Suspension (Elmwick Academy Book 2) Page 2

  So I stand up in a haste. “See you tomorrow, then?”

  He nods, those icy blue eyes still intense. I scurry out of the room with the certain feeling that I haven’t fooled him at all. Which is just what I needed, of course—a premonition.

  Fear worms through my mind as I exit Elmwick Academy and cut through the yard between the human and supernatural schools toward the wrought-iron gate. Somewhere in the distance, the clouds rumble and groan. There’s a storm coming, even though the sky above is overcast in thin, white cover.

  “Cami?”

  The voice makes me shudder, so much closer to me than the rumbling of the distant storm I was listening for. I halt, but don’t look back.

  Bryar comes up to me. “Hey.”

  Thunder strikes in the faraway storm. Much closer than a second ago.

  “Hi,” I greet her cautiously.

  “I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.” Bryar’s hypnotic green eyes are wide, and her lower lip trembles slightly. “I’m worried about Jean.”

  Chapter 2. Mason

  ANDREEV RUNS AN AFTERNOON training for members of the elites who are also a part of his crew—the local chapter for the Hunter’s Guild. It’s mostly target practice, although we start and finish every session with sprinting and rope climbing, much like in his before-school class.

  I ignore the scornful glances all the hunters throw at me and launch into a sprint.

  It’s been like this ever since Collin died. They blame me for what happened, that much I’m sure of. A touch harder to make sense of are my own thoughts, storming inside my head.

  The events of that night, not just out in the forest, but inside my own house continue to plague me. Father hasn’t divulged any further information. Sometimes, I think I may have dreamed it all, pretended it was true.

  Mom has taken the lead in my education as a hunter, forbidding me to associate with the legacies and getting me onto Andreev’s crew despite some of the hunters’ protests. Father has let her drag me into all that without a single protest, although his stern gaze seems to follow me closer than it did before.

  So I’ve kept quiet too. I may not be sure whom of my parents I trust, but so long as they agree on a course of action, I will stay that course. Always watchful, always alert—hunting for the truth, rather than the legacies.

  That’s easier said than done, of course.

  I feel the other hunters’ burning glares as I climb the rope. They stare at me in silent protest, wishing me out of the elite and the crew. Not that I feel integrated into their group. They haven’t invited me on any outing or mission that they might have had since New Year’s Eve. It might be a hint that the conflict is quieting down, but I doubt it.

  I run back as fast as I can, thinking of Collin. He and I would always come out ahead—direct competitors. He left an empty spot in our ranks, which tortures my conscience every day.

  When I sprint back to my team, Fiona doesn’t even wait for me to slap her hand, tagging her to go next. She burst out of the lineup and darts to the rope. Some hunters are sulkier than others.

  The tension between us might also be because I left her unconscious in the forest. In any case, Fiona has been giving me the stink eye. I never apologized, unsure how to or if I even want to. Not when she was the one shooting at Cami.

  As soon as the image of her flashes into my mind, I know I’ve fallen too far down the rabbit hole.

  Thankfully, the drill is over soon, and the hunters head to the changing rooms. I hang back, much like Collin and I used to. Fiona and some others form a small circle but look at me expectantly, as if wishing me away. They won’t say anything of use in front of me, so I give up and head to the changing rooms.

  I change in silence, debating for the thousandth time why I’m still trying to be a part of all this. In the end, I decide that it doesn’t matter. The most important thing for me is still to keep my sister out of this whole mess.

  The overcast sky makes it hardly seem like spring yet. At first glance I don’t see Bryar anywhere in the schoolyard. I doubt she’s left for home without me, though.

  I never grew convinced that she bought our parents’ explanations on New Year’s Eve. She’s been watching me, and the elites, as if guessing that something deeper goes on in our trainings. I cringe when I remember that a mere few months ago this used to be me.

  I walk further out and around the building before I spot Bryar by the magnolia tree, a red glint to her chestnut-brown hair shimmering in the sun. But she isn’t alone.

  I tense when I spot Cami. The solemn expression in her blue eyes doesn’t fade when she sees me. I stop a few feet away from them, allowing them privacy and focusing my eyes on the magnolia tree’s budding branches.

