Cold Death Mary Stone (most read books TXT) 📖

I chanced a peek at Headmistress Letitia, who gifted me a luminous smile, her eyes gleaming their approval. Heat mixed with the buzzing sensation in my cells, turning my body into a lit firework, a match strike away from exploding.

“You don’t have to use that. Please!” Reggie cowered from Sean as the larger boy approached him with purposeful steps and the tawse clenched tight in his hand.

The leather whistled and landed with a loud slap across his shoulder. Reggie squealed and jerked away.

“Again, and harder this time.” Headmistress Letitia pressed her hands together, and air hissed in and out of her ripe lips. Until then, Reggie’s mouse-like squeaks had disgusted me, but the headmistress’s excitement triggered my own. Blood pulsed in my ears, and there was a new tightness in my groin. “Remember, if you don’t show strength, you will end up broken. If you don’t take power, you will end up suffering. Do you really want to suffer?”

She uttered the words with conviction, but her glittering eyes seared right into Reggie’s.

The truth took another moment to sink in. Not Sean. Reggie.

Stunned, I performed a mental rewind of her speech. It checked out. Her talk of taking power and channeling inner beasts had never been meant for Sean, but Reggie.

I could have kicked myself because, of course! In retrospect, this made perfect sense. A bully like Sean already knew how to access his power. Meek, mousy little Reggie was the one who needed the wake-up call.

The strap whistled again, and the resulting slap cracked like thunder. Reggie screamed, but Sean didn’t stop, not now that the seal was broken. Lips bared from his teeth like a wild animal, he lashed out again and again, striking the other boy across the back, shoulders, neck. He struck everywhere he could reach while Reggie did his best to curl his body into the smallest possible target, covering his head with his hands.

“Good.” Headmistress Letitia clapped her hands. “Again. Let your beast out or suffer the consequences!”

Sweat beaded on Sean’s forehead, but he kept swinging. The strap hit Reggie one, two, three times more.

Blood running hot, I curled my hands into my thighs to curb the urge to yank the tawse away from Sean’s hand and take over. Beside me, the headmistress’s breathing quickened too.

“Soon,” she whispered. Only loud enough for my ears. “Very soon.”

After the fourth strike, a scream ripped from the smaller boy’s throat. It was so full of pain and explosive rage that the sound reverberated off the walls like a jungle cat’s roar. Reggie whirled and launched himself at Sean, headbutting the larger boy in the chest. As Sean staggered backward, Reggie charged again, pummeling Sean’s chest and gut with his fists.

I held my breath, anticipating the moment when Sean would strike back and knock Reggie to the floor with a single punch. But the bigger boy lifted his hands to protect his face and shrank away, blubbering like a two-year-old. “Stop! Make him stop!”

An object thumped my hip, returning my attention back to the market.

“Excuse me!” A gray-haired woman called the apology over one shoulder as she hurried away, the large shopping bag that had accosted me swinging from her arm.

After separating the old hag’s neck from her shoulders in my mind, I located the young mother again. Looking exhausted, she was crouching and cradling both sniffling boys to her chest. “Shhh, we’ll go home soon. I know you’re tired. Come on, let’s go get an ice cream cone.”

Like magic, the tears disappeared, and the two boys skipped along, each clutching one of their mother’s hands.

I tracked their progress through the crowd until they disappeared around a corner. One day in the not-too-distant future, when the brothers matured enough to comprehend their inherent power, they would cease using tears as a primary tool and switch to violence instead.

Boys were so easy in that way. Society encouraged them to tap into anger and aggressiveness to such an extent that we’d even adopted a special saying to excuse any injuries that might occur as a result of testing their inner beasts.

Boys will be boys.

Smiling to myself, I slid my hands into my pockets and searched the crowd until I spied a young woman wandering through the booths, wearing a sleeping baby on her chest in one of those special carriers. A tiny pink knit hat that covered the infant’s head and ears designated her as a girl, and I clucked my tongue.

Girls posed more of a challenge, requiring more planning and skill to circumvent their natures, which were hardwired more toward nurturing and fulfilling societal expectations. Unlike boys, igniting an explosion of violence in the female of the human species necessitated a liberal application of accelerants and more than one fuse.

I eased into the meandering crowd while my mind raced ahead to the grand finale I had in store. A fireworks extravaganza that would put the Fourth of July displays to shame. Even with all of them on high alert, the three special women in my life would never see it coming.

With all the noise from the market, my murmuring as I weaved through the shoppers went unnoticed.

Never fear, Ellie, Katarina, and sweet little Bethany. Soon, very soon, I planned to strip away the rest of their armor and bare the truth of their innermost selves for everyone to see.

When the explosion came, it would detonate like a nuclear bomb.

I couldn’t wait to watch the show.

7

The painting’s vivid pink and purple sky first drew Clay’s attention, but the little girl running along the beach with a swath of blonde hair whipping behind her like a kite was what sucked him in.

The artist’s impressionistic style made the intended age of the small figure tough to peg, but if Clay had to guess, he’d say ten or so.

Close to Bethany’s age.

“Can I offer you a bottled water, Agent Lockwood?”

Clay tore his attention away from the painting and touched the tip of his cowboy hat. “Thank you, I’d appreciate it.”

The fabric of