by Eva Chase
Frantic feet pounded down the stairs after me. I dashed down the grim gray hallway, skidded and spun at a bend, and threw myself onward into a yawning room at its end.
A few strides into the room, I teetered to a halt, caught between the headache splintering deeper into my skull and the bewildering scene before me. My legs threatened to buckle.
At my entrance, sconces set in the concrete walls had glowed to life with an unearthly glow. Their light wavered across a row of eight photographs fixed to the wall beside me beneath names gouged into the concrete. School photographs: eight students in the same maroon uniforms as in the painted portraits upstairs.
The light also caught on dark crimson splotches that marked the floor here and there like pools of dried blood. Or not just like but the real thing. A rancid metallic scent laced the air, alongside a pungent rose scent so thick it was almost liquid. Normally I liked the smell of roses, but this was so overpoweringly heady it turned my stomach.
Which was strange, even though the most eerie thing in the room was the gnarled rosebush that loomed from a hole in the center of the concrete floor. It took up nearly half of the space in the room with its dark, twisted brambles, but I didn’t see a single flower blooming between the leaves and the thorns as long as my hand and as sharp as daggers.
No, something different clung here and there on the brambles. A scrap of ragged leather. A single dingy shoelace. A ripped, yellowed paper printed with lines of type. Was that thing over there a gnarled toenail?
And just beside it hung a tangled lock of rich red hair, the exact same shade as Delta’s.
I didn’t want to stand any closer to that monstrosity of a plant than I already was, but my pursuers had nearly caught up with me. I darted around the bush, searching for another hall or some tool I could use. The other side of the room offered me nothing.
The seven figures of the staff filed into the room, forming a solid barrier between me and the one doorway. A hum coursed through the air, power so potent I could taste it like electricity on my tongue.
Professor Hubert let out a low laugh. “You think you’ve accomplished something by getting this far? We were giving you a way out, and you’ve thrown it away. Don’t imagine that will ever happen again.”
“She never learns,” Professor Roth remarked. “Over and over again in the same cycle, spinning her wheels, until we send her right back to where she started.”
Back to where I’d started? Over and over again? I eyed him from where I stood tensed beside the twisted rosebush. “What are you talking about?”
“Do you really think you’re in control of any of this?” Dean Wainhouse asked. “We might not have called you here, but we make use of what we have. You’ve provided plenty of torment we couldn’t have dreamed up on our own for the student body. Arriving here again and again, asking the same ridiculous questions, making a fool of yourself like you always do, until we decide it’s time to return you to the beginning. You have no idea how many times you’ve taken your little stands and made your meager protests, and they’ve never gotten you anywhere. You saw today how sick your classmates are of it.”
A queasy sort of understanding seeped through my mind. I’d done this before? All the progress I’d made, it was only a hopeless repeat of things I’d tried in some other attempt I couldn’t remember?
It could be true. With powers like they had, why wouldn’t they be able to wipe my mind of any memory of being here before, toss me back to the gate as if I’d only just arrived?
How many times had I gone through those motions while they looked on with the amusement that shone on their faces now? Horror wound through my chest.
No wonder the other students had seemed so annoyed with me. No wonder Ryo and Jenson and Elias had responded to my presence as if they already knew what to make of me before they’d had any chance to meet me. You remind me of someone else, Elias had said, and maybe he’d meant another me I couldn’t recall.
My head pounded, and my stomach balled. But through the nausea and the revulsion, my mind latched onto Professor Hubert’s words.
I’d gotten far this time. They didn’t normally try to send me away. It hadn’t happened before. Maybe I’d retraced my steps without knowing it a dozen times before, but I didn’t think I’d ever made it all the way to this room and the most vital evidence of their wicked power. The rosebush beside me vibrated with it. A manifestation of that power? Its source?
Either way, energy flowed between the plant and them, just like it must each of the students and their roses along the wall outside. The bush, the blood, the photographs on the wall—they added up to some kind of answer. I just didn’t have the time to piece it together.
“You came to us,” Dean Wainhouse said, stepping closer, “and you’ll have your curse like the rest of them. We’ll just keep throwing you back until it breaks you.”
He raised his hands, and a bolt of panic shot through me. They were going to do it again—steal my memories, send me back to the beginning with no clue I’d ever been here before. No clue where Cade was. No clue what three guys, whom as far as I would know I’d never met, had done for me.
No fucking way.
The bush’s thorns glinted like razors in the eerie glow. If that thing had power, then why couldn’t I call on it too? Give it more than just a token of who I was.
Shatter myself like the window in my memories, cut myself open like those shards of glass had cut into Sylvie. It would be perfectly fitting. Payment for my crimes and a sort of absolution.
A twinge of regret tingled through my heart. Ryo. Jenson. Elias. This wasn’t the fate any of them had wanted for me. But they hadn’t known the full story. They couldn’t know what I needed to do to make everything right.
They’d wanted me safe. So I’d do this for them too. I’d break, but let’s see how much I could break with me. With one crack opened, the whole school might fall apart.
