by Abby James
Darkwells Academy
The Curse Begins
Abby James
Copyright © 2019 by Abby Duncan
All rights reserved.
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 for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Author’s Note
Written in Blood
Read an excerpt
About the Author
Author’s Note
Hi there
Great to have you on this journey. Buckle up because Samara has a tough time ahead for her. I hope you will join her on the arduous task of discovering the truth of her origins and winning the man of her dreams.
Thank you.
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1
With three pints balanced between his fingers, Hack managed to navigate through the crowd spilling only the froth, which landed on the bag slung over a blonde’s shoulder. Hack spied me looking and flared his eyes in an oops, trouble if she noticed kind of look. I screwed my nose up in a crowded bar, things happen look. Hack rolled his eyes and exaggerated swerving around the crowd, trying to be funny. And it would’ve been if he’d not missed the staggering guy coming from his nine o’clock. His shirt was mussed and buttons had blown, exposing his hairy chest.
Seconds to impact. Hack didn’t see him because he was too busy trying to make me laugh, continuing to waver the three drinks around like he was dodging a squad of people. I pointed toward the incoming, but Hack was too swept up in his pantomime to notice me. And then wham, the two collided. The three pints soaked into the thick mat of hair on the guy’s chest, but he didn’t seem to notice. He staggered backward, taking out the woman behind him.
Hack, the dick, and I meant that in the nicest way possible because he was one of my friends, the sum total of number two on my friend’s list, tried to make good the situation, but soon ducked away once the blonde kicked up a fuss, shouting that her dress was ruined and slapping the guy about.
“Smooth, real smooth,” Laya said, once Hack arrived at our end of the bar, the end that never received service from the barman because the sad, old drunks hung out down this end while the young and beautiful congregated at the other end of the bar where all the bikers hung out. If you were anyone you went to Rifos, despite being run down and full of bikers. The two things that made the people come were the cool bands and the fact tough dudes were the latest fad. Everyone liked to hangout where you could get your teeth knocked in, wallet stolen at knife point, caught in a police raid or ended up with illicit drugs slipped into your drink so you would be unconscious while some asshole had sex with you.
Why did we come? Because my two friends liked the idea of living it wild on a Friday night after spending a week contained within a sterile prep room making dead people look alive.
“The guy currently getting his head beaten in is wearing our drinks. And do you have any guilt in the fact you’re the reason he’s going to end up in emergency?” Laya said. She was exaggerating. The drunk would not end up in emergency being bitch slapped, but if the boyfriend decided to join in things could get messy.
“It’s not my fault the guy was too blind to see an inch in front of his face.”
“How about I go and get us the drinks?” I intervened before the two of them ended up in a full scale argument.
“Oh look, Hugo’s warming up,” Laya said, promptly forgetting our drought because the lead guitarist of Slim Jim, her idol and current I’d let him fuck me any place anytime dream guy had appeared on stage, guitar slung low on his hip. Half the room erupted in a heavy gush of sighs.
“You drool. I go get drinks,” I said. Laya wasn’t listening, neither was Hack, drooling also. He had a huge crush on Hugo as well, but only because no one could make a guitar sing quite like him, and Hack fancied himself as a budding band member even if he’d yet to find the courage to play outside his room or in front of other people besides Laya and myself.
I dodged the ugly altercation going on with the woman and the drunk—sometimes the women in this place were more scary than the men—and headed for the service area, rows deep with people. Being on the smallish side it wasn’t hard to duck under armpits and squeeze my way to the front. The body odor from some of the guys and excessive perfume and hairspray from the ladies was a hazard I had to bare but a small price to pay if I could short cut the queue.
I popped out next to a towering woman leaning on the bar to keep herself upright, and a spunky looking guy with sandy blond hair and a cute nose, which turned up slightly at the end. He had really nice eyes. Really nice in an almond-shape-with-thick-eyelashes sort of way, and they would be even nicer if not blood shot. The whites were veined red but the blue was crystal clear like an undisturbed swimming pool. His shirt sleeves were messily rolled up to reveal the promise of well developed muscle. He would’ve smelt good too, but the sweat and stale alcohol destroyed the faint cologne trace of ocean spray.
I propped myself against the bar and he swiveled to look at me, his eyes half focused. “Say, y’ wouldn’t mind if I took a sip.” He slurred half the words, but there was no disguising what he had said. The meaning alluded me, but it was no doubt crass.
I quirked an eyebrow and stared at him, giving him the opportunity to elaborate. He turned to face me in a clumsy drunk way. This wasn’t the sort of place you came if you were looking to meet someone nice. Or even to have a conversation since once the music started all you could do was lip read. By this time of night there were few left in the bar who could string a sentence together in coherent english.
