Emotionless (The Emotionless Book 1) Read online

  I averted my gaze and puffed my cheeks at her words.

  I’m dissatisfied with her bringing up those diabolical brothers of mine. The only reason she talks proudly of Donte and Nixon was that she doesn’t really know what they were up to when her back was turned. My brothers sell potions to other students, and sometimes even teachers. They aren’t powerful potions or ones to be concerned of, really, but they do pack a punch for Ordinary-Humans. Ordinary-Humans don’t have the power we have to overcome potions, so once they consume a love spell that may last an hour for us, it doubles for them. It always is double the time and increases the effects. They sold courage potions that would make a mage have more of a voice, but for an Ordinary-Human, can make them jump off the second-floor railing of the school and into the bushes and sprain an ankle. One potion has vastly different outcomes.

  “- Considered going to a school for mages?” Miss Morgan asked.

  I didn’t notice the change of conversation. I was too busy staring back down at my shoes that kicked back and forth along the carpet. My ears pricked up at the mention of a mage school. My stomach immediately dropped, and I felt ill. I shook my head from side to side, and that made her frown.

  “Alright, then. What about talking to a therapist?” If I could deliberately stare blankly at her, I would. “Eileen, you are the quietest of your brothers, perhaps talking to someone about –”

  “I already do,” I interrupted her before her words bothered me. “I have another therapy session tomorrow after lunch, so I will be excused again.”

  “Sorry, Eileen. I thought you left early for other reasons. I didn’t think that you were going to therapy to talk about the absence of your parents.”

  Oh. I see. I thought she somehow found out about the incident that happened five years ago. Not for a second did I believe Miss Morgan was talking about seeing a therapist about my parents. Although, now that I think about it, it does make sense. I believe Miss Morgan has seen my parents once, and that was when they handed over the money and signed the paperwork for our approval. Silas takes me to the parent-teacher night that happens once a year.

  “Can I go home early today?” I asked suddenly.

  Surprised, she straightened up, but willingly nodded and signed for me to leave freely for the day. It was either that, or I walk out without a permission slip. Either way, I was going to leave school grounds.

  Outside of the principal’s office, I heard a familiar voice out in the waiting area. I hoped that they wouldn’t notice me when I ducked my head, but who was I kidding. I could feel that those silver eyes sought me out, and before I reached for the exit, felt the collar of my winter school dress tug backwards. I stopped in my tracks and pulled down the sleeves to hide the veins that throbbed once again.

  “You okay?” Silas asked. I nodded once firmly. “What are you doing in the office?” Silence. “Did you use magic in class again?”

  They all say it like I use magic daily. It’s been two weeks. He has no right to judge considering there’s a crystal in the desk drawer under lock and key that he likes fiddling with when no Ordinary-Human is looking.

  “A defensive rune,” I answered.

  Silas released his grip on my collar and sighed deeply. “We will talk when I get home.”

  “Okay.”

  I can see Silas was struggling to detach himself from teacher to brother. He’d like to know the reason I would use a defensive rune, but he also had to act professionally, considering he was a teacher here. This was not the time and place to ask me so many questions, surrounded by Ordinary-Humans that already look at us like we are a walking, talking circus.

  “Bye, Brother,” I murmured right before I walked out of the school building.

  It was chilly outside, and the crisp wind brushed against my hair. I touched the soft golden curls and wondered what Yasmine has done to them.

  Absence.

  Golden brown strands of hair stretched out as far as they could go before the chunk of hair flopped down shy above my shoulders. It was about three centimetres thick and not in a position where I could conceal it or pretend it was a trendy fringe. This was definitely noticeable and, in a place, where I would have to cut off the rest to keep it balanced. There are potions to let my hair grow evenly, but I have been growing my hair for years now naturally that perhaps I needed a change.

  Opening the first drawer underneath the sink, I touched the scissors, and they floated up in the air and hovered near my head. I then looked back at my reflection and at those silver eyes and that blank expression. I then looked down at the scissors and knew what I had to do.

