Suspension (Elmwick Academy Book 2) Page 12

  His presence throws me off a little, but Mrs. Gianni doesn’t hesitate.

  “We’ll need to re-discuss the terms.” She lifts her chin, her presence as formidable as always, even under her daughter’s compulsion. “Jean has been exiled for months now. She’s served her time away from home. It’s time to let this matter rest in the past. The better she’s trained at Elmwick Academy, the more integrated she will be into our society. Jester’s cold ones follow no rules. Don’t give them another soldier for their ranks.”

  Instead of attacking her, Andreev turns on Mr. Fowler. “Do you see? There’s no end to their demands. They admitted a banshee back to town when it’s only a matter of time until she starts a new circle. Then, they revealed themselves to your boy. Then, they killed one of ours. Where does it end?”

  “Collin never would have died if you hadn’t attacked Cami at her Claiming,” Mrs. Gianni snaps at him. “This whole mess is a consequence of your inability to accept that Cami’s return to town does not equal binding a new circle. Why should my daughter have to pay the price for your misguided beliefs?”

  Andreev shakes his head, burning Mr. Fowler with a glare. “What’s it going to take, Theron? Are you going to defend them still? What if they reveal themselves to your daughter next? What if they already have?”

  “Enough.” Mason stands next to his father. “Bryar doesn’t know about the legacies, and she never will. Are we clear on that?”

  We nod, and so do the hunters.

  “Now...” Mason’s voice carries a commanding note I’m not accustomed to, but it suits him. “No one among us is defending the legacies, so you can get that ludicrous thought out of your mind.”

  Ouch. Even though I know we’re public enemies, it still stings. He says each word with deep conviction, which turns my stomach cold. All at once, last night seems far away into our past. A fleeting memory of bliss.

  Mason walks out between the benches and joins Andreev. “Let them bring the cold one back. Let them have her. What do we care? We’ve prepared for the worst they can throw at us. And we won’t be a lonesome few for long.”

  He says the last bit with fire in his brandy-colored eyes, shooting daggers right at me.

  “Reinforcements?” I stutter.

  “That’s right.” Mason puffs his chest, his broad shoulders squared. “We weren’t going to sit back, relax, and watch you have this town for yourself, doing as you see fit with its inhabitants. We have powerful allies, happy to rush to our help. And if Jean’s return leads to any trouble, the odds will be in our favor.”

  Cold dread washes over me. Part of it is a reaction to Mason’s message, but part of it is me reeling from his tone. Has he completely lost his mind?

  My voice fluctuates and carries in the church. “I get that you’re happy to distance yourself from me now that you know I’m a banshee, but bringing an army of hunters to town is not the answer.”

  I hope Mason can sense the true meaning in my words. He needs to blend in, sure, but does he have to bring a powder keg so close to an already roaring fire?

  Mason’s gaze flicks to his father for a second, then he says in a lower, dangerous tone, “It was the only option we had left.”

  The unsaid bit lingers in the air between us. I know what Mason means. I’ve tried and failed to stop this.

  Despite how unsettling seeing him like this is, I try to remember there’s a win in here somewhere. We got Jean back, and the hunters aren’t making her leave. If the price we have to pay for it is putting up with a few more hunters in town for a while, so be it.

  “I think we’re done here,” Mr. Fowler says.

  “We are,” Mrs. Gianni replies.

  The three of us turn in the gloomy church. Only the occasional candle provides light. The hunters don’t dare to speak while we walk down the aisle. They wouldn’t want to let anything slip when I’m within earshot.

  Regardless, my thoughts wander to the hunter backup on its way to Elmwick. The dread I sense is a premonition, and before I can help myself, my eyes seek the candleholder by the doors. I stare into the bright flame on instinct.

  I dig my feet in, petrified. The vision sucks me into an unfamiliar house—the floors and railing are made of a luxurious mahogany wood. Vases of baby pink roses adorn every corner and table in the crowded room. I whirl around, amazed, until a pair of striking green eyes pop up from the faceless mass.

