***
The next day was a bad one for Abby. She awoke even more listless and forlorn than had become usual for her since Drake had left. She spent the day in her room, ditching her classes and staring for hours at her ceiling.
Things were made worse when, in the afternoon, Frederick, the masseur, came knocking on her door. This in itself wasn’t a bad thing – on the contrary, it was nice chatting to someone that wasn’t in her class or one of the Masters.
It seemed that Drake had asked Frederick, before he left, to keep an eye on Abby and make sure that everything was all right with her. When Frederick mentioned Drake, Abby was mortified to feel tears spring to her eyes.
“Why the hell did he have to go?” she asked, trying to refrain from falling into full-blown sobs. “Why was he made to leave? Miss Hightide won’t say shit!”
Frederick put his hands on her shoulders and told her that neither he, nor anyone else, really knew why Drake had been banished. There had been some charges bandied about – excessive use of force and stuff like that – but nothing that the rest of the council of Guardians had taken very seriously. It had come as a shock to all those gathered when Miss Hightide had pronounced a judgment of exile on Drake, and an even greater shock when the big warrior had accepted the judgment without a word of protest.
“I can’t tell you why or where he’s gone,” Frederick had told her. “But you’re not the only one that misses him.”
***
It was a couple of hours later that Abby, finally bored at staring at the four walls, decided to venture out and go for a wander around the Hopper. It was about seven o’clock in the evening and it wouldn’t be long before dinner was served, but she wanted some company now.
In the central atrium of the S.B.A., she strolled along, ignoring the curious glances that she seemed to draw wherever she went. When she came to the main desk in front of the portal into Ravencharm, she stood with her hands in her pockets, staring pensively at the underside of the giant saucer carved into the ceiling.
Suddenly, a deafening klaxon sounded through the Hopper, and a godlike yet robotic voice echoed around the huge underground cavern.
“ATTACK, ATTACK. FORCED BREACHED. ATTACK, ATTACK. FORCED BREACH. EXTERNAL PERIMETER VIOLATION.”
Even as Abby went to clap her hands over her ears, a giant coffee cup – seven feet wide and four feet tall – suddenly rose smoothly out of a hole that had appeared in the center of the floor of the Hopper. In the mysterious way that most humans are drawn to panic and noise, Abby darted over to the huge cup of coffee along with a handful of others. A moment later, she found herself joined by the breathless forms of Spiridon, Miss Delphine Hightide, and a selection of other Masters. Their faces were grave.
As Abby and the others looked into the frothy contents of the huge coffee cup, the foamy surface swirled and then cleared. However, instead of revealing the brown surface of a cup of coffee underneath, it cleared to show a window into the coffee shop that was the entrance to the Supernatural Barista Academy.
Abby’s mouth fell open as her eyes tried to make sense of what she was seeing. The picture that had formed on the surface of the giant surveillance brew was one of complete and utter carnage.
The coffee shop had turned from a laidback sanctuary for the caffeine-deprived to a place of terrible slaughter. Most of the comfortable couches were on fire, tossed about like toys, and shattered glass lay strewn all over. Several prone bodies were lying on the floor – some of them visibly smoking or surrounded by creeping pools of blood.
At least ten demons were raining chaos down on those members of the S.B.A. who were still alive and taking cover behind the huge counter. Fire sprayed from mouths and fingertips and, as Abby watched, one of the S.B.A. members – who tried to make a break for the door – was struck down by a spray of molten coffee that stuck to him like napalm. The man went down, shrieking and kicking, then lay still.
“We have to do something!” Abby said to no one in particular, catching sight of Radella as the young witch managed to throw and hit one of the demons with a frappe grenade which knocked it stunned from the air.
“There’s nothing we can do,” said Miss Hightide grimly. “If we try to open the portal to rescue them, we run the risk of letting the demons through to the Hopper. This is an unacceptable risk.”
“But – but they’re our people,” Abby said. “We can’t just let them die!”
Miss Hightide, turning from the savage scene playing out on the surface of the coffee cup in front of her, gave Abby a look that said, quite clearly, that letting the people up top die was precisely what they would do.
“Fuck that,” Abby snarled and, not knowing what it was that compelled her to do so, she thrust her hand into – and through – the surface of the surveillance coffee.
Without waiting to think what it was she was doing and how it should be impossible to do any of it, Abby reached out and grabbed one of the little figures cowering behind the counter by the back of its collar and yanked hard on it.
From the surface of the coffee-tron – as Abby had come to think of it in her mind – burst a bewildered and terrified figure, a little woman with bright pink flyaway hair and huge yellow eyes. She landed sprawled on the floor where Abby dumped her, her mouth wide in disbelief. Without pausing, Abby reached back into the coffee shop and plucked out another figure, and another and another.
She barely heard Master Spiridon say to someone, “This – this cannot be. She can’t possibly be able to do this, to reach through the defenses as if they were merely the skin on a bubble. It – it makes no sense.”
Just as a demon bore down on Radella – who was making herself quite a nuisance with the frappe grenades and blinding mocha-sprays that she was peppering the attacking demons with – Abby reached in and pulled the despised young witch out of danger.
