Elemental Shining (Paranormal Public Series) (19 page)

Lough was already sitting at one of the corner tables, our favorite spot. I got some cereal, not having much of an appetite, and joined him.

“Where are Sip and Lisabelle?” he demanded, his eyes filled with worry. “I assume you would have told me if something serious had happened last night, but when they didn’t come home I got worried.”

Apparently Sip and Lisabelle had filled him in on what they were intending to do, but hadn’t let him come along. This made sense; the more paranormals there were trying to sneak around campus, the harder it would be not to get caught. I already felt lucky we had gotten Sip back safely.

I told him everything that had happened, keeping my voice low. I was in the middle of telling him about the strange noise we had heard that led us to think someone had followed us when Camilla stormed up to our table.

She reeled back her arm and threw something at me. I started to duck, but it just fluttered down to cover my cereal bowl. It was a printed piece of paper. Her eyes blazed down at me as I stared up at her.

“Camilla,” said Lough, “what do you want?”

“Oh, without your mouthpiece known as Lisabelle here you suddenly learn how to speak?” she sneered, folding her arms across her chest. “And where is Lisabelle, anyway?”

“I didn’t know you cared,” I said coldly. I wasn’t in the mood for Camilla’s games. “What do you want, anyhow?”

Camilla pointed at the piece of paper she had thrown down. “That is YOUR fault,” she said, and turned on her heel and stormed off. I watched her walk away, her glossy blond hair bouncing as she flounced back to her table of pixies.

When I didn’t move, Lough plucked the piece of paper off the top of my bowl, complete with the wet milk splotch that now spread across the middle of it. Frowning, he read, “Last night at least eight pixies were murdered by demons. The demons were looking for something, which we can only presume was the elemental known as Charlotte Rollins. This despicable tragedy can be laid at her feet: the murder of eight innocent paranormals, none older than eighteen. I urge all pixies to take a stand, here and now. Stop the wretchedness perpetuated by this foolish child, who cares for no life but her own. It is in the most vile veins of disgust and disregard for paranormal life that this child is allowed to continue as a student at Public. She should be reprimanded before the governing paranormals and made to stand for her crimes. There are fathers who have lost their daughters and mothers who have lost their sons, families torn apart by this unspeakable tragedy that could so easily have been avoided by the simplest of acts. I call all paranormals to urge this child to turn herself in and stop this atrocity. We were all fine before she showed up, now there is nothing but death and misery. Luckily, there is a clear way out and the sooner it is taken the better. A petition is circulating that requires the perpetrator known as Charlotte Rollins to turn herself in immediately. I urge everyone who sees this letter to sign it. Sincerely yours, President and Proprietor of Paranormals First, Last, and Only, Michael Mould.”

“Wow,” said Lough. “If he wasn’t a pixie I would say for sure he was related to Zervos.”

He glanced at me, but I couldn’t speak. Too many emotions were colliding inside me, from horror to sadness to rage to fear. Paranormals were being murdered, young paranormals, by demons looking for something—me—and I was being blamed for it. There was now a coalition sending around petitions and demanding that I turn myself in? To the demons?

Feeling blinded and dizzy I looked around. All the other students were still going about the day as if nothing had just happened. It wasn’t their world that had collapsed. Again.

Lough could see I was panicking and said, “Is there anything I can do?” I looked at him blindly. I wanted to cry, but there were no tears. In a matter of seconds Camilla had succeeded in tearing my world apart—again. But it wasn’t even about Camilla. There were paranormals dying and no one had told me!

I stood up, my chair tipping back with the force of my motion. Lough stood with me.

“Dacer?” he asked.

I nodded blindly. He came around the table and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. Ignoring the stares of the other students and Camilla’s frigid gaze, he helped me out of the basement and through the library exit.

We walked slowly to Dacer’s. I didn’t say anything and neither did Lough. He stoutly ignored all the stares and whispers as we passed other students. He had taken the note Camilla had given me, folded it, and put it in his pocket. I had made some incoherent pointing and arguing when he made to throw it away. I wanted Dacer to see it.

The Long Building looked completely different in the light of day. There was still a sinister shadow, but I no longer felt like I was being chased by a mad demon.

“Why’s the door propped open like that?” Lough asked, frowning.

“It means Dacer is there and doing something smelly,” I said, a small smile touching my lips. Dacer loved his projects.

“Dacer is intimidating,” Lough muttered. “I mean, the man wears pants covered in daisies.”

I grinned. “I know.”

“Dacer,” I yelled the second we entered the building. I resolutely didn’t look at the room where Sip had been attacked. Lisabelle had scrubbed the blood away, but I felt sure that if I looked I would still see the red stain pooling on the floor.

“This place gives me the creeps,” said Lough, his eyes going wide as he took in the long corridor.

 “Dacer isn’t happy the Museum has been stuck here.”

“Dacer would only be happy if his Museum was in the middle of the Tate,” said Lough.

“Mr.
Loughphton,” said Dacer’s voice from the Museum. “I heard you had foot-in-mouth syndrome. Glad to know it’s alive and well.” Lough visibly paled and I grinned.

