~ MICHAEL ~
Saint Dominic’s Boarding School for Boys, Agnaru
1889
I slipped into Father O’Malley’s office, closing the door without a sound. The curtains were drawn, the room pitch black. I snapped my fingers, conjuring up a flame. Using it to light my way, I headed for the dead priest’s bureau, shifting through the drawers, searching for anything that flashed my name. Not finding anything, I went to his desk, also hoping to find nothing. I flicked through some papers, then a notepad, stopping at the sight of my name. Messy writing was scrawled across the page. It looked like a draft for a letter or a speech, what was written making me wish I could bring Father O’Malley back to life—so I could kill him again.
Michael Laboure is a troublesome young man. His behaviour is
starting has become threatening, to the point that I’m now concerned for my
own safety. The last occasion for worry was when the boy approached me after class
today and persistently asked demanded that he be allowed to touch my
rosary beads. When I refused, he became aggressive, so much so that I felt in
danger. If Father Callum had not entered the classroom, scaring the boy away, I’m
certain Michael would’ve forcibly tried to take the rosary from me. He is also
disruptive during class and aggressive towards the other students, many of them
scared of him. I have tried to discuss this with his aunt and uncle, but they
have continued to ignore the situation, instead throwing money at the schoolboard
to quieten me. But this is far too serious to sweep under the rug. I have a
responsibility to keep my students safe as well as the teachers. And since Michael’s
guardians cannot, or will not, listen to me, I require your assistance in
having Michael admitted to an asylum, where he can receive the help he desperately
needs.
Furious with Father O’Malley’s words, I ripped the piece of paper out and crumpled it in my fist. At least it hadn’t gotten to its intended recipient, otherwise I’d be in a straightjacket, thrown in with the insane. And I wasn’t insane. I was in total control of my emotions. I knew what I wanted and took it. That made me strong, not insane. Bastard! I was glad I killed him. Glad I burned him into the nothing he was. He didn’t deserve the rosary. I did.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway caught my attention. I quickly extinguished my flame and ducked behind the desk as the door opened.
“Michael?” Cristoforo whispered. “Are you in here?”
I grunted and pushed up from my hiding place, glaring across at my cousin. He was holding a small lantern, the smell of oil reaching my nose.
“Put that out, you’ll get me caught,” I snapped.
The sleep spell I’d tried to cast over the dormitory hadn’t worked. I’d said the exact same words as the last time, but for some reason the spell hadn’t taken. I wished I had a manual for the rosary, because I knew I could do so much more, my spying on Father O’Malley proving that. I’d seen him do miraculous things with the red rosary, like the time he’d lit up a bush with his bare hands. It made me think of Moses’ burning bush, even more so with the way the priest had spoken to it as though it was a conduit to God. Father O’Malley hadn’t seen me watching, probably thinking he was all alone on the other side of the forest. I’d snuck out from the boarding school for a rendezvous with a girl, stumbling across the scene by pure chance. Or maybe it was fate leading me to the rosary.
Leading me to my destiny.
“Why the hell are you following me?” I said through clenched teeth. I’d purposely snuck out so I didn’t have to listen to Cristoforo’s whiny complaints and panicked ramblings. I wished I hadn’t told him what I’d done to Father O’Malley, but he always had a way of getting things out of me. Or maybe it was just my stupid pride that had pried my mouth loose, pride over my burgeoning powers.
My cousin glared back at me, looking tougher than he was, his muscular build making him appear considerably older than sixteen. He didn’t deserve to be bigger than me, just as much as Father O’Malley didn’t deserve the rosary.
“More like, what are you doing here?” Cristoforo hissed. “Are you trying to get us hung?”
“I told you I would take care of the evidence.”
I snapped my fingers, instantly creating a flame. I lit the crumpled notepaper, enjoying the look of disbelief on my cousin’s face as I burned the evidence. He wasn’t shocked by my power, since he already knew what I was capable of, he was just a goody-two-shoes who was scared of people finding out he was an accomplice to the priest’s murder. Oh, he had no part in what had happened, and even if he had been there, he couldn’t have stopped it. He would’ve stood frozen to the spot, staring in horror as I lit the priest up like a bonfire. I could just see him doing that. He was a timid kitten masquerading as a lion. All posturing and no bite.
