Suspension (Elmwick Academy Book 2)

  SUSPENSION

  ELMWICK ACADEMY

  Book 2

  While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibility for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

  SUSPENSION

  First edition. October 24, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 Emilia Zeeland.

  Written by Emilia Zeeland.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1. Cami

  Chapter 2. Mason

  Chapter 3. Cami

  Chapter 4. Mason

  Chapter 5. Cami

  Chapter 6. Mason

  Chapter 7. Cami

  Chapter 8. Mason

  Chapter 9. Cami

  Chapter 10. Mason

  Chapter 11. Cami

  Chapter 12. Mason

  Chapter 13. Cami

  Chapter 14. Mason

  Chapter 15. Cami

  Chapter 16. Mason

  Chapter 17. Cami

  Chapter 18. Mason

  Chapter 19. Cami

  Chapter 20. Mason

  Chapter 21. Cami

  Chapter 22. Mason

  Chapter 23. Cami

  Chapter 24. Mason

  Chapter 25. Cami

  Chapter 26. Mason

  Chapter 27. Cami

  Chapter 28. Mason

  Chapter 29. Cami

  Chapter 30. Mason

  Chapter 31. Cami

  Chapter 32. Mason

  Chapter 33. Cami

  Chapter 34. Mason

  Chapter 35. Cami

  About the Author

  Chapter 1. Cami

  MY REFLECTION IN THE pink mirror is glamorous. With rose petals on my cheeks and pastel pink lips, I look radiant, especially since the mirror has lightened my eyes to the shade of sky blue.

  I’ve been stopping by it every day since Jean’s suspension, but not once in the three months that have passed has the enchanted object actually managed to cheer me up. My attention spills over to the ornamented initials on the pink mirror’s frame—C&S. Carina and Sydney. I try to force a small smile on my lips but fail.

  “Thanks for trying, Mom,” I whisper before I leave the girls’ restroom.

  It’s hard to tell if the mirror helps me feel closer to her or if it forces me to think of the heartbreaking vision from my Claiming—the scene of her death. Perhaps it’s a bit of both.

  I’ll keep coming here either way.

  I take the stairs down to Elmwick Academy’s first floor, where the rest of the junior class has already gathered for our Legacy Powers instructor-led class. Charity flicks her heavy, shiny hair back before waving at me. We don’t chat, though.

  I’ve had a hard time bonding with other legacy girls, feeling almost as if it would betray my link to Jean. She should be here with me. Growing close to another friend in her place would be disloyal of me.

  It must be a weird side effect of the link that spurted between the two of us.

  For the thousandth time, I tell myself that it doesn’t matter if we’re accidentally linked. The peace broke when Collin died.

  Even though Mr. Fowler and Mrs. Gianni seem set on preserving the status quo, I can already sense the winds have changed. My premonitions whisper to me of a storm coming. And I don’t doubt it will be upon Elmwick soon.

  The door to the classroom opens to let out the freshmen and sophomore legacies, who scurry out and climb up to the second floor for their self-paced reading period in the library. When the juniors enter together as a herd of buffalo, I make straight for my desk—one of the lone first-row seats that others avoid.

  Being front and center in Mrs. Gianni’s field of vision doesn’t bother me. It’s a silent protest against Jean’s suspension. I want Mrs. Gianni to see me, to think of my Claiming and of the daughter she sent away to Jester’s Castle.

  I hold on to the name, afraid to let it slip into the back of my mind. It’s a thread that might one day lead me back to Jean.

  The vision in my dream that first night must have been fueled by proximity. Ever since Jean was sent away the very next morning, the link has been dimming, slipping through my fingers, turning into nothing but the occasional surge of Jean’s emotions in my gut. It has dulled so much that I can hardly pick out her emotions from mine anymore. And against all reason that says letting the link fade is the only good option, I dread the loss of it.

  I try to distract myself with our latest reading assignment—a fifty-page short story, out of print to preserve the secret of the legacies, no doubt. My copy is falling apart. The smeared yellow pages are sewn together with cord.