  “Cut it,” I murmured. The scissors darted a look at me and then back at the mirror. It almost looked horrified. “Cut it from here and fix my hair, please.”

  It must have known that I was dead serious. Lowering itself down to my hair, it snipped. While it clipped, I touched the brush, and the brush straightened my hair so that the scissors could do an outstanding job. For a pair of scissors that enjoys cutting things, it certainly didn’t want to go near my hair and chop it off. As bad as I felt I knew it had to happen. I wasn’t going to let Yasmine get to me nor encourage that what she is doing was okay.

  After it snipped and I had a shower I touched my hair and felt the wet curls drip just above my shoulders. I looked different. For so long, I have had long hair. Hair I had to keep long because the heir of the Frost family has always had long hair. The women, of course. From what my mother has told me, it has made us look more elegant and purer. Now, I guess I looked healthy, I am not entirely sure. Less intimidating. I looked a lot younger compared to having long hair. I actually looked like a sixteen-year-old girl, not someone wise beyond her years.

  Outside of the bathroom, I heard loud noises coming from downstairs. Curious enough to check it out before drawing, I went down the rainbow stairs and turned into the kitchen to witness the chaos. The knife hacked away at the vegetables uncontrollably. I puffed my cheeks and then reached beside the door and turned down the dial so that the knife went back to its slow and timid pace.

  It’s strange when the knife does that. Maybe it is broken, or the rune needs a touch-up.

  Back inside of my room, I stilled for a moment at the bird that was outside of its perch. Those red eyes glared at me, and that yellow beak parted. I knew what was about to happen and tuned out the sound of the bird.

  “You have mail!” It screeched. “You have mail!” It shrieked again.

  I opened the birdhouse that the canary was perched on, and took out two letters and placed them on my desk. One was from my parents, and another was a magazine article that has been released today in the mage world. I expected another article like this to come out for the annual horror they described it as.

  ‘The heir to the Frost family destroyed A Mages War! Outrage and deception!’ They really enjoy the dramatic themes of headlines.

  Angered, I raised my hand, pointed my finger and felt my veins throb to life. Delicately, like I was about to touch a snowflake that was falling from the sky, my fingertips twitched and the magazine levitated in the air.

  “Destroy,” I said.

  The attack rune on my finger lit up, fire burst free and curled up the edges of the magazine. My heart sunk as I was reminded of the fiery breath of the dragon that burned innocent mages that graduation night, the heat was hard to look at now. When the magazine turned into nothing but ash on the desk, I lowered my arm and deactivated the attack rune. My veins faded and I looked down at the dustpan that swept up the mess and the spray bottle and rag to make the table sparkly clean once again. When they were then finished, they dramatically left, slamming the door behind them.

  I ignored my parents’ card, which was more than likely them stating where they are and what they were doing and sat down at my desk. I then went into the first drawer and took out my sketchbook and pencil. I placed them before me and shifted until I was comfortable enough on my chair.

  I wanted to create a jump rune. The J symbol wi
ll represent the rune as a whole, but the cursive designs around the symbol will make it into a jump rune. Starting with the J symbol, without releasing my hold of the pencil, I looped the end of the J symbol, like the start of drawing the shell of the snail, and then flicked it upwards and around. It needed to be perfect, if I break the connection once, the paper will burn.

  My eyes drifted to the ugly scar along my left arm. No amount of mage healing will fix the burn. It will forever stay on me, and I wasn’t allowed to tattoo over it, for my skin wasn’t smooth enough for a perfect transition. The rune didn’t join correctly and didn’t connect at the end, and it sent a painful sensation up my arm. I ended up in a cast for a few months. When it was taken off, I had a long ugly burn that’s now wrinkled. That tattoo was the worst mistake that I have ever made.

