Crystal Wing Academy: Book One: Outling

by Marty Mayberry

  Taking it from me, he turned it around. “You’re holding it upside down.”

  Kinda hard to tell since the place was built like a big fat ring. “I want to get my uniforms.”

  “Okay. So…” He pointed to the map then jerked his head toward one of the parlors I’d been eyeing when I first arrived. “Through there and keep going. That’s the best route. If you watch for each location and line it up with the map, you can’t miss the uniform office. It’s a straight shot. Well, a curved, straight shot.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure. Is that all?”

  Far be it for me to hold him back when it was clear he’d rather leave, but curiosity was my biggest downfall. I’d pestered Ester until she’d snapped and told me in no uncertain terms to hold my questions until I reached the Academy.

  The details Professor Mealor, Alys, and Moira shared had sparked my appetite for more. “Can you answer a few questions before I go get my uniforms?”

  His shoulders drooped. “I guess?”

  Some Prefect. From what I could tell, he wasn’t interested in being helpful. Not to an outling, that is. Bet he fawned over anyone descended from the ‘original six’.

  What to ask next? At this point, I knew almost nothing about Crystal Wing Academy. “How many kids go to school here?”

  “We complete two years at the Academy, and there are about one hundred in your incoming class. The Second Year class is much smaller. Students bump out during First Year for various reasons.” The last was said in a snooty way. Did he hope I’d bump out by the end of the day?

  “How do First Year students flunk out?” Might as well know what I was up against.

  Ashton’s brown eyes darkened, and his lips curled down.

  My belly lurched. Kids leaving the Academy shouldn’t make him appear so grim.

  The shrug he released felt trumped up to look casual, but his stiffened posture suggested otherwise. “Like I said, lots of reasons. Stone Selection issues. Not able to draw in enough power. Using it on someone else.”

  “We’re not allowed to use power on others.” I couldn’t help latching onto that detail.

  “It’s forbidden.”

  Best not to mention Tristan, then. Since I was leery about using power at all, I should be able to avoid another horrifying incident.

  “You look worried but you shouldn’t be. It’s strictly controlled. Magic only takes place in classroom settings for the first year. And most kids—especially outlings—can’t grab onto even one strand of power for months after they get here.” His tone came across patronizing, but I brushed it aside. “Hard to go wild in a case like that. By the time you’ve acclimated to whatever power you might be able to pull in and store, you’ll be able to control its release.”

  “I’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

  “You’ll try, but it might be wise to resign yourself to the fact that outlings can rarely do more than rough work with their skapti. Some of the more complex tasks are just not possible for outlings. And most have difficulties with even elemental magic.”

  Wasn’t sure what elemental magic was.

  Irritated by his comments about outlings, I placed one hand on my hip. “You’re saying I’ll be basically powerless?”

  Ashton stared down his bulky nose at me. “It is the norm.”

  We’d see about that. “Any other reason I might end up leaving?”

  From the way his face crumbled, I had a feeling his agreement to share had faded to nil. “We do lose some to death.”

  Kids left here in caskets? My breathing picked up and the urge to run surged inside me again.

  I swore ghosts drifted through the foyer, their eerie voices calling out, beware. Goosebumps lifted on my arms. “How, um, does something like that happen?” We were talking about kids. Old people died all the time, but stats showed kids my age most often died from…I named it. “I assume accidents. We’re talking maybe one or two students over the past twenty years or so?”

  “More than that.” He nodded to a guy dressed in a Prefect uniform who’d just come down the stairs.

  Snagging Ashton’s arm, I pulled his attention back to me. “How many, Ashton?” Why was I pursuing this? I should let it go. Did I want to spend my first moments at the Academy talking about death?

  “Too many, okay?” he said harshly. “It’s not my place to discuss it.”

  He was the one who’d mentioned it. I wanted to growl but held it back. Making demands wouldn’t earn me friends, and I needed that more than anything. The last thing I wanted to do was antagonize a Prefect.

