Malice (4 page)

“But the Striga’s magic is stronger,” she interjected.

I nodded. “It is. But because their numbers were so low, The House of Albescu was able to overthrow The House of Negrescu’s leader.”

“And now the Striga are in hiding.”

“For the most part, yes. When the leader was overthrown, the Striga scattered.”

“Leo isn’t Striga,” Magnolia pointed out. “So why would Andrew say he practices dark magic?”

I sighed, wondering if I should leave this delicate conversation to Mom. I decided to try to tackle it on my own. Mom was busy and knowing Magnolia, she wanted her answer now.

“No, he isn’t Striga,” I agreed. “He’s Lamia but you must know that just because someone has Lamia blood, that doesn’t make them automatically good.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s what you choose to do with it.”

“Right. A long time ago, someone in their family decided that they wanted to use their magical skills to speak with the dead. Over the centuries, that skill trickled down and now his entire family line has a propensity toward Necromancy.”

“Propensity?” Magnolia repeated, eyeing me warily.

“It means their family’s skills tend to lean toward Necromancy.”

“So he doesn’t have a choice. It’s not
his fault
that his magic will be strongest when dealing with the dead. He can’t help it.”

I was silent for a moment because her words reminded me of Finola’s when she was speaking of Alex.
He can’t help what he is.

I forced a smile. “You’re right. It’s what he does with that magic. That’s what he has control over.”

Technically, Necromancy wasn’t automatically considered a Dark Art. Speaking with spirits was frowned upon, but not against our laws. It’s when lines were crossed and the dead were raised that the laws of nature and Lamia were broken.

As far as I knew, no one in Alex and Leo’s family had ever crossed that line.

“So, he’s good.” Magnolia’s words were so decisive. “Until he does something bad.”

“Until he does something bad,” I agreed. She made it sound so simple. And maybe it was. Maybe I’d been too closed-minded when it came to Alex.

“And Andrew should leave him alone because he’s
not
Striga,” she said firmly.

“Right,” I agreed again. Somehow, I felt as though I’d just been put into place by my six year-old sister.

“So why would Andrew say that?”

“I think,” I said carefully, “that maybe he doesn’t understand Necromancy all that well. A lot of people don’t.” Myself included, I realized. Perhaps it was an unfair way of thinking. The Necromancers were often regarded as lowlier than humans when it came to social standing. Yes, they had magic. But considering what that magic was, most believed they’d be better off without it. “It scares a lot of people. It seems wrong and immoral. A lot of people think it’s an art that shouldn’t be practiced. Ever.” Raising the dead was definitely something that shouldn’t be practiced ever, but that went without saying.

She nodded solemnly. In the silence I could imagine the little wheels of her mind spinning round and round.

“If Lamia can choose to be bad, can Striga choose to be good?” she finally asked.

I blinked at her in surprise. I had never really thought about it. Striga numbers were so low that they were rarely heard of anymore.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. The Striga are ruled by their demonic heritage. It’s literally in their blood to be…evil,” I reminded her.

For millennia, only the Lamia existed. Then several centuries ago a man named Heinrich Jaeger wanted more power. He summoned a demon. He and his followers drank the demon’s blood and a new breed of magic was born: The Striga.

“I think anyone could be good if they tried hard enough,” Magnolia replied diplomatically.

“Well, hopefully we’ll never have to come face to face with one to find out,” I answered.

Magnolia was right. The Striga’s magic, courtesy of the demonic bloodline, was more powerful. But there’s always a natural balance to things. Once the bloodline had been created, it was difficult for it to be maintained. Had the bloodline flourished, the world would be a much more evil place.

But it
hadn’t
flourished. Striga offspring were a rarity. It was nature’s way of keeping the magical balance in check. During a lecture in Magical Heritage last year, our teacher had told us that the Striga were possibly dying out. It was nature’s way of reversing a wrong. Of course, with the Striga in hiding, it was impossible to tell if they were truly dying out.

Or if they just wanted us to believe that they were. It was something I didn’t like to think about.

“I should be friends with Leo, right?” she demanded.

I took a deep breath. It took an effort to get the words to leave my mouth. Finally, they did. “Of course you should.”

“I don’t like it when people pick on him. It isn’t nice to make other people feel bad.”