Before long Abby had rescued all the surviving members of the S.B.A. who had been caught in the assault, dragging them up and out of the coffee shop and back to the safety of the Hopper, along with some who had not been so lucky.
When she had rescued all those that she could and the coffee shop was left for the demons to plunder as they wished, Abby turned from the giant cup of coffee and surveyed the blood-spattered forms on the ground. A corpse stared up at her with unseeing eyes, a ragged, crispy hole burned through the center of its chest. Abby recognized the girl as one of Radella’s minions from combat class. Another body lay not too far away, but this one was so scorched and mutilated that it looked more like a chunk of barbecued meat than a person.
A hand clutched suddenly at Abby’s leg. She started and looked down and saw that the fashionable old barista that she’d seen when she first arrived at the S.B.A, Picklewick, was grasping her by the ankle. He had been one of the last that she’d pulled from the scene of the assault, removing him from the fray as he fired violent, scouring blasts of granulated sugar from his fingertips at the swarm of demons. The old man was covered in blood and one side of his body was smoking gently. The hand that didn’t clutch her was a charred mess, but his eyes were clear and steady.
Abby bent down and took the old man’s hand. “What the fuck happened?” she asked dazedly.
“Demons,” Picklewick said in a loud, carrying voice. “Demons came. Out of nowhere. There was no warning.”
Abby tried to quiet the old man, to make him easy, but he waved her soft words away as if they were flies. “Listen to me, girl,” he snapped. “The demons, they attacked for a reason, you understand? They maimed and roasted many of us, destroyed the coffee shop upstairs, but I have a feeling that they would have let at least some of us live, even if you hadn’t come to our rescue – for they had a message. They kept crying it out like a litany as they burned and murdered and laughed.”
“What message?”
“They said that the one called Abby Hall must surrender herself. If she doesn’t the demons will start burning and scorching and immolating people in the street. There will be no rhyme,
no reason, no method to the madness. They will bring chaos to Ravencharm and reduce it to ashes, piece by piece, until you give yourself up to them.” The old man lay back, exhausted and in much pain now that he had delivered his message. “That,” he said, “they promise.”
Chapter 9
The immediate result of the demonic attack on the coffee shop – on the Supernatural Barista Academy’s front doorstep – was panic and chaos down in the Hopper.
It was chaotic because the S.B.A’s demon adversaries had never attempted something this brazen. The knowledge that the demons had both the balls and the resources to carry out such an assault shocked the entire Supernatural Barista Academy.
Miss Hightide had swiftly organized a lockdown of the entire facility, quickly followed by attention to the injured and the slain.
Taking advantage of the general confusion that enveloped the S.B.A, Abby slipped quietly away, scooting unnoticed back to her room.
The following morning, she was tired, having only managed to drift off to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. Her head had filled with a kaleidoscope of terrifying images and sounds that had seemed to grow louder and more vivid when she lay down and closed her eyes.
Abby sat down at a freshly vacated table and contemplated the bowl of muesli before her as if it might reveal to her the mysteries of her life at that present point.
As she stared into the bowl of assorted fruit and nuts she became mindful that the level of general chatter seemed to have dropped, and the amount of hushed whispering seemed to have spiked.
She had received a curt note from Miss Hightide that morning, slipped under her door. The note had been short and to the point, saying that a council meeting was being called to discuss her fate. Her actions and conduct would be discussed, as would her future at the Academy. This had caused Abby tremendous confusion. Her fate? What about the fate of the goddamn demons? What about the future of the Supernatural Barista Academy? Surely those were more important things to worry about. Yes, she’d been called out by the demons for some reason, but surely the Masters were aware that she had about as much talent at tapping into her supernatural abilities as a giraffe had for scuba-diving.
As she sat in the dining hall pondering the words of the note, Abby started to hear disconnected, but disquieting, words floating like piranhas around the room.
“– just give her over to the demons –”
“It’s her they’re after so we should –”
“– did you see how she –”
“– admit that she saved a bunch –”
“– the council should –”
“– unbelievable how she reached through and –”
“– must be super powerful. How did she learn to –”
“– get rid of her?”
Abby realized that, although she had heroically saved a dozen of her fellow S.B.A. members, many people believed that it was only because of her that the attack had been executed in the first place. Judging by the overheard conversations, it seemed that more people were pissed off that she’d somehow been responsible for the chaos than there were people thankful that she had saved so many.
She was just about to abandon her breakfast, which was becoming soggier by the minute when someone plonked themselves unexpectedly next to her on her bench.
“Hey,” said Auran.
Abby realized that it was the quiet albino guy who had stuck up for her during one of her verbal spats with Radella in Combat Class.
“Uh, hey,” said Abby in return.
“How’re you doing with everything?” Auran asked.
“Oh, you know,” she said. “Um, how about you?”
“Me? What do I have to worry about? I’m not the one that the whole Academy is whispering about. I can’t believe you had the balls to come down to breakfast!”
“Uh, yeah,” said Abby, “I’m not going to lie to you, but I’m regretting that right about now.”
“You’ve heard about the council?” Auran asked.
“Well, yeah, I got a note about it – but how the hell do you know about it?”
