The Villain Keeper (16 page)

She pulled a sheet of pink paper from her desk drawer and scribbled on it. “I gave Derek detention,” she said. “But I'm willing to let you go with a note home this time.” She held the note out. “Return it signed.” When he didn't reach for the paper, she waved it back and forth.

With a careful nod, he took the note and tucked it in his coat pocket with his compass. What was she? Of course, he couldn't ask her. That question might offend a normal old
person, let alone whatever she was. “Is that what you do here?” he said instead. “Hand out punishments?”

She reopened the desk drawer. He saw it was filled with rows of colored pens, neat stacks of the pink punishment sheets, and other neat stacks of different colored paper. With precise movements, she put the pen away. “That's the vice principal's job,” she said. “Discipline.”

“For students and teachers?”

“Well, no, vice principals don't discipline teachers.”

“But you can choose to be something that can punish them?”

She looked at him sharply. “That,” she said, “is none of your concern. You need to worry about learning to read and passing your classes. I don't like it when students don't pass. It makes me hungry.”

“Hungry?” Caden asked.

“Did I say hungry, dear? I meant
angry
.”

She shook her head like she was tired of explaining things and moved her gaze to the door behind him. When he didn't leave, she cleared her throat and pointed to it.

Caden held his ground. He needed her favor and he needed information. Walking out would get him neither.

From the large window, cold sunshine broke into the room. On the office shelves the bowls of stones shimmered and the plastic jewelry glittered.

Before Ms. Primrose could tell him to go, Caden motioned to the shelves. “Your collections are—” It was
imperative to use the right word. Adjectives danced—“tacky,” “odd,” “cheap,” “shiny”—but none were good enough. He had to be sincere. Any creature that could intimidate Rath Dunn deserved that respect. “Clean,” he said.

Though she seemed to fight it, she puffed up a little. “Few people appreciate such things. Oh, they say this and that, but they never mean it.” She ran her fingers through the bowl near the desk corner. “I spend hours polishing my treasures.”

He glanced at the shelves, at the cheap trinkets glittering in the sun, and didn't understand. Nonetheless he noted her pride. She liked to collect things. There were certain powerful beings that did, and if she was who Rath Dunn feared, he had no doubts she was powerful. Also, it didn't matter if he understood why she collected what she did. He wasn't trying to exploit her connection to the trinkets. He was trying to exploit her connection to their care.

“I've wiped down unlucky locker twelve-four twice today,” he said. “The other students keep smearing fingerprints across the door.”

“Few understand the importance of spotlessness,” she said.

Common ground established, he flashed his most charming smile. “Or honor. I believe your teachers are behaving badly.”

For a brief moment, she peered at him like she would
agree with whatever he said. Then she turned her lips down and became pensive. “It's quite something, dear, that gift of yours.” Then her words turned hushed and musical, “But you'd be better if you practiced more.”

It took him a moment to understand what she said. He rubbed at an ache in his temple. When her meaning became clear, her comment still seemed strange. He tried to answer in the same way. The effort made his tongue feel clumsy, but he spoke the lyrical language. “I don't understand,” he said.

“It seems to me you do,” she said. All the musical qualities of her speech were replaced with the soothing drawl of the Ashevillian tongue. “And don't play dumb. It's ill-mannered.” She shook her head and sighed. “Your gift of speech, dear.”

“You know about that?” he said.

“Yes, and I'm impressed.” She looked at him, gaze unwavering and unamused.

It felt as if she was testing him again, like she had with the computer that first day. It also seemed he'd done better this time. Caden tried to untangle his sore tongue and considered those things. The dull ache in his temple faded. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak again. “Well,” he said, unsure of what had just happened. He set it in the corner of his mind. He'd think more on it. “I'm good with words,” he said for now.

“I know. And you've been trying to charm me since
you walked in the door, don't deny it.” She waggled her finger at him. “I wasn't born yesterday.”

There was no doubt she was old. And, yes, he did want her favor, however— “What does that have to do with my gift of speech?” She didn't answer, and an uncomfortable feeling settled through his bones, like maybe he did know what she meant but had never truly admitted it. “My gift of speech lets me speak all languages.” Even English and Spanish. “That's all.”

