Secrets in Phoenix Read online

  I nodded.

  “Are you homesick?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Sophie, deary,” Ness coaxed gently, “it’s okay if you are.”

  I said nothing.

  “If I’d had to leave my home, I’d be feeling homesick, too,” Ness reflected. “Especially after losing your grandfather so suddenly—”

  “I’m fine,” I insisted, a little more defensively than I would have liked.

  “Okay, dear,” Ness placated me. “But if you ever need to talk, I’m always here.”

  I made a sort of ‘mm-hmm’ noise.

  “I know I’m not your Grandpa, but I’m an awfully good listener.”

  I couldn’t help but warm slightly to her sentiment, though I still didn’t respond.

  Ness carried on, “Anyway, I’m going to do my best. I can promise you that much, at least.”

  I looked down at the pebbled ground.

  “Though, I should warn you,” Ness joked, nudging my elbow, “I’m not sure I’ll make a very good parent. I didn’t get the chance to be a mother.”

  I looked up and smiled at her. “Well, I didn’t get the chance to be a daughter, either, so maybe we’ll make a good pair.”

  To my surprise, she took my hand and squeezed it. “I think you might be right.” Her pale yellow eyes searched for my reaction. “Do you think you’ll be happy here, living in Phoenix Holt?”

  I knew I would regret the bluntness of my answer later, but in the spirit of sincerity I let the truth slip.

  “I don’t think so,” I replied.

  #

  We arrived at Averett Academy a few minutes before the first bell. Sam and Todd were sitting on a stone wall, their legs swinging in unison. Behind the wall was an old, gothic manor house, nestled at the foot of a hill. I did a double-take. Surely that manor wasn’t the school?

  “Is that the boarding house?” I asked Ness.

  “Upstairs is,” she clarified. “Downstairs is the school.”

  “Intimate,” Sam remarked wryly. He dropped down from the wall and eyed the building, with its dull brickwork and tall lead-framed windows.

  I began to notice the other students loitering around the yard.

  My heart began to race with anticipation.

  I spotted a group of formally dressed boys heading in through the main entrance. They walked silently, with expressionless faces.

  Summoning the bravery to peek further afield, I caught sight of a second gathering of boys; again they were in smart attire with a vacant air about them.

  Ness came to a stop several metres from the manor.

  “Sam and Todd,” she said, “you’ll be in the upper group. Sophie, you’ll be in the middle group.”

  I stared perplexedly at her.

  “There are three groups,” she elaborated. “And I believe there are around sixty in total.”

  “Sixty classes?” I frowned. The school definitely didn’t look big enough for sixty classes.

  “No, dear.” Ness shook her head. “Three classes. Sixty altogether.”

  “Sixty per class?” My eyebrows shot up.

  “No, dear,” she said again. “Sixty in the whole school.”

  My jaw dropped. “Sixty people?”

  “Give or take.”

  “And three classes?” Sam recounted.

  “Yes. The upper group, the middle group, and the lower group. Each group is determined by age. We average around twenty per class.”

  I gawped. “Twenty per class?”

  “Give or take.”

  I let out a nervous breath. “How old are the kids in the middle group?” My group.

  “Between fourteen and seventeen. Give or take.”

  “So how come Sam and Todd aren’t in the middle group? They’re seventeen.”

  “I decided the boys would benefit most from being placed with Mr. Hardy. At any rate, they’ll be turning eighteen soon enough.”

  Yeah, in eleven months, I thought ruefully.

  “Which reminds me,” Ness continued, “you two boys can go on ahead. Over sixteens don’t need a mentor. Unless you want one, that is. Do you?”

  Sam snorted. “Uh, a big fat no to the mentor, thanks.”

  “I don’t want a mentor either,” I protested.

  “Oh, I’m afraid it’s compulsory, dear,” Ness informed me. “Every student under sixteen needs a mentor.”

  “Why?” I spluttered.

  Sam fidgeted restlessly. “Todd and I don’t need to be here for this. We’re going to take off now.”

  “No!” I gasped. “Don’t go without me!”

  “Why not?” Sam huffed. “We’re not in the same class. Besides, you have to bond with your mentor,” he said with a grin.

