Twisted Sister of Mine (Overworld Chronicles) Page 11

  I nodded. "It's perfect. Why don't you get some rest and dream of large women as well?"

  "I do not require sleep, though I must admit I am curious to understand why dreaming of large women is desirable."

  It took all my effort not to laugh.

  The next morning, I awoke to an empty room and someone knocking on the door. The sheets on Shelton's bunk lay folded and unused. My back felt a little sore, but other than a ravenous hunger demanding breakfast, I felt great. I jumped up and answered the door to find a robot that looked like a shiny white trashcan on wheels with a domed lid for a head. It looked suspiciously like one I'd seen in a movie.

  "Package for Mr. Slade," the robot said in a calm tone then whistled robotic noises while handing me a large suitcase.

  "Uh, who sent this?" I asked.

  "The sender is one Bella last name unknown via overnight shipping from Atlanta, Georgia."

  I took the suitcase. "Thanks."

  "Sign, please," the robot said.

  I swirled my signature with a finger on the proffered arctablet.

  "Thank you." The robot spun and zipped down the hallway toward the exit.

  The suitcase brimmed with fresh clothes. "God bless you, Bella," I said with a grin and grabbed clean underwear.

  After a shower, I felt more than wonderful—I felt fabutastic. When I entered the room, I saw Shelton sorting through the clean clothes. "Where were you last night?" I asked.

  "None of your business, Dad," Shelton said without turning around. He gathered some clothes under an arm and settled his wide-brimmed hat atop his head. As he headed toward the door, I noticed something off about his face.

  I gripped his arm and looked. "What the hell happened to your face?" One eye was swollen almost shut, and his lip was split.

  He jerked his arm away. Strode for the door. "Fell down some stairs."

  I blurred to the door and braced my back against it. "Spit it out Shelton. What happened?"

  "Don't make me—"

  "What, curse at me? Shoot me with your fancy magic wand?" I crossed my arms. "I found out yesterday your father happens to be the Arcane head honcho. Not only that, but his last name is different from yours. Then you vanish all night and come back looking like this. I want answers, Shelton, and I want them now."

  He clenched his jaw. "There ain't much to tell."

  "Good, because I'm hungry."

  He continued to look at me. "Let's save it for later. We have a big day ahead of us."

  I shook my head. "Knowing the way my days go, I might not have another chance." An exasperated breath escaped me. "This isn't the first time you've been all weird. Remember Colombia? You said you'd help and vanished. After everything was over, I found out you'd turned tail and run home because of something from your past."

  "That was different." He shrugged. "I've made some enemies in my life. Everyone does. You, of all people, should know that."

  Boy, did I ever. "Did your past beat the crap out of you? I need your help, Shelton. You can't just vanish on me." I leaned forward and spoke in a low tone. "What the hell is going on?"

  His fists clenched, and his face screwed up in something like disgust or anger. Then he turned and hurled his clothes across the room where they fluttered to the floor in a heap. He jerked off his hat and tossed it on the table. "Fine, but this stays between you and me. Nobody else hears this, not even your girlfriend. Promise?"

  "Why—"

  "Do you promise?" he shouted, eyes full of anger.

  I nodded. "Yes."

  He dropped into a chair. Sighed. "Man, oh man, oh man." His eyes squeezed shut, and he pounded a fist on the table.

  I kept quiet, doing my best to be patient. I'd never seen him so worked up.

  Shelton took a deep breath. "I'm adopted." His hand trembled. He gripped the side of the table. "My real parents weren't exactly model citizens. The council tried to arrest them a long time ago, but they escaped and left me in my crib." His eyes met mine. A cauldron of emotions steeled his gaze. "Jarrod Sager took me in and adopted me. He and his wife had another kid, Martin, when I was about three. I, of course, had no idea. I didn't know why they treated me differently. Why Martin got everything, and I was left out." A smile broke through his façade. "He treated me like a real brother. He shared with me, he helped me through some dark times."

  "Like a best friend," I said.