I ruffled up her hair. I could relate to that. “When we were younger, probably around your age and all through grade school, Tristan got picked on too. I didn’t like it either.”

“What did you do about it?”

“I stood up for him,” I said evasively. As if having practically no magical ability wasn’t bad enough, there was a time when Tristan had been a scrawny little twerp. He’d been picked on mercilessly. I had always stood up for him. I wasn’t about to tell Magnolia how. No need to put ideas into that impressionable little head.

If she decided to use a spell to turn someone’s chocolate chip cookie into a cow pie or if she decided to magically lace their shoes together in the middle of a game of dodge ball, well, she’d have to come up with those ideas all on her own.

“How about that story?” I asked, ready for a subject change.

“Okay,” Magnolia readily agreed. She wiggled forward, snatching the book up and stuffing it into my hands. In no time, my mind was tangled up in a fanciful tale of fairies and evil gnomes, leaving thoughts of the malevolence in our own world behind.

I pulled up to the stone cottage that Tristan and his grandma lived in. He darted out the door before my car came to a stop. He didn’t have a car of his own yet. I didn’t mind stopping to pick him up since I passed his house anyway.

I watched him as he ambled down the sidewalk toward me.

Over the last year or so, I’d realized Tristan had begun to walk with his shoulders hunched inward. His posture was in a perpetual slouch. It was as if he couldn’t bear the thought of growing any taller. I had never seen a guy who seemed so uncomfortable in his own body.

A light breeze fluttered his soft curls. He scowled, as if he knew the wind was messing with his carefully and very neatly combed locks. I always imagined that Tristan hated his loose, floppy curls. They were probably the only thing in his life that he didn’t have complete control over.

I grinned at him as he let his backpack slide off his shoulder.

The boy rarely went anywhere without his ancient, khaki backpack. He wouldn’t want to be without his protractor, graphing calculator and who knows what else he had stuffed in there. He opened the door and the backpack made an appearance before he did, landing on the floor.

“Hey,” he said when he tossed himself into the passenger seat. “I have something for you.” He carefully handed me a napkin. I felt something round and crumbly inside.

“Cookies?” I guessed. Cecily was known for her baking. He nodded. “Tell your grandma thank you from me, will you?” Even though I was backing out of the driveway, I’d already managed to pull a cookie free from the makeshift napkin packaging.

“Uh, actually,” he said, “I made those.”

The first soft, spicy bite of glazed molasses cookie was already melting across my tongue. It was probably good I had a mouthful because it kept me from spouting out what I wanted to say. If Tristan was ever going to get past his social awkwardness, he should’ve probably chosen a
different
new hobby to focus on. In all fairness, I figured football, basketball and even baseball were beyond him. Perhaps running track or joining the tennis team would be more his style. Heck, maybe even golf. Just…not…baking.

On the other hand…

“Oh my gosh,” I moaned. “These are to die for.”

“Yeah?” he asked, looking pleased with himself. He watched with raised eyebrows as I stuffed a second cookie into my mouth. “I thought maybe you’d want to save them for lunch.”

I ignored his look of disapproval. He’d probably had dry multigrain toast and plain oatmeal for breakfast.

“Why would you think that?” I demanded when I was done chewing. “Don’t you know me better than that after all these years?”

He snorted out a soft laugh and patted the top of his backpack. “Yeah, I do. That’s why I packed extras. If you decide you want another one at lunch, you know where to find me.”

He was right. This time of year he’d be out on the lawn, under a hawthorn tree. A half-eaten sandwich would likely be resting in his lap.  A book would definitely be propped up in his hands.

“You are pretty predictable,” I teased.

“If you think so, then this might really throw you,” he teased back. “I don’t need a ride home tonight.”

“Is Cecily going to be in town?” I almost always drove him home, unless Cecily picked him up. I pulled my eyes off the road to glance at him. A blush was crawling slowly across his cheeks.

He shook his head. “No. Julie is going to drive me home.”

My stomach knotted up. “Julie? Julie Donovan?”
Julie Donavon who was sweet, perky and utterly human?
I asked silently.