  Bryar walks over to me, but she stares at someone past me. I whirl around to follow her gaze. Mason walks side by side with an even taller Black boy I don’t recognize from school. Before I’ve had the chance to study the new boy’s features, my stomach clenches as I take in the man behind them. His face is obscured in shadows under his hat, and he wears a long dark-blue trench coat.

  With a gasp, I take myself out of the vision. Reason tells me I should have stayed, tried to glean any information to prepare us for what’s coming, but my chest is tight with dread.

  “He’s coming.” I’m suffocating, panting for air. “He’s their back-up.”

  Jean holds me upright almost entirely on her own and helps me over the threshold. The bright sunshine outside feels wrong. The world should be dark and ominous, like the vibe I can’t shake off.

  “Who’s coming?” Jean asks, not bothering to whisper now that the church doors are closed behind us.

  “The man in the blue trench coat.” I almost choke on the words. “My mother’s killer.”

  Chapter 18. Mason

  THE HUNTERS FINISH the meeting in the church with a discussion on the new patrol to keep track of the legacies until our reinforcements arrive. One rotation will monitor the north quarter where the legacies live, and another will circle Elmwick Academy.

  The overall level of paranoia is high. Father even dismisses my idea to head out in the evening. He must have sensed I’d want to see Cami, especially after the way I spoke to her in the church.

  I want to explain. I want to tell her it’s going to be fine. But getting caught sneaking around with Cami would undo the efforts Father and I put in to ingratiate ourselves to the hunters. He was right. Calling Mom and asking her to come back with reinforcements was the best idea, the only way to keep Jean around. And if we couldn’t keep Jean around, Bryar would no doubt slide further into the quicksand that is our business with the hunters.

  We update her at dinner—both about Mom coming back for a while and Jean being allowed to stay in town.

  Bryar nods with a smugness in her expression. “See? There’s always a way.”

  The air feels hot in my throat when I almost growl at the nonchalance in her tone. I’m not silly enough to underestimate Mom and whoever she’ll bring to town with her, not after the reserve I’ve discovered in her lab. Not after seeing how impressed Collin was that she’s an alchemist—a hunter who’s more into devious poisons and entrapments than fighting. It makes her sound a lot more dangerous than Andreev.

  I decide against pointing any of this out to my sister. “Yes, there’s a way. Don’t forget the part you play, though. You can’t let the hunters find out about you and Jean or that you know about the legacies.”

  I expect her to fight back and give me a speech, but Bryar sighs. “All right. Whatever will keep Jean in town.”

  Father and I exchange a quick glance. I can’t tell what he must think about Bryar and Jean’s relationship, but he regards my sister with the loving look reserved for her alone. For the first time, I’m not the slightest bit jealous that he seems to be harsh with me and gentle toward Bryar.

  Things have changed now. He and I share a secret and a mission that draws us closer together.

  And the gentleness toward Bryar? I finally understand what drives it—the desire to compensate, to give her all the love he can because she doesn’t get to know her biological father and receive any of his love.

  Watching him smile at her despite the day we’ve had, despite summoning unknown, dangerous hunters to town, I grow warm with hope. Father and I have protected Bryar by b
ecoming allies. In a way, our weird, secretive family has never been closer.

  I can’t say I mind that.

  MONDAY MORNING’S TRAINING session with Andreev is grueling. For the first time since Collin’s death, though, the other elites cheer me on and congratulate me on my win in the race. Father’s strategy has them convinced I’m on their side. Finally.

  A faint pang of guilt registers in my chest. I’m deceiving them about my proximity to the legacies, Bryar’s knowledge of the truth, the events of the weekend, and the heritage Father revealed I carry. But I believe him over them now. I’ve seen how quickly the winds can shift and trust can fade among the hunters. If the slight discomfort of dishonesty is the price I have to pay to keep my family safe from them, so be it.

  It doesn’t compare to having to watch Cami from a distance. I hang out with the elites at lunch, trying my hardest not to cast glances at the table where she’s back at Jean’s side, together with Krista and Abby, and, for some weird reason, Vanessa, too. They seem oddly in sync ever since Jester’s Castle.