  Shelton nodded and took a deep breath. "To make things worse, I was a late bloomer with magic. The Sagers took me to a healer every year to have me checked out, but it looked like I wasn't ever gonna develop skills. Martin, though, he was as talented as his dad. I, of course, had no idea at the time Sager wasn't really my dad. It wasn't until my real parents tried to reclaim me that I found out the hard truth." A haunted look clouded his eyes. "The reason Jarrod Sager adopted me was so he could draw my real parents out of hiding."

  "He used you as bait?" I said, horrified.

  "Yeah." Shelton chewed on his lower lip. "I guess he and my dad used to be best buds in college. Then my dad tried to kill him."

  "Why?"

  He shook his head. "Even I don't know the whole story. Suffice it to say Sager became obsessed with taking down my dad. He used me for that purpose, and it worked. Before my dad died, he told me the truth." Shelton's red rimmed eyes grew unfocused. "I just wish I knew for sure."

  I waited for him to finish the thought, but it didn't look like he was going to. "Knew what for sure?" I asked.

  Shelton flinched, like I'd woken him from a dream. "Whether my parents were really evil or not." He rubbed his eyes. "I know the official story, but the winner writes the history books, and I guess we know who won that battle."

  I didn't know what to say. Sager had to be absolutely heartless to use a child in such a way. I also understood the need to know. Plenty of people thought I was evil just because I was part demon spawn. "Maybe we can find the truth," I said.

  Shelton shook his head. "Let the dead rest, man." He drew in a long breath and sighed it back out. "Sager's wife didn't know about his plan. Neither did Martin. It wasn't long after that when Martin died. Sager tried to make amends with me, but I told him what he could do with apologies."

  I didn't know what to say. My emotions toward my father churned with anger, betrayal, but also a longing to have him back. To have my whole family back together, living in the house I grew up in with my little sister. I had a terrible premonition my fantasy would never come true.

  "That was when I went to Science Academy. I met Miles Chamberlain, and he turned my life around. Gave me a second chance." Shelton's face went tight. "Guess I blew that, too." He looked at me. "I went into bounty hunting and made nothing but enemies."

  "How did you get involved with Vadaemos?" I asked. "Were you somehow involved with the death of Meghan's father?"

  Shelton ran a hand down his face, eyes miserable. "I had nothing to do with her dad." He stood and picked up the clothes he'd thrown. "I'm going to clean up."

  "You're evading the question," I said.

  "Look, we can go our separate ways anytime you want." Shelton locked eyes with me. "I was a lot happier before I met you."

  I returned his challenging stare. "You're more than welcome to go your own way Shelton. I'm thankful to you for giving us a place to stay, for teaching me magic. But you're a closed book to everyone. I'm not the one to forgive you or judge you for your past. But I need to know I can trust you."

  He nodded. "Yeah. Can't blame you there." Shelton snatched clean underwear—a pair of boxers with dancing cats on it—from the suitcase. "Well, I'm going to clean up. Maybe after, we can go grab some breakfast."

  After he left for the shower, I dropped into a chair. Ran my fingers through my hair. Was it a good sign Shelton had opened up? Or should I cut and run before his history caught up to him at a critical moment? I'd learned a few things since my brutal initiation into the Overworld, but one stood out more than the others in this case.

  What I didn't know could kill me
.

  Chapter 14

  After breakfast, Shelton and I went back to Arcane University via a rocket shuttle that went back and forth between the schools. On the way over, a flying stagecoach passed us going the other way—no doubt the university's shuttle. I was only mildly disappointed it didn't have flying horses pulling it. Looking out the windows was preferable to looking at the floor since some clever engineer had used liquid glass to offer a terrifying experience for anyone with acrophobia. Looking down only reminded me of Shelton's earlier story about the possibility of rocket failure.

  A raised voice emanated from within Miles's office when we reached drew near.

  "I demand you change me to Professor Oldham's class," a familiar male voice said.

  "I'm afraid his class is full," Miles replied. "I will not have someone removed from his class simply so you can attend it."