“Stop using the rosary,” Cristoforo spat. “It’s dangerous.”
Feeling like putting him in his place, I walked around the desk and flicked a playful flame at him.
Jumping back, Cristoforo stared at me like I was mad. “Stop playing with fire, Michael, you literally could burn the school down.”
I smiled at him. “What a brilliant idea. I wouldn’t need to sneak around this hellhole anymore, because it would be gone, gone, gone.” I laughed at his horrified expression.
“Stop joking, this isn’t funny.”
“Oh, no, cousin, I’m dead serious.” I blew on the flame, making it bigger.
He took a rapid step back. “Please, Michael, you can’t,” he said, now looking his usual panicked self, his fake bravado gone.
“Why not? You hate the place too.”
“Not enough to burn it down.”
I sniffed derisively. “Well, I hate it enough to burn it down a thousand times. It’s nothing more than a prison, a means to torture me.” My smile returned at the thought of Father Cullen dying the same way as Father O’Malley. If anything, I should’ve killed him first, watching gleefully as he screamed in agony, begging for my forgiveness, something I would never give him.
I raised my hand higher, crafting a fireball out of the flames, the energy coming from within. The fire was running through my veins, my blood its conduit, the rush so pure it made opium feel like placebos. Unlike the spells, the flames came naturally to me, something I didn’t have to even try to achieve. They were just there, a part of me, a part of who I was now. Or had always been.
My cousin stared at the fireball, the flames bathing his strong features in an orange glow. “No, Michael, please no. Too many innocent people will die.”
I cocked a brow. “Do you really think I care about anyone here other than you? They can all burn in Hell for what they did.”
“They didn’t do anything.”
“That’s my point!” I exploded, so sick of holding my rage in. Sick of pretending like I wasn’t filled with so much fury that I could burn the world down. “They ignored it, turned a blind eye, allowing it to continue, allowing me to suffer. Now it’s their turn to suffer.”
I threw the fireball at the wastebasket. The paper inside it lit up. I laughed as my cousin jammed his big foot into the small bin, doing his best to stomp out the flames, the scene comical.
He put the last of the flames out and levelled me with a vicious glare, the expression at odds with his usually soft nature. “Do that again and I’ll make sure you won’t be able to lift your hands,” he growled, stepping closer to me. He was obviously trying to intimidate me with his size, just failing in the process. It didn’t matter how much brawn he had.
I had the rosary.
“Are you threatening me?” I asked, wondering whether he was finally growing some balls.
He clenched his hands. “I won’t let you torch the school.”
“So, you’ll hurt me? Your own blood?” I snapped my fingers, lighting them up once more.
His gaze briefly flicked to the flames, then back to me, his strong jawline tensing. “You’ve changed, Michael, you’re not the cousin I once knew. You’re a murderer,” he hissed out the last part. “So, put that out or I will.”
I bristled, furious he was threatening me, someone he was supposed to care for. He was more like a brother than a cousin to me. But maybe that was just how I viewed things, because I wouldn’t have stood in his way, wouldn’t have stopped him from getting revenge.
I would’ve helped him.
“You know what Father Cullen did to me?!” I yelled. “Yet you threaten my life?”
“I’m not threatening your life, I just want you to see sense, but obviously you can’t. Maybe Father Cullen was right about you.”
“What do you mean by that?” I spat.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if what you said about him was just a means to manipulate me, using sympathy to gain my support. It’s probably why you never reported him. Because it’s all lies.”
My face went slack, what he’d said cutting me to the core. “You truly believe that?”
He nodded, his face as harsh as his thoughts. “You’re vindictive enough to lie. Vindictive enough to kill innocent priests too. Father O’Malley was nice and you killed him, even though it was Father Cullen who supposedly hurt you.”
My rosary lit up, pulsing around my neck, almost as though my hurt was fuelling it.
He continued ranting at me, not caring what his words were doing to me. I’d told no one but him about the abuse I’d incurred under Father Cullen, and I’d foolishly thought he’d believed me. Thought he had my back. The only person to have my back. But if my own cousin didn’t believe me, what else did I have?
