The Chronicles of Kerrigan Prequel Series Books #1-3: Paranormal Fantasy Romance Page 26

  Because you got a powerful tatù, a cynical voice muttered in the back of his head. It was quickly countered by another. No. Because this school and the people in it aren’t as bad as you’d always thought. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Professor,” Simon said quickly, self-consciously dropping his gaze to the floor. Welcome or not, he still wasn’t quite sure what to do with all the attention. “Dr. Stanton cleared me this morning.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Without seeming to think about it, Lanford reached out and tilted up Simon’s chin to get a better look at him. “You’ll have to go back to Dr. Stein tomorrow. Have him take a look at that face.”

  Simon flushed. “Oh, right.”

  In the chaos of everything that had happened, it was easy to forget that he’d been beaten to a pulp just the other day by Tristan Wardell. His face was the unfortunate proof. Or maybe it was the tears back in Jason’s office.

  “So tell me, Mr. Kerrigan.” Lanford’s brow furrowed and he leaned closer. “I know this is probably the last thing in the world you want to talk about, but…do you have any idea as to the identity of the man who attacked you? His motive? How he even got inside?”

  Simon took an automatic step back. He’d forgotten that the board had wanted to ask him and Jacob those questions. He was surprised Jason hadn’t done it himself. And while Simon might have been eager to talk it to death earlier, now that he was faced with the questions straight on he found there was nothing in the world he wanted to talk about less.

  Lanford read his expression like a book and grimaced apologetically. “Forgive me, Mr. Kerrigan. The last thing I want to do is make you relive it.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and sighed. “When Dean Robbins saw me headed over to the dorms to check on you and Mr. Decker, he requested that I ask you both a few questions. Apparently he wanted to do it himself, but Headmaster Masters demanded that he give the two of you a bit of space. Hence…me.”

  Simon flashed a tight, but sympathetic smile. “So he decided to put you in Masters’ line of fire instead of himself?”

  Lanford chuckled dryly. “The perks of being in charge.” The smile lingered for a while before his voice grew abruptly solemn. “So, at the risk of upsetting you twice, I must ask, Simon: Were you able to glean any information from your attacker before he met his end? A reason? A name? Anything at all that may be of use to us in our investigation?”

  Just say it, Simon. Just tell him what you know.

  The man was going to kill me, and take Jacob. The man had a bull’s-eye target on his arm, and said his ink gave him perfect aim—made sure he’d never miss. The man had done this sort of thing before. He’d used his ability to practice on other psychics. If there was a record of assassins out there somewhere, a book of faces to choose from, the man was probably in it.

  But perhaps most importantly…the man wasn’t working for himself.

  He was a hired gun. A contract killer. Interested only in completing a job.

  The man they wanted was still out there. Calling the shots and pulling the strings.

  All these things rushed to Simon’s mind with no particular priority or order. A jumble of senseless, context-less quotes—each more baffling than the next. A few hours ago, he’d been aching to quote them to whoever would listen. Call in the cavalry. Start the hunt.

  But for whatever reason, standing alone in the hallway with his professor, Simon realized that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

  “Uh…actually, no. I wasn’t.” Simon dropped his gaze to the floor to be more convincing, but there wasn’t any need. He’d always been a very good liar when he wanted to be, and Lanford looked like the world’s easiest mark. “I’m sorry, Professor. The man didn’t speak to me, he just…shot.”

  Lanford’s eyes widened for a moment before he shook his head, looking rather mortified that this was the way his visit had ended up.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help,” Simon offered preemptively, stopping any other questions before they could begin.

  “No, Mr. Kerrigan, please.” The teacher clapped Simon sympathetically on the shoulder before taking a large step back. “My apologies. I’m sorry to even bring it up. I’ll let you get back to your room.”

  Simon nodded gratefully, but as he walked away he remembered that he’d had a reason for coming here as well. “Professor,” he called suddenly, “I actually…I wanted to see Jacob myself. Is he in his room?”

  Lanford glanced back in surprise. “No, he isn’t. That’s why I was leaving.”

  “Right. Of course.” Simon backed away with a hasty wave. “See you tomorrow, Professor.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Kerrigan.”

  Free of the awkward conversation, Simon spun around on his heel and walked back to his room double-time. With any luck, he could get there before anyone else pulled him aside to ask him what had happened.

  He’d been wrong, before: He absolutely did not want to talk about it. Not with Professor Lanford, not with anyone. Jason knowing was enough for him. And Jason investigating was enough for him, too. He didn’t want the dean or anyone else poking around his business. They were the ones who’d dropped the ball and let the lunatic inside in the first place.

  Nope. Aside from Jason and Jacob, what happened in the Oratory stayed in the Oratory. It didn’t matter who was asking questions: Simon was keeping it to himself. Maybe Argyle. He was the only person Simon was willing to talk to.

  At least…that was the plan for now.

  Before Simon could even reach for the handle on the door to his room, it flew open and he was yanked inside. He tugged his wrist free with a startled gasp and righted himself, only to see about half a dozen boys staring back at him. Tristan sat front and center.

  “Dude,” he hopped off the desk chair and met Simon in the middle of the floor, “we need to talk.”