“Uh, yeah. Julie Donovan. She called last night. Asked if I could help her with some homework. But I don’t have to,” he quickly said. “I mean, I know I’ve made a commitment to you. To be your tutor, I mean. So if you need help, I can tell her no…Even though I did already kind of tell her yes.”

I forced a laugh. “I’m pretty sure I can get by without your help for one night.” It was a lie. I really wasn’t sure about that at all. That’s how poorly I was doing in Calc. I was too embarrassed to admit it, so I didn’t. Instead, I fumbled one-handed with the last cookie, tucking it back in the napkin the way Tristan had.

I was no longer hungry. The two cookies I’d already eaten sat like crumbled cement in my stomach.

Now, I was curious.

Tristan’s fingers brushed across mine and I jerked my hand back. He didn’t seem to notice. He plucked the rumpled napkin off my thigh. The last cookie was hanging half in, half out of it. He neatly folded it up once again.

“
Soooo
,” I said, trying to tease though my heart wasn’t in it, “is this a study date? Or just plain old studying?”

He frowned as if the question hadn’t occurred to him. “Just studying,” he said tentatively.

“You sure?” I pressed.

“Pretty sure.”

The rest of the drive was filled with awkward silence. That in itself was strange. Tristan and I always had something to say to each other. We parted ways with an equally awkward goodbye.

I was frowning by the time I reached my locker. The cookies were churning and I had to admit that Tristan was probably right. I should’ve saved them for lunch. That had to be why I felt so sick to my stomach. No one should ingest that much sugar so early in the morning.

“Are you okay?” Finola asked as she sidled up beside me.

“Never better,” I mumbled.

“Oh, Sam,” Finola sighed. “When are you going to do something about this?”

“About what?” I asked.

“You know.”

I glanced at her and she made a face and pointed toward Tristan’s locker. My gaze had been locked onto it only moments before. I’d been caught staring and it wasn’t the first time.

“No, I
don’t
know.” Of course, I knew exactly what she was talking about.

“I realize that you’re kind of in denial here. But we all know how you feel about him. Why not just admit it?”

What would be the point in that? I couldn’t ask Finola, though. Because if I did, it would be as good as admitting that she was right. If I didn’t say the words out loud, I could pretend they didn’t exist.

Yup, definitely in denial.

“You know,” I began, “you’re really one to talk. Are you ever going to tell Al—”

“Sam!” she cried as she glanced around frantically.

I had kept my voice low. No one had heard. It took her a moment to ascertain that. When she leveled her gaze back on me, she wore a frown. “You want me to tell him? I thought you didn’t want me to have anything to do with him.”

I shrugged. “Maybe I’ve had a change of heart.”

“Since when?” she asked suspiciously.

“Last night. I had a little chat with Magnolia about Leo.”

“Magnolia has a crush on Leo?”

“No,” I said as I gave her shoulder a nudge. “She’s only six. But she considers him a friend. I was being unfair about…” My eyes darted around. The hallway had become a lot more crowded in the last few minutes. “
You know who
. I don’t have a right to form an opinion of him. I don’t even know him.”

She leaned away from me, as if she needed to make sure it was really me she was talking to.

“Well, thanks for that. I guess,” she muttered.

A light touch burned down my arm. I glanced over to find Tristan standing next to me. I knew he couldn’t have been there very long. He let his hand fall to the side but my skin still tingled where his finger had touched.

“You’re still picking me up tomorrow morning, right?” he asked as he slowly walked backward. The bell was going to ring any minute.

I was sure that was his way of asking if everything was still okay with us.

I nodded. “Of course.”

He gave a little wave and a smile before spinning around and disappearing into the crowd.

I glanced at Finola. The look she wore was positively smug.

~ *~*~

I slowly stacked my books back into my locker. They kept tumbling out because I wasn’t watching what I was doing. Usually, I raced out of school at the end of the day. Not today, though. Today I was taking my time.

Finola and Daphne usually rode together and they’d already left.

The hallway had cleared out. I had a clear view of Tristan half a hallway away. He was leaning against his locker, laughing at something Julie said.

She looked adorable in her ballet flats, plaid pleated skirt and pale peach sweater set. She looked out of date, out of style…and like a completely perfect match for Tristan who was in his usual khakis and button down shirt.

