“Wow. She’s a real downer,” Freckles murmured. “Who can even do all that math?”
Wally’s voice dropped. “You do not choose the academy. The academy chooses you.”
“What the hell?” Freckles leaned around me to get a better look at Wally.
As Sideburns—the Sandman was too cool of a name for that guy—had predicted, my mind spun. A magical academy? Assassins? Wall-walking super wolves? Even though my dad had told me about some of it, I hadn’t believed him.
But seeing what was in front of me now…how could I not?
I wasn’t up for any of this. Hell, I was an ordinary person. I’d always been.
My mother’s voice rose up out of nowhere, taking over my thoughts.
“There is magic all around us, Wild. Everywhere. In everything. In you. You gather people to you like moths to a flame. You were built to ride the wind, my love. So ride it. Your time will come.”
Very little of that had made sense at the time. I’d been in the middle of getting in trouble for convincing my brother and Rory to follow me into the neighbor’s bullpen, sure we could tame the mean old bugger with the single horn and a seriously bad attitude. I’d nearly gotten us killed. Dad had been too livid to deal with me, so he’d passed me off to my mother to finish the tongue lashing and decide on a punishment.
She’d decided on no punishment. Tommy had fumed and even Rory had been disappointed, both wanting me to get my butt whooped for convincing them to take the risk. Instead, no one had been blamed, not even them for going along with it.
When mom had said all that about magic, I’d never, in my wildest dreams, thought she was talking about real magic, the kind in children’s books. Yet here I stood with a bunch of people who’d apparently been raised on this stuff along with their Wheaties.
“Say goodbye to your contact with the outside world,” the woman continued, her hair dramatically blowing behind her as if she were a model across from a fan, and even though I couldn’t see it from the distance, I knew she had a sweet smile on her face. A fake smile that hid a gleaming blade, like Wally had said. “Cell phones are useless. There will be no computers, no social media, no GPS. There will only be your courage and your mettle. Your watch will help us monitor your progress through each trial. If you take it off, your time here will be forfeit. Make it to the end for full points. Grab the gold for a bonus. And, as always, keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. I will see you on the other side.”
She sauntered off to the side and held her stick high. With a flick of the wrist, the heavy metal gates that stretched out down the wall clunked before us, shuddering. They opened, little by little. The creaking sound of metal riding the roar of what Wally seemed to think was a freaking T-Rex. People pushed in behind me, but no one attempted to get ahead. A quick look down the line showed the same thing at each gate. Groups of people, no one stepping forward.
That faint smell I’d caught earlier rode the moment. Dirt and sweat and spicy vanilla. A smell of home and comfort. Of kicking ass and causing mayhem.
A slow grin slid over my lips and I clung to the words of my mother.
“You were born to ride the wind, Wild.”
Chapter 9
“What’s the strategy?” I grabbed Wally on one side, Freckles on the other, and stepped toward the gate in front of us. I’d be damned if I was doing this alone, and they seemed to know what to expect. We’d be stronger together, something I’d learned from my childhood with Tommy and Rory.
“Okay.” Freckles hurried beside me, jogging to keep up with my longer legs. “The person on top of this section obviously belongs to the House of Shade, which is what this stretch will be dedicated to. If the Sandman was your recruiter, then you’re probably in your element.”
“You said they kill people. You think that’s my specialty?” I asked incredulously.
“Creating walking memory banks, that’s mine,” Wally said.
“Oh gross, you’re not a necromancer, are you?” Freckles groaned at Wally. “That’s the type of thing one of them would say. Dead people shouldn’t be used for information recall. It isn’t right. It just isn’t.”
“There is comfort in rising from the dead,” Wally replied as the gate in front of us opened wider. We were nearly there, leading the pack of not-so-eager participants.
“No, that’s not comfortable,” Freckles said as a warning blared through my mind and ran all the way down my spine. “Coming back as a rotting corpse after dying is not at all comfortable!”
“Wait,” I said, slowing as we reached the now-open gate. I grabbed Wally and stepped to the side. Freckles fell in behind us.
“What’s the matter?” Wally whispered.
A narrow path led from the gate into a forest of dense redwood trees. Green grass filled in between artfully tangled weeds and the occasional shrub that would easily tangle a foot should someone go running through them.
The pack of kids behind us slowed, and I knew without knowing how that everyone was waiting for someone else to go first. Why wouldn’t they? We were walking into a house of freaking predators who were known for killing people. Even if this was some elaborate joke that I would not find funny, Sideburns was part of it, and his sense of humor was obviously dangerous. Boogeymen lurked in this place, and they had the upper hand.
I took Wally’s wrist for the same reasons I would’ve taken Tommy’s back in the day—half for comfort, half to get the show on the road. A sudden pang of loss hit me. Had he paused at this gate like I was doing? Had he waited for someone to grab his wrist like I’d always done in potentially dangerous situations?
“Go through or go around?” I asked quietly, walking forward slowly. This wasn’t unlike walking through the wilds after an animal had gotten onto our lands and killed livestock. I needed the same awareness. The readiness to act.
