Hex Hall (8 page)

"The people of Lower Quinton decided that Charles must have been to blame for their crops failing, and . . . wel, you can see the rest."

The man with the pitchfork darted forward and grabbed the old man by the elbow, whirling him around. The old man looked terrified, and even though I knew what was coming, I couldn't turn away. Instead I watched as three people, people who looked like they should be baking pies or sipping tea, forced the old man to the ground, and the skinny man drove the pitchfork through his neck.

I thought for sure someone would scream; that someone in the room would cry out or even faint. But it seemed like everyone was as frozen as I was. Even Archer had stopped slouching in his seat. Now he was leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, hands clenched.

The sweet grandmotherly woman knelt down next to the body and picked up the scythe, and just as I was thinking that I realy did regret that cake, the scene in front of us shimmered and vanished.

Mrs. Casnoff filed us in on what we hadn't seen. "After stabbing him, the vilagers went on to carve symbols on Mr.

Walton's body, which they hoped would ward off his 'evil' magic.

After five decades of trying to help his felow vilagers, this is how Charles Walton was repaid by humans."

And suddenly the room was ful of images and sounds. Just behind Mrs. Casnoff, a family of vampires were staked by a group of men in black suits. I could actualy hear the horrible wet sound, almost like a loud kiss, as the wooden stakes pierced their chests.

From the left I heard the sharp rattle of gunfire, and I instinctively ducked as a werewolf colapsed, riddled with silver bulets fired by an old woman in, of al things, a pink housecoat.

It was like being thrust into a horror movie, and it was
everywhere
. In the center of the room, I now saw two faeries, both with translucent gray wings, forced to their knees by three men in brown robes. As the faeries screamed, their wrists were shackled in iron that immediately seared their flesh, filing the room with a smel that was disturbingly like barbecue.

My mouth went so dry I could feel my lips sticking to my teeth. That's why I couldn't even gasp when a galows ful of hanged witches sprung up right next to me.

Instead of fading in as the other pictures had done, this one shot straight up from the ground like a jack-in-the-box. Their bodies actualy jolted and started spinning on their nooses, their faces purple, tongues protruding from swolen lips. I could hear faint screaming, but I wasn't sure if it was from my felow students or the images themselves. I wanted to cover my face, but my hands felt heavy and clammy, my heart stuck in my throat.

Something warm settled on the back of my hand. I tore my eyes away from those dangling bodies and saw that Archer had covered my hand with his. He was staring straight at the witches, and I realized they weren't just women. There were warlocks hanging too. Without realy thinking, I curled my fingers around his.

And then, just when I was sure I was going to be sick, the images vanished and the dining hal lights came on.

Mrs. Casnoff stood at the front of the room, smiling serenely, but when she spoke, her voice was cold and hard. "This is why al of you are here. This is what you al risked when you recklessly used your powers in the presence of humans. And for what?" She looked around the room. "To gain acceptance? To show off?" Her eyes fel on me for a second before she continued. "We've been persecuted unto death by humans who wil happily use our powers if it suits them. And what you just saw"--she swept her hand around, and I could almost see those hanged witches again, their eyes cloudy, their lips blue--"is just what
normal
humans have done.

This is nothing compared to what is done by those who've made it their life's work to eliminate our kind."

My heart was stil pounding, but my stomach was no longer threatening mutiny. Next to me, Archer had resumed slouching, so I guess he was feeling better too.

Mrs. Casnoff waved her hand again, and like before, images sprang up behind her, only this time they were stil pictures instead of movies from hel. "There's a group that cals themselves the Aliance," she said, sounding almost bored as she gestured to a group of bland-looking men and women in suits. I thought her tone was awfuly dismissive for a lady who worked for a council caled

"the Council," but I had to agree that "the Aliance" was pretty lame.

"The Aliance is made up of agents from several different government agencies from several different governments. Luckily, they stay so bogged down with paperwork that they're rarely an actual threat."

That picture faded as a trio of women with the brightest red hair I'd ever seen appeared. "And, of course, the Brannicks, an ancient family from Ireland who have been fighting 'monsters,' as they cal us, since the time of Saint Patrick. These are the current keepers of the flame, Aislinn Brannick, and her two daughters, Finley and Isolde. They tend to be a little more dangerous, as their ancestor was Maeve Brannick, an incredibly powerful white witch who renounced her race to join with the church. They're therefore imbued with more power than your regular human."

She waved her hand again, and the women disappeared.

"And then there is our most forceful enemy," Mrs. Casnoff continued. As she spoke, a black image formed over her head. It took me a minute to figure out that it was an eye. But not an actual eye--more like a realy stylized tattoo sketched al in black, except for the iris, which was deep gold.

"
L'Occhio di Dio
. The Eye of God," she said. I heard the room draw in a colective breath.

"What's that?" I whispered to Archer.

He turned. That sarcastic smile was hovering around his lips again, so I figured our earlier camaraderie was pretty much over. He confirmed it, saying, "You can't do a blocking spel,
and
you've never heard of L'Occhio? Man, what kind of witch are you?"

I had an incredibly nasty retort ready that involved his mother and the U.S. Navy, but before I could get it out, Mrs.

Casnoff said, "L'Occhio di Dio is the greatest threat to any Prodigium. They are a group based in Rome, and their express purpose is wiping our kind off the face of the earth. They see themselves as holy knights, while we are the evil that must be purged. Last year this group alone was responsible for the deaths of more than one thousand Prodigium."