I glanced down at my own attire. I had on worn, faded jeans and a long sleeved gray t-shirt. I was hardly the pinnacle of fashion myself. That was Daphne’s forte and I could never compete with her so I decided to not even try.

Julie lifted her hand to his elbow in a gesture that could’ve been completely innocent.  From where I stood—admittedly from where I stood emotionally, not necessarily physically—it looked anything but innocent.

I felt my temper flare and my jealousy soar. I didn’t think before raising my hand in the air. A thin thread of magic shot from my finger. It darted through the crowd, straight to its intended target.

Julie jumped as she snatched her hand away from Tristan’s body. The fingers of her other hand began massaging the spot where the small burst of magic probably smarted.

Immediately, I was horrified with what I’d done. Magic use in school was strictly prohibited. I glanced around guiltily, hoping that no one saw. I nearly let out a sigh of relief when I affirmed no teachers were present.

Even if I’d been seen, I wasn’t too worried about the punishment. The level of magic I’d used was on par with shooting spitballs. I was embarrassed that I’d stooped to that level. Like shooting spitballs, what I’d done was childish, immature. I didn’t want to have to own up to it.

That relief quickly dissipated when I realized that while no teacher had been privy to my magical tantrum, someone else had.

Tristan’s eyes were narrowed at me. All laughter was gone and a scowl had taken its place. He treated me to a subtle, knowing shake of his head. Then his attention was back on Julie. He took her hand in his, as if inspecting it for visible signs of injury. I was offended that he thought I was capable of that. Not that I didn’t have the ability. But I was offended that he thought I’d actually hurt someone.

He began massaging her hand, rubbing away the sting for her. She gazed up at him and he gazed back down at her. He wore a sympathetic look.

It had been just a tiny zap that I had shot her way. It hardly warranted his undivided attention.

I knelt down, shoved my books inside, and then slammed my locker door shut. I took off, heading for the doors, but not before I glanced over my shoulder. To my mortification Tristan was stomping my way.

I hurried, not wanting to face him. I was embarrassed by my actions. Furthermore, I knew he’d want an explanation. Honestly, there was no logical explanation that I could give him.

As I burst out the door, the warm air enveloped me. I barely noticed it as I hurried along. My feet pounded an odd rhythm against the pavement as I speed-walked down the sidewalk.

“Sam!” Tristan called.

My feet picked up their awkward pace, half running, and half walking. I would look ridiculous if I broke into a flat-out run. But I was awfully close and other students were shooting curious glances my way.

Moments later I heard footsteps slapping the concrete behind me. I had two choices, run from Tristan and make a complete fool out of myself. Or stop, and hopefully only make a partial fool out of myself.

I didn’t have the opportunity to choose. His long legs covered the distance between us in no time.

“What is up with you?” he growled into my ear. His hand had settled against the small of my back. It coasted the short distance to my waistline, cupping neatly around me. His arm curved around my body, pulling me in slightly. I knew he was going for a bit of privacy, using his body to shield us from prying ears. “Why would you do that?” he demanded. “And don’t pretend you didn’t. I know it was you! You’re just lucky that Julie didn’t know. And that no one else was paying attention.”

I wasn’t sure how he could possibly
know
. Although I had to admit to myself, since I’d been staring right at her, and the hallway had mostly cleared, it was probably pretty obvious. I realized I should probably be trying to conjure up an argument in my favor, or at the very least, an excuse.

He stopped walking but kept his arm around me, his head lowered, as if waiting for my hushed reply. “You
know
how I feel about you using magic. Did you do that just to annoy me? Because if you did, that was really unfair. Julie’s never done anything to you.”

He continued to lecture me but I stopped paying attention somewhere around the fifth or sixth sentence.

Tristan had never had his arm around me before. His spicy, boy-scent distracted me from my current predicament. He was still holding me closely, keeping his body between me and the rest of the world. His fingers squeezed into my shoulder as his side pressed into mine. His breath fluttered my hair as he spoke to me. Never mind that his tone wasn’t entirely pleasant. His nearness made it almost easy to twist this situation around in my mind. It was almost easy to picture us walking as a couple. It would be almost easy to think he had his arm around me because he liked how it felt to have it there. It would be almost easy to stop, slide my hand up his chest as I looked into those soft, green eyes of his.