She fixed him with a serious gaze.

“Oh there's much more to it than that, dear,” she said. “Haven't you figured that out?”

Truth be told, Caden had figured it out. Gifts were layered. His sixth-born brother, Chadwin, had been gifted with agility. He was nimble of body but also of mind. Among all his brothers, Chadwin had been the best at strategy, the best at understanding the pieces before everyone else. Caden's gift also was layered. His skills with languages were only part of it. He was also good at talking people into things. It was a talent of conmen and charlatans.

Caden felt shame creep up his cheeks. “My father doesn't like it,” he said softly.

“Then he's a fool; such a gift is a jewel, charm and tongues,” she said, and waved him off. “Now back to class chop-chop.”

Caden missed his father; he believed in him. His father's opinions were never foolish. He, for one, would never
employ a tyrant of the realm as a math teacher. Caden felt his patience crack. “My father's a great man.” The wound on his arm stung, held together only by the veterinarian's stitching. His tongue and head still ached, but he tried to speak respectfully. “Unlike Rath Dunn. I want to report him. He's my enemy. I believe he's stolen Jane Chan.”

She pursed her lips like she tasted something sour. “What proof is there of that?” she said. “That doesn't sound like him.”

Caden pulled off his jacket and pointed to his wounded arm, which was freshly bleeding now that the stitches had been ripped out again. “He cut me with his blood dagger.”

She squinted at his arm. “Oh pish. That's tiny.”

Whatever creature Ms. Primrose was, she was frustrating. He pulled back on his coat. “Are teachers allowed to steal and cut students?”

From her expression, he knew she wasn't giving in so easily. “What would this heroic father of yours think if he heard you whining about minor injuries?” she said.

He met her gaze. “My father doesn't like it when I bleed.”

“Well,” she said, “don't drip anything on the floor on your way back to class.”

He could tell he was beginning to annoy her. At the moment, though, she seemed more like an irritated old lady than a dangerous other, and he needed to understand. If Rath Dunn was allowed to strike down those he wanted,
he wouldn't be handing out detentions and trips to the vice principal's office. He wouldn't have lured Caden into the woods as ice dragon food. If Rath Dunn was allowed to do as he wanted, the halls would run with blood and Caden would be dead.

He stood tall. “You didn't answer my question,” he said.

Ms. Primrose straightened the bowl on her desk. She sighed long and loud like Caden was the worst of headaches. “No,” she said, “teachers aren't allowed to wound students. Not in this enlightened time.”

As he'd expected. “I demand justice.”

For a moment she stared at him. Then, like it was the most tiring of tasks, she reached under her desk and pushed a button. “Mr. Creedly?”

The wiry secretary appeared immediately. “Yes,” he said.

“Call Mr. Rathis to my office, please.”

Two minutes later, Rath Dunn arrived. He'd buttoned his red velvet jacket shut. In the sun, with the scar splitting his face, he looked almost as dangerous as he was.

Ms. Primrose took a yellow sheet from her drawer. She scribbled away with the same red pen from before. “You're not allowed to do harm to students, no exceptions. No corporal punishments and all. You know how ridiculous the city can be.”

Rath Dunn smiled. “It was just a nick,” he said.

Caden's arm stung. With Rath Dunn so close, the
wound reopened. “The veterinarian put in fifteen stitches.”

“Veterinarian? How appropriate,” Rath Dunn said. He turned to Ms. Primrose. “Is this necessary?”

Rosa had gone white when she'd seen Dr. Clara Jenkins sewing up the slash. Ms. Primrose seemed to find the wound trivial. “He leveled a complaint,” she said with a huff. “And rules are rules.”

Rath Dunn met Caden's gaze. “His father was always a bit of a whiner, too,” he said.

The statement was so absurd Caden ignored it. He pointed to the math tyrant. “He's involved in Jane Chan's disappearance. Certainly, the school has rules against kidnapping.”

For his part, Rath Dunn gave him an odd, appraising look. Before Caden could read much into it, Ms. Primrose stood up.