The dean’s hands wove through the air. The thrum of power started to swirl around me. I eased back a step to give myself a running start.
“I’m not really yours,” I said, letting my voice peal through the room. “But I give myself on one condition. Take me, and let Cade Harrison go.”
Then I hurled myself at the densest patch of thorns.
Someone yelled. Pain sliced through me. In the back of my head, that one thought stayed with me as a fog rolled over the rest.
They’d wanted me safe. In spite of everything, three men I knew and yet didn’t had committed themselves to saving me.
A glimmer of warmth lit in my chest, and then a dark fog rolled through me, wiping everything away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Trix
The gate closed behind me, the wrought-iron bars clanging shut with a finality that made my nerves jump. I glanced back, half expecting to see chains and padlocks had magically sprung up to seal my way out.
It still looked as ridiculously foreboding as before, tall and black with imperious twists rising along the arched top, but no unexpected barriers had sprung up. I studied it a moment longer anyway. My hand closed at my side, and a sudden prickle of pain jerked my gaze downward.
The thin red lines of open scratches covered my right palm. Scratches that formed letters and then words when I stared at them.
They wanted me safe.
I blinked and read the sentence again. With an itch that dug deep into my skin, the scratches started to fade away. In a matter of seconds, my palm looked as unmarked as I’d have expected, although a thin pang of discomfort remained.
The growl of the cab’s engine was fading beyond the thick stone wall. Up ahead of me loomed a sprawling Victorian mansion. The smell of roses saturated the air. And memories tickled up through my head.
Somewhere ahead of me were three young men who’d all looked at me as if I were some kind of answer: Ryo with his punk-green hair and gentle affection, Jenson with his off-kilter nose and barbed charm, Elias with his deep brown eyes and rigid confidence. There
would be classes that dredged up the worst out of us, whether through words or vomit. And in the woods lurked a beast that hid a young man inside it.
More and more of the impressions flooded my mind, piecing together into a patchwork quilt that stretched back weeks upon weeks, moments layered on moments, until I could hardly breathe. But even as my lungs constricted, I stared up at the school building with growing resolve ringing through me.
I knew who I was. I knew what I was doing here. Whatever I’d done last time, it might have saved not just Cade but every other student here—and me—after all. Because this time I remembered, and I’d be damned if I let the fiends that ran Roseborne College stop me again.
* * *
What other secrets will Trix uncover—and will she and the guys be able to take down Roseborne’s dark spirits for good? Find out in Academy of the Forsaken, the second book in the Cursed Studies trilogy. Get Academy of the Forsaken now!
If you’re a fan of gothic-y reverse harem paranormal romance, why not check out the prequel to another of Eva’s series, The Witch’s Consorts? You can grab the prequel story FREE here!
Next in the Cursed Studies trilogy
Academy of the Forsaken (Cursed Studies #2)
When I arrived at Roseborne College searching for my foster brother, I had no idea what I was in for. In the past few weeks, I've endured torments both physical and emotional. I've looked death in the face. And I've made an unnerving discovery that's left me scrambling to pick up the pieces of the quest I started out on.
But the supernatural beings who run this school haven't conquered me yet. I'll turn the tables on them with my newfound knowledge—and maybe with the help of three temptingly screwed-up guys I never expected to count on.
At least, that's the plan. Everyone in this place is keeping secrets: me, the guys I might be falling for, and my brother. Secrets big enough to bring us together... or to tear us completely apart. How will I find the strength to continue the fight if it turns out I can't trust anyone—not even myself?
Get it now!
Cruel Magic excerpt
Dive into Eva’s other paranormal academy series today!
An academy full of villains. A defiant young woman who's only just discovered her magic. Four hot, arrogant men determined to break her. Who will surrender first? Find out in the Royals of Villain Academy series! Here’s a sneak peek inside the first book, Cruel Magic.
CRUEL MAGIC
1
If I’d known my parents would be dead in an hour, I’d have done a few things differently that Sunday morning. Made sure to fit in a hug or two. Offered at least one “I love you.” And not dredged up the same old argument we’d been having for the last half a year, which didn’t end up mattering anyway.
But I didn’t know, so I took what appeared to be my moment. The three of us were sitting around the square white table in the breakfast nook just off the kitchen, warm California sunlight streaming through the broad windows. Dad was finishing up his French toast and eggs equally drenched in syrup, a contented smile curling his lips. Mom poured herself another cup of coffee and inhaled the steam with a pleased sigh.
I dabbed my last corner of toast in the runny yolk left on my plate and washed it down with a gulp of my own bitter coffee. “I was looking at the listings online,” I said. “There are a few apartments not too far from here that I can afford.”
Mom let out a very different sort of sigh and gave me a look full of fond exasperation. “We’ve talked about this, Lorelei. You should be saving that money for your future.”
She only pulled out my full name when she intended to end the conversation. I barreled onward. “I’ve really appreciated having the basement. You know that. But I just turned nineteen. Isn’t my future supposed to be starting now?”
