Chosen (9781742844657) (12 page)

The murder of Peter had become an unfortunate necessity, although it would serve multiple purposes. Dead, Peter no longer had the option of abandoning Lisandro, nor of rejoining White Elm. Dead, Lisandro theorised, Peter's Fated custody of the White Elm's greatest treasure should end and the power to rekindle a spirit or crush an enemy would be his.

Well, technically speaking, he already had it – he'd taken the thing a month ago during a heated argument with the younger former councillor. But he hadn't realised that the lore surrounding it was all true. The treasure remained loyal to its last guardian, and would not yield its gifts to Lisandro unless Peter freely gave it…which he wasn't going to do. Surely, if Peter died, the power would lose its loyalty to him and would become available to Lisandro.

Scattered across the beach, looking nervous but invigorated, were fifteen men and women he'd found in bars, nightclubs and at poker tables in the past year. They were all lost, they were all empty, and they had all fallen hard for the ideas he'd fed to them like honey. They were devoted now, devoted to Lisandro and his false beliefs and many of them were probably more committed to the cause than he was.

A frigid wind cut through their hooded cloaks, and many of them shivered. Lisandro did not. He saw movement further up the beach, and one silent minute later, Jackson and Peter stepped through the wall of wards and enchantments that kept this section of rough Irish beach secret and kept the tidy cabin Lisandro was staying in totally invisible to observers. Jackson wore the same crimson robe as the others. Peter wore torn jeans and a grim expression. He was a Seer, and a good one. He had to know what this was, and what the outcome would be.

‘Peter,' Lisandro greeted him cheerily, ‘so glad you could make it.'

‘Found him in France,' Jackson said darkly, casting a resentful look at his one-time friend that told Lisandro that Peter hadn't made this easy for Jackson.

‘Just making some arrangements,' Peter said coolly. The nervousness and under confidence that had always characterised him were gone without a trace. He knew, and he was ready. Lisandro couldn't help but feel impressed.

‘My friend, I've been trying for months to come to an arrangement with you, but you've been making it very difficult, running away and hiding and whatnot.'

‘Your terms were unacceptable,' Peter said simply. ‘Had I known a year ago what you
really
wanted…we wouldn't be here now, let's just say that.'

‘You wouldn't have come,' Lisandro knew, and Peter laughed, surprising him.

‘You wouldn't be alive to come with,' he corrected. ‘I would have told him and he'd have ripped you to shreds.' He stopped laughing and gave Lisandro a level look. ‘I think one day he will.'

Lisandro understood the implication.

‘At least when that does happen, you'll be long dead,' he said with a smile. ‘Unless, of course, you do the smart thing now and just give it to me.'

Peter laughed again and tucked his gloved hands into his pockets, glancing around at the waiting hooded figures with amusement and disdain.

‘Just this once, I'm going to try the honourable thing instead of the smart thing…and say no. I think she would be proud of that.'

Jackson lost it, shoving the smaller man with unreasonable force. Peter fell onto the sand, a bubble of energy springing up around him to protect him from further attack.

‘She'll never be proud of you again,' Jackson snarled, yanking his wand from his pocket and pointing it threateningly at Peter. ‘You're nothing.'

‘Perhaps,' Peter said, slowly getting to his feet and dusting the sand from his clothes, ‘but I'd rather be the nothing she cared about than the somebody she rejected.'

Jackson lunged again but bodily rebounded from Peter's wards. The younger Scottish sorcerer quietly took his wand from the back of his jeans, and Jackson paused, unsure.

‘Let's get this over with,' Peter said to Lisandro, snapping his own wand across his knee and dropping the pieces to the gritty sand. His ward dissolved, and this time, Jackson stayed back.

‘Aw, Peter, why do you have to become all noble and strong tonight, of all nights?' Lisandro asked as he rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. ‘It makes me wish I didn't have to kill you.'