“You can quit now, dear,” she said. “I'm already writing the reprimand.” She turned to Mr. Rathis and walked to a cabinet beside the window. “This is going in your employee file. Don't harm the boy again.”

“Or my horse,” Caden said.

“Snow stallion is delicious,” Rath Dunn said.

For a moment, Caden was too shocked to react. Rath Dunn had threatened to eat Sir Horace. He swiveled to face Ms. Primrose. “I demand protection for my horse.”

“Lesser animals aren't my concern, dear.”

“Sir Horace is no lesser animal.”

Rath Dunn chuckled and licked his lips, like he was thinking of the most scrumptious of foods. “See you in class, son of Axel.” He patted Caden on the shoulder and walked out.

Caden watched after him and turned back to Ms. Primrose. “That's it?” he said.

“Child, I've done as you asked. The write-up goes in his employee file,” she said. “Permanently.”

Caden felt his cheeks heat, his blood rush. “He took Jane Chan.”

“Nonsense,” she said, and sat back behind her desk.

He was taken aback by her denial. Rath Dunn was a villain. He'd threatened to eat Sir Horace in front of her. She'd seen Caden's bloodied arm. Caden placed his palms on her desk. “He's a tyrant. He let loose ice dragons on the mountain. Innocent Ashevillians could have perished.”

Ms. Primrose fixed him with a chilling stare. “Dragons?” she said, and arched a brow.

Caden leaned forward. “I'm talking about magic, ice-breathing, mindless dragons.” He paused on the word “dragon,” giving it weight. “We were almost killed.”

Even before he finished speaking, he knew something was wrong. He felt the office grow cold. The window iced from the inside and blocked the breaking sun. Ms. Primrose's expression shifted from impatient but charmed old lady into something much older and more dangerous.

She peered at him, the faded blue of her eyes unnatural
looking, the pupil too small for the dim light. She sat statue still. Caden waited; he listened to his loud breaths as he inhaled and exhaled.

“It's time you leave, dear,” she said, as cold and sharp as the ice outside.

Caden walked back down the long hall and listened to the echoing of his steps. The air tasted stale and damp. For the moment, he was alone in the hall. His father and brothers were a realm away. Whatever powerful beings and terrible forces had brought him here, his family was a realm away. He felt the unsettling and familiar feeling of being lost.

When he was seven turns, Caden's cat had bounded into the dark catacombs of the Winter Castle. After waiting for her to return for long hours, Caden made his way to his father's strategy room. Nine Elite Guards and three of Caden's brothers—Jasan, the seventh-born; Chadwin, the sixth-born; and Maden, the second-born—were crowded into the small ornate room. He slinked around Paladin after Paladin until he found the Winterbird-embroidered, dusk-colored coat of his father, the king.

His father turned and frowned down at him. “You're supposed to be asleep.”

“Windy is missing,” Caden said.

His father didn't seem to recognize the name and looked to Jasan for clarification.

Jasan's hair and eyes shone gold in the low light. His
frown mirrored their father's frown. “His wind cat, father.”

Caden nodded. “I came to notify the guard.”

His second-oldest brother, Maden, chuckled. Gifted in strength and the size of a small frost giant, he had a gentle broad face and hair the color of straw. “Caden's pets often require assistance,” he said. “They are a troublesome group.”

Chadwin reached down and touched Caden's shoulder. He had the same kind eyes as the portraits of the late queen and hair so light it could pass for white. “Wind cats can take care of themselves. She'll be all right.”

One of the Elite Guards whispered above Caden and into the king's ears. “The gnomes are refusing to attend the council. The people of Crimsen may also back out.” The king's face became graver; his shoulders seemed to become heavier. He looked back down at Caden like an afterthought. “Your brothers and I have business. Go to bed. You can search in the morning.”

He said it in a low, firm voice, and there was no mistaking the order. The discussion was over; the king's commands must be followed. Even at seven, Caden believed that. He lived that.

He stayed in bed until the late night bell tolled that signified the end of one day and the beginning of the next. With morning official, Caden went to the catacomb entrance.