The Obsidians. Морган Райс
Obsidian’s black-walled office. His dark blond hair clung to his head in wet tendrils. He’d brought the smell of the River Thames with him and the whole room stank because of it.
All the other Obsidians sat around the table with downcast expressions, arms folded, glaring at him. Malcolm Malice had the meanest glare of all, the kind of look that could turn you to stone.
Malcolm clearly blamed Chris for their failure back in the year 1690.
With a painful stab of frustration, Chris recalled the moment he’d almost killed Oliver on the banks of the River Thames. He’d had his hand around his ankle and all he had to do was drag him down into the depths of the water! But somehow his brother had just managed to slip from his grasp and slither through the portal.
The door burst open, tearing Chris out of his ruminations. Mistress Obsidian waltzed in, her black cloak flaring out behind her.
Chris watched her with cautious apprehension as she sank heavily into her seat and glanced into each pair of eyes with a piercing glare. The tension in the room grew with every second of silence.
Finally, she spoke. “You’ve let me down.”
Her gaze roved to Chris. He sat up taller, straighter, and sucked in his cheeks. He braced himself for her scolding.
But to his surprise, she looked past him and focused instead on Malcolm.
“You most of all, Malcolm Malice.” Her tone was ice cold.
“Me?” Malcolm exclaimed. He threw an arm out at Chris. “He was the one who let Oliver escape with the Orb of Kandra! If anyone’s to blame, it’s him. He was our leader.”
“You were supposed to lead,” Mistress Obsidian shot back.
“You said the strongest should lead,” Malcolm protested.
Mistress Obsidian slammed her hands onto the table to shut him up. “You should have been the strongest, Malcolm! You! A trained seer! Christopher had only just been imbued with his powers, yet after only a few hours, his strength surpassed yours!”
Chris felt his chest swell with pride. He’d always suspected he was special. The look of embarrassment on Malcolm’s face was something he’d cherish forever.
But suddenly, Mistress Obsidian turned to look at him. “You can wipe that smirk off your face, Christopher Blue,” she barked. “There’s more in store for you.”
Chris felt his pulse spike with anxiety. He quickly rearranged his features into a neutral expression.
“Yes ma’am,” he squeaked, his mind reeling through all the possible punishments she was certain to mete out.
Mistress Obsidian pinned him to his seat with her cold, mean stare, and continued in the same firm tone. “I’ve imbued you with the most powerful dark magic. You have a lot of potential. But you need to be trained.”
Chris blinked with shock. All around him, he heard the sound of the other Obsidian students shuffling in their seats. Mistress Obsidian’s words had taken them all by surprise.
“Trained?” Malcolm spat. “What about punished?”
Mistress Obsidian ignored his outburst. Her eyes remained on Chris.
“Trained?” Chris repeated.
“Yes. Properly. Your powers are too much for any of the teachers at Obsidian’s to handle.”
The headmistress snapped her fingers and the door behind her flew open. A man walked into the office. He was dressed in a long black robe that covered the entirety of his face as well as his whole body. The only things showing were his brilliant blue eyes, the bright blue eyes of a rogue seer.
“This is your new trainer,” Mistress Obsidian told Chris. “Colonel Cain.”
Chris recognized the man instantly. He was one of the fighters from the dark army who’d fought against Sister Judith alongside him in 1690s England.
His heart began to pound. He felt dizzy with emotion. Seconds ago he’d been expecting a harsh punishment but now he was discovering instead that he would be trained by a soldier from the dark army! It was quite a shift for his mind to make.
Despite his best attempts to maintain a blank expression, Christopher felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. When he’d been back in 1690s England, fighting alongside the dark army, he’d felt a pull toward them, a sort of calling telling him that he belonged with the army far more than the Obsidian school. Now his wish was coming true.
“It will be extremely hard,” Mistress Obsidian barked, forcing his attention back to her and out of his head.
Chris gave a series of hurried nods and spoke in a quick voice. “I understand. I’ll work hard for you, ma’am.”
The headmistress paused, her lips pursed into a thin line as she regarded him for a couple of beats.
Chris felt his insides squirm. Mistress Obsidian had that effect on most people. Oddly enough, his fear of her just added to his admiration and desire to please her.
“You’d better,” she said finally, settling back into her throne. “Because there will be no third chance.”
The words struck Chris like a lightning bolt. He didn’t need Mistress Obsidian to explain what that meant. He’d failed once. This was his final chance to prove himself to her. If he failed again, it was over.
Out the corner of Chris’s eye, he could see that Mistress Obsidian’s warning—no, threat—had turned Malcolm Malice’s glower into a delighted, evil smile. The sight of his stupid face made determination swell in Chris’s gut.
“I won’t let you down,” Chris said forcefully, his attention directed at Mistress Obsidian like a dart to a bull’s-eye. “Whatever it takes. Wherever you send me. Whoever you need me to kill. I will do it.”
Mistress Obsidian tipped her chin up, her gaze locked on his. Chris noticed the spark behind her eyes that told him she believed in him.
The tension in his chest released. He slumped a little in his chair, exhausted by the stress of it all but relieved to know she had faith in him. Her approval meant everything to Chris.
“Good,” Mistress Obsidian said with a sharp nod. “Because there’s no time to waste.”
She leaned forward on her elbows and waved her arm over the vision bowl on the table before her. It was her spying device, the one she used to watch their rivals at the Amethyst School for Seers. Usually there was an image inside, but this time there was nothing but a smudgy blur, like a dark storm cloud.
“Since your failed escapades back in 1690s England, the Amethyst School for Seers has been fortified even more,” she explained. “I can no longer see inside. But don’t worry. We have people working for us on the inside.”
“Do you mean a mole?” Madeleine, the ginger-haired seer, asked.
It was the first time any of the Obsidian students besides Malcolm or Chris had dared to speak.
Mistress Obsidian looked at her and smiled. “Yes.”
Madeleine looked delighted. She clapped her hands. “How exciting. Who is it? A student? A teach—”
But before Madeleine could finish her sentence, Mistress Obsidian waved her hand in the air to mime a zipping motion. In the blink of an eye, Madeleine’s lips disappeared, leaving nothing but a fleshy covering where her mouth used to be.
Chris flinched in his seat. The sight of Madeleine with no mouth disturbed him. But what disturbed him even more was why Mistress Obsidian had decided to show off her powers in that way. It was a warning, Chris realized. A warning for him. This, or something similar, was the fate that awaited him if he screwed up the mission.
Madeleine’s eyes were wide with alarm as she pressed her hands to her mouth. Her voice was now nothing more than a muffled noise.
“Does anyone else feel like interrupting?” Mistress Obsidian asked, her glare roving across them all.
Everyone