The Lightwood Legacy

The

Lightwood

Legacy

Kassandra Kush

For Ally

One of the stories that

brought us together

in the first place

The Lightwood Legacy

Kassandra M. Kush

Copyright © 2014

All rights reserved.

2014 Smashwords Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.

The information in this book is distributed on an as is basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design © Regina Wamba

Mae I Design

https://www.maeidesign.com

ALSO BY KASSANDRA KUSH

Guardian

Protector

The Things We Can’t Change Part One:

The Prologue

The Things We Can’t Change Part Two:

The Struggle

The Things We Can’t Change Part Three:

The Healing

The Things We Can’t Change Part Four:

The Love Story

The Things We Can’t Change Part Five:

The Epilogue

The Lightwood Legacy

The Summer I Gave Up Boys

PROLOGUE

I always knew there was something special about Thomas Lightwood, from the first moment that I met him. Not that it was obvious to the casual eye. In fact, on the surface, Tom and I appeared to be a lot alike, gender notwithstanding. We both attended Pennington Bay Academy, and had for the past eight years, since the third grade. Tom and I were constantly battling each other for first and second place academically in our class. We both had care takers, not active parents. We were both kind of outcasts at our school.

I say ‘kind of’ for Tom’s sake. That was where the similarities ended. He had the potential to be popular, while I didn’t particularly care for the spoiled, indulged students that mainly populated Pennington. I had my select friends, my well-earned grades, and with a sketchpad in my hand and sarcasm pouring from my mouth, I was content. Tom was an outcast by choice.

‘By choice’ meant that all the girls—including me—liked him, and why not? He was from Georgia, and he was that good-old-farm-boy kind of handsome: shining golden hair he kept a trifle long, so you couldn’t help but notice the perfect waves it fell into. He was nearly six-foot-two and well chiseled, with angel-blue eyes, kind eyes. Put him in the school uniform, khakis and a white button down shirt with a tie and, well, what kind of girl can’t be affected by that?

It was mainly the boys who had a problem with Tom. He was more unpopular with them for the above mentioned reasons, but also because he played sports with his brother at Pennington until the eighth grade. At one point, Jonathan and Thomas Lightwood had been the golden boys of PBA (Tom and Jon, can you imagine?). They excelled at everything in every way, and it wasn’t possible to not like the Lightwood twins, physically and emotionally impossible. Then eighth grade had dawned and Jon hadn’t come back to Pennington.

Tom had, but he had been different. Quieter, without the outspoken, outgoing personality he’d once possessed. No one knew why he had changed, or why Jon hadn’t come back, only that he now attended a different boarding school. Tom hadn’t participated in sports that year, or any of the following years. Pennington Bay now held the title for the worst teams in our division, especially in football and basketball, where the Lightwood twins had once dominated. Boys, most boys, the jocks, at least, blamed Tom for driving Jon away, and for not helping salvage the school’s name himself, though the truth of Jon’s absence had never been revealed.

Tom and I had a good relationship. We playfully fought each other and made jokes about the loser playing pranks on the valedictorian when we finally graduated. But Tom was good looking and kept to himself, and we were never what one could call good friends. Despite how similar we were, we were never truly alike.

I was ordinary. Tom Lightwood was not.

And this is our story.

CHAPTER ONE

The Choice That Changed Everything

Pennington Bay Academy worked like any other elite boarding school; students were all wealthy and jaded, drinking, smoking, and old (though definitely not mature) before their time. We were set to rigorous studies, and it was Ivy League or bust for all of us. PBA was set far in the countryside of northern Virginia, a one mile walk outside of the small, quaint town of Pennington; not close enough for us to comfortably sneak out to at night, but close enough for us to enjoy our weekends off campus.

There were two boys’ dormitories and two for the girls, with the entire school between us all, again to discourage late-night excursions, though this, of course, didn’t discourage most of us in the slightest. There were always three of us to a room, and this year I was across the hall from my two best friends, and stuck with two girls to whom I had never spoken.

