Ace of Diamonds

By Ayla Gray

The chance to travel abroad was one Areli Knight has waited for his entire life, but he is about to learn how quickly a dream can become a nightmare beyond imagining.

While away on a business trip, Arelis mother is murdered only a month before his fifteenth birthday. Alone in the world now and with very little to lose, Areli sets out on a dangerous quest to find her killers and bring them to justice. What he discovers alters not only his understanding of her murder but his understanding of reality and his place within it.

Before he knows it, he finds himself caught up in a timeless war between two supernatural factions that are threatening the worlds balance of power. Quite against his intentions, he is informed that he is now a part of this war, and his involvement goes much deeper than his mothers death. He finds himself forced into the heart of the action and required to step up and become the man he is destined to be.

Can he balance his new life in time to save his friends and familyand the worldfrom harm?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Jul 1, 2013
• ISBN: 9781452510026

Ayla Gray

Ayla Gray was born and raised in the small rural town of Red Cliffs, Victoria. When she turned eighteen, she moved to Melbourne to study writing at university.

Book preview

Ace of

Diamonds

Fair is foul and foul is fair.

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth

AYLA GRAY

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Copyright © 2013  Ayla Gray.

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The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

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Balboa Press rev. date: 04/18/2013

CONTENTS

Prologue

Of Diamonds

Part One—Death and All His Friends

Chapter One

In The Beginning

Chapter Two

Encounter

Chapter Three

Death

Chapter Four

The Loneliness Of Solitude

Chapter Five

Of Friendship

Chapter Six

The Funeral

Chapter Seven

The Dance

Chapter Eight

The Crux Of The Matter

Chapter Nine

The Explanation

Part Two—Life And All Its Valleys

Chapter Ten

Becoming Areli Knight

Chapter Eleven

One Of Them

Chapter Twelve

The Fifth Stage

Chapter Thirteen

Replay

Chapter Fourteen

Ida Knight’s Personal Effects

Chapter Fifteen

Family Secrets

Chapter Sixteen

Judgment Day

Chapter Seventeen

One For All

Chapter Eighteen

Please Tell Me You’re Listening

Part Three—A Royal Flush

Chapter Nineteen

Dog Tags

Chapter Twenty

Between Heaven And Hell

Chapter Twenty One

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Chapter Twenty Two

Bound And Gagged

Chapter Twenty Three

Atonement

Chapter Twenty Four

Instructions For Living

Chapter Twenty Five

A Series Of Circles

Epilogue

Etania Millgrove

PROLOGUE

Of Diamonds

This isn’t going to be easy.

But I want everyone to know. I want everyone who reads this to know the sacrifices I’ve made just to keep the people I love safe. I can’t record it—can’t tape it. I’m not even supposed to write it down. But I thought that maybe, writing it down would help.

It’s just made me more aware of—the magnitude of what I’ve lost. I hadn’t realised it up until now, but that’s—a lot of things. My freedom. My right to live my life the way I wanted to. My childhood. Yeah, those are some of the more defining things.

But I also lost my best friend. I lost most of my family.

So that’s why I can’t let people forget. Maybe someday it’ll all come out in the open, and someone will read this and my take on things will inspire him—or her—to become a better person. Maybe someday, when everything is said and done and this war is over, people can start to move on, forget the pain.

Or numb it.

I know from experience that pain doesn’t diminish. We just learn to live with it as best we can.

I’ve made a lot of choices this past year. I’ve done a lot of things I’m proud of. I’ve done a lot more I’m not proud of. I’ve screamed and run, like a coward, like any fifteen-year-old would, but I didn’t understand that at the time.

I was like every other teenager—I thought I could take on the world and survive. I thought the world was at my feet.

I thought I was safe.

That turned out to be my biggest downfall.

So this is how I’m gonna do it. I can’t just go back and explain it all in a few pages of writing, a few minutes of footage shot on a lousy phone camera. I’m going to go right back to the start, take everyone back to the beginning of my story.

I hope it’s an interesting one.

It’s led to a lot of questions in my life, and as I’ve learned, nine months from my sixteenth birthday, the colour of truth is always grey. There’s no pretending. There’s always more than one side to a story, and no matter how stupid it sounds, both sides are important.

I guess that seems heartless. I know a lot of people will read this and wonder how the hell anybody like me ever got so incredibly lucky—and don’t think I won the lottery, because I didn’t. I’m not talking about that kind of luck.

