Elemental Havoc (Paranormal Public Book 11) (18 page)

I was left standing in the garden next to a metal table covered in food.

Not wanting to waste it, I sat down to eat.

It wasn’t until afternoon that Lisabelle came to find me. I had spent the morning writing down as many class notes as I could remember, surprising myself with how many I managed. Eighellie would probably have been shocked. Since finals were fast approaching and I didn’t have any study materials with me, pushing myself to remember what I could was the next best thing.

“Can you help me with something?” Given that in no conceivable scenario did I turn down the darkness premier, I nodded.

It was with me “helping” Lisabelle that Sip found us later. Bartholem was keeping us company, curled up as near to the fire as he could possibly be without singeing his fur.

“What are you two doing?” Sip said as she strode in. She wore white robes with gold trim, which she explained she was trying out as president, a sort of uniform, while Lisabelle coughed to the sound of, “Ridiculous.”

“I’m trying to help Lisabelle pick a job title,” I told her.

Sip stopped dead in her tracks and cocked her head to the side as if she was listening intently. “I was tired and hungry from a long day, but this sounds rather rejuvenating.”

Lisabelle looked up, her face perfectly serious. “You aren’t the only one who can become more serious about her work.”

“I’m the only one who can become more serious about her work and mean it. Want help?”

“Aren’t you busy?” The darkness premier put her arm over the piece of paper she had been preparing to show me. Evidently she was more comfortable having me see her possible new titles than with Sip seeing them, and we all knew it. Sip, sensing an opportunity to look hurt, took it. She struck out her lower lip and made her eyes look all sad and droopy. Lisabelle sensed danger and instantly tensed.

“You don’t want my help?” Sip pouted.

Lisabelle shook her head. “I don’t need it. Ricky’s going to help me. You don’t want him to keep feeling like we don’t trust him, do you?”

The game started, Sip playing along. “It’s not really about trust. Ricky knows that we trust him, just like we trust any number of other paranormals whom we don’t tell about every single little thing we’re dealing with.”

I knew I had to keep my mouth shut, even though what she was saying made it hard. Sip was saying words, but they weren’t really true. I wasn’t just any other paranormal, and if that’s what she really thought, then we had much bigger problems than just Lisabelle’s possible job titles.

“But I asked Ricky. You were busy doing your presidential thing,” said Lisabelle. “All of us young paranormals running the world are making the old guard nervous, and I thought it would help if there was something other than ‘darkness’ that people could use to refer to me.”

Sip scrunched up her face, annoyed. “That was a low blow, Lisabelle. I am perfectly well aware that the old guard isn’t happy that I’m president, you’re premier, Lanca’s a queen, and Dobrov’s running Public.” She paused. “Plus, Charlotte’s a queen too.”

“Queens aren’t the problem,” said Lisabelle. “You can’t argue with lineage.” Sip didn’t like that argument either. The older paranormals minded that Lanca ruled the blood throne just as much as, if not more than, they minded that Sip was president of the paranormals. When she had offered to hand over her job to one of them, though, they had all refused, as she had known they would. It was the most difficult position in the world, and many strongly suspected that the only way Sip managed it was due to her friendship with a certain darkness mage.

“Everyone thinks I’m in power only because of you anyway,” Sip said, her lower lip trembling. Unfortunately, the conversation had now turned serious, and I had a feeling that Sip and Lisabelle had had this argument many times before and always to no avail.

“I’m going to help,” Sip declared, just as if Lisabelle had never told her she couldn’t. She tried to lift her robes up to sit down, but they were too long to allow her to do it gracefully, and she ended up nearly tripping on the dragging ends and toppling over. I jumped up quickly to catch her, and she murmured her thanks as she tried desperately to maintain her dignity. Lisabelle hid a grin in the crook of her arm.

“Shouldn’t the president of the paranormals have seamstresses?” Lisabelle asked.

“I do,” said Sip. “They said they’ve taken it in as much as they can without ruining the integrity of the garment, or some such thing.”

“So, you’re too short for even the seamstresses to save you?” Lisabelle stared hard at her paper while Sip considered whether or not to hit her.

“You could try,” Lisabelle drawled, looking more and more amused, “but your sleeves are too short too.”

I couldn’t help it, I snickered, but only a little.