In some cruel twist of fate, I, the brain, had been stuck in a room with Jessamine Rose Braxton, the schools biggest diva, glamour queen, and socialite (AKA, the richest girl at PBA), and Vivienne Hayes, our female all-star sports enthusiast, who had been single handedly upholding our school’s female sports of volleyball and basketball. Throw in the smartest girl in our class, me, and I was pretty sure there were hidden cameras in our room so people could study how stereotypes worked.

Enough about Pennington. It’s merely a place, where most of this happened, yes, but this story is about the people. The real beginning of this story is the second Sunday of November. We were all holding on to the edge of our seats, straining to make it through twenty-dd days until Thanksgiving break. I was in the massive old fashioned library with my two good friends, whining about my roommates, as I did incessantly these days.

Allegra and Francesca, or Chessie, made soothing noises of disappointment as we packed up our books and prepared to leave since lights-out was in an hour.

Seriously, Vivienne does like, this whole work-out routine right before bed. I continued my litany of complaints as we shoved over-sized textbooks into our leather messenger bags and gathered up stray pencils and pens. With jumping jacks and wall sits and like, two hundred crunches. It’s insane!

Okay, that is odd, Allegra, ever the devil’s advocate, admitted, but was quick to follow it with, but clearly, she’s district champ and MVP and holds almost every state record for a reason. You need discipline for that, and probably a lot of training. A nightly workout is like, like, she cast around for an example, and then waved an arm to encompass the library, like us in here studying every night. It’s the way she ‘studies’ so she can be good at what she does.

It was such a good comparison that I was struck silent for a moment, unable to come up with any more criticisms of Vivienne. That still, however, left Jessamine open for discussion.

What about Jessamine? I demanded. "She’s got this elaborate beauty routine she does every night. She actually does a face mask, and she paints her nails every two days! How do you even have time for that?"

Chessie, who was the beauty of our group, with long, raven hair and dark, café-au-lait skin that made her just as exotic as her name, stood from the table and slung her bag across her shoulder. Really, Lo, so some girls find their looks really important. That’s not a crime. Besides, Jessamine’s mom is a fashion designer and her dad is a famous actor, she kind of has a reputation to keep up. I bet she’s under a lot of pressure from her parents.

I glared at my two friends as we strolled out from the dim, Gothic style library, through the marble entrance hall and out onto the grounds. I can’t believe both of you are leaving me for a whole semester, I grumbled. How am I supposed to survive this spring while both of you are studying abroad? My only alternatives for friendship are a beauty pageant contestant and the next Kerry Walsh-Jennings.

"If you even think about trying to replace us while we’re gone," Allegra began severely, and Chessie wagged her finger at me.

I laughed so they knew the idea was ridiculous, winding a scarf around my neck as the chilly air hit me and tried to worm its way through my red North Face jacket and touch my skin. For real, though. I’m going to be all alone. I’ll never be friends with those girls.

"It is a weird roommate situation, Chessie allowed. And I bet it is really hard for the three of you to find some common ground. You have totally different interests, and even your backgrounds are pretty different. Just keep being nice and friendly, and I’m sure the ice will eventually break. We’ve only been at school for two months. Give it some time."

I guess, I said, not inclined to be very optimistic. It was easy for Chessie and Allegra to be so cool and collected about the situation; they still roomed together, and even though it was just across the hall, at times it felt like they were miles away.

I allowed their talk to drift to other topics for the five minute walk from mid-campus to our dormitory, such as Chessie’s audition for the winter musical later this week, our French test on Tuesday, and Allegra’s bid for captain of the debate team. It wasn’t until we were ascending the stone steps and began digging in our bags for our passkeys, since the dormitory was locked to everyone but students and faculty after dinner, that I realized I had forgotten to check out a book at the library I needed for class the next day.

I gave a heavy sigh. Guys, I forgot to get that book for English. I’m gonna run back and get it tonight so I don’t have to get up early. I’ll be right back.

They both turned, and Allegra frowned in worry.

Do you want us to come? she asked. It’s dark out.

