Suspension (Elmwick Academy Book 2) Page 6

  My attention shifts to Bryar. A cold one grips her by the throat and speaks, looking her straight in the eyes. I shoot my last dart at him, hitting him right in his Adam’s apple, but the other cold one takes his fallen companion’s place at once, his fist tight around Bryar’s throat. And I’m all out of ammunition.

  Charity steps up and swishes her hands in the air so quick I don’t even make out the shape she traces midair. A purple haze blinks into view in front of Bryar, similar to the dome Charity created around us last night. It blocks the cold one—he bumps into it, canines extended for Bryar’s throat.

  “I can’t hold it without the herbal smoke,” Charity pants, her face contorted in concentration.

  The shield blinks and dissolves into the air like colorful dust. But Bryar uses the distraction and punches the cold one right in the throat. Atta girl. A fracture to the larynx. That should hurt.

  Bryar sprints toward us, the protector in her wake, leaping at any assailants catching up to her with their super speed.

  “Help me,” Charity says urgently. She takes off her backpack and fishes two more bundles of dried herbs out of it.

  I fumble for the matches and light the ends of the herbal bunches for her. Panting, Bryar reaches us at the same time as Charity raises her hands, each with a smoking bundle of herbs in it, and starts the charm.

  My sister stares at us wide-eyed, unable to speak. I pull her further into the cave and push her behind me. At the entrance of the cave, Charity hurries through her charm while Awan watches his protector in deep concentration with glowing amber eyes. The mountain lion paces in front of Charity, guarding her so she can complete the shield.

  The cold ones pour from all sides and line in front of the protector. Whenever one dares to make a dash for us, for the narrow opening to the cave, the protector attacks. The cold ones share looks and slow, wicked smiles.

  “Summon the protector,” I say to Awan. Cold dread seeps into my body, as if magnified by the musty, humid air in the cave. “Charity, we need that shield now!”

  As one, the vampires stream toward us. The protector leaps out of reach and scurries past Charity, whose hands tremble mid-sweep. She changes her mind and switches her movements in the last second. Swiping up and away.

  A purple glow zaps into place a second before the vampires smack into it. They falter back, snarling with their elongated teeth bared.

  I don’t yet dare breathe a sigh of relief. “Will it hold?”

  Charity keeps her eyes on the shield, her forehead beaded in sweat. “For now. I’ll have to reinforce it every so often. And it will be gone once the herbal smoke dies down.”

  “Well, don’t tell them that!” Bryar bursts out.

  Charity finally tears her eyes from the shield and glares at Bryar. “The charm muffles sound. They can’t hear us.”

  We all relax a little, though we throw careful glances at the charm blocking the cold ones from reaching us. They haven’t moved an inch. They must know it will fall, eventually.

  Awan leans against the cave wall and lowers himself down, letting out a deep groan. I hadn’t noticed it in the fight, but he looks dreary—with deep circles under his eyes and ashen complexion. The bronze mountain lion jumps into him, dissolving into his body. Awan lets out a deep breath, some color returning to his face.

  Bryar moves her gaze from Awan to Charity, who murmurs to herself as she examines the shield. “Feel free to start explaining any time.”

  I pace a few steps away and then back, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands. My heart roars and feeds the spark of anger. Everything I did to keep my sister out of this has failed. There’s no way Bryar could be swayed from questioning us now. She’ll never disregard or forget what she’s seen.

  “You first.” I let out a sigh of exhaustion. My eyes still dart to the wall of cold ones. Despite Charity’s confirmation that they can’t hear us, I feel them staring, waiting for the moment they’d be able to attack. I return my attention to Bryar, who’s frowning at me. “How did you know about the cold ones?”

  “Those out there?” Bryar points at them with her thumb. “I had no idea vampires existed until they attacked me just now. I thought there were werewolves.”

  Awan, Charity, and I share a quick, three-way look.

  “There are werewolves, aren’t they? I noticed the howling coming from the woods is always worse on a full moon, and then I nicked this silver knife from Mom’s bag. It has a full moon engraved on the handle.” Bryar shows us the symbol.

