The Reckoning

  Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Epilogue

  The Reckoning

  By M.K. Easley

  Copyright 2019 by M.K. Easley

  Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, or persons, living or deceased, is coincidental.

  Shoutout to my beta squad. I never could have done this without your time, effort, enthusiasm, patience, and humor.

  Chapter 1

  Tristan Wallace did her best to ignore the whispers as she walked down the hall. For the last three years, it had been the same thing -- freak, weirdo, witch -- no matter where she went in Jamestown Academy, the whispers followed her. Of course, it had all been started by Emmeline Strandquest on the first day of ninth grade when, upon taking one look at Tristan, she had declared that evil walked among them.

  Though presented that way, this was nothing new for Emmeline or for Tristan, as Emmeline had been proclaiming the same thing since the two had been classmates at Diamondback Elementary; the difference with high school, however, was the larger audience Emmeline was able to hold captive, and with her shiny, bouncy hair the color of blackberries, wide green eyes, and peachy pink skin, Emmeline was the quintessential, drop-dead gorgeous popular girl who captivated with ease. She had, as far as Tristan could remember, strolled into kindergarten with an air of old-world confidence that had followed her all the way through to high school, causing countless classmates to trail behind in the hopes she’d turn her attention their way.

  As a casual observer, it was a mystery to Tristan how someone so rotten on the inside could accumulate such a desperate mass following, but Tristan supposed she was likely only in a position to make that observation due her personal rule, backed by her parents, to befriend none of her classmates. This was an easy enough feat, considering most of the kids in the small, small town of Lavelle, Louisiana fell into two categories -- Emmeline worshippers or outcasts. The kids in the middle of the road mostly ignored Tristan, not wanting to become targets of Emmeline and her cronies themselves, though Tristan had surface acquaintanceships with a few of them, mostly as a result of school projects or shared homerooms.

  This area was one in which she totally differed from her twin siblings, Olivia and Evander, who were sixteen and in the eleventh grade. Both of them were among the most popular in their class, and more than once, much to Tristan's extreme annoyance, it had taken their friends by surprise to learn that Tristan, seventeen and a senior, was their sister. It wasn't that the younger Wallaces weren't also strange, just a little bit different in a hard to identify way, but they were both as beautiful and outgoing as it came, so their peers took their offbeat vibe as nothing more than a twin personality quirk. Tristan, while also striking with her long, wheat-colored hair and expressive dark eyes, had accepted long ago that she couldn't hold a candle to her fair ginger siblings in any manner.

  “You're wrong.” A cheerful voice piped up from beside Tristan, and she jumped, turning to find Olivia had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.

  “What?”

  “You're crazy smart and you can be funny, usually when you're not trying to be, and you're thoughtful and gorgeous. You don't need to compete with me and Ev, but you'd be a tough contender if you did.”

  “Oceana,” Tristan hissed, gripping her sister's arm. “What did I tell you about reading my thoughts?”

  “What did I tell you back?” Olivia asked, shaking her off, her gray eyes narrowing. “I usually can't; sometimes you just come through as loud as day. And don't call me Oceana here, Trinity.”

  The thing was, Emmeline wasn't entirely off-base with her accusations. Tristan wasn't a witch -- anyone with good sense knew witches weren't real and never had been, even predating the Salem trials -- but she and her family were part of an exclusive, underground community whose essential belief was that, through the practice and the act of worshipping the universe and its elements, the mind could be enlightened to supernatural heights. It certainly seemed to be true for Olivia, who, outside of Jamestown Academy, went by her elemental name, Oceana. She'd been picking up on people's thoughts since she was a child, and had become nearly effortless at what she called “tuning in”. Recently, she'd begun to experiment with influencing people's thoughts, to get them to change their minds and do or say what she wanted while making them think it was their idea, at which it seemed she'd be proficient as well. Evander, who went by Ember outside of school, shared her ability to read thoughts, though his focus was more on the desire for extraordinary physical strength. Tristan, better known as Trinity to her family and community, at a young age had learned she could move things with the power of her mind alone.

  As she grew up, however, Tristan withdrew from her practice, unsure that completing high school and marrying into the community was the path she wanted to take. It was the path she'd been prepped for her entire life -- her parents were even close with the family of the boy, Canton Crenshaw, who went by Celes, with whom they had decided Tristan would settle down. Unlike some of the more devoted community members, however, Sasha, who went by Sol, and Urien, who went by Umbris, had made it clear that they would not force their children into any particular way of life. Nevertheless, it was this prepping that had prompted Sol and Umbris to encourage Tristan not to make friends with her classmates -- as the oldest child in the family, the expectations placed upon her were different than those of her younger siblings, and it would be easier for Tristan to blend into the community if she didn't also have to manage relationships with oblivious outsiders. This had always suited Tristan fine; though having no friends could get lonely, her classmates were generally a bunch of fools, so she didn't feel like she was missing out on too much.