  I don’t consider what happened five years ago to be a mistake. If I had a chance, I’d do it again.

  I flicked the circle up and around until the rune joined together. Analysing the rune, making sure that every piece fit perfectly and wasn’t out of order, I felt my heart flutter when the rune lit a vibrant blue colour. Even knowing the rune looked perfect, I needed to test it to make sure it was the rune I wanted to design and not something entirely different. In the second drawer, there were marbles. I took out a cat-eye marble and placed it at eye level. I looked at the shiny green colour of the eye and then down at the page, the marble slid away from my fingertips and dropped onto the page, and the rune immediately reacted, and the marble flew back up and hit me on the head. I flew backwards, the wheels on the chair flicked up and I slammed onto my back. Rolling on the carpet, I murmured my complaints.

  “Too much agility,” I complained as I sat upon the carpet. “I will fly out of my boots if I try that one.”

  I crawled back to the desk, and took hold of the pencil and drew a long line across the rune and severed the connection. Now it will be just like the old runes I destroyed on my walls. That’s why I am so protective over my tattoos. One cut and they can be gone forever. I always hide them under long clothing.

  I then flicked through to an empty page. I then pushed the chair in its upright position and started again.

  By the time I finished the design of the rune, I had heard the front door. The mages that walked through were incredibly loud – well, at least two of them. The other complained about how much noise they were making.

  Knowing that I would be unable to finish the rune, I closed the sketchbook, placed it back in the drawer and got out of my seat. Silas would want to talk to me tonight about that incident, I should go down there to settle that and have some dinner while I am at it. I am hungry. I could feel my stomach grumble.

  In the kitchen, it seems the knife and other kitchen utensils have finished prepping dinner, and it was all done and set. Famished, I sat down across from Silas, who immediately gravitated towards the kitchen. I could hear Donte and Nixon stomping up the stairs.

  “How was your day today, Eileen?” Silas asked.

  He took a bite out of his chicken wrapped in cheese and pastry. When he looked up, he immediately froze. “What happened to your hair? Did you cut it?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Is that a problem?”

  Again, he tried to analyse my expression. He really does try, and I admire that about my older brother. Perhaps the reason was that he felt like what happened five years ago was partially his fault. None of that would have happened if there wasn’t graduation. But that wasn’t true. Regardless of Silas or not, I would have still gone because I was the heir of the Frost family.

  “No… uh, it looks lovely.” He tried, and that’s all that matters to me, really.

  “So, on another note, I heard from basically everyone at school that you used your defensive rune. Why?” He asked.

  The desire to tell my brother the truth about Yasmine came, but the afterthought of my three brothers making it a dilemma was more prominent. If I said to him that Yasmine cut my hair, he would take it up to the principal. For mages, it was a logical reason to use a rune. We were allowed to use them legally if there was a threat. However, I am very aware of how biased Ordinary-Humans are to their own kind more than mages. Even if Silas spoke vocally of the incident, it would cause a lot more drama than white lying it. I could read the headline now from Ordinary-Human newspapers and magazines to mages. I didn’t need more unwanted attention. I just want to be left alone.

  “A bug landed on me,” I lied.

  “Oh… gross,” Silas blanched. “What kind of bug?”

  “Cockroach,” I replied softly. Silas shuddered and looked disgusted. “Yes. Gross.”

  “Right. You know, I always knew that school was unhygienic, especially the cafeteria. I bet that’s where the cockroach came from as well.” Silas pushed his plate away and curled his lip. “The cook always looks at me weird.”

  I slightly nodded and said, “she might have placed bugs in your food.” It was supposed to come out as a joke, but that horrified look on my brother’s face says otherwise.

  “Oh, I am on to you, Mrs MacArthur. I am onto you,” he hissed.

  Amused myself slightly at how dramatic my brother is acting, I watched him walk out the door talking to himself.