  “You can’t leave me,” I pleaded with Sam. “I don’t know anyone.” I grabbed hold of his T-shirt in a last desperate attempt to bind myself to him.

  He peeled my fingers away, one at a time. “Off, off, off,” he instructed. Then he turned his attention to Ness, deliberately looking over my head so as to avoid my beseeching eyes. “Which way to our class?”

  “You’re with Mr. Hardy,” Ness reminded him. “Through the main doors, third room on the left.”

  In light of my failing pleas, I threw in a splash of emotional blackmail. “I’ll never forgive you if you go without me,” I avowed to Sam.

  “Okay,” he said. “’Bye.”

  My heart sank as the boys jogged towards the manor.

  Ness chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m sure it won’t be as bad as you’re imagining.”

  I sighed. “Why do I have to have a mentor?” I asked again as we headed for the school. “I really don’t want one.”

  “It’s nice for the younger students to have someone they can turn to if they need anything.”

  “I thought I had you for that.”

  Ness grinned. “Yes, you do. But it’s important for you to have a peer also. Someone you can approach if you don’t feel like talking to an old fuddy-duddy like me.” She heaved open the oak manor door by its iron handle and ushered me inside.

  The foyer was poorly lit, with a slate floor and chestnut-coloured wood panelling on the walls. There was a wide stairwell in front of me and a corridor to either side. Ness guided me to the right.

  As we set off down the corridor, I noticed that the décor was much the same as in the foyer area: slate floor, wood walls, and the occasional muted lamp fixed to the panels.

  Ness and I walked in silence, with only the click of our footsteps to be heard. A few paces ahead of us, two boys slipped through another oak door into what I assumed was a classroom. They seemed to be around eleven or twelve, so I guessed they’d be in the lower group.

  Lots of boys here, I noted absentmindedly. I haven’t seen many girls yet. In fact, I haven’t seen any girls yet.

  I cleared my throat. “Ness, where’s the girls block?”

  “Hmm? Oh. What’s that now?”

  “I haven’t seen any girls around.”

  “What about me?” She flounced her long skirt blithely.

  I smelled tactical dodging. “Do they study in a separate wing?”

  “No. No separate wing.”

  “Oh, Ness,” I wailed. “Please don’t tell me this is an all-boys school.”

  “Boys, girls,” she generalised. “We’re all human, aren’t we?”

  “They’re boys!”

  “Now, Sophie, let’s not be small minded.”

  “You told me I wouldn’t stand out!”

  “And I’m sure you won’t.”

  “But I’m a different gender—”

  “Here we are,” Ness cut me off. “Welcome to my office.” She opened a dense wooden door to reveal a neat room with a mahogany desk and cherry red walls. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Ness seated herself behind the desk and began rifling through a stack of papers. I slumped into a leather chair opposite, gazing out at the hills and woodland beyond the window, wishing I could be out there instead. />
  “What do we have here…” Ness muttered to herself, slipping on a pair of bifocal glasses. As she scanned her paperwork, her wire-rimmed glasses crept down the bridge of her nose, trapping strands of wispy, silvery-brown hair around her ears. “Ah, yes. These are your enrolment papers. Sophie Ballester. Previous school: Port Dalton Comprehensive, et cetera, et cetera.” She slid the papers across the desk. “Sign here, would you, dear?”

  I scrawled my name on the dotted line.

  “Excellent.” Ness tucked the sheets into a file folder. “Now,” she murmured, “who did I have in place to be your mentor? I’m sure I wrote someone into your notes…” She licked her thumb and began leafing through another stack of papers. “Ah-ha! Yes. Excuse me one moment.”

  I sat rigid, gripping the arms of my chair while Ness pressed a buzzer on the intercom.

  And elderly woman’s voice crackled through the system. “That you, Ness?”

  “Hello, Mabel,” Ness replied, speaking slowly and clearly. “Mabel, the secretary,” she mouthed to me. “She’s deaf as a post, poor lamb. Makes a wonderful peach cobbler, though.”

  “You there, Ness, lovey?” Mabel’s voice came again.