  It might read like a children’s book, but the description in these pages is not fiction. It’s the haze.

  “Settle down,” Mrs. Gianni calls the class to attention as soon as everyone has taken their seats. “Now, I hope all of you have read the assigned text for today. Who would like to tell me why we can be certain that the author was a charmer?”

  Charity lifts a hand up gracefully. Mrs. Gianni points at her.

  “The story draws on common tales of witch hunting to obscure the true message and render the book a fantasy fairytale rather than a retelling of facts,” Charity breezes through the explanation. “But we can still glimpse the truth. Firstly, The Hunter’s Guild is mentioned. Secondly, the powers described all have to do with the creation of shields. That’s how we know she was a real charmer.”

  “Excellent,” Mrs. Gianni says. “Plus, don’t forget the simple test. Actual works of fiction usually blend the powers of the charmers and vipers together into the same person, which of course is impossible. Only legacy stories keep the powers separate and, therefore, can be a trusted source.”

  “And in some human fiction, the witches even have healing powers too,” a lion in the back row adds, as if that injustice was too grave to omit from the discussion.

  “Correct,” Mrs. Gianni says. “Lion powers are often thrown in the mix. But back to our charmer. What spell is she creating?”

  I raise my hand in the settling quiet. So does Charity, but Mrs. Gianni invites me to speak. “I think she’s trying to create the haze.”

  “Why?”

  I lower my gaze, browsing through the booklet. “Certain phrases drew my attention. She’s looking for a way to remain hidden and not draw attention to herself. She wishes people would forget the minor curiosities about her.”

  “What else?” Mrs. Gianni points at Charity next.

  “The herbs she burns are an exact recipe for the haze.” Her voice rings clear and melodic, like a bell. “Thyme, bay, mugwort and pennyroyal. Their quantities are exactly right. So is the position of each herb in the four angles of the shield square. All she leaves out are the exact movements and chants a charmer needs to perform to create the haze or stitch an existing haze.”

  I recall the gestures the charmers make at every dodgeball game when they seal the gym doors. “But how does the haze work to envelop all of Elmwick?”

  Mrs. Gianni shoots me a sharp look, making me uncertain if she’s disappointed that I don’t already know this or sour that I spoke out of turn. “The directions of west, east, north and south work as the angles of a very large square. That’s how the spell was anchored. And it needs reinforcing on a monthly basis.”

  “Not to mention stitching,” Charity says.

  Mrs. Gianni nods and asks, “And when does the haze need stitching?”

  This time Seff cuts in. “It’s when a human, usually someone from the hunter families, keeps their attention on a legacy for too long. If it’s taking a while for the haze to sway
them, a stitch as close as possible to the incident works best. It distracts the human, so that later they forget what they’ve seen or decide it wasn’t odd.”

  “Very good.” Mrs. Gianni seems pleased.

  For the brief moment I focus on her face, bitterness festers inside my chest. But it isn’t all mine.

  The link to Jean calls to me, demands attention, but I shove it in the back of my mind. If anyone finds out what I’ve done, there will be hell to pay. A second War of Powers would be upon us. And I’d be pulled between the legacies—from those who wish to claim their extended powers, enticing me to add them to the circle, to those who think it a bad idea, appealing to my conscience, to my promise to protect the peace my Mom left behind.

  Mrs. Gianni dictates the homework assignment next, so I scramble to write it all down.

  “In a two-page essay, describe the elements needed for a charm,” the headmistress says.

  I count the ones I know on my fingers—dried herbs, fire to burn them, and a charmer. Then, a clear image of those the charm should protect against. Oh, and an anchor.

  “Remember also to distinguish between large-scale wards, such as the haze and house protections, and targeted charms relating to a single person,” Mrs. Gianni emphasizes with a stern look.

  After our mishap with the charm Charity put on me before my Claiming, I’m pretty sure I’ve got this.