No, that’s okay, I said, waving a hand at them. I know you both still have calculus homework, and I already finished mine. Go on in and finish, it’ll only take a minute.

I turned and trudged back across the lawns, sticking my hands into the pockets of my fleece jacket. It would soon be too cold for just sweaters and jackets, and I would have to dig out my coat and gloves from the depths of my closet, where I had stuck them optimistically at the beginning of the school year.

I shuddered at the thought and continued onward, toward the Edward Church library. It had been built by my great-great-grandfather in the late 1800’s. The Churches had attended Pennington for almost two hundred years, since its conception in 1866. Grandpa Edward had donated the money for the new library after the old one had burned down. I was one of the legendary Churches, Philomena to most, Lo to those who knew me well, and Phil to those that didn’t know me at all, but thought they did.

I always got an eerie, prickly feeling, walking into the library where so many of my ancestors had also strolled, but it also gave me a feeling of instant familiarity, and easy belonging. The place was named after me, why shouldn’t I feel at home here?

I scurried to the classics section and got a copy of The Scarlett Pimpernel, since the one I had ordered hadn’t arrived yet, and was on my way with thirty minutes still to spare before evening roll call at nine o’clock.

I pushed open the heavy wooden doors of the library and prepared once again to face the unwelcome cold. As I was about to descend the steps for the second time, a sudden movement to my left caught my eye, and I jumped.

I whirled in a panic, startled, just in time to catch someone topple over the stair railing and into the bushes lining the library. I was frozen in shock for a moment, and then with a gasp of surprise, I was off down the steps, running around the railing to see who had fallen. For a moment, I was disoriented in the dim light that only came from the library porch far above us, unable to see anything. Then the bushes next to me rustled, and someone crawled out from the foliage.

They were on all fours, but hunched over and panting, as though in great pain. As I watched, their arms trembled violently, and one gave out. They fell to the ground with a cry of pain, and then grunted as they tried to rise up from the ground once more. Light glinted off golden hair, and I had a flash of recognition, followed by immediate concern.

Tom! I cried, and fell to my knees to try and help him.

Don’t touch me! he barked. His voice was low and guttural, foreign and harsh. It was so completely not Tom that I drew back. I was startled by the vehemence and pain that I heard.

"Tom, what’s wrong? I asked. My hands fluttered and jerked nervously as I resisted the urge to reach out and touch him. We need to get you to the nurse, or, or call an ambulance!"

I began to grope in my bag for my cell phone, as before me, Tom began to writhe in pain. Finally, his arms shook a final time and he collapsed to the ground for good. He rolled to his side, and I finally was able to see his face. It was twisted up in agony, his eyes tightly clenched shut and his face slick with sweat.

His arms were now clenched tightly around his middle, as though he had terrible stomach pains. My numb fingers clumsily dropped my phone and I leaned forward again, forgetting myself.

Tom! I said, anguished and panicked and scared all at the same time.

No! It was a growl, and once again I pulled away.

Tom gave a loud moan, and his legs jackknifed upward, his whole body clenched into a ball, clearly in agonizing pain.

No… ambulance, he panted. Who are you?

I suddenly realized he didn’t recognize me, that it was too dark and he was in too much pain to recognize my voice.

It’s me, Lo, I said, in as soothing a voice as I could manage, though it still shook plenty. It’s Philomena. We need to get you to a hospital, Tom!

His spasm of pain seemed to ease slightly, and his legs relaxed a little and came away from his chest. His eyelids opened, revealing his light eyes, brilliantly shining with tears of pain.

No hospital, he said, and squinted at me. Philomena?

Yes, it’s me, I said, blinking rapidly against tears of fear and worry.

Good, Tom pushed out, every word costing him, his chest rising and falling like a bellows. I was looking for you.

And with one last massive effort, Tom lifted his arm and grabbed my right hand. There was a massive explosion of white light that blinded me and threw me onto my back. And then there was darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

Danger Comes For a Visit

I came awake by degrees, bit by bit, just as I did on weekends when I knew it wasn’t time to get up yet and I fought coming fully awake. My fingers moved a little, I gradually grew conscious of my breathing, and finally, my eyelids twitched. They opened once, and I closed them immediately and drew in a long, sleepy breath. Then my eyes opened again, and I realized I was face to face with a pine bush.