  “Yes, I’m here, Mabel. How’s the arthritis today?” She caught my eye, lowering her voice to address me again. “She’s got terrible arthritis, god love her.”

  “You know me, Ness. I don’t like to complain,” Mabel responded.

  I’d swear I saw Ness roll her eyes.

  “Shall I put the kettle on?” Mabel asked.

  Ness clasped her hands together. “Wonderful! A cup of tea would be marvellous. Now, Mabel,” she spoke seriously, “before you start on the tea, could you ask one of the boys to send in Jaxon from middle group?”

  There was a pause on the other end. “Jaxon?” Mabel said at last. “You’re looking for Jaxon, are you?”

  “Yes. I want him to mentor a new student.”

  Another pause. “Jaxon?” She sounded incredulous.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Right. I’ll have him sent to your office,” Mabel replied. “Then I’ll see you for elevenses, shall I? I’ve got some lovely fresh scones.”

  “Delightful, Mabel. Bye, now.”

  And Mabel was gone.

  “Who’s Jaxon?” I asked.

  “Jaxon will be your mentor,” Ness told me. “You’re both in middle group,” she explained. “He’ll take you to your classroom and show you the ropes. If you need anything, just ask him.”

  I had no intention of asking anyone anything, but I nodded all the same.

  A few minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Ness called.

  I twisted in my seat to see the arrival. The handle turned and the door creaked open. A boy of around seventeen stepped into the office.

  My eyes widened in surprise. It was him. It was the boy I’d seen in the woods when we’d been searching for the cottage. Only this time, my sighting of him wasn’t quite so fleeting.

  He had sandy blonde hair and opaque grey eyes. Much like his fellow students, he was smartly dressed, wearing a shirt and trousers, though somehow he looked scruffy. However, my prime focus was drawn to his face, where a broad, sunken scar ran from his temple diagonally to his jaw, marking everything in its path.

  He flinched when he noticed me staring.

  Ness rose from her chair. “Jaxon, this is Sophie. I want you to mentor her.”

  Jaxon pursed his lips, frowning at the idea.

  “If he doesn’t want to…” I stammered.

  His smoky eyes flickered uneasily around the room. His fists clenched.

  “Off you go then, you two,” Ness beamed, oblivious to the tension—or disregarding it, anyway. “Sophie, Jaxon will take good care of you.”

  “I don’t think he wants to—” I began.

  “Goodbye, dear,” Ness interrupted me. “I’ll see you at lunchtime.”

  I was mortified. Couldn’t Ness see that this boy had no desire whatsoever to mentor me? I could hardly blame him. I wouldn’t have wanted to mentor him, either.

  I stole a glance in his direction.

  He caught my gaze and offered me a strained smile, but said nothing.

  “Oh, and Sophie,” Ness added as I rose stiffly from my seat, “remember what we talked about: open mind.”

  Open mind? I fumed. Yeah, right. I’d like to tell her what my open mind thinks right now.

  As I crossed the room, Jaxon stepped away from the doorway, allowing me to pass through. And that was that. I was back in the corridor, this time with a new companion.

  We walked rigidly through the dimly lit hallway. Neither of us spoke.

  I listened to the beat of our footsteps as they hit the slate floor. The rhythm fell in sync with my heartbeat, pounding and echoing in my ears like the slow thud of a hammer.

  We stopped abruptly outside a door and Jaxon gripped the handle.

  Our classroom, I assumed.

  I stared down at his grazed knuckles that enveloped the brass door handle. I wanted to say something to him, but I wasn’t sure what exactly that something was. I decided to not overthink it and opted to let my mouth decide for me.

  “Your hand is cut,” I said. Hmm. Maybe I underthought it.

  Jaxon hesitated, frowned, then laughed quietly before opening the classroom door.

  Chapter Four

  The Missing Sin

  I learned a lot about middle group in a very short span of time. My teacher’s name was Mr. Garrett. He was fast talking, wildly animated, and more than a little eccentric. He wore a midnight-blue velvet suit and mad-professor glasses. His head sprouted two tufts of snow-white hair that looked like the possible result of an electric shock.

