Chapter 7

A lone figure drifted down the halls of Frobisher Academy. Dressed in a long black robe that swirled with every footstep, black gloves, and an ominous mask, the figure gently tacked a folder of papers to the bulletin board outside Mr. Sweet's office. These mysterious messages had appeared throughout the school in the opportune period of time before classes started while the teachers were still in a faculty meeting.

In block text, the message screamed, "FROBISHER ACADEMY: SANCTUARY FOR SILENT SEXUAL ASSAULT?"

Jack Jackal had struck again.


By lunch, the student body of Frobisher Academy was abuzz with activity. Ignorant of the new developments, Paul, John, and Ryan swaggered down the hallway, basking in the stares as their classmates turned to face them.

"Like what you see?" Paul smirked at Willow. "There's plenty more where that came from, babe." Willow stuttered silently.

"What's wrong, Weird Willow?" Paul turned to Ryan and said, "I would think that a hot little thing like her would have at least half a brain, wouldn't you?"

"Cut it out, boys. The game is up. Haven't you read Jack Jackal recently? You've been exposed," Amber interjected, cocking a hip, eyes steady.

"Well, is this Little Miss Millington?" John piped up. "My, my, you've grown up, haven't you?"

"Your comments are both crude and unnecessary. Start treating women with respect or leave," Mara cut in.

"What are these lies? Who printed this?" Ryan barked, scanning the page-long Jack Jackal article. "What game are you playing, huh, Jaffray?"

"What is the commotion out here?" Mr. Sweet bellowed. "Everyone, get to class." When no one moved, he whispered darkly, "Do not make me repeat myself. Everyone, except you, Ms. Jaffray."

Amber passed her friend an apologetic smile before wrapping an arm around a still shocked Willow and wandering off to class. The three boys smirked and stalked off in sync.


"What is the meaning of this, Mara?" Mr. Sweet asked. His reddening face belied his even tone.

"I didn't write this article, Mr. Sweet, but I can explain the intent behind it-"

"Do not lie to me, Ms. Jaffray!" he thundered. "Do you know the damage the utter blasphemy this one little page has done to this school?"

"Mr. Sweet, there is not one lie printed in this article. Moreover, you have the wrong person! I didn't write this, nor do I know who did!"

"I will not tolerate lies, Ms. Jaffray."

"I am telling the truth when I say that I did not write this article, Mr. Sweet." Angry tears threatened to betray Mara's cool façade.

Mr. Sweet jabbed his finger at the title, causing his mug of tea to shift. "Sanctuary. For. Silent. Assault. Jack Jackal. Sarah Squirrel. Mary Monkey. Harry Hippo." With each phrase, his coffee mug jumped a millimeter. "Do you expect me to believe any of this nonsense with these fake names?"

"Even if the names aren't real, doesn't the professional tone of this article, free of grammar mistakes and immaculately written, warrant some sort of investigation?"

"You have no proof of any such charges this work of foolishness attempts to establish!" Mr. Sweet feverishly pulled at his tie.

"No proof?" Mara jumped out of her seat. "Mr. Sweet, you have before you a clear document of the students' complaints and concerns. You have quotes from real students. Can't you see that this is not a condemnation but a call to action?"

"There shall be no 'action' of any sort until you tell reveal the identities of these disguises!"

"A pseudonym, Mr. Sweet," Mara spoke evenly, restraining herself from raising her voice to match his. "Is a literary construct designed to protect authors from potential backlash after printing hurtful truths."

"An alias, Mara Jaffray, is an excuse to print falsities while escaping punishment," Mr. Sweet roared, but Mara did not cower. "You leave me no choice," he muttered, breathing heavily. "Academic probation. Six weeks."

"How dare you, Mr. Sweet? How dare you wrongfully accuse and punish me for a crime for which you have no proof of my doing? How can you call yourself the guardian of integrity and the leader of this academic establishment when you so quickly go back on your own word?"

"Leave my office!" Mr. Sweet slammed his hands on his desk, leaning heavily until his shoulders seemed pushed out of place.

Not knowing what else to say, Mara carefully pushed in her chair and left the office, letting the door quietly click shut. From a hidden perch outside the office window, the red light of a camcorder silently blinked off. Jack Jackal had their next scoop.


"Mara, what happened?" Amber asked worriedly. Several residents of Anubis House were gathered in front of Mr. Sweet's door as she walked out. Even Jerome was there.

"I've been put on academic probation because of the Jack Jackal article!" Mara cried in frustration.

"Did you write it?" Patricia frowned.

"No! I don't know who did. No one does!"

"That's awful," Eddie said, running a hand through his hair. "The real Jack Jackal should step forward and exonerate you."

"And what good would that do?" Mara questioned. "It's obvious that Sweetie doesn't care about anything except keeping the school's reputation pristine. All he wants is for whoever Jack Jackal is to just quiet down so that hopefully the actual media doesn't hear about this," she huffed.