  His pause went on so long I squirmed. “You’re full of questions.”

  “Isn’t that the point? You said it’s a Prefect’s job to help me. That must include answering questions.”

  He scowled. “Not questions like these. Most new kids ask about meal times. Where they can buy a bottle of shampoo.”

  Not me. But I’d never been called normal.

  Sighing, he turned to fully face me again. His fingers raked through his thick blond hair. “They’ll go over all this in your classes. Why don’t you wait to ask your teachers?”

  The pat answer everyone gave me. Why couldn’t I learn everything now?

  “You really do epitomize an outling,” he said in a judgmental tone.

  Where was he going with this? “Guess so.”

  “There’s not too much to be worried about.” Sure. His forbidding demeanor suggested otherwise. It was obvious he didn’t like outlings, which was mean on his part. Everyone was different, and I was a decent person. If he gave me a chance, we might be friends. A sheen of something I couldn’t define skimmed over his eyes. “You know what? I will tell you something.” Leaning close, he patted my arm but it was anything but friendly. “A while back, every single outling at the Academy was murdered.”

  My eyes widened, and I took a step away from him. Crap. Had I been sent to the school to be the fox to their hounds? I could almost hear the beasts baying in the forest, nipping at my heels.

  “Rest assured, the murders are a thing of the past. You don’t need to contemplate…leaving because of something like that.”

  How had we gone from his dislike of outlings to me needing to leave the school?

  Murder.

  Uneasy, I peered around but most of the families had left the foyer and the remaining weren’t looking my way. Second Year students were packing up the New Student Check-in desk, putting the collapsed tables inside a closet beneath the staircase, dropping papers into a box on the floor.

  Something—no, someone—grabbed my attention above, on the edge of the staircase where it branched off into a second-floor corridor. Was someone watching me? Tension coiled in my belly, but I told myself I had nothing to fear. I stood in the foyer with a Prefect, for heaven’s sake. Even if he’d made it clear he didn’t like me.

  The person, and I’d only seen a hint of black hair, had slunk backward as if they knew I’d caught them looking. When they didn’t reappear, I tried to shove aside my nervousness but it hung on like a leech. Like always, I’d be careful, especially in a school full of wizards struggling to learn how to draw in power and release it. Wouldn’t want a misplaced spell to hit me in the back.

  “Who murdered the outlings?” I asked casually, not revealing my overwhelming urge to grab Ashton’s shoulders and shake the truth out of him.

  I’d already caught some resentment—from Alys. But I’d assumed her snide demeanor was motivated by her interest in Donovan. Had there been something more sinister going on during our conversation?

  “As I said, you don’t need to be concerned about anything like that,” Ashton said. His slick smile sent shivers rippling down my spine. “There have been no outling murders at the Academy for quite a few years.”

  A need to put distance between me and Ashton overwhelmed me. With time to think, I could process the details. Decide what—if anything—I could do to make sure I remained safe.

  I snatched my map f
rom Ashton’s hands. “Thanks.” Actually, no thanks. After our conversation, I was more eager to run into the woods than explore the Academy, let alone learn how to use my potential magic.

  “Glad to help,” he whispered as I hurried across the foyer. Like I believed he meant his words?

  My mind kept churning through what he’d said. Someone had murdered every single outling student at the Academy.

  I was an outling. Practically an endangered species since there were only a few in the incoming class, according to Donovan.

  Ashton had made it clear the murders had taken place in the past, not the present. I needed to trust in that fact, not let fear take hold. I was safe here.

  But I couldn’t help it. I turned and found him studying me, his brow narrowed into a harsh V.

  Like a predator watching prey.

  Irritation curled through me. Enough of this crap.

  I strode back and halted in front of him, my packet pinched under my arm, my hands clenched tightly at my sides.

  One. Final. Question.

  “Who was hunting the outlings?” erupted out of me.