I’m lucky to be alive.

Hopefully, what I’m about to write will explain a little.

Hopefully, it gets into the right hands so that people can learn from my mistakes and never, ever make them again.

Hopefully, everything I’ve done, everything I’ve seen, all the things my mind conjures up in the middle of the night, in the aftermath of what’s happened, will be worth it.

PART ONE

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Death and All His Friends

CHAPTER ONE

In the Beginning

September 14, 2011

Have you found him?

The raven is perched upon a large, twisted branch outside the window; the only thing distinguishing it from the blackness of the night outside is the weak light of the moon, filtering through a heavy blanket of clouds. A storm is coming. The raven seems to know this, and it opens its large, cruelly curved beak, letting out a screech.

It’s almost time.

Samuel turns to find one of his disciples standing in the doorway. The man is clearly uncomfortable, and Samuel is amused.

Hello, Eleven.

It’s almost time for the sacrifice, Lord.

And have we found the child? It would seem Ouron here couldn’t find any trace of the child in the town that had a high concentration of Order agents.

We think… my liege… that it was a trap.

A trap, you say?

The atmosphere in the room changes. It is now charged with fear and rage, and the ever-present raven is cawing, crying out with laughter at Eleven’s misfortune. Something bad is about to happen. This man is death.

And, Eleven… what does this trap mean?

The man, Eleven, trembles. We have lost many disciples, my liege. Thirteen and Twenty One were lost—as were two of our most highly trained Nephilim agents.

No matter. But it does matter; the seething creature in the chair is obviously enraged. We’ll find this little gamebird.

There’s a blinding flash of light. The room shudders and a box sitting on the table shines in a harsh white light. The crow screeches and takes off from its perch, leaving the room and the two men behind.

All vision fades.

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That would be the first vision of many.

I woke up that night with my sheets twisted around my lower body like some kind of python halfway through eating me. At the time, I couldn’t remember what had woken me, only that I was more frightened than I’d ever been in my life.

It was exactly a month before my fifteenth birthday.

I thought it was just a nightmare. What else was I supposed to think?

So, with that thought, I untangled myself, rolled towards the window, and forced myself to shut my eyes, knowing morning was only a few short hours away, and fell back asleep.

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Hey, Rachel, I’m just gonna get this revised script up to the actors, OK? I said, heading around a table without really having to look.

OK, yeah. How do you do that?

Do what?

Avoid furniture without looking. I wish I knew how to do that. Rachel had a bad habit of running into things that seemed to jump out at her. She always had some form of a bruise on her, and more than once I’d wondered if her dad was beating her up. She said he didn’t but you never know how far people will go to hide what’s really going on inside. I would know. I’m one of those people.

I guess I’ve been working here too long, I said with a smile.

You’ve been working here five months, Areli, she said.

"Mmm, yeah, whatever. Maybe you’re just clumsy."

I resent that.

I laughed. I’ll be right back, yeah? I rubbed my temples as I headed upstairs to the dressing rooms of the studio. I needed to pass on the script to the actors before next week, as the guy who’d been helping me write it had been slacking and it was already late.

I saw one of the actresses, Madison, standing outside her booth. She looked upset. I hurried up to her.

What’s wrong?

This week’s broadcast has been axed, she said tearfully.

Axed? I demanded. But this is the episode where Olivia falls dramatically to her death from the lift of a crane! Madison didn’t seem to catch on to my fake indignation and outrage. I didn’t care much for the show but it was money.

Yeah. And we were really looking forward to this one, too, she said as she sniffled.

I’m gonna go see the boss. Here, take this—it’s the script for next week.

OK, Areli.

I headed off down the corridor, fully intending to find my senile boss and give her a piece of my mind. She made a lot of stupid decisions lately. Everyone thought it was due to the death of her grandson. Of course, to get to her I’d have to get past her idiot assistant.

I turned the corner and her assistant looked up. He was a mousy guy, with receding brown hair and beady little eyes. Thinking back on it—looking back on it, that is—he was the kind of person that had been forced to grow up too fast, and was bitter because of it. I didn’t realise it then, of course. My ancient grandmother had more fun than he did, I was willing to bet.

Areli, he sneered.

Adrian, I said pleasantly. What nasty, snide comments do you have prepared for me today?