I frowned, and turned my head, looking in the opposite direction. Far across the grassy quad, I could see the brightly lit rows of windows that I recognized as my dormitory. I was outside, lying on the ground.

Slowly, I sat up and pulled my bag, which lay nearby, over toward me. I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus, reaching back in my memory. Then it came flooding back. Tom. Tom.

I jumped to my feet, even though my achy body protested the abrupt movement. I turned a careful circle, expecting to see Tom’s prone body lying next to me. He was nowhere to be seen. The lawn, indeed the whole quad, was empty of people.

Something glinted against the light coming from the library entrance, and I bent down to pick up my cell phone. I had dropped it, I remembered, when I had tried to reach out to Tom. I had been about to call an ambulance. Surely this meant he had been here, didn’t it? I looked out across the quad again, swaying on my feet. I felt tired and disoriented, half drunk or slightly tipsy.

I clicked my phone on, just to be sure Tom hadn’t called or texted me with some bizarre explanation. All thoughts of Tom fled from my mind when I saw I had only three minutes to make it back to my dorm room before roll call. I snatched my bag from the ground and set off at a dead run toward the dorms, flying across the lawn with a speed fueled by a new surge of adrenaline. I had never, not in eight years, been late or missing to roll call. I refused to have a blemish on my record just because of a freak hallucination.

I struggled to get my key card out of my bag and hit the side of the building full force, not even slowing down from my run. I swiped the card through and headed straight for the stairs, taking them two at a time. I reached the third floor just as Mrs. Downey, Pennington’s vice principle, was about to walk down them.

I’m here! I gasped. Sorry! Lost track of time!

Mrs. Downey consulted her watch, and then checked me off on her clipboard with a small smile. Thirty seconds to spare, Ms. Church. I hope this doesn’t become a habit of the new school year.

Definitely not, I said, lungs still whistling for more air. "My apologies, and thank you, M

rs. Downey. Good night."

She nodded to me and headed down the stairs, and I walked down the hallway and let myself into my dorm room. Closing the door behind me, I braced my back against it and slowly slid down to the floor. I was exhausted, not just from running but through my whole body, down to my very core. I still felt out of it, lightheaded and airy.

Vivienne and Jessamine were both in our common room, and they looked over at me as I thumped to the floor and closed my eyes, relieved to be back home, back somewhere that felt safe.

Thought you were going to miss roll call, Jessamine said, in her precise British accent. She and Vivienne exchanged a look. We were worried, you’re always here.

Next time let us know, and we can cover for you, Vivienne added, every other word accentuated with a small grunt as she continued her evening crunches.

I opened my eyes and looked at them, these two girls that I barely knew, but here they were, already offering to cover for me. I was more astounded at the fact that they thought I would ever be attempting to stay out past roll call than their offering to cover for me. I was well known at Pennington, yes, but definitely not for being one of the infamous late-nighters.

Um, thanks, I said, but I just lost track of time. At least, I think I did.

Jessamine leaned forward in her desk chair, squinting at me through her Tiffany’s reading glasses. Are you all right? she asked, real concern in her voice. You look a little… off.

I reached to push some hair off my forehead, and realized it felt clammy, covered in a chilly sweat. I began to struggle out of my North Face, suddenly hot but not feeling any inclination to get up off the floor.

"I feel off," I said, my voice as tired as I felt. Once my jacket was off, I leaned my head back against the door and closed my eyes. I would have been content to fall asleep right there, sitting upright in the common room.

I jumped when I felt a foreign hand touch my forehead, and opened my eyes to see Vivienne standing before me, dressed in her usual work out uniform of a sports bra and gym shorts. She was touching my forehead, a concerned Jessamine hovering behind her.

You’re warm, Vivienne said, moving her hand to feel my cheek, and then pulling it away. Do you want us to take you to the nurse?