  A part of me is proud my little sister has seen through the deception, but the anger at myself washes that sensation away. “Forget the wolves for a second,” I say. “What are you doing out here?”

  My sister cuts me an incredulous look. “I thought the wolves might have Jean. That they’re keeping her from coming back. Don’t patronize me—I came prepared with the knife.”

  “Prepared? Really?” I make an exaggerated gesture to the angry mob of cold ones waiting for the shield to drop.

  “Well, I didn’t know about those.” Bryar makes a disgusted face at the snarling vampires. “Are they resurrected dead people?”

  Charity, still facing the shield, casts a look over her shoulder. “They’re not dead. Popular culture is swimming with myths about the supernatural, and only very few are actually true. Cold ones are alive, born to their cold ones parents. At seventeen, they can either let themselves die, or accept their curse—to drink blood. The latter comes with the added benefit of heightened speed and the ability to compel people.”

  “Compulsion...” Bryar breathes in horror. “One of them was trying to talk to me, and then everything slowed down.”

  “He was trying to compel you not to fight him, but I shot a vervain dart at him and broke his hold on you.” I lift the crossbow in one hand, although I have no darts left to show her.

  She gives me a nod as thanks. “And what are you two?” Bryar eyes Charity, then Awan. “It’s a cool pet you’ve been hiding.”

  “He’s not a pet.” Awan grimaces, offended. “He’s a part of me. I sent him to watch over you in the night.”

  Bryar’s lips tremble as her expression turns grave. “Thank you. He saved my butt.”

  Awan runs a hand over his face, still recovering. I fight the urge to ask if he’d seen the entire attack through the eyes of his protector.

  Bryar turns her attention to Charity. “And that’s a cool trick.”

  Charity glances at the shield, then flicks a bunch of her glossy, black hair over her shoulder. “It’s not a trick. It’s an ancient magic called a charm—I create a layer, like a shield, and attribute properties to it. The herbs hold it in place.”

  Bryar nibbles on her lower lip, taking all this information in. “How are we going to get out?”

  Awan groans. “That is a good question.”

  He still seems weak, even though the protector leapt back into him. “Are you all right?”

  “Exhausted,” Awan says. “The protector can only exist for so long out there on his own. Projecting him requires a lot of concentration, especially if he’s threatened and needs to move fast or attack.”

  I nod, then turn to Charity. “Why are they even attacking? I thought there was meant to be peace.”

  “There is peace,” Charity insists. “But the cold ones in Jester’s company follow different rules. They’re outside of the agreement in effect in Elmwick, which is precisely why—”

  “Why Jean was sent there!” Bryar interrupts. “But that would mean...” Realization washes over her features. “She’s...like them. Jean is a cold one?”

  Preventing her nimble brain from making sense of the legacies’ world is a futile battle, so I sigh and nod.

  “Oh,” Bryar says.

  The clouds gather and thicken with the warning of heavy rainfall.

  “Would the shield hold in a storm?” I ask Charity, who peeks up at the sky as close to the shield as she dares with those snarling faces tracing her every move.


  “If the herbs get wet, it will fall. When the herbs burn out, it will fall.” She shudders and steps back closer to us. “Either way, we have a few hours at best.”

  Chapter 9. Cami

  OUR HIKE THROUGH THE forest starts with an immediate complication. Seff and Fillan’s nostrils flare for a loud sniff when we take the path between Jean’s house and the hunters’ mansion.

  “What do you smell?”

  The twins exchange looks in a silent debate.

  “It’s probably nothing,” Seff says. “We’re so close to their house. They probably walk around here.”

  “And how do you explain the other two scents?” Fillan challenges.

  Vanessa arches an eyebrow, nudging them to elaborate.

  “Awan and Charity,” Seff says. “I don’t know. Maybe they went on a romantic stroll?”

  The teasing note in Seff’s voice dies off when Fillan snaps, “As if.”

  “And the previous scents?” I ask, although I have a feeling who they might belong to.