He glared at me. What are you here for? You interns disrupt the natural order of things. Now—what is it you want?

The soap’s been axed, I said. You can’t just do that. I know a lot of you guys have never experienced love or any of that crap but they can’t just axe a show that the whole station’s involved with.

I’m afraid I had nothing to do with such endeavours.

I want to see Mrs. Harrison-! I snapped.

Afraid it can’t be done, Areli, he said with a smug smile. Mrs. Harrison is currently indisposed-

The door to the office flew open, and the station’s director stormed out in a cloud of heavy rose perfume and jingle of jewellery. I coughed but followed her; she looked more stressed than I’d ever seen her, and more than once I thought I was going to have to call an ambulance for a haemorrhage.

She turned a corner into the live feed room, and I stood at the entrance. Being only fourteen years and eleven months and only an intern, I wasn’t allowed to touch any of the equipment for safety reasons. I’m sure Adrian just didn’t want me to have the satisfaction of using a camera.

What’s going on? I asked.

Police interview, one of the other interns said. Carmen’s in there. I hope the chief’s up for this, Carmen loves tearing the police down.

He was right. Carmen Matheson was a stone-cold fox who cared about nothing other than twisting the truth. She was sitting in one of the swivelling chairs and looking seriously into the camera.

This is Carmen Matheson speaking live from N.A.K news station. Tonight police uncovered the body of a boy of about twelve to fourteen years of age. We have Chief Police Officer Sam Rafferty in to discuss the damage. Mr. Rafferty, can the police give us any information?

Chief Rafferty looked at the camera. This has been the forty third murder of a young boy in a month. The attack occurred in JayCee Park at approximately 11.45 p.m. Parents are advised that children should not be roaming the parks after nightfall.

Carmen’s eyes closed in on Chief Rafferty, and she smiled, wide and plastic and red with lipstick. She had it on her front teeth. While that is informative, Chief Rafferty, she said, sliding her French manicured hands around her coffee cup, this is information that the press has known for weeks now. People are already resorting to drastic measures to evade the darkness. What other information can you offer us that may be of use?

Chief Rafferty looked at her, eyes stone cold. She continued to smile. I am not currently at liberty to give further details of the attacks at this point in time, he said, as any further information leaked may jeopardise the investigation.

Carmen let the mug go and laid her palms flat on the table, like she was about to push up off of it and scream into his face. She held a triumphant expression, as if she held all the aces and was just playing around. Is it true, Chief Rafferty, that some of the boys had their hearts removed?

My own heart banged against my ribcage abruptly, making me lose my breath for a second. I was well aware of the facts—but I had never heard that one before. I laid a hand across my chest. The boys murdered were my age, height and weight, and bore a resemblance to me. I also realised that Carmen was aiming to sting. She had said boys. Not victims. Carmen was aiming to scare anybody watching and didn’t care who she hurt.

I am not at liberty to-

We have some very kindly informants at the hospital, she said smoothly, sitting down again, who were kind enough to tell us of the strange nature of the deaths. Such as one of the hearts, recovered from an early victim, had strange markings in certain places.

Cut the broadcast, Mrs. Harrison said.

The cameramen turned off their cameras, and Chief Rafferty’s calm facade faded. He looked livid. I wish people at the morgue would learn to shut their mouths, he snapped.

Why, Chief Rafferty, the public deserve to know-

You journalists are all vultures, he snapped. Preying on people’s fears, making them scared, exposing them to the gory details—all pathetic attempts at stirring up trouble in a town that already has an understaffed police force.

He suddenly looked towards the door and saw me.

Right about now I should probably explain why being around me has become taboo. Every boy that was murdered was about twelve to fifteen. They all had very dark hair and light eyes. I have black hair and green eyes. I’m fourteen and eleven months.

So when people see me they freak out. They think I’ll be next. I can’t say I blame them—there aren’t many boys around my age and description left in town anymore. Those that haven’t been murdered are ones that, like me, live close to town and to the school, central to where a lot of people gather and mill around to talk.

I shook my head, realising it was past my finish time. I filled in my pay slip and turned it in to Adrian, making a note of the time and date in case he saw fit to burn it. I grabbed my jacket and scarf and started out the door.

A gust of wind hit me as soon as I left the station. It should have still been reasonably warm, but instead it was getting colder and colder even sooner than I’d anticipated. I would have to buy my little sister a new coat and mittens.

