don’t you, dearie?”
“Thank you for your help,” I said, disguising my discomfort. I didn’t want Gray to see how rattled I was. This banshee knew something.
“Next time, be sure to invite your familiar inside,” Selma said. “Plenty of tasty treats lurk within my walls.”
Yuck. “Thanks, I’ll be sure to pass along the message.”
I walked to the door as fast as I could without actually sprinting. I didn’t want to seem rude. The fire in the foyer was already extinguished, and the shiver I felt outside had returned. I had no intention of ever returning to this place.
I yanked open the door and ran down the porch steps.
You should see your face. You look like you’ve seen a ghost, my familiar said from above.
I grimaced. Did anyone ever tell you your comic timing sucks?
“Hey, slow down,” Gray said, hurrying to catch up to me. I was on his motorcycle before he even reached it. “Selma really spooked you, huh?”
“I’ve never met a ghost before,” I said. That much was true. It was her knowledge that truly scared me, though. The more paranormals that knew the truth about me, the more danger I was in. Thankfully, I doubted Selma Sloane had many visitors. My secret was safe—for now.
17
I knocked on the open door of the healer’s office. If anyone knew firsthand about Calvin Motley’s injury, it would be Alana. The druid glanced up from her patient and smiled.
“Bryn Morrow, come in. You’re not moaning or limping, so I suspect this isn’t a health visit.” Alana waved me over. “This is Nathaniel. He’s a third year, training to be a warden.”
“Class B, I hope,” Nathaniel added. He winced as Alana applied pressure to his arm.
“Nothing serious,” she told me, sensing my concern. “Sometimes injuries occur in an academy like this.”
“I’m here a lot,” Nathaniel said. “But Alana takes good care of me.”
The older druid patted his head. “Yes, some students are more prone to injury than others.” Her gaze flickered to me. “I get the impression I won’t see you much on this table.”
“Let’s hope,” I said.
“Your mother was a healer, too, as I recall.” Alana continued working on Nathaniel’s arm.
“A doctor in the human world,” I said. “I learned a lot about how to be a good patient.”
Alana laughed lightly. “I should have you give a seminar. Some of the students could use tips.” She rubbed Nathaniel’s arm. “Not you, of course. You have a high pain threshold, which is good considering the amount of pain you tend to cause yourself.”
Nathaniel snorted. “I don’t do it on purpose. I take risks. Sometimes they don’t pay off.”
No, sometimes they didn’t.
“Alana, I was wondering if you could tell me whether you treated Calvin Motley for any injuries in the week or two leading up to his death.”
Alana’s hands slowed. “I believe so. Why do you ask?”
I shrugged in an effort to appear nonchalant. “I seem to remember his hand was wrapped in gauze when I met him.”
“His right hand, yes,” Alana said. “He came to me after he hurt himself in a training session. A spear, I believe he said it was.”
It certainly was, but not from a training session. “About two weeks ago?”
Alana appeared thoughtful. “Yes, that’s right.” She returned her attention to Nathaniel. “Though I’m fairly certain the injury had healed by the time of his death. It wasn’t listed on the autopsy.”
“You saw the report?” I asked.
“Of course,” she replied. “I’m the head healer at the academy, and I treated Calvin for a variety of injuries and health issues. Theo Armitage shared the results with me in order to ascertain the timing of certain injuries.”
“Motley was a good dude,” Nathaniel said.
A good dude that counted theft and financial debts among his pastimes.
“I like the new guy, though,” Nathaniel continued. “He seems good.”
“Finn Horton will make an excellent Master at Arms,” Alana agreed. “Shifters do tend to heal quickly, although I expect to see Mr. Horton as often as I saw Calvin. Trainees and weapons. It’s a hazard of the job.” She tapped Nathaniel’s back. “All finished, friend. Give the arm a rest for the next couple of days, or I’ll be seeing you back here.”
“As much as I enjoy your company, I don’t want that,” Nathaniel said, grinning.
“Did you have any more questions, Bryn?” Alana asked.
“You’ve been a big help already,” I replied.