  “Mason—a fresh scent,” Seff says. “And his sister seems to have passed through here some hours earlier. Her scent is fading.”

  I tense as the early morning air chills my skin through my t-shirt. “Bryar.”

  Seff nods, matching my glum look. I don’t dare mention she waited at school for me, desperate to know where Jean is. But it isn’t possible she’s found out about Jester’s Castle, is it? I try to shake off the thought.

  All the same, our hike is rushed from the moment we enter the forest. The sensation that we weren’t the first group to walk this path recently unnerves me, and by the looks of it, the others aren’t happy about it either. So, we stomp ahead, racing to catch up, rather than joking and enjoying the fresh air like I thought we’d be.

  The more Seff and Fillan hurry ahead, the closer I feel we are to the other group. We pause only at a tiny opening where the twins examine the damp ground. I follow their gazes until I spot it too. The ash from burnt herbs.

  “They seem to have spent the night here—Mason, Awan, and Charity,” Seff says with a stormy expression. “Bryar wasn’t with them.”

  I bite my lip, realizing exactly what Mason and the others are doing out here. And it’s time to enlighten the others. “Bryar was asking me about Jean. I think she must have gone looking for her, which explains why Mason would rally the others and go after her.”

  “Dear Charity and the charmers really need to check on that haze.” Venom drips from Vanessa’s voice. “It doesn’t sseem to be doing much of anything these days.”

  I don’t waste my breath defending the charmers or explaining that if Bryar is anything like Mason, the haze won’t stand a chance of fooling her. “If Bryar runs into the cold ones, even if the others catch up to her, it won’t be pretty.”

  The legacies most effective against the cold ones are all with me—wolves with a poisonous bite and a viper to curse the vampires if they dare attack. Mason seems to have chosen friends he could confide in for this trip. I chose abilities.

  We almost run the rest of the way, past the place where Bryar spent the night, according to the twins’ thorough sniffling, and through the forest in the direction of the caves. Apparently, my neighbors used to go there on warm summer days to dip their feet in the shallow river and use the narrow spray of the waterfall to freshen up. Vanessa pants as she explains that, both of us growing a little winded while the Valtyk twins hurry ahead.

  The premonition hits me out of nowhere, and I stumble, twisting my ankle a little in my fall.

  To my utmost surprise, Vanessa doesn’t mock me, but extends a hand to pull me up. “Let’s go. Hurry.”

  I shake my head. “No. We can’t go ahead. Something terrible is about to happen. Call the twins back.”

  Vanessa hesitates for a second, her dark eyes burning holes through me, then she hisses to summon Seff and Fillan.

  They sprint back to us while I stand and dust myself off. I scan the thick cover of trees, expecting danger to jump at us any second.

  “What’s wrong?” Seff gives my arm a squeeze, right under my shoulder.

  I whirl around in panic, not sure where the attack will come from. “We’re getting attacked. Here.”

  “Well, then let’s move,” Fillan says. “Then the premonition won’t happen, right?”

  “No.” I have no time to explain to him how it works. “We can’t outrun what I see.” I don’t see it exactly, but I sense the attack, rushing toward us through time. If I had a spare moment and a candle, I’d go into a vision to see it in detail, to understand, but the danger is imminent.

  “That’s it.” Vanessa flicks her hair back and lowers herself to sit cross-legged on the ground as if it were a throne and not a piece of damp soil. “I’m going in. There’s a viper I can worg into nearby. I ssense her.”

  Before I can object, her eyes roll in, so we only see the white of them.

  “Great.” Seff mutters. “Banshee, guard her until she comes back. We’ll set up a perimeter to catch anything approaching us.”

  I kneel by Vanessa and use my softest voice so as not to startle her. “Hey, it’s Cami... What do you see?”

  When she doesn’t reply, I wonder how much she can perceive while worging. At my Claiming, she only came back once I let out my scream, which she’d heard in the viper’s body. Perhaps it’s something that comes with practice? Being in the snake’s head without losing touch with her human body’s surroundings? A useful thing to have asked in advance.