A snowflake touched my nose.

The barren branches above me stirred, and a raven landed on them, opening its beak. It walked up and down the branches and cackled at me, flaring its wings. I had half a mind to throw a stone but didn’t.

I just wanted to get home.

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I was dozing off on the couch that night when Molly tugged on my sleeve, waking me up.

What’s up, Lamby? I murmured, sitting up and opening my arms so she could crawl into them like she liked to do when it was cold.

Reah?

Yeah?

You won’t go away, will you? she asked, lip quivering.

Go away? I asked. Of course not, Lamby, I’m not going anywhere.

Cause Mommy’s not here.

I know, Lamby.

You can’t go away, she reaffirmed.

I won’t, I soothed, smoothing her hair down. I won’t go anywhere. What brought this on?

She chewed her lip, then said, Rose’s big brother went away and hasn’t come back.

Rose. Molly’s best friend. Her brother had been among those killed in the first round of killings; the second or third found, I thought. I sighed. He’d been a good guy. Not a troublemaker, not a bludger, not racist or homophobic or sexist. It couldn’t have possibly happened to a better person.

I won’t do that, I said.

Why is the person making everyone go away? Molly asked.

I rubbed her shoulders, debating about how much to tell her. Finally, I said, There are bad people in the world, Molly. And sometimes they do really bad things. And there’s no reason, that’s what makes them bad.

Molly nodded. But we’re good?

Yeah. We’re good.

She smiled. OK. Come play dolls with me, Reah.

I swung her into my arms. Not before your bath.

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Where is the boy?

There’s such an air of terror in the room that for a moment I think I might drown in it. The whole scene is fuzzy around the edges, with tiny shards of black piercing the image, which is filled with a dim humming noise, as if hundreds of flies are responsible for the low quality.

We are not sure, Lord. The shape on the floor is crumpled, wearing red robes.

Not sure?

The atmosphere in the room changes. Where it had been previously calm, if not permeated with horror, it’s now dangerous and dark. The humming noise increases. The shape on the floor shudders and makes a wet noise; the man in the robe lifts his head. There’s blood on his face. He only has one eye. The other is leaking pus and I know it’s infected.

Can they see me, I wonder, and my heart bangs violently against my ribs in terror of the thought. What if they can?

Can they see me?

I am suddenly aware of another shape in the room. I wasn’t before and now I am; I feel strange at the sight of it. A dark feeling ebbs and flows from the creature as it moves; it’s like all the suffering and pain of hundreds of people have been rolled up and moulded into a living breathing thing.

I realise what I can feel from this creature is evil.

It’s hooded and has a male voice but somehow I don’t think it’s human. The real man, on the floor, twitches and I see he’s sitting within a blood red pentagram star.

Thirteen, do you know what happened to the last person who failed me? The voice makes my whole spine rigid in fear. Everything I am warns me that this creature, man, thing, whatever it is, is not to be fooled with.

I shouldn’t be here.

Y-yes Lord.

Then find the boy.

We have placed our agents… in accordance to Order operatives…

Then tell me, Thirteen. Why is it that you have returned to me the hearts of forty three dead males, and yet none of them have the Mark?

We believe… sir… that the boy, wherever he is… may not have come of age yet. That is to say… our plans are a year too early to put into motion…

The creature raises its head.

It sees me.

IT SEES ME.

The picture before me disintegrates and I feel myself jerked back.

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There was a raven outside my window when I woke up. It looked like the same one that had taunted me earlier in the day outside the broadcast station. The bare branches of the tree wavered, and the raven fled the scene without making a sound.

The phone rang shrilly, piercing through the darkness of my room. For a moment, remembering my nightmare, I was too terrified to move from the bed. It was the kind of terror that paralysed you and turned your insides to jelly, and before I lost courage, I jumped out of bed and flicked the light on.

The shadows were banished instantly, my room bathed in soft golden lights. The curtains were drifting towards me; I had left my window open slightly, letting in fresh air. I found it hard to sleep without it. I closed it, the image of the raven taking flight imprinted on my retinas. I wouldn’t ever forget that image, I thought to myself.

I hurried to the phone—it was still ringing, had been for about thirty seconds. It must have been important; I picked it up and rubbed my eyes frantically, trying to remain quiet for my little sister’s sake. Hello? I whispered, suddenly feeling very tired.