  Bryar’s whisper is intense. “Nobody will tell me anything.”

  The sentence sets me on edge.

  “Well, I can’t tell you anything more either.” Cami keeps her voice calm, but I know her well enough to see through the effort. My sister’s words unnerve her.

  “Even her mother won’t tell me anything.” Bryar sniffles. I retrace the statement, trying to figure out if I’ve misheard somehow. Whose mother?

  “You should drop this,” Cami whispers to her gently.

  It only aggravates my sister more. Having grown up with Bryar, I sensed it coming, but Cami is taken aback when my sister yells, “Stop treating me like a stupid child, like everyone else does!”

  Cami flinches, searching for a way to undo the damage. “I’m not treating you as a child. Jean was suspended, and she’s spending time away from Elmwick with some distant relatives. That’s all I know.”

  Jean.

  My turn to stiffen in shock. That’s how it started for me, isn’t it? With a focus on Jean and the odd things happening around her. Now my sister follows in my footsteps, drawn to the mysteries that pulled me into this mess.

  I call out without having thoroughly considered it, “Hey, Bryar, let’s go.”

  Bryar throws a quick and sullen look over her shoulder at me. “In a minute.” Then, she sighs and adds to Cami, “She’s your friend. How can you not care she’s gone? How can her own mother suspend her? She’s the headmistress, for heaven’s sake! Couldn’t there have been a simpler punishment? None of this makes sense.”

  “Bryar,” I call out again.

  She clicks her tongue in irritation. “Coming.” She regards Cami just long enough to spit out a fierce promise. “I’m not giving up on Jean. Maybe everyone else has forgotten about her, but I won’t.”

  Bryar stomps away from Cami and snaps at me as soon as she’s by my side, “Where’s the fire? I was having a conversation. You can be such a buzz-kill.”

  I raise my brows at her but let it slide. Bryar tends to throw up her emotions on other people. It isn’t pretty or mature, but knowing what I know, I can’t help but think it’s the kind of attitude that will make it hard for her to drop this. And even harder for her to keep the legacies a secret, even under threat of the curse, if she ever found out the truth about them.

  We walk home in the near silence—Bryar still sulking and me still brooding. We’re almost at our house when Bryar explodes again.

  “What’s up with everyone lately? It’s like they’re in some dumb trance, pretending nothing odd is happening.”

  On instinct, I shush her. The last thing I need is the neighbor legacies catching wind that Bryar is onto the truth.

  “What?” Bryar stares at me wide-eyed, then frowns. “Not you too! Don’t dismiss me like Mom and Dad on New Year’s Eve, like Cami and Mrs. Gianni whenever I ask about Jean, and like Fiona and Andreev when I ask them how Collin died. Enough.”

  Quick glances left and right tell me we’re alone, but it’s not much of a relief with all of my neighbors’ supernatural abilities, so I snatch up Bryar by the elbow and drag her into our front yard. “Quiet.”

  “You know, don’t you?” Her green eyes shine with the hurt of betrayal. “You know what’s really going on here and you
won’t tell me.”

  Guilt sears through me. Bryar must have sensed it on me, seen it spelled across my face, because her expression softens. She changes tactics. “You can tell me, Mace. Please.”

  “I can’t.”

  I’m not as good as the rest of Elmwick at denying the obvious. The resolve to keep up the charade breaks inside me. I can’t do this to my sister, have her think she’s going mad, not when I know how that feels. The confusion is still fresh in my memory and so is the desperate need for answers.

  Bryar stares at me, hurt. “You mean you won’t tell me.”

  “I mean I can’t,” I repeat, this time through my teeth. “It isn’t safe.”

  My sister rolls her eyes and huffs. “That’s a load of—”

  But I pull her by the elbow. “I mean it. It isn’t safe to know these things.”

  I desperately want to add ‘especially for us,’ but I bite my tongue. Father’s words from New Year’s Eve flash brighter in my memory. If I’m...different, then so is Bryar. It pains me to turn into Father, to shut her out like he’s been shutting me out, but if there’s a grain of truth to his warning, I can’t risk involving Bryar.

