Secrets in Phoenix Read online

  “How does one go about vanquishing a Divellion?”

  “I… I don’t know,” I stuttered. “Bug spray?”

  There were a few sniggers around the classroom and I felt myself turn bright red.

  Mr. Garret gave the culprits a stern glare. “Anyone else want to tackle this one?”

  Of course, Reuben the Magnificent stepped in. “There are two certain ways to vanquish a Divellion: one is with a potion, and the other is decapitation.”

  “Tremendous, Reuben! However, as very few have the ability to create a potion powerful enough to take down the corporeal form, I would advise that you aim for the latter.” He chuckled blithely.

  Okay, I thought to myself, it’s official. This is, without a doubt, the most bizarre lesson I’ve ever been made to sit through.

  And it didn’t end there. There was a further two hours of ‘Divellion talk’ before the blissful sound of the lunch bell forced Mr. Garret to call time. Alas, it wasn’t quite over for me yet, because he asked me to stay behind after class.

  I watched enviously as the other students filed out to lunch—Jaxon included. Once the classroom had emptied, I made my way to the teacher’s desk.

  “Sophie Ballester,” Mr. Garret uttered my name approvingly. “Delighted to meet you.”

  He grasped my hand and shook it roughly.

  “How are you enjoying life in Phoenix Holt?” he asked.

  “I like it,” I replied, on autopilot.

  “It must be such a thrill for you to return to the place of your heritage,” Mr. Garret gushed.

  I summoned a smile. “Uh huh,” I agreed vaguely.

  “I remember your grandfather. A good man, he was.”

  My eyebrows rose. “You knew Wilber?”

  “Yes, yes, although he was several years my senior, so it was more a case of knowing him through reputation. But Ness has always been a very dear friend to me, and she spoke so very highly of him. Oh, she missed her brother terribly after he left. I’m sure he missed her, too.”

  Did he? I wondered. I was still trying to get my head around the fact that my grandfather had even had a sister, let alone a sister he missed.

  Mr. Garret carried on, oblivious to my hesitant expression. “Anyhow,” he said, his tone jovial, “what did you think of the lesson?”

  “Great,” I lied. “Very informative.”

  “And you understood everything?”

  “Yes. I think so.” Apart from the point of it, I added silently.

  “Splendid! My goal was to make the subject relevant to you, as well as the boys. How did I do?”

  “Um… good. I mean, great,” I revised. “Very… relevant.”

  “Excellent, excellent. Any questions?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wonderful! Well, I’m sure I’ve detained you long enough. Though, I must say, I am glad that we’ve had the chance to chat.”

  “Me, too,” I replied, trying not to frown in confusion.

  Mr. Garret smiled broadly. “Until the clock strikes one, young Ballester.”

  Um, what? Did that mean I was free to go?

  I edged backwards, retreating to my desk. My teacher didn’t try to stop me, so I presumed I’d guessed right.

  I hastily gathered my notebook and pen and slipped them into my shoulder bag. Just as I was about to leave, I noticed a balled up piece of paper on the desktop.

  Jaxon’s sketch, I realised at once.

  Quickly checking that Mr. Garret’s attention was elsewhere, I retrieved the ball of paper and flattened it out.

  I gasped, taken aback. The artwork was incredible. It was as lifelike as a photograph, and yet it’d been drawn freehand with the blunt nub of a pencil.

  The sketch was of a pier. But not just any pier—a pier that was eerily familiar to me. Everything from the wood-planked flooring and rusted structure to the sheets of frothing water licking at the sides. I knew it all.

  It was Port Dalton.

  I’d sat on that pier a thousand times. More, even. And Jaxon had drawn it down to the very last detail. Every dent, paint chip, and imperfection—it was all there.

  But the idea that Jaxon had been to Port Dalton seemed implausible. I mean, it would have been a pretty random coincidence if he had.

  I’m seeing what I want to see, I decided, accounting the likeness to the nostalgia of my homesick brain.

  I set the drawing back down on the desk and headed for the exit.

