Not a combination I’ve come to associate with the headmistress, that’s for sure.
But as much as Ani’s one-man, trial-by-fire circus act is giving me an ulcer the size of Arizona, he’s kind of right to question her.
If she doesn’t know anything, what the hell is she doing here?
“Headmistress Trello,” I finally say, “I appreciate you returning the books to me, but Ani has a point. If you don’t know anything, there’s nothing left to discuss. So if you don’t mind, I’d really like to get back to my evening.”
I mean, really. What did she expect? That she could just waltz in here after months of cold-shouldering me, wave around my stolen books, and I’d drop to the ground and kiss her feet?
I stand up from the sofa and collect her teacup and saucer, hoping she’ll take the hint and see herself out. But Trello just keeps glaring at me like I’m a petulant, ridiculous child.
“You’re wrong, Starla,” she says. “There isinfinitelymore to discuss. So much, in fact, that I’m having trouble knowing where to start.”
“How about your so-called undercover partnership with Professor Phaines?” Carly says. “The so-called agreement that went bad enough for you to murder him.”
Trello exchanges a quick glance with Casey, who nods for the older woman to continue.
“You owe them an explanation, Anna,” Casey says. “You owemean explanation too.”
Anna sighs, then gestures for me to return to my spot on the sofa.
“Starla, this is going to be very difficult for you to hear,” she says. “And I know you have little reason to trust me. But I need you to sit back down, and I need you—above all else—to listen.”
I reach out for her energy, scouring it for any signs of treachery.
Again, I find the same mixture of fear and regret, this time topped off with a deep sorrow, an old loss from which she’s never recovered.
I look into her eyes, and for a brief moment, her walls come down, revealing a sad, broken woman carrying a lifetime of pain. Of grief. I can practically feel it rolling off her body in waves, a dark, familiar ache I’ve lived with ever since my parents left this plane.
Trello lowers her gaze, and the connection between us breaks.
But I know what I felt, and that shared pain—however brief—was enough to buy her a few more minutes of my attention.
I drop back onto the couch and gesture for her to continue, settling in between Carly and Isla, knowing—deep in my bones—that I’m going to need all the support they’re able to offer.
“You parents’ death,” Trello begins, and I suck in a sharp breath, gripping Carly and Isla’s hands. “It wasn’t an accident, Starla. It was a dark mage attack.”
The shock of her statement punches me in the gut, stealing the rest of the breath from my lungs. I suck in more air, trying to force myself to breathe again, to speak, to move, but the only thing I can feel is my heart shattering. All at once, the memories rush back, slamming through my skull, tearing me apart inside and out.
“But… But the flood,” I stammer. “The water came out of nowhere, rushing into the canyon. It all happened so fast… I saw it. Dad pushed me into that cave and the water just… It swept them away. I watched that water come and steal them away from me.”
And then it came back to finish the job, flooding the cave and cutting me off from the world. If if wasn’t for Search and Rescue and a very patient, very skilled dive team, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now, enjoying the privilege of this pain.
I’d be dead, buried in a box beneath a granite headstone in Los Pinones Cemetery in Tres Búhos, Arizona.
Trello’s steely eyes soften, her mouth pulling into a deep frown. “Yes, that was the cause of death. The head injuries they sustained from the force of the floodwater.”
I nod, wiping away the familiar tears.
“But the cause of the flood itself?” Trello shakes her head, unleashing a deep sigh. “That was unnatural, Starla. It was dark magick at work. I knew it the moment it happened—I could sense it. More than that, your mother warned me it would happen that way, just as she warned me there was nothing I could do to stop it. It would be, in her words, the beginning of a prophecy eighteen years in the making. All I could do—all I continue to do, all these years later—was keep my promise to her.”
“What promise?” I whisper, the “eighteen years in the making” part ringing ominously in my head. I was eighteen when my parents died. Eighteen when that so-called prophecy began.
“To ensure that you enrolled at Arcana Academy five years later, when she predicted the next domino would fall. To provide you with access to her research, along with all the support we could offer. And most importantly, to protect you, by any means necessary and for as long as possible, from the destiny she knew would ultimately befall you.” She turns her attention to Carly, her brows drawn into a deep V. “You asked about my involvement with Professor Phaines? He’d been part of the Academy for even longer than my tenure here. I’d known him a long time, and he seemed just as bereaved by the deaths of Connor and Melissa Milan as I was. But soon after Starla’s arrival on campus, I began to suspect Phaines had some sort of knowledge of the mage attack. The things he said about Starla, the questions he asked me, the renewed interest in Melissa’s prophecies after so many years… It didn’t add up.”
“He tried to murder Stevie,” Carly reminds her. “Because he thought her blood would give him access to the Arcana objects.”
Trello nods, not bothering to deny her knowledge of the objects or the reasons behind his attack. “Phaines fled to escape prosecution for his crimes, but I knew that if I let him disappear completely, I’d lose my chance at getting the answers about the mages who attacked the Milans. So I tracked him down, and I offered him a deal: in exchange for information about the dark mage attack, I would provide information about the activities of the Arcana Brotherhood and your progress with the prophecies and the search for the sacred objects.”