  Even knowing I lied, I knew Silas would have been understanding with my answer. Mages hate bugs. It’s a strange, love-hate relationship. Sometimes we need to find bugs to place in potions, but we also hate when they are not contained in a jar, and we prefer them dead. Ordinary-Humans are more tolerable to them than mages. My answer also more than likely forced Silas to have a shower, for he was a clean freak of a mage I have ever met. It’s quite sad considering our brothers are slobs.

  “Poor Silas,” I murmured.

  Tomorrow came around quickly, and it was already lunchtime. I left early, like I usually do every week, and made my way into the inner village and to where Miss Adams therapist office was located. It wasn’t a public place, and specifically for mages. Considering I live in a small town, I was her only visitor – but that doesn’t stop her from keeping me waiting.

  I dislike waiting. I hate that once a week, I have to wait more than was expected. I understand the concept of being busy, but if there was a designated time - perhaps a specific appointment and more than likely only appointment on that day – being forty minutes late was not a good look.

  The clock ticked above the door. In the waiting room, I deliberately sat so that I was across from the entrance that she would have to open to call my name. The upside of this curse would be that I stare blankly at everything, and it creeps Miss Adams out whenever she sees me.

  After forty-five minutes of waiting in an empty waiting room with a reception lady that went out for a late lunch just earlier, the door to Miss Adam’s office finally opened.

  This twig of a lady wearing a leather overcoat that went down to her knees came out. She had the face of a rat. Her nose was very long, hooked and pointed downwards. Smoke swirled from beside her face, and without care, she flicked the bud of the cigarette and ash dropped to the ground.

  “Eileen,” she breathed out and smoke puffed in the air. “You may enter.”

  Her office was filled with smoke. There are crystals designed to clear odours. Silas places odourless crystals around the house due to Donte and Nixon and the simmering stenches inside of their room. I guess Miss Adams doesn’t mind the dense and somewhat suffocating smoke smell.

  Not only was her room filled with smoke, but the walls were stained yellow. Clutter was everywhere. Multiple stacks of papers were on her desk, chairs, coffee table and in one the corners in her office. And her only painting of a naked woman and man, which was rather revealing and made me feel uncomfortable, crooked on the wall behind the seat she always claims.

  Miss Adams was a Lowborn mage. A mage that has tainted blood. Mixed with Ordinary-Humans and mages, which makes a bloodline dwindle and much weaker than a Highborn mage. Miss Adams was more Ordinary-Human than a mage, in a way that everything about her, to me, was vulne
rable. Her veins were dull in colour, and the gem on her staff was faded. I bet she doesn’t even have a tattoo marked on her for she would be too weak to use one. I find her utterly dull. However, she is the only therapist that’s willing to see me, and it is probably because we live in a secluded village.

  Her bony hand gestured to the chair that was across from her, against the wall where the door to her office was. I glanced down and noticed a stack of papers – unorganised I assume – on the seat she pointed to. I didn’t know if I should push the papers off or stand and have an awkward – more than likely fake – conversation with this mage once again. It wasn’t like I talk much in the first place.

  “Put them on the ground beside you or something, Eileen,” she croaked. Her voice a throaty, grainy sound of a chain-smoker.

  Not bothered with moving the stack with my hands, I felt my veins throb, and I flicked my wrist up, and the papers levitated, floated off to the side and thumped down beside the chair. Satisfied with my concentration, I sat down on the empty seat and placed my hands in my lap and got as comfortable as I could in this place.

  “Now, Eileen.” Miss Adams took a puff of her smoke and then blew the smoke out across to me. I blinked slowly and ignored the pain that stung my eyes. “Your principal sent me papers of your adventurous week this week at school.” On the coffee table was an inch in size, stack of papers. Miss Adams took hold of one and raised it up so that it was at eye level. “You used a magical drawing, she said.”

  “A rune,” I corrected.

  “Yes, we all know Ordinary-Humans are halfwits when it comes to a mages knowledge,” Miss Adams snorted.