‘I suppose I'm just pumped from stealing the Elm Stone back,' Peter answered. Even those who couldn't hear him froze suddenly when they saw Lisandro's expression of shock and disbelief.

‘Where is it?' Lisandro whispered, telepathically barking at Jackson to check on the treasure's hiding place. He displaced immediately. Lisandro tightened his grip on Peter's shoulder, feeling cold fury building, and used his other hand to pull the gloves from Peter's offered hands. No rings.

‘It's no longer mine to give,' Peter said. He was not worried. He had
known
, and he had prepared. Blasted Seers. ‘Killing me won't help, but by all means, go ahead. I'm not scared of you.'

Lisandro grasped Peter's collar and strode into the cold North Sea, dragging his captive with him. Peter did not fight him, which only annoyed Lisandro more.

‘You know that all the enchantments in the world – and I know you've got nearly all of them on this place – won't keep a murder from Qasim and Renatus,' Peter commented as Lisandro forced him to his knees in the turbulent surf. ‘Congratulations on starting the chain reaction to your own undoing.'

It was true that the White Elm's scriers were the best in the world right now, and they would undoubtedly scry this Fate-altering act in days to come as the acid nature of murder burnt away all magical concealments, but Lisandro wasn't worried about that. They would never find his hideout. He forced a cold smile, feeling the earlier anger abate to be replaced with quiet calm.

‘I know,' he agreed. ‘Let them. Let them see what I am capable of.'

Jackson reappeared behind Peter.

‘It's gone. Where did you take it?' he demanded, smacking the back of Peter's head roughly. ‘You can't ruin everything like this!'

Says the one who ruined everything in the first place
. Jackson was deeply, personally invested in putting things right for Lisandro after what he'd done.

‘It's hardly ruined, Jackson,' Lisandro said calmly. ‘This is just a setback.'

‘A pretty big setback. Let me kill him.'

‘No,' Lisandro snapped. He rolled his sleeves up. ‘I said I would kill him; so I will.'

Frustrated, Jackson turned his wand on an oncoming wave and blasted it apart, showering them all in cold droplets of salty seawater. Still angry, he bore down on Peter, only refraining from attacking him because Lisandro still had a controlling hand on the Scottish sorcerer's shoulder.

‘I'm going to kill
her
for this, you understand?' he snarled. ‘I don't care if takes years. I'll find her and I'll kill her. Maybe I'll have some fun with her first – who knows what she'll be willing to do to save her own fantastic ass?'

Peter looked up over his shoulder.

‘I've already seen you try,' he said, ‘and I've already seen you fail. I've seen how you'll die; it's a pity I won't live to see it in action. Your death would be good to see play out, too,' he added to Lisandro. ‘So just, so perfect, so…poetic.'

With a firm downward thrust, Lisandro forced Peter's head underwater.

‘I've already heard this story from a greater Seer than you, so don't bother elaborating,' he said, though Peter couldn't hear. At first there was no movement, but as his lungs began to burn for oxygen, Peter's shoulders tensed and he started to push upwards. Lisandro remained strong, keeping him there to the count of twenty-five, Peter's age in years. Then he pulled his head free of the sea to watch him sputter and gasp desperately. Jackson chuckled, sick as he was, and Lisandro asked, ‘Any regrets yet?'

‘One,' Peter managed to say after a moment of deep breaths. ‘I never told her I love her.'

Lisandro thrust him back into the sea and used both hands to keep him there.

‘Wrong answer,' he muttered, and held Peter under the waves until his struggles stopped.

On the beach, Lisandro's followers were high on terror and amazement. They discreetly backed away as he passed through the middle of the little crowd. They were afraid, but drunk with possibilities. Suddenly, killing people who pissed you off was an option. Lines had been redrawn. Witnessing murder changed a person's soul and opened the soul's eye to the darkest of magic, and these people were forever changed.