Areli, baby, is that you?

It’s me, Mom.

Thank goodness, she murmured into the phone. Listen, baby, I’m going to be home later than I thought I would.

How much later? I asked, feeling irritation rising to the surface. My mother was hardly ever home as it was, and now it sounded like she might be skipping out on my birthday once again. She did it the last two years as well.

She seemed to realise that she’d said the wrong thing. Please don’t be angry, baby. I’d be there if I could, but… company business… She was silent for a moment and I listened to her breathing. I heard it hitch just before she spoke again. Areli, baby…

How long, Mom? I demanded.

An extra week. Maybe a bit more.

I sighed, rubbing my eyes. A headache was building over my right eye, sharp and throbbing like a mean little man was sitting inside my skull and jackhammering up and down quite gleefully. Why are you calling so early?

Huh?

It’s… I looked at the clock. The numbers flashed at me. 3:47. It’s quarter to four in the morning, Mom, I complained. I have school tomorrow and soccer practice in the afternoon. I have to get up early to get Molly ready too-

I know, baby, I’m sorry.

I’m gonna go back to bed.

Wait.

The tone of her voice made me stop. I held onto the phone tighter and leaned against the wall in the hallway, watching as my dog, an Alaskan Malamute named Oreo, grunted and stretched. He rubbed his head against my hip and almost knocked me over with the force; I handed him a treat, waiting for Mom to speak. There was silence, and Oreo growled playfully when Porthos, my beagle, sniffed at the leftover treat on the floor. I’m a Star Trek fanatic. Porthos put his paws on my knees and whined; I picked him up and balanced him on my shoulder, kissing his fur.

Finally, I opened my mouth I’m still-

I love you, baby.

I was silent.

I love you, Areli. She sounded teary. And you have no idea how proud you make me every day just by being alive. You’re my little soldier. You know that, don’t you, sweetheart?

I know. I smiled softly. I love you too, Mom. And even though you’re not here that often, I guess I’m proud of you too. You still look after me and Molly really well.

How is she, baby?

She’s good. She misses you. But she’s doing really well. She got student of the week yesterday. I smiled at the thought. She’s smartest in her class.

And you, baby?

GPA of 3.9, I said. Guess I’m smart enough.

If you tried harder imagine what you could do.

I’m too lazy, Mom, you know that.

She laughed. I know. Well, honey… I have to go. They’re diverting my flight and I have to go through security. I love you, sweetheart. Forever and ever. Take care of Molly, baby, take care of each other…

Love you too, Mom. And I will. Easily.

The line disconnected.

The phone call had shaken me. My mother hardly ever told me she loved me or that she was proud of me, even though I knew both were true, and had never before told me to look after Molly. She knew I would anyway. I didn’t understand the tone of her voice—the neediness, the faint undercurrent of tears, the hitch of her breath. And that frightened me. I knew people, I knew how certain things made them react, and she wasn’t acting like my mom at all.

I sighed and rubbed a hand over my hair, then padded down the hall. Molly’s room was across from mine, and there was a star-shaped night light in the hall that was giving off a soft pink glow. Molly’s, in case she needed me during the night.

I cracked open her bedroom door a little and looked in. Even in the darkness, I could make out the covers tangled around her legs, her arm tucked over a stuffed rabbit, on her other side a tiger. Her blonde hair was splayed out across the pillow, and she was sleeping in one of my sweatshirts, which looked huge on her.

I walked in and untangled the covers, pulling them up over her. Her eyes stayed shut but when I stroked her hair she moved closer to me. She wasn’t dreaming. Couldn’t comprehend all the bad things that had been happening lately. She was like a spark of innocence in a town descending into total mayhem.

Love you, Lamby, I murmured. Then I stood up and walked out, shutting the door behind me but making sure it wasn’t latched.

I crawled back to bed. Oreo curled up on my rug and looked at me with one dark brown eye before shutting them. Porthos jumped onto my bed and nestled into my side; I felt safer, in the aftermath of my nightmare, with my huge dog sleeping beside me. Oreo wouldn’t hurt a fly but looking at him you wouldn’t know that. He’s a big dog—about a meter high from paw to the top of his head, and was bulky with muscle, weighing about 110 pounds. He was black and white, which was what earned him his name. He was only two years old. Porthos was one, and a teddy bear.