“Oh, come on, Abby,” Auran said. “It’s a big secret so, naturally, this whole place knows about it.”
“Great.”
“You want to know what they’re going to say about you?” Auran asked, his words spiked with excitement.
“Well, yeah, I guess, but I dunno how I’d go about doing it.”
Auran grinned, his gleaming white teeth barely standing out from the pallor of his skin. “Come with me and I’ll show you how to sneak in.”
Abby’s eyebrows shot up. “You know where the meeting is?”
“Oh yeah, that’s no secret,” Auran said dismissively. “It starts in ten minutes, though, so we should get there before the Masters start showing up.”
“But how will we –” Abby began.
Auran stood up and put his hand on her shoulder. Abby was suddenly amazed by the genuine rush of friendship for the guy – though she barely knew him. It felt like years since she’d been looked at as anything but a nuisance or a piece of ass, but Auran just wanted to share in a bit of an adventure with her, just for the sake of it.
“Less talky,” Auran said, waggling eyebrows that were so pale that they may as well have been invisible, “and more walky.”
The two of them exited the dining hall and followed a circuitous route, making sure they weren’t followed. Abby was quickly lost, but it was clear that Auran was far more familiar with the Academy than she was.
“How the hell d’you know your way around so well?”
Auran shrugged as he held open a door that was disguised as a closet. “Oh, you know,” he said, “it’s not so hard when you can fade to practically nothing. You’d be amazed at how handy being invisible can be.”
“I doubt that anyone would argue that.”
Auran grinned wolfishly, then held his finger to his lips as they approached another door. He pressed his ear to it and Abby held her breath, as if that might make it easier for Auran to hear whether there was anyone inside the room.
“Not a peep,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Auran pushed it wide and ushered Abby inside. “C’mon, Abby,” he said, “there are only five minutes.”
The room was large and square with an ornate table in the center that looked as if it’d been carved from a single enormous piece of coffee-colored rock surrounded by twenty chairs. There were a couple of couches and a scattering of chairs against the wall, but nothing that offered any hiding place for two grown adults.
“Uhhh, Auran?” Abby said.
“What?”
“How the hell are we going to hide in a bare room?”
Auran rolled his eyes and sat down on one of the couches, looking as if he owned the place. He patted the seat next to him.
“I think we should try and hide,” Abby said.
“We will,” Auran said. “Just sit down and take my arm.”
Abby’s eyes narrowed, and she was just about to say something sarcastic when the door handle rattled. Without a second thought, Abby dived onto the couch and grabbed hold of Auran’s elbow.
Master Tamper and Master Spiridon entered the room with their heads together, chatting in low, concerned voices. They were followed by the other Masters and, last but not least, Miss Delphine Hightide swept into the room. She looked unusually ruffled and tired, as if she had slept little (or not at all) the previous night. Upon entering the room, she closed the door, locked it and took her position at the head of the table.
Abby tensed, ready for one of the members of the council to spot Auran and her, but not a single member’s eyes so much as lingered on the couch on which they sat. It was the oddest, most voyeuristic sensation that Abby had ever experienced. Eerily, she wondered if this was how the dead felt: floating about the place, unable to be seen by the living. It was a heady sensation.
“Do not,” Auran breathed in her ear, “let go of my arm.”
Immediately, as if M
iss Hightide had rapped a gavel on the dark wood, the hubbub of chatter among the Masters died as the head of the Supernatural Barista Academy took her seat.
“Masters,” Miss Hightide began in a voice that was pregnant with concern, “you’re all well aware of why you’re gathered here this morning. Let us begin.”
At that precise moment, in the room next door – the room through which Abby and Auran had entered – Radella sat gazing through the small peephole that one of her minions had conjured for her. It’d been a tricky bit of spell-casting, but Radella had managed to coax her friend into doing it, using her close shave with death as leverage. Now she sat, nursing the gashed forearm that she had sustained in the attack upon the surface, and eagerly watched the council through the tiny peephole.
“To begin,” Miss Hightide said, “I think it important that we call a few character witnesses to testify to the type of individual that our Miss Hall is. Master Spiridon, if I could please ask you to stand?”
Spiridon got to his feet, smiling around the table with a reserved and scholarly charisma. Under the gentle questioning of Miss Hightide, he told the council that he thought Abby one of the most brilliant students that he had ever had the pleasure of teaching.
“She is sometimes bullish and stubborn in many regards, but she can harness that single-mindedness when it comes to concocting and brewing coffee spells of all sorts. She achieves excellent results.”
“Has she shown any interest in things that could be said to be outside of the academic domain?” Miss Hightide asked.
Spiridon hesitated, and Abby wondered if he was going to spill the beans on how he had taken her to the gorgeous underground garden and flown her up to visit the golden bowers.
Spiridon nodded slowly. “She asked me about our fellow Guardian, Drake, on a couple of occasions.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Hightide, and Master Spiridon resumed his seat.
A couple of other Masters took to their feet and were asked a series of similar questions by their leader, and answered, basically, in the same fashion and offered the same appraisal: Abby was naturally intelligent, but also could be a real pain in the ass.
Caffeinated Magic: Supernatural Barista Academy Page 13