‘See how the White Elm brainwashes the weak-minded,' he commented, gesturing at the body floating out to sea on the retracting tide. ‘They poisoned his heart with illusions of love, leaving him erratic and without sense. He had no idea what he was doing. He couldn't even reason or make his own decisions. They just used him to sabotage our cause.'

‘We're stronger than they know,' one man, Saul, spoke up. ‘We'll pull them down, whatever it takes.'

‘They won't poison us, or anyone else if we can help it,' a woman named Catherine agreed. The murmurs of concurrence spread through the little crowd, quickly gaining volume and passion.

‘Tear the White Elm apart!' Saul shouted.

There was a resounding cheer, and Lisandro smiled.

‘Yes, we will,' he agreed, pleased with their self-motivated hatred of the White Elm. ‘From the inside out.' He turned to Jackson, at his side, and said quietly, ‘Get a message to our friend within the council. Make it known that the ring is missing and I want it back.'

Jackson nodded once and displaced.

Lisandro wondered presently how long it would take for the White Elm to learn of Peter's death. He wished he could be a fly on the wall when they did – it would be so delightful to see their expressions. He envisioned his well-placed spy faking horror. He imagined with relish the look on Lord Gawain's face when he realised that the man he had worked with and trusted for eleven years had not only betrayed him, but had committed the murder of a colleague and a loyal follower.

Let them see what I am capable of
.

Blackness…Back-of-your-eyelids black…Utter silence, not a sound…And peace…

The next morning I was woken by a bell at 7am, and had to blink a few times blearily, taking in my surroundings, before I realised where I was.

The White Elm's Academy.

I got dressed. Angela had packed my bags. The clothes she had picked out for me to wear during my term here were presentable, neat and simple with clean lines. It was mostly stuff she'd bought for me over the last few years. She had mentioned that schooling here was almost like attending a year-long job interview, and that I should look the part, and I had reluctantly agreed. My net skirts, high-waisted belts, tights, purple tartan and platform Mary Janes had remained at home.

The morning meal was set out like dinner, but there was a lot less energy from my classmates. Most looked exhausted despite a night of sleep. I realised that the majority of students were currently adjusting to a new time zone and would probably take a few days to get used to the times.

‘How are your roommates?' one of the twins asked Hiroko and I as we finished breakfast.

‘Sterling and Xanthe. They're both very nice,' Hiroko answered diplomatically. ‘How are yours?'

‘We only have one,' the same twin said. ‘Marcy. She's nice.'

‘Kendra,' the other said, yawning, and lightly nudged her sister and nodded discreetly towards the buffet table as we passed on our way out. Kendra snuck a glance. I did the same, out of curiosity. A tall guy with spiked-up jet-black hair and the sort of warm, even tan you get from living a lifetime in the sun was filling his plate with bacon rashers, all the while admiring the twins.

‘Yeah, I guess he's alright,' Kendra murmured, linking arms with her sister and steering her away.

‘He's really cute,' Sophia murmured enviously as we stepped into the reception hall. ‘It'll be you he's checking out, of course, now that I've said that.'

Our week's lessons had been posted in the library this morning, and it'd taken me so long to decipher the strange time-tabling system that I'd only bothered to write down today's classes. Each lesson, it seemed, went for two hours, and was scheduled for whatever time of day that particular councillor preferred.

This term was going to be the best few months of my life, I realised as Hiroko and I met Sterling at our dormitory to collect our classroom equipment. We had the coolest subjects and the world's most talented teachers…and I'd already made a heap of new friends.

We reached our classroom on the next floor right on eight am. The classroom was airy, spacious and well lit with full-length windows all along the back wall, displaying a gorgeous view of the estate's well-kept grounds. A teacher's table was there with a couple of sheets of paper, a jug of water and a stack of plastic cups on it. The desks were perfectly spaced in four straight lines on the right side of the classroom, facing a free-standing chalkboard. The rest of the room was carpeted and spare; perhaps a practical area. I hoped so.