"No. No, no, no," Naomi wailed.
"Keep it down!" Mr. Baldwin demanded.
She did as she was told, but inside, the wailing continued. As she flipped through the remaining pages (where more had been ripped out), her temples throbbed from a burning headache—one brought on by uncertainty and her likely impending death.
Glumly, she decided to check out the book anyway. Maybe she could sort through it further and pull out more clues later. As she walked toward the checkout counter, she wondered who the culprit could be. Roland knew about Malcolm's tunnels. Not to mention, he was an ass, putting him at the top of Naomi's suspect list. However, the skill involved in the poisoning attempt suggested someone with greater power. Could someone from the competition be in on this? After all, Teddy had made those suspicious remarks to Judge Sherwood. Maybe there was a bigger conspiracy going on behind the scenes.
Wrapped up in her musings, Naomi nearly ran into another student coming up to the check-out counter. She stumbled back, taking in the other student.
It was Soraya.
"You first," the girl offered.
"No, you go ahead." Naomi motioned for her to finish.
"Thanks," Soraya said, as she set her book on the counter. Before Mr. Baldwin picked it up, Naomi got a good look at the cover. It was a book researching different geological rocks and natural elements.
"Is that research for the next trial?" she asked, remembering Quinn's previous visit to the library.
"That's none of your business," Soraya snapped, taking her aback.
"Sorry" was on the tip of Naomi's tongue, when Soraya snatched the book back from Mr. Baldwin as he returned it. Then she walked off without another word.
"Manners much?" Mr. Baldwin shouted after her with a glare.
"Must have been raised in a barn." Naomi looked up at him naïvely as she slid her own book across the counter. She glanced back at Soraya one more time while Mr. Baldwin checked out her book.
Barn-raised or not, Soraya was acting strange. She'd been nice to Naomi in the past, but that flash of irritation was unmistakable. Whether it was about the trial, their mutual interest in Quinn, or something else, Naomi wasn't sure.
But for now, she had bigger problems than Soraya's attitude.
***
With her exploration in the library finished, Naomi still had one more stop to make. It was the one she dreaded the most. She hadn't been the only one out of commission because of an illness. According to Lark, Mrs. Tinkle was back from the sick days she'd taken. Now that Naomi was back on her feet, the time to question Mrs. Tinkle about her grandmother had arrived.
Making her way to the front lobby, Naomi stood a few paces away, scrutinizing the old elf cautiously. The woman did look a few shades darker, implying Lark might have been right about her being on vacation. Her time away hadn't improved her personality. When she caught sight of Naomi, Mrs. Tinkle's usual scowl turned even more intense.
"What are you looking at, Snowflake?" the woman barked.
Definitely not off to a good start. Naomi wondered if she should have brought a peace offering. Cookies, perhaps.
"Um, hi, Mrs. Tinkle. It's nice to see you're feeling better."
"What do you want, little girl?" The elf refused to fall for her pleasantries.
"Well...it's kind of a serious matter." Naomi eased her way over, being so daring as to sit in one of Mrs. Tinkle's beloved lobby chairs.
"I don't see what the two of us would have to discuss." Mrs. Tinkle returned to her work, sipping from her famous cup. Naomi briefly considered using it as a line opener, but instead, went with something more straightforward.
"It's about my grandmother—and your friend—Juliette."
Mrs. Tinkle choked, spilling hot coffee over her desk.
"Damn it!" the elf yelled.
Naomi jumped up to help, pulling tissues out of a box by the desk. They weren't very efficient, especially when Mrs. Tinkle snatched them out of her hands.
"Give me that! Who told you, you could touch my desk?"
Naomi held up her hands in surrender, backing away.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I—"
"And who told you, you could make up lies about people? That you could pry into their business?" The receptionist went on a tirade as she sopped up what remained of the spilled coffee.
"I'm not lying. Juliette Cole was my grandmother. I'm trying to find out more about her. I know you two were friends, and—"
"You shut your mouth." Mrs. Tinkle held up a warning finger. "Stop talking right now, or I will call the dean."
"Call the dean? I only asked you a question."
At her disobedience, Mrs. Tinkle lifted the office phone to dial. Acting on instinct, Naomi grabbed it out of her hand and slammed it back down. Mrs. Tinkle looked at her in utter shock. Naomi realized she was out of her mind to be pissing her off this way, but she was desperate.
"Please, I need to know. I'm trying to find out more about my past, where I came from, and this is all I've got. You're my only shot, Mrs. Tinkle. Please don't hate me right now. I need you to tell me the truth."
For a second, Naomi saw it in her eyes.
Mercy, empathy, in Mrs. Tinkle's eyes.
As quickly as it came, it vanished.
"If you leave now, I won't report you to Dean Wellington for screwing up my desk. But don't you dare come back here spouting off that bullshit. Understood?"
Naomi's throat grew tight. She couldn't get herself to agree out loud.
There was more here.
Mrs. Tinkle wouldn't be acting so erratic and furious unless she knew something.
Something big.
Something dark.
Something that left her shaken.
But it was best to retreat. There was nothing Naomi could say to persuade her.
Not yet. Not until Naomi found out something else—something that would crack everything open. Until then...
Naomi gave Mrs. Tinkle a stiff nod and left.