“My mom said that most people went around, but she’d wished she’d gone through,” Freckles said. “But she never talked to anyone from this house.”
“In the academy’s history, three percent of those who have gone through the middle have died,” Wally whispered. “Sixty-five percent made it to the end.”
“How many people died the other way?” Freckles asked.
“None,” she replied as a group of tough-looking boys broke from the pack. They went right, avoiding the path, at a slow walk. “But only fifty percent of them made it through.”
“So we have a better chance of making it through if we go through the middle, but we might die?” Freckles’s voice increased in pitch. “What kind of odds are those?”
“Better odds than hang-gliding in a hurricane,” Wally replied, cool as a cucumber.
“Why are you so good at math and so stinking bad at social skills?” he screeched, bringing his voice up a few octaves, and I was suddenly pretty sure he was the screecher from the helicopter. “It’s not natural.”
A group of five girls dressed all in black, down to the painted fingernails they held near their chests, walked around us toward the path, giggling as they did so. Outwardly they looked nervous and silly. They looked like they’d get taken down, no problem. But the fluidity in their gait and the seriousness in their eyes told a different story.
A story I had no trouble reading.
If I’d seen this group slip into the park in town at night in my hometown, I would have instantly known they were up to no good, that this wasn’t their first rodeo, and any attempt to follow them, even out of curiosity, would lead to retaliation.
Something within me clicked into place. A strange understanding.
“They belong here,” I said, marveling. “Wally, of the sixty-five percent who make it through, how many end up in this house?”
“Yes. Good question.” She paused. “Eighty percent of the sixty-five percent, I believe. A larger percentage of the ones who make it through the other way are not native to this house.”
“It’s unnatural what she’s doing,” Freckles repeated. “It is literally anothe
r language, and only the criminally insane speak it.”
A short guy with a stick, much like the woman on the wall had used, strutted forward, leading the way. Dumb as a post, I could tell. He grinned for the people behind him, his audience, and gave a mocking half bow before stepping onto the path.
I knew what he was thinking: If a bunch of silly girls can do this, obviously I can.
A grin crept up my face.
Those girls were luring the over-confident morons after them. They felt confident in these surroundings, and their intent was to do harm to those that didn’t understand what they were up against.
“Fascinating,” I said, my heart quickening even as my stomach pinched. “I mean, super messed up, but…wow.”
The Bro glanced at his watch, gave his fan club a grin, and walked forward. Immediately, a small crowd hurried to follow, the guys all bravado and the girls twittering and laughing nervously.
Hook, line, and sinker, the dumb fish were caught.
“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing the two by my side and hurrying after the Bro Pack.
“Okay, that was a lot of math back there, but isn’t this the bad way for people like us?” Freckles said, trotting beside me, his round face already sweating.
“For us, yes,” Wally said, not needing my tug to stay with me. “For him?” She nodded to me. "We shall see.”
Releasing their arms, I said, “It’s a bad way for all of us, yes,” forcing myself to slow as we neared the path. I needed to think this through.
Logic said to go around. Hell, statistics said go around. No one had died the other way. Sideburns might’ve thought I’d do well in the House of Shade, and someone obviously thought this was my—strike that, Billy’s—place, but I didn’t know about that. I didn’t know about any of this. We should take the easier approach, the one favored by those who didn’t belong in the house.
Except…
Something about the girls’ approach pulled at me. Dragged me behind them. And it wasn’t just a sick fascination, or the weird heaviness in the pit of my stomach that said their actions fit with the danger of this place. They were taking others along this path for a purpose. In this game of survival, they’d thought it necessary to bring bait. They knew what they were doing. It made sense to tag along and ride their coattails, so long as the Bro Pack stayed between us.
Don’t shy away from your nature. Do whatever it takes to stay alive. Always.
“Okay, Sideburns,” I said under my breath, stopping just before the path. “You win.”
I stepped onto the center path with one foot, then the other. My watch vibrated and a message flashed across the screen.
You’ve chosen. Good luck.
Something bumped my back, pushing me forward, but a quick backward glance showed me nothing was there.
I spun, wide-eyed, and put out a hand. My palm found a hard nothingness separating me from the path, or lack of a path, I hadn’t taken. Like plexiglass, only it wasn’t glass and it wasn’t visible.
Wally and Freckles stood side by side, staring at me on the other side of the invisible barrier while the Bro Pack’s loud talking and laughing echoed as though we were locked in the same ethereal chamber.
My chest constricted and I struggled to breathe.
Magic. Real, honest-to-God magic had trapped me on this path. The small hold-out part of me that still hadn’t believed could no longer deny the truth. “What’s your name?” I called to Freckles, not sure why that should be so important right then but needing to know. Maybe just in case we all ended up dead.
His brow creased and he leaned forward a little. His lips soundlessly formed the word what?
“What’s your name?” I said again, knowing I needed to turn and hurry to catch up with the Bro Pack, but feeling the urgency here, as well.
He frowned and shook his head a little before stepping forward.
“What?” he asked, placing his second foot, his voice now loud and clear.