  Chapter 3

  For the first time in his life, Simon Kerrigan held court.

  There was not a whisper from his captive audience as he paced in front of them, using his hands excessively as he told his wild tale. Not a single movement as they fastened their wide eyes upon him, scarcely daring to breathe until the epic story was done. The lights flickered intermittently. The curtains were closed.

  Even Tristan, resident golden-child and unofficial overlord, was as spellbound as the rest of them. He locked his gaze on Simon with almost unnerving attention, growing unnaturally still with his head cocked to one side, as foxes were prone to do.

  No one fidgeted. No one interrupted.

  When Brick threw open the door halfway through, completely oblivious to the breathless recounting happening on the other side, he was quickly shouted out by no less than seven angry voices. Robert Fletcher, a shifter who could turn into an eagle, had been so startled by the sudden interruption he actually fell off the bed.

  As for Simon…he was in his element.

  Never before had he felt the understated power inherent in commanding the attention of a room full of his peers. Never before had he felt the subtle swelling in his chest as he gesticulated first one way, then another, watching as their eyes followed his every move.

  When he was pulled inside just twenty or so minutes before, he had been ready to take the story of the ‘attack in the Oratory’ to his grave. First purging his soul to Jason, and then being cornered by a professor—a person of supposed authority—had effectively removed the desire to ever speak another word of it. An awkward discussion with Jacob and a quick retelling to Argyle, and he would be good to go.

  But this was something different. This was something new.

  “So then I was just lying there,” he paused for dramatic effect, “watching as his shoes got closer and closer…”

  In reality, he recalled very few of these logistical details. Ever since that tranquilizer dart buried itself in his skin, reality had become blurry and vague. It wasn’t until the next morning that he’d even remembered the assassin had a bull’s-eye on his arm. It took two hours after that for him to pie
ce the ink together with the sudden memory of the man tossing a summons into Jacob’s hand from across the dorm with expert precision. He remembered being absentmindedly surprised by it at the time. Now, it made perfect sense.

  But the longer Simon talked, the more he realized that what he said wasn’t nearly as important as how he said it.

  Oratory, ladies and gentlemen. It was oratory at its finest.

  He took to it like a fish to water. In less than half an hour, the gestures were flawless and the exaggerations believable, but shocking all at the same time. His voice had taken on a captivating tone that was as surprising as it was effective. His words were crisp. His movements precise. And despite the level of exhaustion that had been plaguing him since he woke up that morning, he found himself surging forward with a charismatic second wind.

  “I couldn’t see the gun, but I could hear it. A second later, it was pressed against my face.”

  It was chilling. Although feeling strangely removed from it at the moment, secure in his dorm, even Simon had to admit that it was a chilling story to tell. Just the mental image of staring down the barrel of a gun was enough to make even the toughest boys shudder with belated horror. Let alone in a room where they had all come to feel safe and familiar. Let alone under the noses of the very people who had sworn to protect them from the outside world. There was an unspoken betrayal there that shook every one of them to the core.

  Simon was no exception. The memory of what had happened rocked him through and through. For a second, he’d been tempted to tell them about the little hole left behind in the paneled walls, but after a moment’s consideration he decided to keep it to himself.

  The recounting was enough. As was the sense of celebrity that came with it.

  “I closed my eyes and pulled in a deep breath. I knew I was about to die.”

  The only thing that would have perfected the moment was if Argyle had been there to share it with him. Indeed, he had been rather surprised that his best friend hadn’t warranted an invitation, given the apparent importance of the event. Perhaps Tristan had simply forgotten to tell him.

  However, it had to be said that, for the first time since Simon had gotten to Guilder, he felt as though he didn’t really need the support of Argyle standing beside him. He was on surer footing now with these guys. Had been given the stamp of approval by their leader. Truth be told, if he wasn’t mistaken, a few of them were beginning to look at him with the same kind of respect.

  Perhaps the attack in the Oratory had served a rather unexpected purpose as well. It had become Simon’s very own back-flip off the astronomy tower.

  “And that was it,” he concluded with relish. “I opened my eyes, checked myself for bullets, and looked up to see Jason standing there, covered in blood. The assassin was dead behind him.”

  The awed silence that followed the end of the story went on for so long that Simon half-thought he should had ended on some sort of cliffhanger. Then again, it wasn’t really the kind of moment you could conclude with a finale of applause.

  “Shit…” A hot-tempered shifter named Isaac was the first to break the silence. He did so in a low murmur, shaking his head all the while. “…that’s incredible, man.”

  Incredible?! Simon’s head shot up with a frown, but upon seeing the impressed looks radiating out in the little dorm, he decided he’d take it.

  “Uh…yeah,” he agreed, masking his confusion. “I guess it is.”

  Zane Remmers, a boy with advanced telekinesis, leaned forward excitedly. “So, he just apologized once for having to kill you, and then pointed a gun at your head?”

  “Yeah,” Simon said again, nodding quickly as several hushed conversations broke out all over the room. “Like it was nothing.”

  “Dude—that’s insane!”