  “Just listen to me,” I plead. That fact that I’ve dropped the pretense is probably the only reason my sister takes a calming breath and seems willing to hear me out. “Jean is trouble. All our neighbors are. They’re part of a... society, of sorts.”

  Bryar gapes, not in pure shock but in scandalized amusement. “I knew it. The legacies are in some weird cult, or what?”

  I exhale in frustration, trying to find the right words. “Something like that. So, please, please do not get mixed up in it. It’s not worth it, and that’s why everyone is trying to keep you out of it. Please.”

  I square my shoulders, willing my expression to brighten, like the secret is all out now.

  Bryar evaluates me for a long moment, amusement and bewilderment draining out of her. “You’re doing it again! Throwing sand in my face. Why do you keep lying to me?”

  A new wave of shock rolls over me as I search for a way out, but I can’t keep inventing alternative theories. Bryar is too fast seeing through the lies. Bitterly, I think she might be too good at this. At hunting.

  “Forget it,” Bryar snaps. “I’m done. I don’t need you muddling my mind with lies like everyone else. I’ll find out the truth myself if I have to.”

  She whirls around, digging in her heels, and without so much as a quick look back at me, she hurries into the house. With Father covering the night shift at the sheriff’s station and Bryar not talking to me, we fix ourselves sandwiches at different times and don’t speak again the whole evening.

  Still, I stay up late, listening for any sound from Bryar’s room. It’s made me so tense that I pace the corridor between my room and the bathroom countless times.

  Once it’s all quiet, no music, no TV, I relax a little. Hopefully, she’ll wake up in a better mood. Maybe she’ll even rethink the secret society idea and grant it some merit. I’m certainly proud for having conjured it out of thin air.

  Even so, an antsy feeling crawls over me well after Bryar has quieted in her room. Cami’s face keeps flashing in my mind, making my stomach swoop.

  We’ve kept our distance the past few months, but in the hours of dusk and dawn, when the world stops, I still think of her. Her elfin features pop inside my head unbidden, just like the memory of her lips on mine, of her small frame glued to my body.

  My legs carry me downstairs as if of their own accord. I pause by the living room double windows and peer out into the darkness. Even though it’s late, the gloomy light of a night lamp exudes from the second floor of the O’Briens’ house.

  She’s up.

  I stew in doubts for a minute before I leave the house. With Cami’s help, I could come up with a more convincing cover story for Bryar. Or I could ask Cami to corroborate the secret society idea. If my sister heard it from multiple sources, she’s bound to find it plausible, right?

  I plant my palms on the top of their wooden fence and jump over it. The night lamp casts its faint glow directly over the roof of their porch. It’s been a while since I climbed onto the roof of a porch, but it all comes back to me.

  Use the porch railing to boost myself up, then pull myself up on muscles well-trained after countless times of climbing the rope in Andreev’s class. I step cautiously, not wishing to make a sound. The roof isn’t slanted, so once I’m up there, the danger of falling is slim.

  White blackout drapes with embroidered golden stars block my view into the room. I have to believe this is Cami’s room and not her Dad’s. Otherwise, I’d have plenty of explaining to do. The golden stars are enough of a clue, though.

  I brace myself, and light as a feather, I knock my knuckles against the window. Cami will hear it.

  Chapter 3. Cami

  AFTER MY INTERACTION with Bryar, the entire evening turns into a blur. I’d like to think it’s due to her haughty attitude or even Mason’s intense interruption, because my stomach still does a flip when I’m around him. The rare times I am around him.

  But that’s not it. I’m distracted while I half-heartedly complete my Elmwick High homework and make avocado, sun-dried tomato, and tuna salad. I don’t even remember what stories from the hospital Dad tried to amuse me with over dinner. Something about the receptionist drawing obscene caricatures in her free time.

  Unable to function normally, I excuse myself and go to bed early, though I don’t intend to count sheep.

  At first, I probe, tugging at the link with caution. I pull a little while I brush my teeth and clean my face. While I air out my room and fluff my pillows. But it leads nowhere.