  The corridor was empty, which proved to be both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I wasn’t particularly in the mood to socialise, and a curse because the cold, dark corridor was a little too ‘horror movie in the making’ for my liking. I could see it perfectly: Murder in the Maintenance Closet, or The Revenge of the Hallway Hacker.

  When I finally made it outside and into the refuge of daylight, I found myself facing yet another horror. A very real one, this time.

  At first I wasn’t sure what was happening. All I saw was a raucous group of boys forming a large circle and cheering like a pack of rabid hyenas.

  Fight, I figured.

  I decided to give them a wide berth, scanning the green for a secluded spot to hide away and eat my packed lunch, but the fracas was harder to side-step than I’d hoped.

  My heart skipped a beat when I saw Sam tumbling through the onlookers, his T-shirt tangled and his lips blood smeared.

  Sam regained his balance and charged at his challenger.

  “Stop!” I yelled, pushing my way into the scuffle.

  I couldn’t see much beyond the mass of huddled bodies, and I was jostled and shoved from every directions. Apparently everyone wanted a front-row seat.

  “Sam!” I called, catching a glimpse of two pairs of legs scuffling on the ground. “Sam!” I tried again.

  “Now’s not a good time!” he yelled back.

  I edged forward, squashing myself between two beefcake boys. My view was marginally better, but I still couldn’t see Sam. Although I did manage to spot Todd. He was hovering on the outskirts, hopping from left to right in a flap.

  The circling boys goaded and chanted—cheers that I was willing to bet were not for Sam.

  I cringed.

  With a final effort, I forced my way through the crowd, ready to clobber the enemy with my shoulder bag.

  But, in what was perhaps a stroke of good fortune, a whistle blew, causing the bloodthirsty spectators to scatter like crows at the sound of a gunshot.

  “Ballester!” a male voice hollered. “Thompson! My office!”

  Sam’s brawny opponent scowled and straightened out his collar. “Mr. Hardy,” he appealed in a ragged voice, “he was asking for it.”

  Mr. Hardy, a giant beast of a man with a thick neck and strong jaw, squared up to the Thompson boy. “You should have known better.”

  I glanced helplessly at Sam. He staggered to his feet, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. He shot me a guiltless look.

  “And as for you, Ballester,” Mr. Hardy turned on Sam now, “you may think you’re untouchable—”

  Before he could dish out the rest of his onslaught, Ness appeared on the scene.

  “Oh, good grief!” she shrieked, evidently catching sight of Sam’s not-so-pretty face. “What on earth has been going on out here?”

  Sam stared at his feet.

  Ness exhaled loudly. “Thank you, Mr. Hardy. If you could take young Thompson inside, I’ll deal with Sam.”

  Without another word, Mr. Hardy marched back towards the school, his victim in tow.

  “Oh, Sam.” Ness shook her head solemnly. “Fighting? On your first day? What were you thinking?”

  “He started it!” Sam exclaimed.

  Always a top-notch defence, I thought, rolling my eyes.

  Ness placed her hands on her hips. “Well? Let’s hear it, then. How exactly did he start it?”

  “He was in my way,” Sam justified weakly. “And he wouldn’t move.” He didn’t seem to want to meet Ness’s eyes.

  “So you deci
ded to pick a fight with him?” she demanded.

  “He wouldn’t move,” Sam repeated. “Would he, Todd?”

  Todd’s flustered face was pillar-box red. “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “That is no excuse,” Ness scolded. Her eyelashes swept downward. “I am very disappointed in you, Sam.”

  His expression hardened. “You think I care?”

  I frowned. “Sam…”

  “What?” he exclaimed, holding up his palms. “I’m always the bad guy, aren’t I? You might as well say it. Wilber did.”

  Now it was my turn to look to the ground.

  Ness sighed, and when she spoke again her voice was softer. “I don’t think you’re the bad guy, dear,” she told him. “In fact, I know you’re not. But if you fight in my school again, I’ll make you come flower spotting with me every day for a month. Got that?” She offered him a hint of a smile.

  “A month?” Sam’s mouth twitched. “Jeeze, it’s not like I killed the guy.”