  Remmers turned at once to Eli Winters, and began instant speculation as to the make and model of the gun. Next up was a debate as to how a firearm could have been smuggled through the school’s security system in the first place. For his part, Simon was just impressed that he was starting to remember all of their names.

  Tristan was the only one who had yet to move since the story finished. He completely ignored the speculation buzzing around behind him, and kept his eyes fixed on Simon. When Simon finally met his gaze, his forehead tightened with a little frown.

  “And you have no idea who he was?” he asked quietly. “You had never seen him before?”

  With the same kind of instinct that had tempered his voice and guided him through his story, Simon somehow knew that this was the only conversation that mattered. The others were background, secondary support. What he discussed with Tristan, that was the lead.

  “No,” he answered just as softly, “I never saw him before. He didn’t tell me his name or anything like that. He just said that he was there for me and Jacob.”

  The frown deepened as Tristan shook his head.

  “The Decker kid? I don’t get it. He just got here. He doesn’t even know where the cafeteria is. How the hell would he have gotten on anybody’s hit-list?”

  Simon held his tongue. He had neglected a very important part of the story, both with this group here and with Jason just a while before. Why he and Jacob had been targeted by the assassin had been made perfectly clear.

  They were special.

  Yes, it was a rather subjective and ironic word. In a school of the gifted, how is one to determine who happens to be more gifted than any other?

  But in Simon’s mind, it was rather clear. His warlock was one of a kind. How anyone on the outside could have found out about it in enough detail to feel threatened, he would probably never know. But he understood the fear, because he understood the remarkable weight of the ability that had been bestowed upon him.

  In other words, if he was on the outside targeting kids with extra-special tatùs, he would have put himself at top of the list as well.

  Which left Jacob.

  Although Jacob’s tatù wasn’t as flashy, in a lot of ways his involvement was almost as predictable as Simon’s. While humanity had developed a cheap, oversaturated thrill with the idea of predicting the future, true psychics were incredibly rare. Far from being a parlor trick, the all-seeing eye inked on Jacob’s forearm was one of a rare few to ever walk through Guilder’s halls. And not only was clairvoyance an exceptional ability, but it was a coveted one as well.

  Who didn’t want to know what was going to happen? Who wouldn’t want to have their own magic eight-ball at their beck and call? In a way, it was strange that attempted kidnappings didn’t happen more often.

  No. While Simon might not know who had put out the order on his and Jacob’s lives, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind as to why the two of them were specifically selected.

  Then again, the ‘because I’m special’ rationale wasn’t exactly one he could pull out in a school of the most special and talented teenagers in the world. Especially to someone with as self-admittedly huge an ego as Tristan’s.

  “I have no idea,” he said vaguely, leaving the question up in the air.

  Tristan stared at him for a second, before nodding thoughtfully. “Well, I’m glad you’re alright. Sorry you were almost murdered in the Oratory.”

  The forced lightness in the condolence brought a faint grin to Simon’s face. “Second time this week.”

  Tristan smiled, then flinched as he absentmindedly shifted weight on the bed.

  Second time that week, indeed.

  Despite the recent attack, Tristan had clearly suffered from Dr. Stein’s absence much more than Simon had. His arm was still hanging on by a thread, and the giant bruise from where Simon had kicked him in the jaw made it look like he was trying to grow a strangely discolored beard.

  But with a streak of empathy that Simon was just beginning to understand, it became clear that his own injuries were the last thing on his mind.

  “How’s Decker doing?” he asked in that same undertone, unheard by any of his lively counterparts. “Have you talked to h
im?”

  Simon shook his head, pulling up a chair and perching in front of him. “He was gone when I woke up, and I haven’t been able to find him since.” Tristan raised his eyebrows in alarm, but Simon shook his head again. “No, I don’t think it’s anything sinister. I think he’s…avoiding me.”

  Tristan considered this for a moment, then shrugged. “Can’t blame him for that.”

  “Why not?” Simon asked curiously. Was there some huge psychological component of this he’d simply been missing all this time?

  For the second time that night, Tristan flashed him a quick grin. “You’re not a likeable guy, Simon. If I wasn’t here, I’d be avoiding you, too.”

  Simon chuckled and the two of them tuned back in to the suddenly extra-spirited boost in the conversation spinning around them.

  “…just don’t get how something like this could have happened.”

  “Dean Robbins is going to get sacked for sure.”

  “Maybe Masters will take over for him. Finally spend more than a couple of hours at a time here on campus.”

  Even the fearless Isaac shuddered. “You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  “Hey,” Zane countered, “is there someone better you would want looking out for us?”

  “What are you saying?” Robert demanded anxiously. “That you think there are going to be more attacks on students?”

  “It’s as statistically unlikely as you getting Lily Tribel to go to the dance with you,” Arturo, a bespectacled Brainiac, answered with a practical calm. “This sort of attack has never happened before, and now that Simon has taken care of that astronomical impossibility for us, it will likely never happen again.”

  Simon held back a shudder, struck by his clinical tone. “Glad to take one for the team.”

  Tristan chuckled softly as the others rolled their eyes with identical looks of exasperation and amusement. Apparently, unless it was on a spreadsheet, the resident genius wasn’t interested.