  "You'll hear from my father on this," the other person said in a furious voice and stormed from the office. The jerk from the shuttle who'd argued with Shelton appeared from the doorway. His lips curled into a sneer when he saw us. "Well, if it isn't Harry Shelton and his pet demon spawn," William Vanderbilt spat. His sneer turned to a smirk. "That's right, Shelton. I've heard all about how your parents betrayed the council. Personally, I can't believe the Primus hasn't disowned you yet."

  "Turns out I know a little about you too, kid," Shelton said, returning the smirk. "Better practice a lot more for the tourney this year. I guess you didn't do so well last year, did you?"

  William's handsome face went livid. "Want to try me, old man? I'll show you how good I am."

  Shelton made a raspberry sound with his lips. "Out of my way, pipsqueak." He shoved past the enraged student and headed to Miles's office without a backward glance.

  William clenched a fist around his wand and aimed it at Shelton's back. I gripped his wrist and gave it a little squeeze. He squealed and dropped his wand. I picked it up and threw it far down the hall. "Fetch," I said. "If you're still standing here when I count to ten, I'm going to break your hand."

  The speed with which he departed was quite the testament to William's bravery—or lack thereof.

  "William Vanderbilt—Billy as they call him—is quite the ruddy ass," Miles said with a grimace as he handed over my schedule. "I suppose his father will use his clout to remove someone from Oldham's class so he can have a slot."

  "Are the Vanderbilts bigwigs?" I asked.

  "Council hot shots." Shelton blew out a disgusted breath.

  "Indeed," Miles said. "I had a rather interesting conversation with Dean Buckley today as well. He wanted me to revoke your admission."

  Alarm widened my eyes. "Can he do that?"

  "No, not without cause," Miles said.

  Shelton gave me a look. "So don't go giving them a reason."

  Since trouble had a way of finding me, that seemed a tall order.

  "I wouldn't overly trouble yourself, my boy," Miles said with a jovial grin. "You are a member of House Slade, and the Daemos are not without influence."

  The last people I wanted to rely on were my demonic relatives, but I said nothing about my misgivings.

  "I'm going to visit Sager," Shelton said after we left Miles. "You should go buy your books."

  After a rat's maze of hallways, we eventually emerged into a huge circular area, which appeared to be located within one of the spired towers I'd seen from the outside. The sounds of paper rustling, pens on parchment, and the thump and close of filing cabinets lent a decidedly bureaucratic feel the atmosphere. People walked about with scrolls, stacks of parchment, and books. They hurried up carpeted stairways leading higher into the tower and through the grid of corridors lined with cubicles and desks. I walked to the center of the foyer, looked up, and felt a wave of vertigo at the vast distance between the floor and the peak of the vaulted ceiling far above. The administration tower appeared slightly crooked, though it might have been the way the marble balustrade wrapped around the interior for a seemingly infinite number of floors.

  Shelton stopped a man who huffed in irritation at the interruption and asked him if he'd seen the Primus. The man told him the Primus was meeting with the Chancellor and hurried away.

  "This is gonna be fun," Shelton said, his face looking a bit paler than usual.

  I raised an eyebrow. "You okay to do this?"

  He nodded. "Yeah. It's hard to even look at the man after…well, you know. It's been years now, but still." His voice trailed off, and his eyes lost focus. He snapped his head suddenly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

  "Maybe I should come with you."

  Shelton's eyes locked onto me. "I'll talk to him alone."

  "But—"

  "Having you around is only gonna make it harder." He drew in a deep breath. "Please."

  I looked at him for a moment before responding. "You realize how important this is, right? If you insult him, he's not going to help. Be nice."

  He gave me a pained look. "Hey, I can turn on the honey when I need to." He blew out a breath. "I didn't get good at bounty hunting by being a complete jackass."

  "I'd beg to differ," I said, showing the hint of a smile. "You—"

  I didn't have time to finish the sentence before Shelton's arm shoved me back against the wall of a nearby stairwell. I suppressed the natural reflex to push back and shut my mouth. Following Shelton's gaze, I settled my eyes on a man in a top hat and old-fashioned suit. He stood next to the marble balustrade bordering the second floor where it overlooked the first. Next to him stood the man in the red polyester suit and red bowler hat. I zoomed my vision on his face. He looked a little pale, but not doughy like Bigglesworth. Still, I knew the shape shifter could make his flesh look realistic if he wanted to.