  The bell rings, but I stall instead of joining the others as they rush downstairs for the self-paced legacy powers training session. Jean used to be my partner in those periods, so my mood takes another hit.

  Reminders of her absence are everywhere, not only at Elmwick Academy, but at Elmwick High too. Her devoted wander about as if lost. I can’t bring myself to sit at our old table with them, staring at the empty seat that used to be Jean’s, but I’ve seen Bryar over at their side on most days. Perhaps she’s trying to inherit Jean’s position in the group.

  I huff and make to leave, not really offended that none of the legacies waited for me. In the months since Jean’s suspension, we’ve treated each other with kindness, but I still feel a distance between me and the rest of them.

  All apart from Seff, that is.

  He’s in the banshee training room when I enter. Seff’s icy blue eyes stare at me from the dark corridor further into the room.

  “It’s about time you showed up, banshee.” He doesn’t say it mockingly. Perhaps that’s how it started, but it’s grown into a term of endearment somehow. I no longer object to it.

  I drop my bag to the floor before I join him. He stretches one arm, elbow up and over his head as he pulls it with his other hand. His strong jawline juts my way in an unspoken question.

  “Sorry,” I murmur quickly. I’ve grown tired of thinking up excuses for my lethargic speed these days.

  “It’s all right.” Seff bends down to touch his toes with ease, his sharp glare remaining on me.

  “Stop staring.” I make a face at him.

  “Bind me into your circle?” His laugh turns into a howl when I shove him.

  Seff maintains his balance with ease, though. That’s the ability of his I despise the most. Forget cats, he’s the one that always ends up on his feet.

  “Shut up about the circle,” I snap at him, but my lips curve up, betraying my amusement. It’s nice to have someone to act genuinely around.

  “Can’t blame a guy for trying.” There’s a wolfish look in his eyes that makes me uncertain if we’re still talking about the circle. Not that he’s aware I’ve started one.

  “Actually, I can. If you want peace, you’ll stop mentioning it.” I lift my chin as I take position in front of him. I’m lucky Seff volunteered to be my self-paced study partner, or I’d be stuck at the table, doing feeble sound waves over and over again.

  This is much more fun.

  “Peace,” Seff growls. “Pish-posh. Give me the ability to turn into a wolf at will and I’ll tear through those hunters. They’d never stand a chance.”

  He’s been saying stuff like that for a while. Apparently, the wolf pack is a proper gossip central where he often hears information he shouldn’t know. Mrs. Gianni hasn’t included any of the extended powers the legacies have in a circle into our curriculum yet. I suppose she’ll have to, eventually, but until then, I prefer not knowing.

  Every bit of denial helps when you’re trying to hide the kind of skeleton that’s dangling in my closet.

  “I thought you were bad enough just wolfing out,” I tease.

  That was Seff’s cue to go for it. He howls and rolls his head and shoulders. His features sharpen, his eyes turn a stronger, electric shade of blue. His instincts are like taut strings, anticipating my every move. He bares his teeth, flashing his elongated canines at me.

  He isn’t as dangerous as he is in his wolf form, but when I think of the venomous bite waiting behind those elongated canines, he definitely doesn’t seem like a puppy.

  Still, I remain dauntless. This isn’t the first time the two of us have tangled.

  It only takes me a sharp inhale to build up the scream. I don’t bother directing it with my hands. I just let it out. It shakes the entire room, making Seff growl with seething menace. He knows my tactic—using chaos to throw him off so he can’t sense my next move. It’s great in theory, but it hasn’t worked once.

  There’s always today, though.

  I issue a few brief screams, guiding them with my hands—left, right, left. Each produces a ripple in the air, hitting Seff from a different angle. He swoops low and twirls to avoid any subsequent blows. He’s faster than me.

  The next scream builds up in my throat, but Seff cuts it off with a hand around my neck. Before he can lock me into a tight grip, I twist my body away, hoping to tip his balance. No such luck. But his grip moves from my throat to my hands.