  When I crossed the threshold into the classroom I was greeted with stunned silence. The other students stared at me as though I were some sort of alien aberration. Of course, being female, that was exactly what I was.

  The room itself was shadowy, lit only by weak lamplight. A dozen or so boys were seated at long tables in rows, all facing Mr. Garrett and his blackboard.

  Jaxon took his seat in the front row. His notebook and pencil were already laid out on the desk—his pencil quite clearly chewed to within an inch of its life. I froze in the doorway, utterly shell-shocked, until he nodded impatiently towards the empty place beside him.

  I hurried across the room to my seat on the end of a long work bench. The sound of my chair scraping the floor sliced through the pin-drop silence.

  After the astonishment of my arrival had worn off, Mr. Garret gave me a fervent welcome, followed by a brief recap. I quickly discovered that the class had been studying myths and legends. Once I was sufficiently caught up, the teacher dived straight back into the lesson.

  “Who can tell me the difference between a Divellion and a Daemon?”

  He scribbled the two words onto the blackboard in chicken-scratch scrawl.

  Give me maths, science, literature, I’m fine. But this? This was definitely not my expertise.

  Somewhere behind me, a boy cleared his throat. “A Daemon is a malevolent creature born into dark power,” he answered in a low, bass tone. “A Divellion is a malevolent being that thirsts for power.”

  I traced the voice to the back of the classroom. The boy’s appearance made him seem much older than sixteen or seventeen. He was brawny, with matted black hair and dark circles beneath his eyes.

  “Correct!” Mr. Garret waved a piece of chalk at the rest of the class. “Reuben is absolutely correct. A Daemon is a source of dark power. A Divellion is a power hunter, thriving off the power it steals. So, which is the more dangerous—the Daemon who sources the power, or the Divellion who craves it?” He waited for a show of hands. “Lewis,” he gestured to another boy in one of the seats behind me.

  “The Daemon is the more powerful,” Lewis responded coolly. “It’s the source. There’s nothing more powerful than the source.”

  Mr. Garret peered over the rims of his glass
es. “Anyone care to challenge Lewis’s theory?”

  Reuben raised his hand again. “The Divellion is the more powerful.”

  “Why?” Mr. Garret pressed.

  “Because the Daemon may source the power, but the Divellion hungers for it. What could be more dominant than the primal urge of hunger?” He raised an eyebrow. “The Daemon is content with what it has, but the Divellion is insatiable, always seeking more.”

  Inspired, Mr. Garret scribbled the word ‘insatiable’ onto the blackboard. “Precisely,” he breathed. “Magnificent, Reuben.”

  Magnificent? Okay, so now I knew who Mr. Garret’s star pupil was. Although Reuben’s subject of knowledge seemed to be a rather questionable one.

  So much for getting a good education, I thought to myself. This is pointless. I glanced at the wall-clock, wondering when the real curriculum would begin.

  Beside me, I noticed Jaxon doodling in his notebook. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, exposing taut muscles in his forearm from gripping his pencil. With his head tilted in concentration, strands of sandy blonde hair brushed across the beginnings of his scar.

  How in the world did he end up with a scar that bad? I wondered. I peered closer. The marking crossed his entire face!

  Suddenly, Jaxon looked up. His charcoal eyes flickered to mine.

  My cheeks flushed, and I hastily returned my attention to Mr. Garret.

  “Who can tell me how a Divellion attacks?” the teacher was saying.

  I sighed. Seriously? Is he still on this?

  A new voice spoke up. “They bite, and the venom from their fangs will draw the power essence out of the victim.”

  “Very good, Cameron,” Mr. Garret praised. “The Divellion’s hunting technique is akin to that of a snake. First, they must catch a scent. Once a trail is picked up, the predators will stalk their victims until they have identified the weakest member of the group. When the opportunity arises, the Divellion strikes, feeding from the chosen until the heart stops beating. Upon the kill, the essence of the victim will transfer into the Divellion, and the ritual is complete. Sophie Ballester?”

  Oh my god, that’s my name. Why is he calling my name?

  “Yes, sir?” I replied meekly.