“Y’ look tasty. I wandasip.” He puckered his lips and made little sipping sounds, then stuck out his tongue and wiggled it about leaving me in no doubt as to what he was referring to when he meant sip.
Okay, thank you very much. If it wasn’t the grossest pickup line I’d heard to date.
He leaned in, then toppled sideways and into me, pinning me to the bar. “All y’ had to do was ashk.” He leered down at me, too heavy for me to shove off. A hand snaked around my waist and I found myself flush against him. No hard parts knocking at my door, thank god. The guy was too inebriated to spike even the first glimpse of a hard-on.
He breathed his stale alcohol breath all over me as he smiled and huffed a laugh. I’m sure he saw two of me. “How’bout a bit o’mytongue. Y’fancysomeo’that.” I got the gist of what he was trying to say.
I palmed his face and shoved it away. “As if.”
“I think you should leave the lady alone,” came a male voice from behind. I looked over the spunky creeps shoulder and came eye to eye with a man mountain, all rocky outcrops and hard jutting bends. His brown eyes were small hard points caving inward from the high ridge of his cheekbone. His nose was flattened across his face, the result of genetics
or a fight, and his dry, cracked lips were like thick sausages.
The cute, but gross creep, jerked his head around in an uncoordinated and clumsy attempt to peer behind himself.
“I’ll give you five to get your hands off her before I bury your face in the bottles behind the bar.”
“‘We’re just havin’ some fun.”
“You’ve got four clicks left.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, how ‘bout y’ mind y’ business.” The creep released his vice grip on me and awkwardly turned around. “Obvishly y’ don’t undershand the rules. First come and…” He chuckled to himself. “I get first come. Y’ waitinline.”
Mr. Man Mountain was not in the mood for verbal scrabble. His fist was up so fast even someone sober would’ve had a hard time dodging it. The drunk didn’t see the fist, bet he didn’t feel it either. His head snapped back and if it wasn’t attached to his shoulders it would be in the bottles behind the bar. The force of the punch dragged his body part way onto the bar, but his weight slid him back down to the floor where he lay out cold. Blood oozed from his nose, which looked askew. He’d either remember tonight or not, but he was likely going to suffer for the rest of his life with a crooked nose.
I looked up at the hulk. “Thanks, I guess.”
“I never come second.”
Ummm. “You’re not planning on taking his place are you? ‘Cause I got to tell you, I may look small and meek, but I’ve got a sting.”
He quirked an eyebrow, but there was no softening to his hard angles and severe lines. Then a twitch of his thick rubbery lips and a small smile arched one side of his mouth. “I’d touch you lady, you look tasty enough, but I want my cock staying attached to my body.”
“Okay,” I breathed. Why did I always find the weirdos?
“I’m here for a chat.”
I snorted a laugh of sorts. “A chat, right.” I turned away from him to face the bar. The sooner I got my drinks the better.
“Scullion would like a word with you.”
I gave him my partial attention, looking sideways at him. “I don’t know a Scullion.”
“Doesn’t matter. He knows you. And he’s very interested in meeting you.”
“Thank you for the tempting invitation, but I’m not interested.”
“I’m not asking if you are interested.”
This time I did give him my attention. “Is that so? How do you plan on getting me to this meeting when I refuse to go?”
He leaned in close with not a whiff of alcohol on his breath, which could only mean one thing in a place like Rifos; he worked for someone really important—meaning dangerously scary—who liked his men sober so they could complete their jobs, like deliver invitations with menace. “You really want to ask that question, neuk?”
I stared at him, words evading me. Someone jostled me from behind, pushing me further into the man mountain, who had me barricaded between his extreme muscled chest and the bar.
“What did you call me?”
He smirked, then winked at me. “It’s temporary, so don’t worry. Scullion will see you right.”
Was neuk a new term for slut? Asshole. “You can crawl back to your boss and tell him I’m not interested in what sorts of things he thinks he can do for me.”
He chuckled, but the joke was all one sided. He was ticking me off. Problem was there wasn’t a lot I could do about it if he decided to be a real pest except act tough like I could do something about the situation.
As if he wasn’t close enough, the guy still managed to find some empty space between us to occupy. “Babe, you don’t know the half of what he can do for you. Neuks line up to receive his blessing—” he winked “—and more.”
This guy was grossing me out. He placed a hand on the bar, close to my shoulder. A threat, a promise? Both most likely. He continued to smirk down at me while my heart notched triple the beats.
“And Scullion always gets what he wants.”
I was jostled from the side by someone else impatient to get a drink while man mountain took his sweet time not ordering anything and occupying valuable space at the front of the queue. If the guy’s arm wasn’t there, I would’ve been knocked away. As it was he secured me in place by grabbing my shoulders to steady me. “Easy does it, little lady. Don’t want to loose you just yet.”