“She always is,” Nathaniel said, sliding off the table. “I’ll see you around.”
I waited until after Nathaniel left to ask my next question. “Would it be weird if I asked to see the autopsy report?”
Alana regarded me. “I don’t have to tell you the rumors that are flying around about you, do I?”
“Not where they concern Calvin Motley,” I said. “I had nothing to do with his death, though, or the missing sword. I swear.”
Alana squeezed my arm. “I believe you. There are others that will require more convincing, however.” She crossed the room and retrieved a file from her desk. “I suspect, with your history, you can review this without getting squeamish. Although this is a copy, I can’t allow it to leave this room. Read it here, and tell no one.”
I took the file and opened it. “Thank you so much, Alana.” I hesitated. “Why are you so sure that I didn’t do it? You don’t know anything about me.”
She blew a gentle breath. “I’ve observed you, Bryn. I’ve always been able to spot the troubled souls at the academy. When I look at you, all I see is light.”
I thought of the stolen red healing stone locked away in my dorm room drawer, and my throat tightened. “Really?”
Alana nodded. “Now, hurry and read before someone catches you. I don’t need us both under scrutiny.”
I scanned the report. It wasn’t pretty, not that I expected it to be. Based on his many injuries, it seemed that the berserker spirits had pummeled Calvin to death. He hadn’t stood a chance against them.
I closed the file and handed it to Alana.
“You got what you needed then?” she asked.
“Almost,” I replied. There was still a little more information to gather before I was certain. Luckily, I knew just the place to go.
Cato’s eyes were closed when I arrived in the library. There were two students hunched over a table, but they were far enough across the room that they wouldn’t be an issue. Besides, I wasn’t here to ask about my father. Not tonight.
“Cato,” I said.
His eyes flew open. “Bryn. Welcome back. I’m glad you’re still here.”
“You thought I might not be?”
He lowered his voice. “I’ve heard whisperings about you. Staff members forget I’m here much of the time.”
“You heard I’m a suspect?” I whispered.
“There are varying reports,” he said. I knew he was trying to be spare my feelings. “If it’s any consolation, I know you didn’t do anything. I only
wish I had witnessed something helpful that night.”
“I must have some support,” I said, “or they wouldn’t let me wander freely around campus.”
“You can thank Chancellor Tilkin for that privilege,” Cato said.
I’d suspected as much, but, after overhearing her at the lakeside, I wasn’t sure. Maybe she was simply trying to placate Theo Armitage.
“I’d like to know more about berserkers,” I said.
Cato seemed taken aback. “Berserkers? They don’t have you training against them, do you? That’s far too advanced for a first year.”
“I’m not fighting them.” Yet. “I’d just like to know more about them. Like, what are their special skills?”
“Phew, you had me concerned.” Cato looked thoughtful. “Berserkers are part of the society of Viking warriors. Fierce and frenzied in battle. When they fight, they almost enter an altered state of blind rage, like they’re possessed by demonic forces. They become uncontrollable, sometimes accidentally killing warriors on their own side. They’re also said to be impervious to weapons, though I fought a few in my day that definitely suffered at the ends of my talons.”
I shuddered. Their ferocity was good for the paranormal they were protecting. Not so good from my perspective.
“Presumably, berserker spirits would be even harder to defeat,” I said.
Cato whistled. “Unstoppable killing machines, I would think.”
Not the news I wanted to hear. “You fought them and lived to tell the tale,” I said. “How did you manage?”
Cato chuckled. “The soul of a fighter and a lot of luck. Generally, my strategy involved not trying to outfight them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I went full Loki on them. You know who Loki is, right?”
“A Norse god,” I said.
“That’s him. Loki was known as a trickster. His wins were often about deception or outwitting his enemy.”
“Clever god,” I said.
“He was entertaining, that’s for sure.” Cato sighed wistfully. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not asking about berserkers for theoretical reasons?” His bird eyes rounded. “Berserker spirits were bound to the sword that went missing the night of Calvin’s death.”
Outcast: Spellslingers Academy of Magic (Warden of the West Book 1) Page 17