  Once enough of the lilac-scented air from outside has filled my room, I shut the window and pull the blackout drapes closed. The faint light of my tulip-shaped night lamp bathes my room. I sit on my bed, legs crossed, and try to calm myself down.

  Surely, the link is proving harder to find because I haven’t tried to tug on it for a while. I get a surge of emotion from Jean now and then, like today during class, but Bryar’s words gnaw at me from the inside. So much so that I can’t resist seeking out the connection.

  Jean is my friend. I want to know she’s all right, wherever she is.

  “Come on, Jean,” I whisper. “Where are you?”

  The longer I sit there, eyes closed and breathing deeply with my diaphragm, the more panic floods me. I’ve waited too long, lost in missing my friend. I’ve feared the connection I locked us into. The realization that the link might have broken shakes me with sickening force.

  Even though I didn’t mean to bind us together, an instinct inside me urges me to hold on, to find a way to keep the link. Like a beacon, I push out my hope to find a smudge of Jean’s feelings. I wonder if she’s ever felt our connection or if it’s one-sided.

  Gold flashes in front of my closed eyes. A faint, thin thread. I envision pulling it with my hand. Like a dizzying rollercoaster, my mind races until a speck of gold explodes in my field of vision.

  It’s not an image of Jean, which makes my stomach heavy with disappointment, but I hold on, determined not to let this opportunity slip. Then, once I’ve grasped for the link between us with all my mental strength, Jean’s emotions slam into me.

  And I sob. The loneliness is drowning. She’s terrified, desperate, and sad. So, so sad. I cover my mouth with one hand to silence the cries threatening to burst from my lips, but quiet moans still escape me, and tears stream down the sides of my face. I fight to breathe.

  Jean. What have they done to you?

  But it doesn’t matter. A powerful instinct wakes inside me, demanding retribution. I won’t stand for this. Bryar is right. This price is too high to pay, and I won’t let Jean suffer anymore.

  “I’m getting you out,” I whisper, uncertain if she could hear me or even sense the sentiment.

  For a second, it’s as if her soul calms. That makes my chest unclench from the violent sobs.

 
The sound of footsteps makes me snap my eyes open. Someone’s out on the roof over the porch, behind my thick white curtains with shimmery golden stars. Then comes a measured, soft knock against the glass.

  Hands rushing to my face on instinct, I wipe my tears away. I shuffle out of bed and whip the curtains to the side.

  Crouched at the level of the windowsill is Mason—broad shoulders hunched down, as if to hide from a stray passerby. I’m not sure why since midnight nears and the street is utterly quiet.

  I unlatch the window and say in a whisper, “What are you doing here?”

  Mason lifts those formidable shoulders in a shy shrug. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. Can we talk for a minute?”

  My stance relaxes. Talk. We haven’t talked during the past three months—not alone and not for more than a few fleeting moments. But we could talk, right?

  “Sure.”

  He doesn’t ask to come into my room but crouches lower until he sits on the roof above our porch, right arm against the window, his brandy-colored eyes trailing every flicker of emotion on my face.

  I climb onto the windowsill and lean back against a plush white pillow. My head tilts left, touching the window as I peer into Mason.

  Lilac-scented spring air flows through the open window between us. Staring into each other, alone after being apart for so long, gives us pause.

  “What did you want to talk about?” I say at last, my voice small so as not to wake up Dad in the next room.

  “It’s Bryar.” A muscle feathers on Mason’s cheek. “She’s growing restless, asking about Jean. I need to know what you two talked about today.”

  It might be just me, but the next gust of wind is cold when it streams into the room.

  “She’s upset about Jean’s suspension.” Guilt and sadness flood my heart again. Seeing Mason is a band-aid on a deep wound. It seems to have worked for a second, but now all the blood soaks through again. I take a deep breath to continue. “Bryar doesn’t understand why Jean had to be suspended. The haze doesn’t seem to be fooling her successfully, not anymore.” I stare at Mason more intently, right in his smoldering eyes. “You should know how that feels better than anyone.”