I shook my head, knowing this was not the answer, and also because going all the way back to the ground floor seemed like an exhausting trip. No, I’m not sick, just tired all of the sudden.

What happened? Jessamine asked, sounding genuinely concerned. We heard Allegra and Francesca get back almost an hour ago, and we were surprised you didn’t come in right after them. And then you were almost late… she trailed off, looking at me expectantly.

I sighed, trying to cast around in my murky mind for the exact details. "I’m not sure. I went back to the library for a book, and then I thought I saw Tom Lightwood fall over the rail, and then he was laying there like he was in pain and then he touched me and there was this bright light, and next thing I knew, well, I guess I passed out. But when I woke up, Tom wasn’t there. Maybe I imagined the whole thing. Maybe it’s just stress over midterms."

Vivienne looked concerned. They didn’t immediately say I was crazy and I felt newfound affection swell for my roommates. If you think you passed out, you should really go see the nurse, Philomena. You could have hit your head or something.

I shook my head. I didn’t hit my head, I promise you. It doesn’t hurt at all. I reached for the door handle and used it to pull myself to my feet. Look, just let me go to bed tonight, and if I still feel weird tomorrow, I promise I’ll go see the nurse first thing, okay?

Still looking anxious, Vivienne and Jessamine watched as I walked unsteadily to our joint bedroom. I changed into my oldest sweats, splashed some water on my face to clean off the sticky sweat, and then collapsed onto my bed. I was asleep before I could even reach to pull my duvet over me.

Contrary to all expectations, when I awoke the next morning, it was with a surplus of energy. My alarm went off at six and I sprang from the bed without even pressing snooze. I felt immediately wide awake, my fogginess and lethargy from the previous evening completely gone, only a distant memory.

I grabbed my shower caddy and scurried to the bathroom. I always rose early both to hit the bathroom before Jessamine laid siege to it and so I would have plenty of time to check over my homework from the previous day or hit studio, if I felt so inclined.

I showered and watched myself in the mirror as I blew my hair dry. I looked the same as ever; deep, dreamy brown eyes with a fringe of thick dark lashes, a thin scattering of freckles across my small nose and cheeks. My hair was very dirty blonde, made blonder and less dirty with my biggest concession to vanity, highlights. It hung long, nearly to my elbows, mainly because it was naturally curly and this way it was low maintenance.

I forwent my contact lenses, which I seldom wore, and slid on my glasses. They were a rectangular shape and made of thick red plastic, a far cry from Jessamine’s elegant Tiffany’s frames. I loved the funkiness of them and felt more myself with them on, opposed to contacts.

I slicked on some mascara, liner, and foundation (hey, I’m not a complete lost cause). A swipe of chapstick passed incognito for real gloss, and I was done in the bathroom. I exited just as Jessamine was beginning to stir. Vivienne was already gone, at the track for her daily two-mile run. Since Jessamine was already sitting up, rubbing her eyes as she removed her sleep mask, I went ahead and flipped on the light so I could better find my clothes.

Morning! I sang, still feeling uncharacteristically cheerful.

Morning, Jessamine replied, her accent sharper in her sleep-roughened voice. You’re looking better today.

I feel oddly fabulous, so I guess I’ll run with it, I said. I pulled on a light blue button down shirt, skirt in plaids of white, navy, gold and light blue, and a pair of the navy leggings we were allowed to wear in the colder months. Our uniform really wasn’t that bad, and aside from the skirts, we could generally wear any appropriate collared shirt in our school colors. Only boys had to wear ties, and fortunately they had done away with the blazers long ago.

That’s good, I’m glad to hear it, Jessamine said, and drifted off to the bathroom.

See you later! I called through the door in a sudden burst of roommate affection. After their concern last night, I decided Chessie and Allegra were right; Jessamine and Vivienne really weren’t as bad as all that, and I should try harder with them.