***
Over the next week, the Summit Trials were put on hold in order to beef up security. In the meantime, Naomi anxiously puzzled over her suspects and remained incredibly frustrated with Malcolm. It turned out he had told Figgis and Sam about the portrait incident—but with his version of the event. One where Naomi was made out to be paranoid because Malcolm claimed he'd "accidentally" left the portrait door open. It was a flat-out lie, but she knew if she fought him on it, more trouble and arguments would arise. She'd let him get away with this one, as long as she kept a vigilant eye on everything else.
Their week of reprieve soon passed, and the Summit Trials were put back on track. The final trial was said to be a test on their foundational magic as an elf and dragon shifter. This meant the task could be anything, as long as they were required to use their magic to complete it. With that under consideration, Malcolm and Naomi broke their chilly demeanor toward one another to prepare. They both agreed it would be good to practice their defensive magic skills, and Naomi was eager to see what Malcolm's would be like.
When she finally did see them...
It became abundantly clear why the guy had an army of guards.
As she and Malcolm sparred in the empty gym, the prince strained to keep up with her. Surveying his skills, Naomi found them severely lacking.
He was unfocused when it came to returning attacks. He dropped his defensive moves too soon. It wasn't that he was weak. His magic was strong, fierce. Otherwise, there was no way he would have been able to use his shield that long during the festival confrontation.
But overall...
The prince was terrible in a fight.
"Malcolm..." Naomi sighed after drop-kicking him with her tail for the fourth time.
"I know, okay?" he snapped, roughly swiping at the sweat on his forehead.
Naomi expected him to rush into a rant. Instead, Malcolm collapsed on the floor and covered his face with his hands.
"I suck."
"I wouldn't say suck..."
He glared at her knowingly.
"Okay, yeah. It's pretty bad," Naomi said as she sat down beside him.
"Have you taken defensive magic classes before?"
"Yes, I have, but my father..."
"Treats you like a porcelain doll?"
Malcolm ignored her jibe. "He says I don't have to go on the battlefield, so it doesn't matter if I can't fight. That that's what an army is for."
"That's crazy! Your army will only respect you if you show you're there for them. That you understand what they go through. A king who doesn't fight for his people doesn't sound like much of a king at all."
Malcolm stared up at the ceiling blankly. "Maybe I'm not meant to be one."
"You're not going to fight for the chance to rule your kingdom? To protect it? You have so much pride, Malcolm, and it doesn't mean a damn thing. Not if you chicken out." Naomi started to stand up and walk away.
Malcolm grabbed her leg, swiftly bringing her back onto the floor. He rolled on top of her, gripping her hands in the lock that he'd been failing at miserably earlier.
"You don't know what I go through. What it's like. The pressure I'm under. You want to act like you could do better, but you wouldn't last a day in my shoes."
Naomi kneed him in the stomach, forcing him to let go. They both rolled back up, standing, facing off.
"Maybe not. But if you run off to play Max every time you feel stressed, then you're hiding. You don't have the guts to face the reality of your life."
Naomi backed up her verbal blow by throwing a blast of fire Malcolm's way. He managed to block it, putting up his shield and sending a force field back at her.
She smiled, getting why Quinn had laughed during their battle.
This was it. This was turning into an actual match. Malcolm was becoming her match. It was thrilling.
"Do you ever stop acting like you know everything, Naomi?" Malcolm asked. He threw out another attack, a long vine snapping out at her leg.
"I'll stop when you admit I'm right. When you admit you're scared of your own potential. What you could do."
Malcolm paused—as if he realized they were fighting for the first time.
Spreading out her wings, Naomi came at him fast. Bursting through the air, she ripped at him with her claws. He dodged it.
"Don't stop, Malcolm. Get mad. Defend your honor. Defend yourself. You can do this."
Naomi lashed out at him again, managing to scratch his arm. That woke him up, pissed him off.
The fight raged on. They went at it for an hour, trading blows and ending up breathless.
When Naomi was on the brink of keeling over, she held up her hands. She was willing to make peace, especially after Malcolm had done so well.
"Truce, Max?"
Malcolm grinned and held up his hands too.
"Truce," he said, breathing heavily.
They both sunk down onto the floor. For a moment, they simply sat there recuperating.
"You still don't think I'm good enough, though, do you?" Malcolm asked, breaking the silence.
"No. You did well. I think—"
"I mean, you wish you were competing with him." Malcolm stared at her intently, and Naomi's breathing stopped altogether.
He knew.
Malcolm did know about her kiss with Quinn.
When she didn't respond, he scoffed and shook his head. "You are way far gone, and you are seriously going to regret it."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because whatever you want from that guy, it's not going to end well. He will break your heart and make you wish you never met him. He does it all the time. Don't say I didn't warn you." Malcolm started to get up, but she snagged his arm.
"What? You're saying he sees other girls?"
Malcolm laughed. "Oh, I wish it was that simple. He's a user, Naomi. He drains people until there's nothing good left."
"You're just saying that because of what happened between you two. He didn't mean for his friends to lose control like that."
"His friends?" Malcolm asked cautiously.
At his wariness, Naomi elaborated. "He told me how his friends took advantage of your relationship. They kidnapped you after finding out you and Quinn were friends."
Malcolm's face went dark. "Is that what that bastard told you?"
"Yes. He—"
"Let me set the record straight for you, Naomi. Quinn's little gang didn't kidnap me because of our friendship. Quinn gave me up to them."
*** Say what now?!
😲