Vicious (Villains, #1)

by V.E. Schwab

His attention was finally dragged back to the lecture when Eli’s hand went up. Victor hadn’t caught the question, but he watched his roommate smile his perfect all-American-political-candidate smile before he answered. Eliot—Eli—Cardale had started out as a predicament.

Victor was out. Victor was free. And Victor was coming for Eli—just as he’d promised he would. He sunk the shovel into the cold earth with a satisfying thud.

Eli, who believed in God and had a monster inside just like Victor, but knew how to hide it better. Eli, who got away with everything, who had slipped into his life and stolen the girl and the top rank and the stupid holiday research grant. Eli, who, despite it all, meant something to Victor. He swallowed, and drove the pen into his dead friend’s chest. One count, two count, three count. Nothing. And then, somewhere between Victor giving up and reaching for his phone, Eli gasped.

I want to believe that there’s more. That we could be more. Hell, we could be heroes.

Victor wouldn’t stand there and coo and take notes for him. Victor Vale was not a fucking sidekick.

“A note for your thesis,” he said as his friend lay there, gasping. “You thought our powers were somehow a reflection of our nature. God playing with mirrors, but you’re wrong. It’s not about God. It’s about us. The way we think. The thought that’s strong enough to keep us alive. To bring us back. You want to know how I know?” He turned his attention to the table, looking for something new and sharp. “Because all I could think about when I was dying was the pain.” He cranked the dial up in his mind, and let the room fill with Eli’s screams. “And how badly I wanted to make it stop.”

“He called me unnatural,” said Sydney softly. “Said my power went against nature. Against God.” “Charming, isn’t he?”

Her eyes went to the floor. “Victor named him Dol,” she said. “It’s a measurement of pain,” explained Victor. “Well, that’s morbidly appropriate,” said Mitch. “Can we get back to the part where Sydney resurrected him? And what do you mean you’re going to send Eli a message?”

EOs are wrong, and I am an EO, so I must be wrong. It was the simplest of equations, but it wasn’t right. Somehow, it wasn’t right. He knew in his heart with a strange and simple certainty that EOs were wrong. That they shouldn’t exist. But he felt with equal certainty that he wasn’t wrong, not in the same way. Different, yes, undeniably different, but not wrong. He thought back to what he’d said in the stairwell. The words had spilled out on their own.

Could that be the difference? He’d seen a demon wearing his best friend’s skin, but Eli didn’t feel like there was any evil in himself. If anything, he felt hands, strong and steady, guiding him when he pulled the trigger, when he snapped Lyne’s neck, when he didn’t run from Stell. Those moments of peace, of certainty, they felt like faith. But he needed a sign. God had seemed, in the past few days, like a match-light next to the sun of Eli’s discoveries, but now he felt like a boy again, needing sanction, approval. He pulled a pocketknife from his jeans, and clicked it open.

He clearly wanted it to be two separate words. Distinct. For. Ever.

“You can’t kill me, Victor,” said Eli. “You know that.” Victor’s smile widened as he buried his knife between Eli’s ribs. “I know,” he said loudly. He had to speak up over the screams. “But you’ll have to indulge me. I’ve waited so long to try.”