  The smile he released didn’t reach his eyes. His teeth…had they sharpened? Shifting his feet, he leaned in close enough to whisper by my ear, “Us, of course.”

  Chapter 6

  Us. People born into magic. The Elite. Versus them. Me. An outling.

  No, a target.

  Chills zipped through my bones. I’d thought learning to handle my magic would be my only challenge here. Now, I had to worry about staying alive?

  “He said the murders took place a long time ago,” I whispered as I entered the parlor. “No one is murdering outlings now.”

  “What?” someone sitting on a chair next to a window on my left said. Another student, she frowned in my direction.

  “Oh, nothing.”

  Crossing the parlor, I studied my map. This place was huge. While it felt overwhelming, I imagined I’d soon find my way around eventually. In a day or a week or a month. Maybe.

  A few parents sat on sofas with their kids, sharing one last moment before they left. Bet they weren’t worried about their kids being murdered, coming home in caskets. But then, they were part of the in, Elite crowd, while I probably should lurk on the outskirts and try not to draw attention.

  I had to let this go. Justine wouldn’t have brought me here if she thought someone would murder me. If they’d wanted me dead, they could’ve eliminated me seven years ago. I’d been a bewildered kid, completely in their mercy. Then tossed to a half-troll’s custody. Easy pickings.

  I’d only be in danger if someone here decided to resurrect old traditions and take up outling hunting again.

  Get your uniforms. Go to your room. Stop worrying about murder.

  Unfortunately, my internal pep talk didn’t keep the goosebumps from rippling across my skin.

  An arch opposite the foyer led to a hall with tall windows on either side. As I strode down the passage, late-day sunlight streamed through the glass, highlighting silver and gold flecks in the marble flooring. Little alcoves complete with dark blue cushions begged me to sit and soak up the rays.

  I might want to bring a knife when I curled up in a nook to do my homework, however. Not that I owned a blade. I did have some money left after my hair color splurge, however. If I could locate a store on campus, I might be able to buy something for self-defense. Did pepper spray, assuming they sold it here, work on magical beings?

  Even better, could I fight back with my supposed ability to draw power? Yes, I wasn’t supposed to use it on other students but no one would expect me to stand passively while another person harmed me.

  Despite the fact I feared using it, I might want to accelerate learning power-control.

  Ashton told me it took months for most wizards to figure out how to grab onto one thread, let alone use it for magic. When I was ten, I’d pulled on multiple threads and wielded them like a fiery sword. That couldn’t be normal. I just needed to find the threads again. They’d abandoned me.

  I needed to chill. If the threads were gone forever, I wouldn’t have been brought here.

  At the end of the hall, I opened a big wooden door. It banged shut behind me while I studied the scrolling writing on a plaque mounted on the right wall, comparing it to the location on the map. Auditorium. My schedule said I needed to be here tomorrow morning at nine for Justine’s welcome presentation. Although, after Alys’s surprise at my use of Justine’s first name, I probably needed to start referring to her as the Headmistress.

  I opened the auditorium door and stepped inside, quickly sinking down in a seat in the top row while the door softly snicked closed behind me.

  Tiers of seats sloped downward toward a raised stage area where the Headmistress must plan to speak tomorrow. Overhead, multiple lights hung from bars, though many of them were dimmed. Shadows lurked in the periphery, making my pulse jump, but nothing and no one moved. Nobody descended on me with weapons drawn.

  Definitely needed to put thoughts of murder behind me or I’d be a strung-out wreck before I finished new student orientation.

  Telling myself to relax, I slouched low in my seat and stretched my legs out beneath the chair ahead of mine. I let my tension flow from me like Mom used to do when she contorted herself into complex yoga poses.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to push away my uncertainty, the feeling that coming here could be the biggest mistake of my life. Yes, it was scary being dropped off at a new place, like it had been when Justine left me with Ester. It had taken me a long time to adjust back then. I needed to give myself time to make this adjustment, too.