Sip gave me a purple-eyed death stare usually reserved for the likes of Lisabelle. “Don’t you start too,” she cautioned. I nodded, but it was hard to keep a straight face.

Now that Sip had come back I had a million questions, but it never seemed to be the right time to ask them. Sip and Lisabelle used verbal sparing to fill up all the airspace, and since I was only too happy not to be at Public for a while, I didn’t want to be push my luck by annoying them.

Sip was always more cunning than I expected her to be. Lisabelle was so busy trying not to laugh that she had forgotten about the piece of paper sitting in front of her. In one swift movement Sip reached over and snagged it away. Lisabelle tried desperately to grab it back, but failed.

Sip’s face glowed with triumph. “I guess my sleeves aren’t too big now, are they?” she asked, holding the paper away from her friend. “To be fair, I’m going to help you pick a name before I look at the piece of paper. Otherwise I’ll have your ideas in my head and they might crowd out my own.”

“Would that really be so bad?” Lisabelle asked.

“It would be a first, anyway,” said Sip, placing the sheet of paper face down in front of her.

“Alright, if you’re so smart, what do you think my job title should be?”

“Umm,” Sip tapped her lip, pretending to think. “Master of All Destruction?”

Lisabelle rolled her eyes. “Too obvious.”

“Ask Someone Else,” said Sip.

“She needs that on a t-shirt, not as a job title,” I said.

“It can never be said in too many places,” Sip argued.

“Murder and Mayhem Central Office?” I offered.

“Whose side are you on?” Lisabelle said.

“The paranormals’,” I grinned.

“President and CEO of Darkness and Murder United?” Sip said.

“CEO is too corporate,” said Lisabelle. She was starting to look forlorn, while Sip was trying hard not to look amused but only sort of succeeding. “I prefer to think of myself as a grassroots organization.”

“Darkness Unfurling,” said Sip.

“Already on there,” said Lisabelle darkly.

“Oh, sorry,” said Sip. “Let’s see here.” She turned the piece of paper over before Lisabelle could object, and her purple eyes scanned down the page while Lisabelle watched her friend’s face closely.

“There are some good ones on here,” said Sip equably.

“You really think so? I don’t want to embarrass myself,” said Lisabelle, sounding hopeful. “Not like you in the robe.”

Sip gave a gusty sigh. “Is the robe really that bad?” She looked between me and Lisabelle and I gulped.

“Tell the truth,” she barked.

“It isn’t the greatest,” I said carefully.

“Oh, please,” Lisabelle said, rolling her eyes. “It’s awful. She might as well be swathed in an old carpet.”

“It’s white and gold,” Sip said, plucking at one of her sleeves.

“Now see here,” said Lisabelle. “You don’t need some stupid, silly robe for everyone to know you’re powerful. You’re just powerful!”

“But I do,” said Sip, clearly ready to launch into a detailed argument. But before she could say anything else, Lisabelle leaned forward and plucked her list away from Sip. The werewolf made a feeble grab, but she didn’t really try to stop her.

“I want to look classy,” Sip insisted, continuing the argument about the robe.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” said the darkness mage. “Believe me. You exude class.”

Sip perked up a little. “You really think so?”

She turned her eyes to me, waiting for confirmation.

“Why are you looking at him?” Lisabelle demanded. “Isn’t my opinion enough?”

“Um, no, you think rats are cute,” said Sip.

“They are,” said Lisabelle. “In fact they are highly underrated creatures.”

“Let’s agree to disagree,” said Sip.

Lisabelle raised her hands to take in our surroundings. “I do believe we did that a long time ago.”

“I like Master of All Destruction,” I said, bringing the conversation back to its original intent. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Both Sip and Lisabelle looked at me and smiled.

“The essence is too strong for him. He needs a ring that can withstand that kind of Power,” said Sip. “His ring broke the first time he tried to use the essence.”

“I was there. He wasn’t trying to use it,” said Lisabelle. “If he had been, I might have actually broken a sweat.”

Stunned, I tried to just sort of glide over what Lisabelle had just said. Was she saying I was that powerful? I couldn’t be sure.

“Funny, I thought it was the vampires who were killing me,” I said. “Weren’t they the ones attacking?”

“He has to return to Public,” said Lisabelle instead of answering me. “He has exams.”

