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two: so, um, jack frost looks like he wants to kill you

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The thing I remember the most about the day I last saw Mom was the sun.

It was way too bright that day and we had to wear sunglasses to go outside in our garden. The sun warmed the back of my red ponytail, irritating it and leaving a peeling burn. Mom and I were harvesting tomatoes from our garden, knees dirty. I remembered Mom going into the shed right in front of the woods to grab a bucket, tall frame vanishing behind the shed.

She never came back.

I had searched for hours, screaming her name over and over again until my voice turned hoarse. Still nothing. If she had died, her body was gone as if she had never existed at all.

The rest of that day is nothing but scraps of a memory, blurry bits and pieces clouding around together in my mind to form an unfinished puzzle. My dad's anguish. The members of the Order coming to our house to investigate. Me running up to my room to tell my younger sister, Lilac. The two of us crying on the floor between our two beds, holding our dog Bark between us. 

I had always believed Mom was dead. Now, I don't know what to believe.

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"Who do you guys have for Power Training?" Devon asks, leaning over to talk to us, shouting over the deafening noise of the cafeteria.

"What the hell is power training?" Li shoots back, pushing her thick-framed glasses up her nose. "I have Combustion Lessons. What do they think I'm going to do, burn the school down?" 

It's been four days since I first arrived at Aurelia's. So far there's been no sign of Madame Aurelia or Mom. I'm running out of time and patience, but there haven't been enough opportunities for me to slip away. 

Devon and Li-Yang have become sort of my friends, I guess. Li-Yang introduced herself to me on the second day of class, cornering me in the dorm and forcing me to tell her my name. She was a flame, every bit as sparkly and energetic as her power to control fire. The two of us fell into a budding friendship, and Devon following me around like a lost puppy added a third person to our little duo.

I sigh, taking out my schedule from the pocket of my sweater. I'd already memorized all of it, of course, but Li and Devon don't know about my telepathy. Nobody does.

Madame Aurelia's school has ten clans of supervillains: the flameijens, wielders of flame, the lunars, wielders of light, the winteras, wielders of snow, the flygons, villians who can fly, and others that I haven't even memorized yet.

What they don't have is a clan for telepaths. If I'm found out, I'll be killed, which is why I need to do this quickly. Get in, find mom, get to the bottom of what's happening here, and get out. It's that simple.

I stand, faking the excuse of my next class, but Devon grabs my hand and pulls me back down again. Smacking my knee on the hard table, I wince and shoot him what I hope is my best glare. "What was that for?" I hiss.

"Jack Frost over there looks like he wants to implant an icicle in your brain," Devon whispers, jerking his head a little over to the left, "I'd steer clear of him." I turn, following the direction of his head.

He's right. At the table just barely to my right, a handsome blue-eyed soldier is eyeing me evilly, his cold glare a storm of emotions. His friends see him glaring at me, but say nothing, instead continue to play a game of what I think is chess. 

"Who is that?" I whisper, not taking my eyes off of him. His blue eyes don't leave my face and a layer of frost begins to radiate off of him. I try to hide my fear from leaking into my voice and it doesn't, but my hand shakes relentlessly. Could he know? It's not possible, but he could.

"Ryker Snow," Li says, pushing her glasses up her nose again, "Son of Baz Snow, leader of the wintera clan. He's a year ahead of us and already he's shaping up to be Madame Aurelia's newest attack dog. If he hates you, you must've done something right. The guy is a Grade A, certified bitch."

I stare back at Ryker, who is squeezing his fork so hard that he could stab himself with it. I reach out to probe his mind, curious, but an icy blizzard throws me back. A sharp, jabbing pain stabs me in my brain, and I yelp, hand reaching out to touch my temple. 

It's not possible. It can't be possible. 

Ryker Snow, whoever he is, is trained to block telepathy. There are no telepaths at Aurelia's. In fact, I think my family is the only remaining telepath bloodline in the world.

That can only mean one thing: Ryker knows who I am and he's coming for me.

"Nora? Are you okay?" I think I hear Devon or Li ask. My brain is still underwater, ringing from the aftermath of Ryker's powerful block. I stand, in a daze, and turn to walk away. The eyes of two-hundred initiates watch me go, but I don't see them as initiates.

I see them as predators, poised and ready to attack if I make one mistake. To slip up is to die. I see that now.

This is going to be a lot harder than I thought.

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I've found out three things since I first arrived at Aurelia's. 

One: Madame Aurelia has never once been seen by the students and the staff of her school, which is odd because you would think that a headmistress needs to tell the teachers how to work her school. But I guess not. She hides away somewhere, funneling directions through Baz Snow, Ryker's father, which leads me to my second point.

Two: The Snow's know who I am. Well, at least Ryker does, which probably means that his father also knows. If his father knows, then Madame Aurelia probably knows and has people keeping an eye on me. She most likely didn't send me that letter. The question is, who did?

Three: They have my mother and I need to find out if she's still alive. Her life, and mine, depends on it.

So much for not wanting to be involved in my father's world.

I walk through the quiet halls of Aurelia's now, trying to move as quickly as possible. I should be in A History of Villainy right now, but I already memorized the entire textbook. Now, more than ever, is the perfect time to snoop.

I'm not sure exactly what I'm looking for. Some kind of door, maybe a hint as to who Madame Aurelia really is. So far, I've gotten nothing. Continuing to wander down the long, winding hallways, I spy something glinting out of the corner of my eye. It's something.

Time to go investigate.

My combat boots are loud, a lot louder then I'd hoped they'd be. Someone is bound to hear me, but I keep going, praying that nobody comes out and spies the lone redhead in the hallways, ditching class.

I arrive at the glinting trophy case, immediately baffled. It was a massive case, only reaching to the ceiling, but there was nothing in there. No sports trophies, no pictures of past students, no certificate of achievement. It was barren of anything like that, except for one thing.

A photograph.

It looked like it was taken on a polaroid camera, maybe some forty years ago. It's about as small as the palm of my hand, in no special frame or anything like that. The picture itself looks starkly out of place with the rest of the case, but I needed to get to it somehow.

Something inside of me, an instinct perhaps, is screaming at me to grab it. The trophy case has a panel that opens on the side, so I slide it back and reach in, pulling out the picture.

Oh my god.

It couldn't be possible. There was no way that it could be possible.

The polaroid was of my mother, tied up in what appeared to be a basement, normally vibrant red hair slick with blood, eyes that were once so smart now lifeless and vacant.

They were right.

I flip the photograph over, searching for some sign of where she was, writing or something. There was nothing. Sighing and putting it into my pocket, I turn to walk away, faced with three brutal truths.

My mother is alive. My mother is being tortured. Somebody at this school sent me the letter and placed the picture there, knowing I'd find it.

Almost making it to the end of the hallway, I try to step out to the main lobby when a familiar blizzard stops me. 

"Hello, Nora," An eerily calm, silky voice purrs from the other end of the hallway, "I've been wanting to talk to you."

I don't hesitate. I run, hoping and praying that I'm faster than him. 

I can't let him find this photograph. If he does, I lose the only lead I have.

I'll never find out where Mom is.


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