LUMM 1: Die a Horrid Death, Arlo Crowhaven

2 | lies & devils

"It's not me, Mr. Proleau," I said, staring at the man in the eye. Despite our height difference, his piercing glare towered over me from steps away. "I didn't do it."

The Magistrate's eyes narrowed, his lips setting in a line. His skin burned against the halo of light shining through the skylight, turning it darker. "I am not saying you did it," he answered. "Just that you might know something."

"After all," he continued, forefinger brushing against the corner of his lips as he breathed. Deep. "Sometimes, words speak louder than actions. Especially to a caged man."

It was my eyes' turn to squint. I caught myself and disguised it as a mere twitch. Mr. Proleau was not someone I could take on with smiles and child's play. He wouldn't sit behind that desk if he hadn't machinated his way to it. It takes a schemer to know one. And it takes one to know when another is lying through their teeth. So, I told the truth.

At least, my version of it.

Whatever trust Mr. Proleau placed in me burned in the depths of the hell the Lochrame threatened us with every mass. I leaned forward, the musty, embroidered polyester crunching against my movement. The lounge chair's legs creaked at the change of my weight distribution.

"I gave Horace something—that much I can't deny," I started, meeting the Magistrate's gaze. It never wavered somewhere on my forehead, so neither would mine. "He has been pestering me for the past week to make him something. For his sleep problems."

The Magistrate didn't react. He could have been made of stone, and I wouldn't have noticed. "Other witnesses can corroborate with it. Horace stuck to me like a toothed leech, begging and begging to expend my brewing skill for something—anything—to get him snoring away on his bed. I wouldn't know his roommates were the absolute devils, pounding at the walls, screaming bloody murder."

I coughed into my first. "Uh, no pun intended."

"None taken, Mr. Crowhaven," the Magistrate answered, lowering his hands from his face and taking his elbows off the desk. The papers shuffled in a haze of beige swatches and crinkling noises. "I didn't know Mr. Wynthrope and Mr. Osborn were misbehaving. I shall have a word with them about keeping order in the dorms."

Might have set off an imaginary bomb on those poor boys. Oops.

Mr. Proleau tapped the bottom of the gathered sheets over his desk. "Another thing, Mr. Crowhaven," he said, giving me a quick look-over as if I vanished the last few seconds he took his gaze off me. "Are you certain that was all you gave Mr. Prescott?"

"Absolutely certain," I said before adding, "sir."

The Magistrate bobbed his head, taking off the spectacles and letting them dangle around his neck. He leaned back on his seat, the chair creaking as well. Didn't they have a gazillion Crowns in the academic charter? "Then, you are free to go." A drawer slid off its niche in a smooth whish, and Mr. Proleau slotted the documents inside. For safekeeping, maybe. "I would rather you not talk about the case to your batch. Until the internal investigation team has a more conclusive finding and before we pass this case to the Ocalira for verification, I prefer to not have a word of this out in the hallways. Lyllan University will not be a place known for murder and misfits. I have relayed the same message to those concerned as well."