  The bell rang just as Tristan and Olivia parted ways, and Tristan took her seat near the back in her A.P. Literature and Composition class. Though the school year had only recently started, this class had quickly become Tristan’s favorite. The work was challenging, the teacher was laid back, and there was no Emmeline Strandquest. There was, unfortunately, Tara LeBlanc, one of Emmeline’s best friends, but her seat was far enough away from Tristan that no problems typically arose.

  “OK, so since we’ve been doing this now for about six weeks, what better time to assign your senior project?” Ms. Allona West clapped her hands together, grinning at the students. She ignored the groans and kept talking. “It will be a partner project, due at the end of the year, and I am assigning your partners now so you can get used to the idea and take your time working through the material. I'm also assigning them now because this is your senior year and you are going to be slammed harder t
han ever before, and since I’m nice I don’t want to add much to your pressure.”

  Tristan’s stomach began to hurt. Group projects had historically not gone well for her, and she hadn’t expected an English class to be the type that called for a joint assignment. She glanced over at Tara, the idea of being partnered with her worse than nearly anything else Tristan could imagine happening within the bonds of this class.

  “Your senior project will consist of five elements. A paper, a project, a portfolio, community service, and a presentation. Before you ask, Ms. West, what does community service have to do with our senior project? The answer is everything. Community service is the fastest and easiest way to establish a network within the community you will be unleashed upon at graduation. Since the goal of your senior year is to prepare you to get out there and into the early stages of what will become your eventual career, you will find that networking will be a common theme in all of your classes, and with good reason.”

  The class murmured amongst themselves, and Tristan’s stomach clenched harder. This project was quickly turning into a scenario from her school-related nightmares.

  “I know it sounds overwhelming. I’m overwhelmed listening to myself, if I’m being honest with you, and I don’t envy your position. Jamestown Academy is one of the top-tiered schools in the state, as I’m sure you’ve heard ad nauseam, but they didn’t buy that reputation. The curriculum you’re staring down this year is challenging, but it’s not insurmountable, even if it will feel that way at times. You’re in this class because you’re smart, and by now you’ve hopefully learned some kind of time management and or study skills, so you’ll probably do OK. I hope, anyway, because I don’t want to see any of you roaming these halls next year. I won’t even look at you, I swear it. Don’t test me; trust me.”

  Ms. West waited for the students to settle before heading to her desk and picking up a sheet of paper.

  “OK, as painlessly as possible, here we go.”

  Tristan didn’t usually think anything of her last name, until it came to situations where alphabetical order was required. On the plus side, the odds that she’d be paired with someone at her end of the alphabet were slim, so she’d hopefully be put out of her misery sooner rather than later.

  “Beckett Benson, your partner is Tristan Wallace.”

  Snickers, whispers. Tristan ignored them, looking across the room to where Beckett sat, a few desks ahead of Tara. He was part of the popular crowd, had even dated Emmeline Strandquest in sophomore year, but was one of the few popular kids who left Tristan alone; there were better classmates with whom she could have been paired, but there were also far worse. Beckett looked over at Tristan, his sharp, blue-green eyes meeting hers. She expected to see some kind of revulsion, some indication that, along with the few meathead friends he had in the class, he’d be groaning or otherwise expressing displeasure at being paired with her. It was a surprise, then, that he looked almost… friendly? Tristan frowned, turning back to her notebook. She didn’t know a great deal about Beckett Benson other than his dumb name -- he’d joined Jamestown Academy in tenth grade, so there was no elementary school history between them, but he’d assimilated quickly into the jock/cheerleader crowd, probably because he was, as most of the girls and some of the boys whispered, hot. Tristan glanced over again to find he was still looking at her, observing her like she was a specimen beneath a microscope. She stared back at him, trying to see him objectively instead of in the context of his friends. His build was bordering on stocky -- he was shorter than most of his football teammates, but layered with compact muscle -- his light brown hair was stylishly messy, and his square jawline could probably cut glass if given the chance. Those eyes, though, a brilliant greenish blue like the waters in the Caribbean, were by far his best feature; they were genuinely beautiful in color.

  “I hope you’re going to take holy water to your meetings with Tristan, Beckett,” Tara said, leaning forward, not bothering to lower her voice. She and the people around her laughed, but Beckett just shot her a withering look before turning back to the front of the class. An awkward silence fell over that side of the room.

  Tristan raised her eyebrows. She hadn’t expected him to defend her, of course, but she also hadn’t expected him to shut Tara down with a look. Frowning for a second time, Tristan looked up at Ms. West, who had finished doling out the assignments and had started to talk about their senior project once again.

  ***

  “Tristan!”