I groaned. I had forgotten about finals. When you blocked out everything that was stressful in your life, then your life wasn’t stressful anymore. Finals was one of the things I had definitely been blocking out. To be fair, I had in fact been trying to spend time in Astra studying; the semester was nearing its end. But little things like attacks kept happening to distract me.

“Awe, little lamb doesn’t like homework,” said Sip. “Well, too bad!”

“Heartless,” said Lisabelle.

I shook my head. I would have needed my own personal chariot to keep up with these two, and I didn’t have my own personal chariot.

Later that night, after Lisabelle had disappeared back to her darkly enchanted kingdom, as she liked to call it, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed by eyes I saw the waves of power rushing around me. They wanted something, I just didn’t know what. Why had the elemental magic waited so long to take over my powers? It hadn’t felt like me, and yet it had. I was very confused, and what was worse, I had upset Charlotte.

Knowing I wouldn’t be able to sleep, I threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. Sip’s house was insanely nice, a fact that shouldn’t have surprised me. Sip was exacting in all things, and she had an exceptional capacity for paying attention to detail. She also couldn’t stand anything being out of place. My guest room was large, beautiful, and prefect, with a view that on a clear day stretched for many miles.

“What is it, Ricky?” Sip asked without looking up. I had crept into the room she called her sanctuary, where, as Lisabelle said, she did yet more work even when she was away from her official headquarters.

I wanted to ask about my nightmares, which hadn’t been bad since I arrived at Public, though there was still time for that to change. But at the moment I was more worried about the power that had channeled through me.

“What happens if I can’t control it?” I said. “What if, next time my essence flares up, I end up hurting someone?”

“You’ll learn to control it,” said Sip, who had barely looked up.

“How do you know?” I said.

“Because like you said, you have to,” she replied. She continued to write.

After Sip left for work the next day, I ended up alone with Lisabelle. It made me incredibly nervous to be there with her with no one else around. I knew that the darkness premier spent large stretches of time underground, and Sip had said something about her house being near the darkness hole, but I had no idea what that meant. I did know that on a daily basis Lisabelle had to manage a monumental amount of power and a lot of unruly demons, so it surprised me that she was around at all.

Along about mid-morning I was reading in Sip’s garden. It was a book that Lisabelle had suggested on the first day, when I had asked if she and Sip had adjoining houses. Lisabelle hadn’t said a word. Instead, she had picked up a book and flipped through the pages until she found the one she wanted, then showed it to me.

“Buook the Ogor?” I read, confused.

“The ugliest color ever, twenty-three years running,” she said. “If you go into my home, I’ll make you look so awful you’ll give old Buook a run for his pockmarked face. Umm k?”

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Stay at Sip’s house. Got it.”

“Ricky?” Lisabelle called out. I closed my book.

“Yeah?” I said. I couldn’t see her yet, but her voice was close. The day was warm and slightly humid. I didn’t know where we were, Sip had made it clear to me that no one was allowed to know the location of their houses, for obvious reasons. It was at least clear, from the landscape if nothing else, that the place was far away from Public.

Lisabelle brushed past the large bushes and beautiful flowers as if she didn’t appreciate them, which I guess she probably didn’t, and took a seat in one of the cushioned garden chairs across from me.

“Morning,” I said.

“Tell me about your friend.” I gave her a blank stare and she clarified, “The one who wants to talk to me.” Alarm bells started to go off in my head. Lisabelle was usually brusque, but this was a new level even for her.

“Oh, um, right, sure,” I said. I sat up straighter. “Her parents were killed by darkness mages and she’s a little angry about it. She thought you might know more than she does . . .” Lisabelle was fixing me with what my generation calls the stink eye, only her version of it promised to bury you in an unmarked grave. “I mean, of course you know more than she does. I’m just saying she wants to find out who killed her parents, and she thought she’d get somewhere more quickly if she could ask you. About that.”

“I was very busy during the paranormal war, you know,” she said. “I had to keep this elemental named Charlotte alive while pretending to want her dead while never actually hurting her, and while I was busy doing that I didn’t have a whole lot of time to keep track of all the other paranormals who were running around and, in some cases, getting killed.”

“I told her she couldn’t talk to you,” I said. “I told her that even if you knew something, it would be classified information.”

Lisabelle, who seemed to be taking the conversation seriously, smirked a little at my use of the word classified.

“Yeah, exactly,” she said.