  I recognized the man in the top hat as Jeremiah Conroy. He wore a long, neatly combed goatee and his spectacles perched on a large nose.

  "Do you see Ivy?" I whispered to Shelton.

  He shook his head.

  "I need to hear what they're saying."

  Shelton gave me the crazy eye. "You need to keep hidden."

  "They know I'm here already," I said. "Remember the killer golem robot? Plus, I doubt they'll kill me in front of everyone."

  "I wouldn't put anything past old man Conroy," he grumbled.

  Before I could put my ninja skills to the test, the man I suspected was Bigglesworth tipped his bowler hat and walked away. Jeremiah twirled his cane once and headed toward the Chancellor's office. I glanced back and forth between the two men.

  "Look, I'll tail Conroy and see what he's up to," Shelton said. "You can follow Bigglesworth if you want, but you'd better be damned careful." He pulled out his arcphone. "Lemme see yours." I took out mine. We bumped phones. "Linkup."

  My phone, Nookli, lit up. "Do you authorize, Justin?"

  "Yes," I replied.

  "Link activated," Nookli said.

  An overhead map of the school appeared on the screen. Two blips indicated our respective locations. I nodded, slipped my phone into my pocket, and skulked after Bigglesworth. He took the knight hall back toward the busted wall but turned away from the two passages on either side of it, choosing a spiral staircase, and taking it down. I followed as closely as I dared, hoping he wouldn't vanish around a corner down below. After counting to five, I crept down the stairs and peeked through the first doorway into a long carpeted hall. Nobody there. I moved further down, paused at the next doorway. Still nothing. My chest tightened with apprehension. Had I lost him?

  Whistling echoed up the stone stairs. It had to be him. I walked down, down, down the staircase until cool, damp air indicated I must be underground. The stairwell ended in a solid iron door with a thick bar across it, secured by an equally thick padlock. I stopped and listened for the whistling. The last hallway had been at least fifty steps back. Had he exited the stairwell? I inspected the door, but unless there was some trick involved, I didn't see how he could bar and padlock the door behind him.

  A hoarse cry of pain echoed from far aw
ay. The sound didn't come from upstairs. It came from behind the door. I knelt, tried to peer beneath the one-inch crack between the floor and the bottom of the door. It was then I noticed bits and pieces of white material on the stone tiles. I suddenly knew with great certainty the man in red was Bigglesworth and also how he'd gone through a locked door. He'd simply flowed through the bottom crack.

  Another scream reached my ears. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Bigglesworth was doing something terrible to someone. I checked the padlock. Thankfully, it wasn't constructed of nearly indestructible diamond fiber. I gripped the lock and pulled. It groaned and screeched. My muscles strained. The padlock popped loose, and I nearly toppled over backwards.

  I lifted the bar. Opened the door. The hallway beyond showed no signs of life. I walked left to the end of the hall, some thirty yards away. A dark hallway lay on my right. My night vision flickered on, and I saw what looked like a thick iron portcullis with a ragged hole cut through the center. Drops of molten metal on the stone floor and at the tips of the bars gave evidence of the quick, messy job someone had done to get through. I had a feeling Bigglesworth might have done it.

  Another scream sounded from back the way I'd come. Then again, maybe he hadn't. I tip-toed down the hall, grateful for my soft tennis shoes, noting the widely spaced doors along either wall and the blank wall at the far end of the hallway.

  "Surely, your worshipfulness knows more than that," Bigglesworth said from one of the rooms ahead. "Your people took all the records. Where did they put them?"

  "I bloody told you all I know, you right bastard," a hoarse, but defiant voice replied. "The records are gone—destroyed."

  "Another bloody lie, eh?" Bigglesworth chuckled. "How does this suit your fancy?"

  I stopped outside the door as the other man screamed himself raw. Risking a glance, I peeked around the doorframe. A man who looked perhaps thirty strained hard against straps binding him to a chair, his profile to me. The veins in his neck bulged, and his skin glowed beet red. Bigglesworth stood over the other man, doughy white fingers touching his captive's forehead.