  Tristan turned to find Beckett coming towards her once class had dismissed. She waited by a bank of lockers, moving out of the flow of students so he could catch up with her.

  “Hi,” Beckett said, stopping in front of her and sounding a little out of breath.

  “Hi,” Tristan replied cautiously, appraising him with wary eyes. They were nearly the same height -- Beckett had less than three inches on her.

  Beckett stared at her for a moment before nodding and smiling.

  “I wanted to see when you wanted to get together to discuss our project.”

  Tristan opened her mouth to respond, when another voice spoke directly behind her.

  “Oh my God protect me, get away from my locker before you put some weird voodoo curse on it.”

  Tristan stepped aside to find Emmeline looking at her the way one would look at something nasty on the bottom of their shoe. She was flanked as always by Tara, as well as Hattie Guillory, Bailey Jones, Eloise Brach, and Georgiana Luker, her closest and most vicious friends.

  “Oh, hi Beckett,” Emmeline said suddenly, though Tristan knew she hadn’t just noticed him. Her voice sweetened to a sickening cadence, and Tristan had to work hard not to roll her eyes.

  “Emmeline. Tara, Hattie, Bailey, Eloise, Georgiana.” Beckett nodded at all of them, a wry expression on his face, but turned back to address Tristan. “Bell’s gonna go off in a few. Let’s start walking, we can discuss it on the way.”

  Not sparing Emmeline one more look, Tristan walked off with Beckett, knowing the other girl was fuming. She hid a smile behind her hand.

  “Anyway, when works for you to get together about our project?”

  “I’m free pretty much any day after school.”

  “Friday?”

  “Including Friday.”

  Beckett smiled, a half-grin that showed off one dimple.

  “Where do you want to meet?”

  “The library would probably be best. You know, since that’s where the research materials are,” Tristan said dryly.

  “No.” Beckett shook his head, and Tristan raised her eyebrows in surprise. “No, I can’t stay in school when I’m not supposed to be here. I won’t be able to think to get anything done. It’s like a weird claustrophobia.”

  Tristan squinted, cocking her head at Beckett, who appeared to be serious.

  “You… don’t use the library here? What do you do for research projects?”

  “I use the internet, from the comfort of my own home.”

  “But what about group projects?”

  Beckett grinned.

  “I use the internet, from the comfort of my own home, with my partner or partners. Have you ever used the internet?”

  “Yes I’ve used the internet,” Tristan shot back, giving him the same kind of withering look he’d given Tara in English class. “I guess I just prefer the library.”

  “Not me. So should I come to your house, or should you come to mine?”

  “Uh, no,” Tristan said immediately, shaking her head. “No, neither. Why don’t we just meet at the lake, since that’s outside but still close enough to the building in case we need to access the dreaded library for something?”

  “Fine by me.” Beckett grinned again. “See you by the lake after school on Friday.”

  He strolled away, and Tristan watched him go, as mystified as she’d been when he’d been standing beside her. She figured it could be that she was out of practice when it came to socialization, but she was pretty sure that was one
of the strangest conversations she’d ever had.

  ***

  For the remainder of the week, Beckett tried unsuccessfully to not stare at Tristan every chance he got. She’d always been a mystery to him, but in their nearly three years of schooling he’d never gotten an opportunity to talk to her; if he was being honest, however, he also hadn’t created any opportunities because he found her somewhat intimidating -- it was hard to remain unbiased when you heard the same rumors about the Wallaces on repeat day after day, and while Beckett Benson did not believe in the supernatural, he preferred to remain curious at a safe distance.

  More than the murmurs that surrounded her and her family, though, Beckett always felt just slightly disquieted after he saw Tristan. He didn’t see her too often around the Academy, just by the nature of the company he kept, but whenever he did see her, whenever she’d look right at him, he’d suddenly feel like the ground beneath his feet had turned to sand. She was attractive by all standards, but what intrigued and unsettled Beckett was her eyes -- they were not just dark, they were piceous, like a completely starless sky, and they seemed bottomless, like they drew in the light from around her, which only served to make them darker.

  It had come as a surprise to Beckett, then, that talking to Tristan had been a perfectly normal experience; he was ashamed to admit that the stories he’d heard whispered about her and her family -- about midnight rituals and animal sacrifice -- had set him up with the expectation that she wouldn’t be like every other teenager that surrounded him. In their brief conversation, he’d been even more surprised that she’d shown a hint of humor in both her responses and the way she’d looked at him about wanting to avoid the library. From what he could tell from their interaction and just having classes alongside her through the years, she was smart and serious about her studies, and could not have been less interested in the “typical” high school experience of extracurriculars, football games, weekend parties, and summer night meetups -- AKA, everything he participated in regularly. In short, she was fascinating to Beckett, and he felt like he’d hit the lottery when he’d been assigned as her partner on their AP Lit senior project.