A strange vibration emanated from his touch into me. The heat from his hands passed through my jacket burning my shoulders. I swear if I looked I’d see the imprint of his fingers branded onto my skin. He continued to stare down at me with the same smirk that was yet to leave his face. Did he not feel this…this? What the hell was happening? By the look on his face I’d say he had no idea.
“I’m partial to a woman who likes to make things tough. I’m more than happy to oblige you. Or you could do as I politely asked and come with me.”
His touch had cooled, but my skin still radiated with heat and all I wanted was him out of my space. “You’re a weirdo creep,” I said as I wrenched my shoulders from his grasp. “Actually, I think you’re a psychopath.” I mean, what the hell had just happen? Perhaps I’d imagined it.
He quirked an eyebrow at my pathetic attempt at breaking free.
“I could be, sugar, I could be. I’m sure you don’t want to find out.”
His thick fingers grasped me around the waist, dragging me away from the bar. I sliced my arms down to knock his hands away, but they were like iron.
“Let me go or I’ll make a huge scene.”
I pushed him in the chest, my hands dwarfed by his bulk. And then it started again, the heat between his touch and mine. It scorched my hands. Only this time, his brow furrowed. He looked down at my hands as his eyes widened.
His top lip curled back as he jerked me to him, close enough his breath became my next inhale. “You’re not supposed to—”
With the first flame, flickering from under my fingers, he threw me backward into the bar, which jabbed under my shoulder blades. Ricocheting off the bar from the force of his shove, I lost my footing and went down, getting tangled amongst everyone’s feet, losing the strap from my bag at the same time. Some guy close by threw his drink at the big guy dousing the flames, which had burned the front of his shirt leaving tatters he couldn’t keep on his shoulders.
The fire created the chaos I needed. I grasped my bag, flipped to all fours and crawled away through people’s legs, creating turmoil of my own. Enough that I scrambled to my feet and wove through the crowd, heading for the bathroom, making my escape while the big guy was distracted. Something told me he’d have no compunction on bursting into the ladies, but it felt more secure than out here. Maybe I should leave and text Hack and Laya from a safe distance, but I wasn’t far from the door so kept running.
I ignored the three women at the basins tending to their faces and bee-lined for the empty cubicle at the far end. Once inside, I lowered the seat and sat down, dropping my bag to the ground. Then bent further until my face was buried in my palms. Holy mother of god. Had any of that just happened?
I sat up and looked at my hands. Nothing. No singed fingers or blackened parts to show I’d just touched fire. It had felt warm, but nothing more. And I hadn’t imagined it because no one would waste their drink on an imaginary fire. I’d never hallucinated before, had bad dreams, or psychotic episodes, but there was always a first time. I’d have to ask Nathan if either of my parents had suffered from mental illness.
I ran my hands down over my face as my phone rang. It took some fishing through my bag until I found it and by then the ring had silenced. It was Laya. Seeing her name on the screen made me feel somewhat safer and the situation somewhat normal. The cubicle walls weren’t closing in on me and nothing bad was crawling out of the toilet bowl to grab me. Situation normal.
I exited the cubicle to find the three women had disappeared leaving me the only one in the bathroom. I stared at myself in the mirror, but saw the same twenty-year-old woman as I saw every time I looked in the mirror. Besides, what would a woman having a
psychotic episode look like? There was another possibility; someone had spiked my drink.
I cupped my hand under the tap, then doused my face. The cool water tingled my skin, tightened my pores and felt like a slap back to normalcy.
“What the hell is going on with you?” I asked my reflection.
I bent to cup more water in my palms, but the water slowed, then trickled, then spat out in one gush like a blockage suddenly freed, then stopped again. Gurgling, rumbling sounds came down the faucet. A thick black liquid spewed out like lava, pooling in the basin because it was too thick to flow freely down the plug hole.
I backed away as the liquid continued to ooze into the basin, filling up the bowl before creeping over the sides. It moved along the white counter top like tentacles grasping before slowly rising into the air, coalescing into one long blob. It wavered in the air as it arched outward, the tip spreading into claw like fingers, spearing straight for me.
I screamed and tripped over my own feet as I backed up, hitting the cubicle door behind me, then sprawled into the cubicle on my ass. The black blob, now a clawed hand equipped with vicious talons at the tip of each finger, stretched across the void on a course for me. I shuffled back farther until I hit the toilet bowl, then kicked out at the door to slam it closed, but the black hand reached the door before I could and barred it from closing.
I screamed again as it hovered toward me, wavering back and forth like a charmed snake rising from its woven bowl. I didn’t want to touch it, but I didn’t want it touching me first, so I lashed out with my fist. Strangely enough, it felt solid. My punch sent it sideways into the door then it crashed to the floor. Only then did the eerie black hand disappear to be replaced by a black woman holding her nose as blood seeped between her fingers.