Patricia was the only one who noticed Eddie's frown dig even deeper into his forehead at Mara's criticism of Mr. Sweet. Everyone was too focused on Mara and she was the only one who knew about his connection to their Headmaster. She laid a steady hand on the crook of elbow and slowly felt him settle down.

"So, what now?" Eddie sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"Shouldn't we try to figure out who the real Jack Jackal is? Anyone who reports the truth should just come right out and say it," Patricia declared, daring anyone to defy her.

"You mean you want to start a witch hunt?" Amber thundered crossly. "No way. Jack Jackal and all the other people quoted in the article were left anonymous for a reason. Who knows what would happen if those prats found out who wrote the thing? They're dangerous to regular people who have done nothing to hurt them. What happens when they have a reason for revenge?"

Everyone stood in stunned silence for an achingly long moment. Finally, Jerome spoke up. "If this anonymity thing means that those wankers will finally get what's coming for them," he said slowly, "then I suppose that we should let Jack Jackal keep doing his thing." The Anubis crowd nodded. "Are you okay with that?" he asked Mara in a surprising instance of tenderness.

After a moment's reflection, she nodded. "As long as Mr. Sweet thinks it's me, Jack Jackal will be able to keep exposing Paul, John, and Ryan. Hopefully in the end I won't end up in too much trouble, but everyone's safety is more important than my perfect record," Mara finished with a tight smile.

"I guess that's that then," Fabian added. "We just wait for Jack Jackal's next post." Everyone else murmured indistinct noises of approval and slowly floated down the hallway.

"Mara, wait up!" Patricia called, hurrying after her as she headed for the student lounge.

"Hi, Patricia. What's up?" Mara greeted her tiredly.

"I was, uh, just wondering…" Patricia coughed. "I was just wondering what you really thought of Jack Jackal.

"What do you mean?" Mara questioned her suspiciously as they sat together on a couch.

Patricia quickly glanced from side to side and lowered her voice. "You know, it's okay to tell me that you wrote it. I won't tell anyone."

"Why does everyone keep thinking I wrote it?" Mara cried out in frustration. A few other students glanced up at her outburst then returned to whatever they were doing.

"Well," Patricia backtracked with a nervous laugh. "You're, like, the smartest person I know. And you're already involved in the student newspaper. I guess it just makes sense that you're everyone's first guess."

Mara mulled it over, picking at a loose thread on her skirt. "I guess I'll take that as a sort of half-compliment," she conceded. "Especially because the article was so good. But even if I could have written it, it doesn't mean that I did. I just don't have the bravery to write something so explosive."

Mara was right about herself. Everyone knew she was smart, the top of the class, a likely contender for OxBridge, but she didn't like to cause a commotion. She tended to let her troubles roll off her shoulders and keep quiet about her insecurities rather than, in her words, make a big deal out of nothing. The articles she wrote for the school paper were always carefully expository, completely devoid of any potentially offensive opinions. In fact, any artifact of subjective writing was completely missing in her work. Mara might have the skills to research and write such an exquisite piece of investigative journalism, but she would never publish it.

"What do you mean when you say that the article is 'so good?'" Patricia asked curiously.

"Have you read it?"

"I… skimmed it."

Mara rolled her eyes and pulled out a copy from her backpack. "Look," she said. "First of all, the layout of the page, with the title in block font and the body of the text formatted like this, is well designed. Whoever posted this has an eye for detail and is proud of what he or she wrote. He or she wants people to read it and believe its legitimacy. Next, the writing itself is flawless, flows well, and is easy to understand. The tone is serious and composed. The person behind Jack Jackal has talent for writing and isn't just ranting for the sake of spewing anger and vitriol. The anonymous quotes, while striking, detract from it a little bit because anyone could claim that they were all made up, but I have a feeling that Jack Jackal has a plan for that."

"Huh?"

"Well, all the names are based on animals with a bit of alliteration. Jack Jackal. Tina Toucan," Mara continued, pointing at the names in the paper. "They seem a bit childish, don't you think? Like that kid's show, Peppa Pig."

"Is that a bad thing?" Patricia asked, frowning.

"I don't know," Mara answered thoughtfully. "In a standalone article, I would say yes. The author should have omitted the animals to keep the tone more serious. Telling the reader that 'Tina says this' offers the same anonymous protection as using the name Tina Toucan. But I have a feeling that this isn't Jack Jackal's next move, so we'll just have to see what they do next."

"What do you think Jack Jackal will do next?"

Mara looked at Patricia. "Who knows?"


At the opposite end of the school, Jerome found himself slammed against a brick wall on the way back to Anubis House.

"Listen, Clarke," Paul sneered. "We know you did it."