I sucked in a breath, guilt tearing through me as I looked down at his feet, both firmly on the path. His watch vibrated. After he’d read it, his eyes hit mine.
I’d just accidentally lured him in. I’d learned from those girls and immediately applied the lesson without intending to.
“What’s your name?” I asked softly, an apology under my words, cursing the Sandman for dragging me into this. Cursing my parents for never explaining what I might someday be forced into.
“Oh. Pete. Just don’t call me Peter. My brothers always tease me about Peter. I mean, it’s a person’s name, not just a dick’s name.” He rolled his eyes—“Anyway”—and put out a fist.
Handshakes I had. Fist bumps weren’t part of the old farmer language. They made me feel awkward for reasons unknown.
“I’m…Billy.” I caught myself just in time. “Sorry, Pete, if you didn’t want to come this way,” I said, feeling like it was my duty to clear the air. Then, remembering that the guys I knew didn’t usually apologize—they were more apt to find someone else to blame—I amended, “But you did step through, so…your bad.”
Wally pushed up behind us, shoving Pete out of the way. “I couldn’t hear you guys. What’d I miss?”
“That’s Pete.” I hooked a thumb at him.
“Hello, Peter,” Wally said professionally, putting out her hand for a handshake, same as she’d done for me.
Pete scowled at her. He hurried after me. “Of course, I was going to come. The Sandman ushered you over here. He only pays attention to the best. My best shot of getting through is to hang with you, man.”
I laughed sardonically. They couldn’t possibly know that my brother was the one Sideburns had attempted to lure here and got me in his place. I didn’t understand his game, but he hadn’t denied my family was a target and he hadn’t cared that I’d shown up instead of Billy. Good thing I knew something Tommy didn’t.
I knew how to fight dirty.
Chapter 10
The Bro Pack meandered along ahead of us, through the tall trees, reaching out and touching them here and there. I resisted the urge to do the same. Whatever this place was, I wasn’t trusting it and that meant no touching if I didn’t have to. The two girls at the back hung onto each other, looking to either side fearfully. They were way out of their element in this trial if their balayage hair and designer clothes were any indication. Both of those things were great for us. Whatever beasties lurked in this place would pick off the weakest prey first. Which was most certainly them.
“We’re going to use them as chasers,” I said, keeping my voice just low enough for Wally and Pete.
“What?” He frowned up at me, brow crinkling.
“A chaser,” I repeated, somewhat surprised that he didn’t know. “A car ahead of you on the road that’s speeding. You tail them, and if a cop is waiting in a speed trap, they’ll get the chaser car first. What kind of dude doesn’t know that? It’s like Driving 101.”
He flushed and I almost felt bad. “I don’t have my license yet,” he mumbled. “But I played Gran Turismo a lot.”
That had to be a video game, something I’d never played. Growing up, I’d considered myself lucky if I got a turn to pick what was on TV a couple times a week.
I held up both hands, feeling the need to get moving. “Let’s push in close to them. We need to follow closely enough to see what comes at them, but not so close that we get caught up in it. Got it?”
I started forward and they fell in beside me. Wally clasped her hands in front of her.
“Two miles of No Man’s Land is the typical length of each of the trials,” she said. “Though those that run them often claim they’re far longer.”
“I can’t run one mile, never mind two!” Pete’s face bloomed a bright pink as if he were already running.
I spared him a glance. “If we do this right, we won’t be running.”
We’d taken no more than a few steps when the light around us dimmed to an unnatural twilight. Deep shadows pooled between the trunks of
the trees and hid the path ahead.
Then the entire scene shifted right in front of us.
“Holy cats,” Pete whispered.
That wasn’t the word that went through my mind.
The trees shifted and spun, dizzying me. Then they grew, their limbs shooting up and out, changing color and appearance as they did until we were surrounded by towering buildings. The ground below us hardened rapidly, turning from dirt to concrete. In the distance, the sound of traffic cut through the night instead of the birds and soft rustling of leaves.
“We’re in a city,” Pete said.
“Nothing gets past you,” I muttered.
Dead ahead was an alley that cut between a series of buildings. At what had to be the end, I could see a sign blinking in the distance, well above our heads. Exit.
“Here we go,” I said. The anticipation of our first challenge intensified in me until I was wound tighter than a dollar-store guitar.
Wally crowded in on my one side and tried to slip an arm through mine. I shook her off.
I needed my hands free for what was coming.
“Can you see those idiots that were ahead of us?” I asked.
“No,” they chimed in unison.
Well, that settled that. “Sorry, Pete, I lied,” I said as I broke into a jog, heading deeper into the alley.
Pete groaned. “I knew I should have cut out the Snickers bars. I should have gone to the gym.”
“Every year, thirty-five to fifty-six people die from ingesting peanut-laden chocolate bars, not realizing they are allergic to the peanuts. Even more people die from cardiac arrest while attempting to get into shape. Fifty-year-olds drop dead from running on a non-regular basis. You should be grateful—you dodged two deaths.”
Shadowspell Academy: The Culling Trials, Omnibus Page 8