Nothing.
I was all alone.
Bold flames burst from my hands, no thought involved, only hurt and rage. I didn’t care about the terror flashing across Cristoforo’s eyes, because he didn’t care about me. No one cared about me. Not the mother who’d abandoned me to Cristoforo’s family or my worthless father who’d abandoned her, preferring to jump from one woman to the next, his spawn littering New Zealand. My auntie and uncle also didn’t care about me. They’d only taken me in because they were forced to by the courts. And now Cristoforo, the one person who I’d thought cared, was showing he was just as bad as all the others, if not worse, because he was the only person I’d allowed myself to love. I would’ve died for him. But not now. Not after he’d shown his true colours.
I threw my hands out, flinging fireballs at the walls. The flames raced towards the ceiling like demons scampering out of Hell. My cousin rammed into me, sending the both of us flying over the desk. I yelled out as I came down hard on the chair, my body exploding with pain. But I couldn’t give into it, because Cristoforo was already grabbing my arms, trying to pin me down. I slipped a hand free and struck him in the face. He yelled out, momentarily distracted. Taking advantage, I shoved him off me, anger and adrenalin giving me the strength. Before he could stop me, I scrambled over the desk and went for the door, wanting to light everything on fire. The room was already aflame, the heat making me laugh. For a moment, all the harm that had rained down on me fell away, joy taking its place, the flames not only lighting up the room, but my soul, freeing me from my agonising life. It infused me, making me come alive for the first time. I was like a phoenix being reborn through the fire. I danced in a circle, revelling in it, the heat not even making me sweat. The flames were a part of me, an extension of my soul.
A loud roar snapped me out of my joyful dance. My gaze snapped around as Cristoforo launched himself over the desk at me. He crashed into me even harder than before, the force sending me flying into the wall. My head bounced off the hard surface. I blanked out on impact, coming to on the floor. My cousin was hovering over me, removing the rosary from around my neck. I screamed, “No!” and grabbed for it, but he was already bounding to his feet. He pulled it over his own head. Instantly, his pained expression disappeared, the heat coming off the burning walls no longer affecting him. Whereas for me...
The feeling of ecstasy disappeared, replaced by terror and intense heat. I screamed as fire caught hold of my nightshirt sleeve, licking my flesh. I rolled around on the floor, the rosary no longer protecting me from the flames. My cousin took a step back, suddenly looking unsure of what to do, then he bent down to grab my arm to help me up. But I didn’t need his help.
I needed the rosary.
I swiped at it, desperate to get it back. He let go of me and backed up, then bolted for the door as I pushed to my feet. I chased him into the corridor, screaming, “Give it back!” But he continued forward, too fast for me to catch. As he ran, he hollered, “Fire!” at the top of his lungs, continuing until students emerged from their dormitories. Pandemonium broke out, the students panicking as the flames spread rapidly.
I raced down the staircase after my cousin, yelling out as someone shoved me from behind. I tumbled down the remaining steps, crashing to the floor at the bottom. Other students ran over me, trampling me, stamping me on the head. I blanked out, then came to, finding Cristoforo dragging me across the atrium, screaming for help. But no one came to his aid, my aid, fire and smoke surrounding us. Cristoforo continued to drag me across the floor, his expression strained, his strength waning. I wanted to push up, to get out myself, but I felt disorientated, weak.
A loud crack above us made me look towards the glass ceiling. My eyes widened as shards of glass and a burning beam came crashing down towards me. I covered my face as the glass bit into me, screamed as the beam crushed my legs. The scream grew louder as the flames took to my clothes, to my flesh. Frantic, I called out for my cousin. But he was already running for the exit.
Leaving me to burn.
Leaving me to die.
~ CATHERINE ~
I thrashed about in my bed, red flashes stirring beneath my eyelids, my mind in Michael’s body. The fire was consuming him, the agony he was feeling... I was feeling, was unbearable. Then greater pain hit us, tearing into our very being. It grew a thousand times worse than the flames eating away at his dead body. It felt like my soul, no, Michael’s soul was being ripped out, sucked into another fiery abyss.
Into a living hell.