I stared up at The Eye and felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Now I remembered why it looked so familiar. I'd seen it once in one of Mom's books. I'd been about thirteen, just idly flipping through the pages, admiring the glossy pictures of famous witches. And then I'd turned to a painting of a witch's execution in Scotland, maybe around 1600 or so. The picture was so gruesome that I hadn't been able to stop staring at it. I could stil see the witch lying on her back, strapped to a wooden plank. Her blond hair streamed to the ground, a look of sheer terror on her face. Standing over her was a dark-haired man holding a silver knife. He wasn't wearing a shirt, and just above his heart was a tattoo--a black eye with a golden iris.

"In the past we've more than held our own against these three groups, but that's when they were separate and at odds. Now we've received word that they may be forging a sort of peace. If this happens . . ." She sighed. "Wel, let's just say we can't let that happen."

The Eye faded, and Mrs. Casnoff clapped her hands together. "Now. Enough of that. You al have a very big morning tomorrow, so you are dismissed. Lights out in half an hour."

She sounded so bright and businesslike that I wondered if I had halucinated the part where she basicaly told us we were al going to die. But one look around the room and I knew that my classmates were just as shel-shocked and confused as I was.

"Wel," Archer said, slapping his hands on his thighs. "That was new."

Before I could ask what he meant, he was out of his seat and disappearing among the crowd of students.

T
hanks to his long-legged stride, I nearly had to jog to catch up with Archer.

By the time I reached him, he was halfway up the stairs.

"Cross!" I caled. I just couldn't bring myself to say "Archer"

out loud. I'd have felt like I was in an episode of
Masterpiece
Theatre
: "Archer! Let us fetch a spot of tea, old boy!"

He paused on the stairs and turned to face me. Shockingly, he wasn't smirking.

"Mercer," he replied, making me rol my eyes.

"Look, what did you mean by 'that was new'? I thought you'd seen al that before."

He came down a couple of steps. "I have," he answered when he was only two steps above me. "Three years ago, when I was fourteen. My first year here. But it was different then."

"Different how?"

He shrugged out of his blazer, roling his shoulders as if the jacket had been heavy. "They stil did the Charles Walton thing; that seems to be a favorite. And there was a werewolf getting shot, and maybe one or two faeries on fire. But there weren't as many images.

And they weren't al at once like that."

He looked down at me like he was sizing me up. "No hanged witches and warlocks either. I have to say, I'm a little impressed."

I crossed my arms over my chest and scowled. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. "Impressed by what?"

"When I saw that show three years ago, I had to run into that little bathroom over there"--he pointed to a smal door across the foyer--"and puke my guts out. What we saw tonight was a lot worse, and you don't even look pale. You're tougher than I thought."

I fought the urge to laugh. My face may have looked calm, but my bely stil felt like a mosh pit. Briefly amused by the image of my organs wearing eyeliner and ripped jeans, I gave Archer what I hoped was a look of cool nonchalance. "I just don't believe al that."

He raised an eyebrow, which made me totaly jealous. I've never been able to do that. I always just end up raising both of them and looking surprised or scared instead of sardonic.

"Don't believe al what?"

"Al that about humans wanting to kil us in lots of nasty ways."

"I think history pretty wel supports that hypothesis, Mercer.

Hel, humans have wiped out thousands of their own kind trying to get to us."

"Yeah, but that was in the past," I argued. "Back when they also thought driling a hole in your head, or draining your blood would cure you of a disease. Humans are a lot more enlightened now."

"That a fact?" He was smirking again. I wondered if his face hurt if he took too long a break from it.

"Look," I said. "My mom is human, okay? And she loves Prodigium. She'd never do a thing to hurt one. She even got a--"

"Her daughter's one."

"What?"

He heaved a sigh and tossed his jacket over one shoulder, holding it with the tip of his index finger. I thought only male models in
GQ
did that. "Your mom may be an awesome person, but do you honestly believe she'd feel al warm and fuzzy about witches if she weren't raising one?"

I wanted to answer yes. I realy did. But he had a point.

Mom may have become a monster expert for my sake, but hadn't she run from my dad the minute he'd told her what he realy was?

"You're right," Archer said, his tone softening a little.

"Humans aren't what they used to be. But al those images were real, Mercer. Humans are always going to be scared of us. They're always going to be envious of our powers, and suspicious of our motives."

"Not al of them," I said, but my voice sounded weak, and I was thinking of Felicia, hysterical and screaming, "It was her! She's a witch!"

Archer shrugged again. "Maybe not. But you've been living with one foot in each world, and you can't do that anymore. You're at Hecate now."

His words hit hard. It had never occurred to me that I was different, that most Prodigium grew up in households with two parents just like them. And some of the kids here had had hardly any interactions with humans once they'd come into their powers.

Despite the doubt that was crawling over my skin like bugs, I said,

"Yeah, but--"

"Arch!"

Elodie was standing on the landing above us, one hand on her basicaly nonexistent hip. Normaly when this kind of thing happens in movies, the girlfriend is glaring down at the other girl with bright green jealousy, but since Elodie was a goddess, and I was, wel, not, she didn't look even the littlest bit threatened. More bored, actualy.

"Be right there, El," Archer caled up to her. She executed that combination eye-rol/hair-flip/hand-wave thing that only beautiful girls irritated with their boyfriends can pul off, and walked up to the third floor. I think she put a little too much swing in her hips as she went, but, hey, matter of opinion.

"'Arch'?" I asked once she was gone, attempting the raised-eyebrow thing. As usual, it didn't work, so I probably just looked startled.

"See ya, Mercer," was al he replied. But as he turned to go, I couldn't help blurting out, "Do you think they might have a reason sometimes?"

He turned back to me. "Who?"

I glanced around, but the hal was empty.