The first time I’d brought up the idea of moving out, they’d offered me the small basement apartment they’d been using for storage as a compromise. But the whole point had been to get a little independence, and it was hard to feel like an adult with my parents literally over my head. After being homeschooled most of my life, now that I was attending a few classes at the local college—and seeing how my classmates lived—it was becoming more and more obvious that I had to make a real break if I was going to figure out my future for myself.
Unfortunately, while I was making more than enough to cover rent and the rest, an artist with no credit history didn’t look like the safest bet to potential landlords. To get a lease, I was going to need Mom or Dad to sign on as a guarantor. Which meant, somehow or other, I had to convince them it was a good idea.
Dad leaned his elbows onto the table. “You know the drill,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes. “Pros and cons. Go.”
We’d been playing that game whenever I’d proposed something my parents weren’t sold on since I was seven years old. I’d like to think I was pretty good at it by now.
“Pros,” I said, ticking off fingers as I went. “It’d be an important transitional step to becoming a completely independent adult. I’d be forced to learn how to look after myself. I could get a place that’s closer to the college so it’d be easier for me to participate in the extracurricular stuff there and save maybe an hour in transit. I’d be building my credit score and a rental history. I’d have more space and more freedom to… to figure out who I am without you looking over my shoulder.”
I hadn’t let myself say that part before because I’d known it’d make Dad wince the way it had just now. Mom set down her coffee, knitting her brow. “You should feel like the apartment is completely yours, hon. We don’t want to stifle you.”
“I know.” My hands fell to my lap, and I twisted one of the glass beads on the charm bracelet they’d given me for my tenth birthday and that I’d added to every year since. Each charm was a symbol of a love or a dream I’d shared with them. Why couldn’t they understand this longing? “All you have to do is look out the window to see who’s coming and going. Sound travels up. Even if you’re not trying to monitor what I’m doing, I can’t forget that you’re right here.”
“All right,” Dad said. “That’s fair enough. Maybe we should have taken that more into consideration. And then cons?”
I held back a grimace. He wasn’t going to let me fudge this list. “I’ll be spending money I could otherwise be saving. If I have a few bad months in selling my figurines, I’ll have to dip into the savings I already have. I won’t be able to just pop up here and grab something to eat if I’m feeling hungry and lazy, but maybe that’s a good thing?”
“It won’t be as safe,” Mom said. “You’d be living around strangers.”
“I’m going to have to sometime, aren’t I?”
“It’ll be extra stress when you have your studies to focus on,” she went on. “And you’ll have a lot more pressure to keep going with your current job because you need that money, even if you decide you want to try something new that’s more of a risk. In some ways, you’ll have less freedom.”
“It’s not that we’re trying to keep you here forever, Rory,” Dad said. “We just want to make sure you get the best start we can give you. Why not wait another couple years until you can really launch a career for yourself, and in the meantime we can try to find ways to help you feel more independent here?”
It was hard to argue with that. There were tons of cons. I didn’t know how to express how important the one main pro was to me in a way they’d accept without hurting them a whole lot more than I wanted to.
As I bit my lip in thought, Mom smiled, her voice falling into the softer lilting tone it often did when she was about to work her magic. “I know you’ve been getting a little stir-crazy, wanting to do some traveling too, so I thought we could finally take that trip to New York City this summer—see the Met and MoMA.”
Her words did exactly what she’d intended. A spark of delight lit in my chest at the idea of jetting across the country to some of the most respected art galleries in the country. We’d done a bit of trave
ling as a family before, but only within the state.
With that joy came a knot of guilt as well. I was already planning my own solo trip—a week in Florence, Italy to see all the amazing galleries and architecture there—and I didn’t need parental sign-off to do that. I hadn’t decided yet whether I was going to wait to tell them until I was heading out the door or not until I was actually on the plane. Telling them now, months in advance, would only mean more arguing.
Mom couldn’t feel the guilt, though. As a mage, she drew on joyful feelings to perform her magic, so she was finely attuned to only that aspect of my emotions. With a soft murmur and a flick of her hand, she set my cooled coffee steaming again. A bit of comfort to ease the sting of their disagreement.
“Thanks,” I said. “And that trip sounds fantastic.”
“I’m looking forward to it too,” Dad said with a grin. “I’ll see if the Conclave has any special projects I can take on. I expect we’ll have plenty of energy to work with.”
He was a mage too. The two of them could turn any joy they stirred up in each other or me—or anyone else we ran into—into power. Dad’s specialty was healing. Around his ordinary accounting job, he volunteered at a nearby hospital, nudging people’s recovery along. Always be open to happiness, he’d told me when I was little, half playful and half serious. Every time I make you smile, it could save someone’s life.
Letting them turn my happiness into magic was as close to any kind of supernatural power as I got. From what I’d gathered from the little bits and pieces they’d revealed over the years, being a mage was hereditary. As an adoptee, I hadn’t gotten the genetic benefit, and there was no way for them to teach me when I didn’t have the power already inside me.