  Bryar’s absence from their table makes me breathe easier, especially since I have to fight a stream of relentless questions from the other elites about the weekend. They know we’ve all been missing for a night and don’t even try to pretend that this isn’t an interrogation.

  But I manage to convince them I had taken my sister out camping while the traitorous legacies were breaking Jean out of wherever she was banished to. I’m careful not to mention Jester or his castle. It seems to appease them, especially when I emphasize how excited I am for Mom to be back and bring us much-needed reinforcements.

  As it turns out, the reinforcements arrive to town before Mom.

  As I leave Elmwick High, a glossy, black limo grinds to a halt in front of me, and the back window rolls down. Through it, a guy a few years older than me with light-brown skin and contrasting bright-green eyes waves me over.

  “Mason Fowler?”

  I stiffen and dig in my heels. “Who’s asking?”

  “Relax, mate.” The newcomer has a faint British accent, which makes me even more alert. Since when does Elmwick get tourists?

  “Name’s Zach Hastings.” He evaluates me with a look that doesn’t betray his motives one bit. “I heard you might have a legacy problem on your hands. My family’s here to help.” The door pops open. “Get in.”

  I hesitate for a heartbeat, but then swallow and slip inside the roomy back seat next to Zach. The pretense didn’t end with the talk in the church. That’s when it began. I’ll have to wear the mask I carved out for myself every day now.

  Zach opens the minibar and gestures to invite me to it. “Sparkling water?”

  I shake my head, which only makes him chuckle. “Cautious. I like it. You can never be too careful in the world we live in. But we’re allies, mate. Trust me, you’ll see.”

  My intuition screams at me to run. Despite his casual tone, Zach’s attire—from the tight fit of his black suit to his perfect tie—makes me think he and his family are a unique type of hunters. A level up from Andreev, for sure. Perhaps they’re even more powerful than the alchemists, if the plentiful resources at their disposal are any indication.

  I don’t ask where we’re going, but I keep an eye out the window. The limo circles around Elmwick High and heads south, passing Town Square. It comes to a stop in front of The Ravenna—Elmwick’s only luxury hotel.

  It’s a boutique space, only six floors with less than ten rooms each. From what I’ve heard, The Ravenna stays empty most of the time, because—surprise, surprise—Elmwick isn’t exactly your high-profile vacation spot. The hotel mostly makes money from the occasional company retreat or from events in its atmospheric restaurant and garden—weddings and baptisms.

  Vanessa’s quinceañera was the last time I came here. Not that the hotel’s style has changed.

  We enter the lobby. Bathed in sparkling lights, every golden detail shines against the luxurious mahogany hardwood floors.

  Despite having grown up in our mansion house, I feel awkward in a place that screams wealth. Home is home, no matter the ornate furniture. I’ve gotten used to it, I suppose. Not so here.

  Zach, on the other hand, seems to fit right in. Out of the limo, I see he’s two to three inches taller than me and equally broad-shouldered. The expensive black suit makes him seem more like a model for men’s luxury watches than a sporty high schooler like me, though.

  He fixes me with a stare when we wait for the elevator. “We’ve settled into the penthouse apartment at the top.”

  “Who’s we?”

  Zach gives me a crooked smile. “My parents and I. We received a very interesting call from one of my father’s associates yesterday. She urged us to get to Elmwick and find you.”

  Mom.

  The fiery lick of tension rises in my chest. We summoned sharks to town, both Father and I knew that much, but now that they’re circling me, it’s a lot harder to believe we did the right thing. One drop of blood in the water, one sign of weakness, and they will attack.

  I strain every facial muscle to keep my expression blank. My intuition tells me I’m fooling no one, but I remain stoic throughout the elevator ride. Like in the movies, the elevator door opens directly into the foyer of the penthouse apartment.

  I would be impressed if my body hadn’t stiffened, fueled by the roaring heat of panic inside me. Our shoes squeak against the glossy hardwood floors as I follow Zach down the foyer and into a plush sitting room. A corridor leads to what I assume are the bedrooms, but my eyes are drawn to the study, its double doors swinging open to let out a man and a woman.