  I whirl around, but Seff and Fillan are gone. Their steps sound through the forest, softly so only I can hear them. They’re pros, never snapping any branches or talking to each other. Thanks to our Elmwick Academy classes, they’re stealthy enough, but they can never fool me.

  My breathing turns shallow as the footsteps multiply. We aren’t alone. The shuffling of feet comes from all directions, making it impossible for me to track Seff and Fillan’s movements. So I let the banshee take over.

  I let out a breath, stretching it for as long as my lungs allow. I don’t need to cower and flinch from every sound, expecting an attack. The attack is upon us—unavoidable as any of the events from my past. My Claiming taught me that lesson, and I can never unlearn it.

  I have the full array of my powers now. Time to see the assailants squirm.

  My lungs swell with a deep intake of air. I form the shape of a ball with my hands, my fingers an inch apart. I hiss out the air between my hands, gathering its potent rumble, letting it build up. In class, I only hold the sound wave for a second, enough to give it direction. I haven’t practiced piling it up, storing it, even if only for a few more seconds.

  My eyes tense, focused only on the vibrating air in my hands. It’s a hurricane at the tip of a needle. My hands begin to shake, but I take another breath and hold my position long enough to blow it out into the swirling cloud of invisible power. The ripples of the twisting sound wave push between my hands. I hold the sonic blast a second longer.

  In the background, Seff and Fillan snarl and attack. Grunts, gasps, and shouts ring from all sides. The attackers swoosh through the shrubbery—cold ones, if their speed is any indication. They cower and shout in fright when confronted with the wolves—a single bite enough to give them a fatal wound. But there’s too many of them.

  Despite their heightened reflexes, Seff and Fillan are in their human form now. They can wolf out, letting their teeth out, their icy-blue eyes shining menacingly. They can bite and sense the direction of an attack, but they can’t barrel through the enemies, vicious in the shape of true wolves. Not without the full moon.

  The power I’ve gathered in a cloud in my hands is so strong it will break every bone in my fingers if I don’t let it go soon. I stall one final second, enough to feel a dozen cold ones near, a few from each direction. Then, I drop to one knee, head down, hands sweeping to the sides.

  The sound wave ripples, finally free. Distributed evenly in the semicircle I’ve drawn with my palms, it throws at l
east eight of them off their feet.

  I waste no time jumping up and whirling around. A sharp scream, and the wave it produces, push three others back, while a single one keeps zigzagging—a blur in my vision. He’s too fast for me to hit.

  I sense rather than see his target. He zips back, then swooshes right for Vanessa.

  “No!” I scream, blindly guiding the blast on her right side.

  It finally lands true. The cold one rolls on the ground, snarling. When he stands, he lifts a fist in a signal to the others. The vampires I had blown through like bowling pins take measured steps behind him. They’re all roughly my age or a little older. This gives me pause. Weren’t Jester’s cold ones meant to be a gang of wicked old crooks?

  In the distance, Seff and Fillan snarl, rolling around with a cold one each. Or perhaps two.

  “Vanessa?” I chance a glance back at her.

  Her eyes are still milky. She’s seeing through the slits of a creature possibly far away. We never should have let her worg.

  Seff and Fillan can hold their own, but Vanessa is exposed. I follow the cold ones’ gazes to her. They’ve gathered as much from the situation. Only their leader—the dark-haired boy with a defined jawline—is holding back their attack with his signal.

  “Hello, banshee,” he says with a voice deeper than I would have guessed by his late-teen features. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”

  He wears a suit vest, fastened around a white shirt. His pants and shoes are formal, but worn out, like he purchased them in a thrift store. I can’t quite make sense of his attire, especially when adding a daring smile to the mix.

  “Stand back,” I warn.

  “Not afraid of you, banshee,” he says. “I’ve seen plenty of wind in my days.” His eyes dart to Vanessa behind me. “But the viper? Oh, she could smack us with a nasty surprise.” The expression on his tanned face cools and stiffens, sending chills down my spine. “Get her!” he orders.