  I was one of about one hundred new students. Blending in shouldn’t be hard. It wasn’t as if I had a big O for outling branded on my forehead.

  In no time, I’d make friends. People would forget where I’d come from. Then I wouldn’t feel alone or quite so vulnerable. I’d find a way to fit.

  And I’d harness my magic, make it work for me instead of against me.

  But the fire…

  It had caught hold, the fireball I’d released leaping along the grass like a maniacal fiend. Its fiery fingers skipped past the other kids standing on the playground, seeking only Tristan. His arms had been burned when he lifted them to ward off the flames. Not injured badly but enough he’d needed treatment.

  Had I caused it to happen? My mom seemed to think so. Maybe Justine and Cloven did, too. They sure hadn’t denied the possibility seven years ago.

  Tristan had bullied me for months until my urge to cower had flipped and red filled my brain to the point I’d wanted to explode. That’s why I’d grabbed the threads then pushed them back out, wishing he’d shut up, go away, leave all of us alone. No, I’d wanted him to feel the hurt bursting inside me. The cowering child who’d reached her limits.

  Mom always said letting anger rule actions hurt everyone involved, not just the one a person lashed out at. She’d drilled the concept into me from the time I was little. Had she said it because of what happened when I was in preschool? Guilt and horror filled me to the point I squirmed. What had I done?

  If only I could remember that far back. But my only solid memory including anything vaguely resembling magic happened that day at school with Tristan. He’d returned to school a few days later, his eyes shooting hatred at me. But he’d stayed away, left me alone. The bullying had stopped.

  Then Mom brought me here.

  Eyes opening, I’d started to rise—to leave the auditorium—when hushed voices from down below reached me.

  Three people entered the auditorium, each from a different door on both sides of the stage. I recognized Cloven right away by his robes, but not the others. They settled close together in seats in the middle of the front row.

  Not sure why I did it, but I slid down until my eyes could barely peek over the chair in front of mine. I drew up my legs and wrapped my arms around them.

  “No one saw you coming here, did they?” the one on the far right said, the hi
gher pitch suggesting a woman. An older woman, if I guessed right.

  “I was careful,” Cloven said from the middle.

  “I took the long route coming here, as well,” the other said. A guy, if the deep voice was anything to go by. He sat on the left. Wait…Professor Mealor? It sounded like him. “No worries. I don’t believe we were followed.”

  “Good. No one can know we’re connected in this.”

  Connected in what?

  Their backs facing me made it impossible to identify the woman, though I was convinced the other man was Professor Mealor. The lights were dimmer down there, cloaking them in shadows. They must’ve thought they were alone in the auditorium.

  If I was lucky, they wouldn’t realize I was listening. Why did they need to keep their meeting secret?

  “There can’t be another,” Professor Mealor said. “It was…horrifying.”

  “To think someone would harm a student.” Anguish came through in Cloven’s words.

  “You’re right,” the woman shook her head. “The shell left abandoned in the deep grass. The frozen expression of terror on his face.” A quiver sunk into her voice. “He arrived early, yesterday, his parents dropping him off. We…had to involve the Council. They notified the parents.”

  “Bad news all around,” Cloven said. “The reputation of the Academy means nothing compared to the life of a student.”

  “That face…I’ll have nightmares for years,” Professor Mealor said.

  Whoa. What was going on here?

  “But it’s not just that,” Cloven said. “There are ramifications, as always. If he takes another, we’ll be dealing with a wide-spread panic.”

  “Which we need to avoid at all cost,” she said.

  “What can we do?” Professor Mealor said. “While he wasn’t the only early arrival, and we’ll carefully question everyone, hoping someone saw something we can use to solve this before it leaks out, the odds are slim anyone will be able to contribute useful information.”

  An incoming student had been murdered?

  The woman shifted in her seat. “As long as we’re harboring a—”