  So I use the last weapon I possess, the strongest one—my voice. A scream whips from me, arching up. Unlike the one I saw Mom produce to flip over two police cars, it loses focus. I will keep trying until I can mimic her cry of pure power.

  In my next attempt, I arch my head further back, almost butting it against Seff’s forehead while he still holds my wrists. I will the sonic blast to remain tight as a funnel when it tears out of me. By the visual ripple alone, I know I’ve almost succeeded. The sound wave flings up and above, then hits behind me.

  Either out of shock or from the blow, Seff stumbles back. I rip my hands from his, spin around, and kick him in the stomach with a new scream. The ripple helps reinforce the kick, sending Seff hurtling back.

  He lands hard on his butt for the first time since we’ve become training partners.

  “Yes!” I spread my arms out like a cheerleader, eyes on the ceiling as if to thank the skies.

  Seff gets back on his feet a second later. “Watching your powers grow is fun, isn’t it?”

  I detect his undertone, and my eyes flick to his suggestive grin. “Baiting me won’t work.”

  “All the same, I won’t give up.” Seff launches another attack at me.

  I fail to block the series of light punches he throws at me. “Neither will I.” It doesn’t come out weak, even though he grasps both my hands into a tight grip.

  His eyes flash dangerously. I collect myself and focus my screams, knowing he’s drawing on all his powers, on his superior sense of smell and his lightning-fast instincts to guess what I’ll do next. Too bad I’m not sure myself.

  I let the next scream rip out of me, wild and misdirected. Seff looks away, tracing the sound wave, which gives me an opening. I knee him in the stomach and slip out of his grip.

  With a targeted new scream, I send him crashing to the wall again. When he makes contact with the wooden boards, they sprout dust. I breathe heavily as the dust settles and the vibrations run their course through every mirror in the training room with an annoying buzz only I can hear.

  Seff shakes his head, very much like a dog. He doesn’t bother standing back up. As he leans back against the wall, he seems to wai
t for me to join him, a small smile on his lips turning bitter.

  I slide down next to him, my back against the wall, until our shoulders touch. “Seriously. I know you like to joke around, bringing it up all the time, but I can’t bind the circle.” My voice turns hoarse the moment I address the topic.

  He nudges me with his shoulder. “You have your full powers now. You can do as you please.”

  A prickling sensation crawls all over my fingertips, so I rub my thumbs against them to chase it away. “I won’t be the one to break the peace, not after all Mom sacrificed to foster it.”

  Seff studies me with a burning sideways glance. “Jean already broke the peace. The adults might act like it still holds now that she’s been banished, but the hunters will never forget this.”

  He half-turns his body toward me, one hand reaching out to clasp mine. We’re both a little clammy after training, but I don’t pull away from him.

  “The time to grow strong is now,” Seff says. “Before their next attack.”

  I shake my head in denial, though much of what he says rings true.

  “Isn’t it enough that they attacked you at your Claiming? Isn’t it enough that they hunted down your—”

  “Stop.” My breath comes in and out sharply. “Sometimes I regret telling you about the vision at my Claiming.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did,” Seff says defiantly. “It shows how wicked the hunters are, how unrelenting. There will never be true peace until the hunters accept us for who we are, powers and all.” His tone softens. “We’re a part of the wondrous factory of the universe, and we belong on this earth as much as any human.”

  I elbow him with a smirk. “Seff, the werewolf poet.”

  He returns the smirk, but as soon as I motion to get up, he pulls me a little by the hand, making me glance at him.

  “If you link us together, I’ll be able to protect you from them.”

  I blow out a breath. As tiring as our dance turns at times, I won’t yield. “Thanks, but I don’t intend to bind the circle. Not now. Not ever.”

  The last words come out shaky. Seff’s nostrils flare, and with my keen hearing, I pick out his sniffling. The wolf is searching for the stench of guilt coming off me in waves. I don’t want to ponder what he would do if he knew about the link that already exists.