"Did what?" Jerome challenged. "Write an inflammatory article about you shits so that you'd all get in trouble? Yeah, right."

"That's exactly what you did," John fumed with his arms crossed.

"Nice try, losers," Jerome laughed humorlessly. "I didn't do it, but I'm very flattered that you think that highly of me." With a mocking bow, he tried to leave.

"Oh, no you don't," Ryan barked, dark eyes glittering. John slammed Jerome back into the wall. "Whether you did it or not, we want you to undo it. Make the problem go away."

Jerome snorted. "The only way I could make the problem 'go away' would be if I could convince you three to leave the school and never come back, but I don't see that happening any time soon."

Paul twisted back and punched Jerome in the face, dragging the ring on his middle finger until blood trickled down his cheek. Jerome groaned and would have put a hand to his face if John and Ryan weren't pinning his arms against the wall.

"You know, Clarke," Paul continued, "You and me and John and Ryan? We aren't much different. We all like to have a bit of fun, don't we?"

"We are nothing alike," Jerome spat. "My definition of fun is actual fun: I like to pull pranks. When I get bored. For shits and giggles. You three, you repulsive scumbags, you like to rape and molest women for who knows what fucked up reason. I'd rather eat my toenails than help you."

Paul's eyes darkened. "Well, the only ones who complain are the prudes who are too prissy to go all the way. To hell with them."

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Do you have a shred of human decency?" Jerome roared.

Paul suddenly smiled. "Time for a new topic: how's Poppy, Jerome? Wouldn't want anything to happen to her, now would you?"

"You wouldn't dare touch my sister," Jerome seethed.

Paul shrugged. Ryan spoke up with a sinister smile. "I dunno, Clarke, she's kinda cute."

Jerome struggled violently, but the strength of two boys against one was too much for him to overcome. He gave up. "What do you want," he demanded flatly.

"Simple," Paul answered gleefully. "I'm so happy you're willing to help. All we want you to do is find out who Jack Jackal is. We'll make sure they never talk again. You have a week."

"Fine," Jerome growled.

"And, Clarke," John added as they released him. "Remember that you owe us one."

Jerome closed his eyes as the memories of a stupid joke gone terribly wrong flashed back to him. "I know," he admitted dejectedly. He watched the three strut away before speeding off in the opposite direction of his original destination. He had to find Poppy.


Jerome finally tracked down Poppy in her bedroom at Hathor House. He slammed the front door open and raced up the stairs, jostling a few disgruntled eleventh years along the way.

"Poppy, we need to talk," Jerome gasped as he threw open the door of her room. He glanced around and noticed her roommate staring at him from her bed. "You," he said. "Out." She hurried out.

"What is it, Gerbil?" Poppy asked amusedly, twisting around from her desk.

"Poppy, this is serious. You need to leave."

"What are you talking about? And why is your face bleeding?"

Jerome scrubbed his cheek with his sleeve. "Don't worry about that. This school isn't safe for you anymore. I'm calling Mum. You need to go home."

Normally, Poppy would have fought her brother, if only just to bother him. But now he looked so genuinely concerned. She had never seen him look this worried, not even when they were fighting over whether or not they should visit their father in jail. Poppy hesitated. "Is… is this about the Jack Jackal thing?"

Jerome lifted his head from his hands so suddenly that he hit himself against the door. "How did you know that?" he demanded. Then he paled. "Are you Jack Jackal?"

"What?" Poppy scoffed. "No way."

"Then how are you connected?" Jerome stalked towards his sister with a menacing look in his eyes. "You guessed, correctly might I add, that this has to do with the 'Jack Jackal thing.' What did you do?"

Poppy wordlessly refused to meet his gaze.

"I won't ask again," Jerome growled.

"I may have submitted a quote," Poppy admitted quietly. Jerome's stomach plummeted.

"What?" he thundered. "You did what?"

"Quiet down," Poppy begged. "I didn't write it, okay? But I did help, I guess."

Jerome closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He let out a fiery breath. "So this means you know who Jack Jackal is."

"I do," Poppy stated with sudden strength. "But I'm not telling you who it is."

"Poppy," Jerome sighed exasperatedly. "Poppy, Poppy, Poppy. You have to tell me who it is!"

"No!" she screamed back. "Jack Jackal has a plan. I'm not ruining it. It's time to take them down."

"Poppy, listen to me," Jerome whispered desperately. He rushed over and gripped her chair. "They are going to attack you, again, if I don't give them Jack Jackal's identity. You have to tell me who it is."

"I won't." Poppy had her chin up. Her eyes shone with defiance. Jerome realized with crashing certainty that he wouldn't be able to persuade his sister.

"You're only fifteen, Poppy," Jerome said, voice cracking.

"I know, Jerome," Poppy replied with tears in her eyes. She wrapped his arms around his waist. They didn't move for a long, long time.