  Zach’s parents approach us. His father reaches out a hand when he nears me, his eyes and forehead obscured under a wide-brimmed hat. A weird accessory to be wearing indoors. Deep wrinkles crease the corners of his mouth, making him look older than his wife.

  Despite the silver strands streaking her braided hair, pulled into a low ponytail, Mrs. Hastings’ skin is smooth and youthful in a cool umber tone, a shade darker than her son’s. Zach seems to have inherited only a stray few of the freckles peppered on her cheeks and nose.

  She regards me with imperial grace and speaks in a British accent, “Mr. Fowler, a pleasure to have you join us.”

  Her husband nods his approval. “Atta boy. You were right to ask your mother for help.” His skin is fair, but suntanned like Mom’s when she comes back from the ranch.

  “How do you know my mother, Mr. Hastings?” I ask.

  “Please, call me Vaughn.” He gestures for us to sit at a set of low chairs with velvety cushions. “And your mother and I go way back.” Unlike his wife and son, he has a faint southern accent, the one I’m used to from summers spent at the farm.

  I sit at the edge of the chair, knees almost touching the glass table we’re clustered around. It’s hard to relax when the upper half of the man’s face is hidden under his hat.

  “How did you get here so fast?” I try to keep my tone calm, then add, “Mom hasn’t made it over yet. We thought we’d have to wait a few days for the back-up. And you seem to have traveled far.” I glance at Zach.

  Nonchalant, he takes that in stride, which I’m grateful for. “I moved over from England for my studies last year. Coincidently, Clayton’s College is only a few hours’ drive from here.”

  “We were happy to cut parents’ weekend short to help a local chapter of The Hunter’s Guild,” Mrs. Hastings says. “We heard something about a banshee and a cold one wreaking havoc in Elmwick?” She invites me to elaborate, arching an eyebrow.

  Using as few words as possible, I explain about Cami’s Claiming and Jean’s banishment and subsequent return. Obviously, I omit the part I’ve played in all of it.

  Zach goes to fetch a carafe of sparkling water with orange peels artfully arranged inside. He pours about an inch of the fruity water in a crystal glass for each of us.

  I take a sip to stall as I spin my tale.

  “Your father wasn’t wrong,” Vaughn say
s when I finish my story with Father’s call for reinforcements. “If you have a banshee on your hands, things could get very tricky, very fast.”

  “Not to worry,” his wife says with a smooth smile. “We’re here to help now. We’ve brought a ton of awe-inspiring surprises for the legacies.”

  It’s only in the purr of Vaughn’s breath that I feel his smirk, his face still obscured in darkness.

  “What did you have in mind?” I fail to match their smooth, controlled tones.

  “Just a little gift from the best alchemists in the country,” Vaughn says. “A banshee is only as strong as the relationships she forms with the other legacies. She’ll be of little consequence if she can’t link herself to the others. That’s what we’re here to make sure.”

  My diaphragm punches in, punctuating my breath, but I clear my throat to cover the shock.

  Zach lays out their plan. “We’d like you to help us pick a target—a legacy the banshee might link herself to, possibly. Perhaps someone she’s started to get closer to lately? We’ll drive a wedge between them to cut the banshee off from potential new friends, making sure she can never reach her full powers in a complete circle.” He gives me a second to digest the plan. “Any ideas?”

  My jaw clenches tight. I have to give them a name to keep up the pretense, but guilt already sears inside me. Who could I paint into a target for them?

  My sister and Cami would both gut me if I point a finger at Jean. Awan and Charity are off limits, especially after all the danger they went through to help me find Bryar. Seff has been attached to Cami’s hip lately. I doubt they’d have a prayer of turning him against her. The solution becomes clear on its own.

  “Her name is Vanessa Rivera. She’s a viper.”

  Zach’s charming smile turns smug. “Excellent.” He glances at his parents. “Then I have my target.”

  Immediately, I regret providing a name, even though it worked. The Hastings regard me as an ally. I’ve saved my skin again, but at what cost? I have the unpleasant feeling that this sickening dread will become a constant in my life as a double-agent.