Jessamine made a positive sound from the bathroom, and I skipped to my closet and dug out my red peacoat. So I like the color red, sue me. I pulled it on, debated a scarf as well, but decided I didn’t want to carry it around with me all day. I grabbed my bag from the floor of the common room, double checked I had my cell phone, and left the room. I left a Post-It note with studio written across it on Chessie and Allegra’s door so they would know where I had gone and struck off for the cafeteria.

The sun was just beginning to rise when I stepped outside the dormitory and crossed to the cafeteria. Flanked on both sides by the four dormitory buildings, the large white marble structure that housed our state-of-the-art classrooms sat impressively in the foreground of the campus, a large parking lot in front of it.

Hiding behind this was a more motley collection of buildings, the cafeteria, our gym, the field house, and a building of apartments for the teachers who lived on site but weren’t dormitory den mothers. Beyond all that were the athletic fields and stadium. I could just see the outside track and several figures running around it, one of them undoubtedly Vivienne.

I hurried to the cafeteria and took a Styrofoam cup of coffee, a bagel, and a pear from the breakfast selection. I darted from the cafe to a back door of the school and descended the stairs to the basement level and our large studio classroom.

I propped myself on my usual stool, opened my sketchbook to a fresh page, and proceeded to eat my breakfast while waiting for a brilliant idea. Our school had a monthly student magazine, full of short stories and art pieces and other tidbits from students. As chief junior editor, my piece should have been one of the first submitted. Instead, I couldn’t think of anything amusing enough to satisfy me. I was generally known for good satire pieces, and I didn’t want to lose my reputation.

I was toying with the idea of somehow using Tom’s weird episode last night when the ten minute warning bell rang, and Tom suddenly became forefront in my mind. I had AP English with him first period, and I wanted to corner him and ask about last night. Assuming he was there, and not lying dead in a ditch somewhere, I thought, and grimaced.

I tossed my trash and hit the stairs for the third floor. Part of my resolution this school year was to always take the stairs and never the elevators, in the name of my health, since I did little else. Okay, so I cheated on Fridays, big deal. On the whole I’d done pretty well.

Breathless, I used the railing to haul myself up the last two steps and joined the throng of students in the hallway, scouting for Tom as I pushed through to my classroom. I felt a tidal wave of relief when I saw his tall form cutting a path through the crowd, literally a head taller and shoulder’s width wider than all others.

I waited anxiously at the door, tapping my foot impatiently as he approached. Tom! I exclaimed when he was finally within earshot. I was so worried about you!

Tom gave me a confused, innocuous smile as he paused next to me. "What? Why were you worried about me?"

I blinked at him, startled into blurting, Because of last night, duh. You just vanished. When I woke up, you were gone, and you were so sick… I trailed off when I saw Tom’s politely confused expression.

Lo, I don’t know what you’re talking about, he said, reaching up to adjust the strap of his backpack over his shoulder. I got in from Atlanta late last night and went straight to my dorm.

You didn’t, I blurted once again, and then wanted to wince, but forged onward. You were by the library. I saw you. You fell over the railing, and you were so weak you couldn’t even stand up.

Tom gave a small laugh. If I was that sick, do you think I’d be able to come to class today? he pointed out.

I gave a small shrug. I… I guess so. I couldn’t think of anything else to say, aside from repeating over and over, But I saw you!

Midterms are coming, Tom said kindly, you know how crazy they make people. You’re probably just mixing a dream with reality or something.

Yeah, I said, now embarrassed by my concern for him. I was too startled by his outright denial to give any of my usual flippant responses. I suppose so. The second warning bell rang, and Tom and I filed into the classroom with all the other students and class began.

Tom probably would have convinced me that the whole thing really was my imagination, the fault of a gas leak I’d unknowingly inhaled or something, if he hadn’t so studiously begun to avoid and ignore me the whole week.

Four of my seven classes were with Tom, and at every single one, he hardly looked or spoke to me. He still took his normal seat next to me, as if switching seats would arouse too much suspicion, but there were no more whispered comments during class. We didn’t discuss our assignments, reference each other’s notes or homework, or discuss splitting the reading on The Scarlet Pimpernel the way we