Oreo huffed and rolled onto his back, paws in the air. I smiled sleepily and turned my attention to the window, looking outside.

A large, snowy white owl looked back at me, head cocked to one side. It stared at me for a long few minutes, and I felt my eyelids grow heavy.

I drifted into sleep.

CHAPTER TWO

Encounter

September 17th, 2011

So, guys—the Tempest. Does anyone have an interpretation about Caliban’s actions towards Miranda?

Tim raised his hand.

Yes, Tim?

He wanted to bang her, Tim said proudly.

I dropped my head into my hands. Someone please shoot me, I mumbled to Adam. He snorted, turned it into a cough and nearly choked. The teacher looked over at us.

Areli?

Oh, nothing, I said airily.

What do you think?

I leaned back. I think Caliban’s attempt to rape Miranda wasn’t just about the sex, I said. I think the attempt was meant to convey to Prospero the level of hatred he felt for him and the desire he felt to hurt him, to make him feel like a casualty of war just the way Prospero had made him feel.

The teacher smiled. That’s very good.

The bell rang and everyone in the room shot to their feet.

We should throw a party at your house, Adam said as he scooped up his books. Adam looks like me—dark hair and light eyes, except his hair is dark brown, not black, and his eyes a bright blue, not green like mine. He’s about a foot taller than me, something he gleefully tells me every soccer and basketball practice we have.

Why? I asked, losing the plot completely. That happened a lot talking to Adam. He was never on the same page as anybody else. Sometimes I doubted he was even in the same library of books. It would have made sense if he’d told me he was an alien from Mars or something.

Because, man, your parents aren’t there! No holding back! Imagine the beer, the girls, the music—the girls!

I have a girlfriend.

Yeah, and she’s sleeping with everyone except you, dude!

Doesn’t bother me.

That defeats the purpose of having a girlfriend.

Besides, I said, switching topics. We can’t have a party at my house. Molly’s still there and I’m not exposing her to you pathetic jocks. And have you forgotten that there’s a killer on the loose and the cops know jack?

It won’t happen to us.

Tim, a guy in our class, snorted. Yeah, right, he sneered. He was on the football team and had no brain cells left. He was blonde and brown eyed and therefore thought that nothing would happen to him. Then again, I don’t think Tim really did much thinking at all. There couldn’t have been much grey matter upstairs, considering his grades.

What’d you say? I demanded, quick to fire up.

Just leave it, man, Adam said. He’s jealous he’s not famous.

Adam’s argument made about as much sense as Tim’s interpretation of Shakespeare’s The Tempest—it made you want to knit yourself a noose and hang yourself from the ceiling fan in the history room.

You two wimps will be the next two dead, Tim taunted me. "Especially you, little Ariel. How’s a runt like you supposed to fight off the big bad wolf?"

You’ve confused your Disney stories, I told him.

His eyebrows knit together and he looked confused. Huh?

Yeah! Areli just owned your deadbeet ass! Adam laughed.

Oh yeah? Tim stood up. You wait till you’re dead in a ditch, Adam, and we’ll see who’s laughing then. The killer probably only picks people who aren’t worth anything to society, you know, he said, sounding superior.

You’re doomed, I said dryly.

I’m worth plenty to society! Adam retorted.

Come on, Adam. We’re late for class, I said, tugging Adam along by the scruff of his neck. Tim, don’t get any more pathetic while we’re gone, yeah?

We made our way to Literature. By some miracle my best friend, who had failed English the first semester and now had to make it up in Literature (which was twice the effort, twice the difficulty and half the fun of anything else) had managed to get slotted in my block. Probably so he could copy me, but in Literature that’s pretty hard.

We sat down and the teacher, Mrs. Brighton, started handing back our essays. She raised her eyebrows when she got to me and placed it on my desk. A bright red A+ glared up at me from the paper; there were no corrections or annotations from her in the whole seven pages.

Excellent, Areli, she said. Keep this up and you’ll make the honour roll this year.

A headache pinpricked behind my eyes as parts of my essay jumped out at me as if they were bolded, words like DEMON and ANGEL and ANTICHRIST that I’d written concerning pantheism, hermeticism and the Golden Age. I shook my head and yawned.

How do you do that? Adam demanded.

It’s this thing called effort, Adam, I said, bored.