  “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Ness cautioned. “Now that you know the consequences, maybe you’ll use your head next time.”

  Doubt it, I thought to myself.

  “Right,” Ness moved on. “I’m taking you two boys home. You can think about your actions and start fresh tomorrow. Sophie dear, I’ll come back for you at four o’clock. Okay?”

  I nodded my head numbly.

  As Todd and Ness turned to leave, Sam caught my eye.

  “You shouldn’t have done that,” I mouthed to him.

  He shrugged.

  “You face is bleeding,” I mouthed again.

  Another shrug.

  “Wilber didn’t think you were a bad guy,” I added.

  He smiled vaguely, then set off in pursuit of Ness.

  “You’re not the bad guy,” I said aloud. Though I knew he didn’t hear me.

  #

  My afternoon lesson was just as boring and pointless as the morning session. Back in the same room, I listened to Mr. Garret drone on about local myths. I tuned in and out. Mostly, my attention was elsewhere. Again, I sat beside Jaxon in the front row. Again, he sketched. And again, I watched him.

  Towards the end of the lesson, Mr. Garret began handing out worksheets. After passing them around, he planted himself at his desk, where he began reading a dog-eared mystery novel.

  I frowned. I hadn’t anticipated being tested today. I was beginning to regret not having paid attention.

  So, with very little optimism, I stared hopelessly at my worksheet. Next to me, Jaxon pushed his to one side and continued to draw in his notebook.

  “Aren’t you going to do the work?” I whispered.

  He glanced up at me, startled by the sound of my voice. Almost as though he’d completely forgotten I was there.

  “The worksheet.” I pointed to his discarded paper. “You need to do it.” Oh, no. Why did I say that? I could have kicked myself for being such a dork. It’s okay, I consoled myself. I can fix this. All I have to do is say something better. Something cooler. “Um…” I said. My shoulders sagged. Yeah, that was much cooler.

  Jaxon’s brow furrowed.

  “I mean, whatever,” I went on, attempting to sound blasé. “I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with Mr. Garret, that’s all…” Warning to self. Babbling about to commence in five, four, three, two… “But, don’t do it if you don’t want to. Who cares? It’s not a big deal or anything. I mean, it’s your choice. Freedom of speech and all that …” Oh no, I wish I didn’t have freedom of speech right now.

  Jaxon glanced at my worksheet, then at his own, then back up at me. His eyes smouldered like liquid iron.

  To my dismay, my ramblings weren’t over. “I think your drawings are probably much more worthwhile than the worksheet, anyway. Um, not that I’ve ever seen your drawings or anything…” Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking!

  Jaxon cocked his head to the side. He stared at me for a long moment, possibly trying to figure out why I was so weird. Then, to my surprise, he reached for his worksheet and began reading the questions.

  I let out a breath.

  I focused on my own paper, sweeping my hair to the side and hiding my blushing face behind a wavy brunette curtain.

  Question One: List the seven deadly sins.

  Okay, I could do that.

  Gluttony, Lust, Envy, Anger, Greed, Sloth…

  That was six. One more to go.

  I tapped my pencil on the desk. What was that final sin?

  In my peripheral, I could see Jaxon writing sinuously across his worksheet, already at the bottom of the page. Perhaps sensing my gaze, his eyes drifted up to mine.

  I managed an awkward smile. “Stuck on the sins,” I explained in a hushed voice.

  Jaxon reached out and slid my worksheet across the desktop toward him. He skimmed over what I’d written, then with a flurry of his pencil, he added to my answer and passed the paper back.

  Pride.

  “Thanks,” I said, turning an even deeper shade of red. “I was drawing a blank on that one.”

  He smiled in his usual ambiguous way before returning to his own work.

  I exhaled again.

  Question Two: Which of the sins will a Divellion prey on?

  Not this Divellion rubbish again, I thought tetchily. I felt like writing my answer as, I don’t know and I don’t care. But instead I took a shot at Gluttony, founded on the logic that it was my first answer in Question One.

  To my astonishment, the worksheet was swooped out from under my nose.

