Pell shifted in Angelâs one-armed embrace. Uncontrollably, she could still feel her digits and joints twitching as if under some incurable hex. It began to strain her body. She almost wanted to wail out loud and pull on her hair. A splitting headache set into her temples, gouging out brain matter, or so it felt. A pair of familiar vermilion eyes flashed in her brain. Some undefined source of rage throbbed from her core as she was helped inside by Angel, whose timing
truly was tragic. The Supreme didnât miss this detail, either.
âItâs always,â Pell wheezed, wiping blood from her nose, still, âThis fucking crazy.â There was no slight upward pitch in her voice, no hint of sarcasm or humor. What came from her mouth was more like a wretched reaction of disgust. She unintentionally leaned into Angel, the brawn in his sternum supporting her weight as she tried to get her posture to be fully vertical. The girl scoffed, mumbled about what a joke the academy was. She threshed her head for a moment and ground her teeth as she pulled the wan lavender tresses into a bun, âI wouldnât stay here long, if I were you, Angel.â Pell couldnât lie. She couldnât foresee herself carrying on
âscholarshipâ or whatever it was, with Robichaux anymore. After what she had seen⊠What she had feltâŠ
Then, it was clear. What she had felt was not only fear, but demise itself. When Legba showed himself to her, she felt something change in the tenor of the evening. It wasnât just her seizing brain function, either. It was surely death. If she hadnât been escorted inside and regarded so carefully, she would have assumed the deceased party was herself. She supposed thatâs how she always conceived death. Sometimes she felt it in the air, and with some dormant desire, wondered, or hoped it was coming for her. Had her existence been
that lousy since coming into witchhood?
Yeah, itâd been a fucking train wreck. Every minor depressing detail since had been a drop in the bucket.
With enough scattered whispers in the academy, Pell didnât need to inquire about who died. Clearly Madison had finally bitten her god damn bullet. In Pellâs state, she showed no sympathy. Sheâd grown tired of dealing with the bitch, anyway. She was rotten. Why make with the crocodile tears? Karma had taken its toll and Madison was not going to be skipped en route. One less silver-spoon fed bitch for Pell to defend the world against. Whoever or
whatever had taken her could even reap a queue of high fives from Pell at this rate.
Wasnât that the thing about someone dying? Everyone would mob the scene and be immersed in some spontaneous mutual sadness. Even if the deceased was a total dirt bag. Pell never followed that pattern. It was rare to even see her cry to begin with. What was it about death that made people bond? What was it that made them
want to pretend?The train of thought flickered and spasmed out of survival before she could process it further. Suddenly, the hall and the lounge was milled with all the inhabitants, guests, and staff of Robichaux. Jacqueline was driven solely by Kyle, down the stairs. In spite of his uneven gait, he took the utmost care in being steady and balanced. He appeared focused in his purpose. The other Laveau girl flinched uncomfortably, a quiver on her full lips. From the look in her cousinâs eyes and the smears of carmine all about her, Pell knew that she was
who discovered Madison.
Grisly. Someone had slaughtered the bitch. Pell cocked an unnaturally grim smile but washed it out with a disinterested expression whenever someone looked her way.
Hale shouted, terribly baritone for a man of his⊠Well, being. It shocked Pell. Greyson had rushed onto the scene, presumably from the murder discovery group. When she came into view, her wavy shocks of dark hair dancing above her equally dark eyes, Pell swallowed hard. There was some delusion there, now. More so than there was love or common understanding. Still sweet, Greysonâs elfin hands reached to cup the structure of Pellâs face. They were so warm, and the scent that came off of her skin was as glacĂ© as ever. Pell always liked to think it was because she romanticized Greyson so much, not that she actually smelt like honey 24/7. As much as she wanted to linger there, she refrained. In one jerking motion, she withdrew from Greysonâs touch and disregarded her small verbalization. âI know,â Pell glanced away from her.
With her usual demeanor, Greyson took the hint. She turned to her closest companion, her cigarettes. In a luke warm fashion she plopped on the couch as Hale stood at the head of the crowd and made a surprisingly accusing speech. One of which Rowe and Pell were tied into. Beloved Mr. B, goofy and sympathetic, was by no means gentle as he towed her to the center of chaos, alongside Rowe. To no surprise, Rowe still had his usual snippy attitude, with no trace of guilt, not even in the dark circles below his eyes. Pell wasnât a snitch, either. Sheâd deal with him on her own time.
But the thought of Council - she - she could
actually be prosecuted in grave fashion for interacting with Legba. That broke a handful of house rules, not to mention marred the notion that Pell was
not an informant for Marie Laveau. She could be in deep shit. They could burn her for this. Pell tried to maintain her composure, stone faced as she followed Hale and Rowe to the green house. When the men with milky skin and black suits came, she refused to enter the green house. If Myrtleâs entourage was at her heels, someone was going to pay the price.
âKyle!â Pell screamed, uncertain of what to do. âTry to tell them! Tell them that Iâd never summon him! Tell them!â He was out of sight, but she could only imagine the look of bewilderment and helplessness on his poor face. He was perhaps now, the only one, who knew her confessed fears. And fate so had it that he was the only one who could not convey these things to Council. A pale arm scooped under Pellâs and pulled her behind the closed door of the green house. Wishing subconsciously for an end now seemed so ridiculous. It wasn't like Pell wanted to be burned alive.
So, she acted. Tall potted plants at either exits burst into flame. The house filled with uncontrollable heat. It might have been panic, it might have been stupidity. With a hollow glance toward the main supporting beam in the green house, Pell stated, "I'm not going anywhere with you." She stepped in contrary motion to her proclamation, though. Toward Council, toward Rowe. Her unapologetic gaze set into the frames of Myrtle Snow's glasses. "Neither are you," she murmured as she gripped Rowe's wrist and made a break for the nearest exit. A severe
'crack' was heard as the center strut of the indoor garden began to collapse. "They're going to try to fucking burn us, Rowe!" She whined as she ran through the Robichaux garden, which started to look like a maze.
There was a ripple in the universe, small confirmation that, indeed, another seal was formed. Pell had to know there was no such thing as escaping Council, much less, the Supreme. They wouldn't be able to leave the grounds. Would Fiona try to weasel the students out of trouble as a sheer contradiction of what Myrtle Snow wanted?
The commotion brought the curiosities of the academy, the Supreme, and the headmistress onto the porch. A raging fire, set by Pell, was put out like it was nothing. The green house was resurrected, and from its dying flames came Myrtle Snow, Cecily, and Fleming. They were unfazed. "Fuck," Pell backed away instinctively, fingers still grasping at Rowe. They were somehow less menacing than Legba but, all together, frightening nonetheless.
"Well done, Miss Laveau," Myrtle crooned, a sardonic smile on her coral colored lips, "And Rowe McDermott. Truly, you are a sight to see when your malignancy is at work. We didn't think you would be a repeat offender, but sometimes, even Council is wrong. It's heartwarming, to see you two holding onto each other now, really. But we've got a mess to sort out and punishments to be divvied, surely you didn't think this would be overlooked." Her gloved hands came together, "Nothing to say? Well, that's alright. We've seen everything firsthand, anyway."