Dude, he said, you see Stacey over there? She’s a triple-A-plus-with-cherries-and-extra-brains-on-top student, and she got a C. How did you do that?

My GPA is 3.9, I said.

Her GPA is 4.0, he replied. I love how you’re so smart, Areli.

What do you want? I stifled another yawn; there was blackness gathering at the edges of my eyes.

I forgot my lunch money again.

I opened my mouth to reply, but Mrs. Brighton rapped on the board smartly. Alright, class. Though some of you performed at a mediocre level on the essay, which is worth thirty percent of your grade unless re-submitted, many of you performed at a rather… uninspiring level. Adam.

Another F, Miss, he said cheerfully. F. Fantastic… After only one word, he seemed to run out of them, and crossed his arms. Help me think of another word, he said to me desperately.

Frivolous, I responded dryly.

What Areli said, Miss, he said. My essay was FRIVOLOUS. That’s what I felt when I was writing it, too. You shouldn’t underestimate the power of the letter F.

The class giggled. Most of them were here because they, in general, were smarter than the rest of the school’s population. They knew what frivolous meant—merry or happy. Everyone in here was equally aware of how much Adam despised this class.

I also don’t underestimate the letter D, Adam, Mrs. Brighton said sternly. Do you know what starts with D?

Dog? he asked hopefully.

Detention. After school today. Meet me at my office. Alright, class…

My vision blanked out.

Dammit, Dean, where is he? We can’t afford to wait any longer. It’s a man speaking. He’s tall, has dark hair and an afternoon shadow around his solid jaw. I can’t see his eyes; he’s leaning over another man, who’s working at a computer.

I don’t know, Thatcher. I’m trying my best.

I don’t think you understand, the man, Thatcher, snaps irritably. The last month before the transformation is crucial to the development of the kid’s abilities, and we’ve already lost a week. If we don’t find him soon the Cult will get there first.

Cult? What cult?

I zapped back to reality.

John Dee was widely regarded by some to be a magician, Mrs. Brighton said, walking around the room. He was vastly experienced in most arts and considered a hermeticist. Can anybody tell me what that is?

How much of the class have I slept for? I wondered woozily.

Stacey raised her hand, but to my surprise, another one went up as well. It was a girl I’d never seen before; she was sitting alone, seemingly shy. Her hair was dark brown and fell in ringlets around her face; she had bright, acid blue eyes. I saw that her skin was like porcelain.

My belly jumped and then settled. I had to remind myself I had a girlfriend—who I wasn’t interested in anyway.

Stacey glared at the new girl. Nobody, and I mean nobody, messed with Stacey holier-than-thou, bow-before-me-and-shine-my-two-hundred-dollar-shoes Irvine. Even I didn’t do it—because I never knew, when Stacey looked at me, whether she was going to punch me or kiss me. She scared me on an entirely different level to all these murders and nightmares. I avoided her like the plague. She was tall and leggy and blonde and somehow always managed to corner me when I was switching from Literature to AP Maths. I’m not sure, thinking back, of whether she wanted to kiss me senseless, or interrogate me because I was on her intellectual level.

Yes, Millie! Mrs. Brighton smiled warmly.

A hermeticist is somebody considered to be an expert in all areas of study, Millie said softly. Including medicine, psychology, writing, reading, exploration, and magick, with a K.

I smiled. So somebody was Stacey Irvine’s match.

I’m trying my hardest, the other man, Dean, says angrily. Do you have any idea how many teenage boys there are in the world? Exactly, Thatcher.

So? We know he’s in the US. We vaguely know he’s in Wisconsin. Just try harder! He’s got a unique genetic sequence, you’ll know it as soon as you see it. The man, Thatcher, stands properly and strides around the room. We’re out of time, he murmurs, fisting his hair. We’re out of time. It’s going to be exactly the same as last time.

No it won’t, Thatcher, we’ll find him. Wait, how do you know it’s a him?

I just do. It goes in a pattern, according to old books. Boy girl alternating until they’re all found. Always in even sets. Always space evenly apart in age.

Anything else that you think you should maybe tell me about this kid?

He has a… heart condition.

I know what a hermeticist is, Stacey crowed, her hand still straight up in the air. I shook myself; I had been dozing again, and I wondered what was wrong with me. School bored me but usually not to the point where I fell asleep in class. It was probably Mom