“Dacer,” I called. “Why is your voice muffled?”

The Museum was as cluttered as ever. On the floor was a large tarp, covered in paint spatters and boards.

Dacer appeared from the back room. He was dressed in a massive white smock, which entirely covered his clothing. The only thing you could see were boots that looked better suited for use in an industrial plant. They were covered entirely in metal. As he clomped toward us he pulled a mask off his face and grinned.

“What happened to your face?” Lough asked.

Dacer gave him a penetrating stare. “I’m not entirely sure if you are kidding,” said my mentor. “What happened is that I took a shower this morning.”

Some days Dacer wore a lot of makeup. Today was not one of those days. A little blush and a slanting eyeliner was a tame day for Dacer. Lough was surprised he could actually see Dacer’s real skin.

Once Dacer had removed the mask from his face, he looked at me clearly. What he read from my expression turned his own face to stone.

“What is it?” he asked, moving forward. The swish of the white body suit he wore to protect his clothing drowned out the sound of his footsteps.

I motioned for Lough to hand him the piece of paper. Dacer was all business now; not even a rude dream giver could distract him. He read the note quickly, his eyes scanning back and forth with super speed.

“I should have known,” he muttered.

Before I could stop him the note burst into flames. He watched it burn, the light casting a strange glow onto his face. I could feel the heat from the fire and was suddenly glad to be rid of the thing. If anyone could make this okay it was Dacer.

“Mould would do something like this. There’s been such an uproar lately in the senior paranormal community, although I don’t suppose you’ve heard of it.”

“I’ve heard that more paranormals are dying,” I said hotly. “It seems like someone should have explained what was going on a long time ago instead of ordering me not to use magic.”

Suddenly looking tired, Dacer sighed heavily and walked over to a stool to sit down. His legs swished back and forth and I found myself marveling at how graceful he still managed to be.

“Let me explain what’s going on, then you might be less confused.”

I folded my arms over my chest, refusing to sit. The explanation was long overdue, and this letter was almost more than I could take. Maybe my job was to stay at Public and concentrate on graduating without being murdered first, but that was hard when no one would tell me what was going on.

Dacer sighed. “You remember when Risper left?”

I nodded, a weight settling at the pit of my stomach.

“He disappeared because the Map Silver was stolen.”

“NO FREAKING WAY,” Lough cried out before he could stop himself. At Dacer’s glare the dream giver’s rosy cheeks turned bright red.

“Who pulled that off?” I asked.

“There’s only one person it could be,” said Lough, his voice filled with awe and respect.

Dacer gave a sharp nod. “The theft was eventually tracked to the famous thief known as Elam. He’s the only one who could have taken it, since no other paranormal has the expertise. The Map had been under lock and key, of course, the best system any of us could have devised. And it still failed. Now the Map is who knows where.”

“What does that have to do with the murders?” Lough asked, examining the torch Dacer had been using to melt paint. I had no idea what Dacer was trying to do today, but now wasn’t the time to ask. “Oh, and I’ve heard of Elam. Everyone has. He’s a ghost if ever there was one. Maybe literally. The stories of him are legendary too, just like those of Artle’s workshop.”

Dacer’s face clouded, but he said only, “Lough, if you touch that and break it I will knock you back into the last century.”

Lough yanked his hand back like he had just touched a hot coal. Dacer smiled a little. For the first time he reminded me a little bit of Lisabelle. “And to answer your question,” he said, “after the Map disappeared the demons became bolder, as if they knew something we didn’t, as if they had concluded that if the Map could be stolen, then they could do anything.”

“Why didn’t you have me come in and help renew the Power of Five?” I demanded, upset that an opportunity to thwart the demons had been missed.

Dacer shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. The Map is a treasure map. It leads the way to all the most important paranormal objects of every type. Its loss . . . is incalculable. The protections on it were ancient, far beyond what the Power could do. Mould blames you,” Dacer continued, seeing that I was growing impatient, “because he’s afraid that with the Map gone the paranormals are even more vulnerable, and he thinks that the best way to keep the demons from overrunning us is to give them what they want. He’s wrong, of course, as he so often is, but there’s no reasoning with him.”

“And why were the pixies killed?”

Dacer shrugged, his face filled with sadness. “The demons are getting bolder. As I said, they took the disappearance of the Map as a sign that they could take more. Malle always had a special fascination with that thing, and now she probably has it in her possession at long last.”

Dacer shuddered.

“And why wasn’t I told?”

“It doesn’t concern you,” said Dacer quietly. “You may be elemental, but you are still just a student.”

I stared at my mentor. Finally I said, “We have to go after her, then. How can we just sit here while she seeks out and destroys all our secrets?”

“We don’t KNOW that she has it,” said Dacer. “We only know Elam took it. We have no idea where Elam is now.”

“But you said we don’t know who Elam
is
,” I protested. “For all we know Mound or Malle is Elam!”

Dacer shook his head. “Maybe Mound and Malle are comparable to Elam in size, strength, quickness, and even intelligence, but there is something Elam has that neither of them possesses, and that . . . is something I greatly admire,” Dacer said with a large smile.