  Across the table, Jaxon held it prisoner. He scanned my answer, then drew a line through it and replaced it with something else—presumably the correct answer. Satisfied, he slipped the worksheet back to me.

  Envy, it read.

  “Thanks,” I whispered.

  He shrugged, and kind of smiled again. I noticed a small dimple form at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment, something about him was almost playful. But then, whatever it was, was gone.

  We carried on in silence. The rest of the questions were somewhat existential, and I got the impression that there was no wrong answer. In fact, questions four, five, and six all began with the words, ‘In your opinion…’.

  At a quarter to three, Mr. Garret turned down the page of his book and placed it in the top drawer of his desk. “Good job today, everybody,” he said, abruptly rising from his seat. “I think we’ll finish early. Class dismissed! Oh, and worksheets to me as you leave,” he added as an afterthought.

  There was a sudden rush of scraping chairs and murmuring voices. The boys marched out, dropping their papers onto the teacher’s desk as they went.

  Jaxon and I stayed seated.

  “Thank you for today,” I said. “You know, for this mentoring thing, and for helping me with the work…” I glanced at my completed paper.

  Jaxon looked at me briefly, then turned his attention to the wall in front of us.

  “I’m sure I’ll see you around tomorrow,” I added.

  He continued to stare ahead, his expression deadpan.

  Point taken.

  “Okay, bye,” I said. I leapt up from my seat, tripping over myself to get away. Anything to avoid the embarrassment of being ignored—again.

  Chapter Five

  Said in Silence

  Class finished shortly before three o’clock, but Ness wasn’t meeting me until four. Biding my time, I loitered around the schoolyard for ten minutes or so, walking the perimeter of the stone-walled enclosure. I watched my fellow students scatter, going their separate ways. Some retired to the boarding quarters upstairs, while others set off into the woodland or hills.

  Gradually, the passers by became fewer, until only I remained.

  The afternoon had brought a chill to the air, and the cool September breeze sent a shiver over my skin. I considered waiting indoors, but I was beginning to feel like an intruder, overstaying my welcome in somebody else’s home. I came to the conclusion that my best option would be to start walki
ng. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to navigate my way through the maze of woodland, but the path to the graveyard was a clear route, and I figured I’d bump into Ness somewhere along the way. In fact, I imagined she’d probably thank me for saving her a huge chunk of the journey.

  So, with that in mind, I began my trek.

  I had been right about one thing—following the path was easy. And, as it happened, the solitude of the walk provided me with some much needed alone time. A chance to reflect on my day. Or my day and a half, as the case was.

  First of all, there was Ness. I liked her. Well, I didn’t dislike her, anyway. Although I had to admit, her hidden room had sparked a few misgivings on my part. The book we found suggested she studied the occult; did that make her a witch? And if so, was I okay with that? I wasn’t sure yet.

  Then there was Phoenix Holt.

  I sighed at the thought.

  It would certainly take some getting used to. No doubt about it, this place was completely cut off from the rest of the world. And an all-boys boarding school? That was far from ideal. I was already starting to pine for my girlfriends back in Port Dalton. Phone reception was a no go in Phoenix Holt, but I made a mental note to ask Ness about internet connection ASAP. If I couldn’t text or call, I could at least email.

  I turned a corner, emerging into the gently sloping graveyard. It seemed that I’d come to the end of the footpath, and yet there was still no sign of Ness.

  I scanned the meadow. Sprawling sun-kissed grass was dotted with flowers and polished headstones, and some distance away stood the old mausoleum.

  But this time, that wasn’t all there was.

  There was a boy, standing before a grave, reading the words etched onto the tombstone.

  I stopped in my tracks. “Jaxon,” I murmured.

  He glanced up at the mention of his name. When he caught sight of me, his shoulders tensed.

  “S-sorry,” I stammered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt…” I trailed off.

  He stared at me, his eyes as haunting and as pale as the mist that skimmed the grass. Dark blonde hair swept over his brow, and under the sun’s dipping light, his scar looked even deeper, like a jagged tear dividing his face in two.

  My breath caught in my throat. The sight of him had frightened me.