by G. Bailey
“Welcome, welcome, my little turtle doves. I hope everyone is feeling energised after the New Moon we were blessed with on Monday.”
She widens her arms as if she’s hugging the air around her and speaks in a soft, whispery voice that’s almost difficult to hear. Going by her many layers of eclectic clothing and the bangles decorating her head-to-foot like a wind chime, she must be a tree hugger. I have a weird feeling I’m going to like her compared to the other teachers here.
“With Mars in retrograde, now is the time for reflection and assessing one’s deepest desires,” she continues, cupping her hands against her heart. A few of the students groan. Now I know what Lucas meant by quirky. More like deluded if she thinks astrology is legit. “I would like each of you to draw a portrait of the person sitting beside you. What do you think they desire? Take a wild guess and incorporate it somehow into your portrait. It can be an object, a symbol, or whatever your little heart whispers to you so long as it’s not anything crude. Malcolm,”—she motions a red-haired boy over—”please will you do the honours and hand out the materials?”
“Fine.”
The boy grumbles and heads over to the cupboards stacked against the wall. While he hands out paper and charcoal sticks, I look out the window and try to think of a way out of this stupid assignment. It’s like the universe has paired me with Lucas for this just for the fun of it.
What do I think he desires? I don’t know. Anne?
I look over at him, and he’s staring at me.
“So. What do you desire, Miss Hall?”
I swallow. Hard. I really don’t want to answer that.
“A way out of here?” I reply quickly, giving him a nervous laugh.
Lucas leans over the table and gazes into my eyes. I pull back slightly, my heart racing, and I’m almost tempted to move away or punch him in the throat. Either way, I don’t want him to see the blackness in my eyes—the blackness my parents have tried so desperately hard to see consume me. What if it’s true when people say the eyes are the windows to our souls? Does that mean Lucas can see how dark and twisted I am inside?
Tearing my gaze away, I grab a piece of paper, and ask casually, “What about you, noble steed? What do you desire?”
He takes a moment to reply me. I can feel his eyes still pressed on my face and his scrutiny makes me a little uncomfortable. Maybe he was able to glance at my soul. Maybe it sickened him like it does me when I’m haunted by my victims’ screams at night.
“Forgiveness,” he answers softly, and I look up at him, startled by his response. All the mirth has gone from his face and he’s dead serious now. “A fresh start.”
“Don’t we all desire that?” I counter, handing him some paper and a charcoal stick. “But you’ll have to go to church if you want forgiveness.”
His eyebrows lift. “You’re religious?”
I snort. “Do I look religious?”
Another unsettling pause.
It really is like he’s seen what I am deep down: a monster.
“Nah. Bible-bashing ain’t really yours or my style.” He leans back, picking up his charcoal. “I tell you what, though, I could do with some pancakes right about now.”
“Did you miss breakfast?”
Talk about a rapid change of subject. I’m relieved though. That was rather intense.
Lucas crosses his arms and tilts his head. “I was too busy getting the waffle you so very kindly shared with me.”
He makes me laugh, and I quickly cover my mouth to suppress it. “So that’s what you desire? Pancakes?”
I watch him wet his lips and nod. “Pancakes.”
“Funny,” I say to him, “so do I.”
And then I do something completely out of character.
I smile at him, really smile, because I know that whatever he saw lurking within me, it didn’t horrify him. We wouldn’t be sitting here chatting about pancakes if it did. I’d be in a straitjacket on my way to the asylum, or back to my parents for further ‘training’.
I don’t know why, but there’s something about Lucas Georgian that puts me at ease.
By all accounts, there shouldn’t be anything I like about him. Not when his name is sitting on the list tucked inside my bag…
By the time class is over, my stomach hurts from all the laughing I’ve been doing. I can see why Anne has a crush on Lucas. He’s such a doofus and spent most of the lesson pulling faces at me while I tried to draw him.
It took little convincing for me to switch off my assassin side and just have some fun for a while. They do say keep your friends close but your enemies closer. I need to get close to Lucas if I’m to find out his sin, right?
“And now for the grand reveal,” Mrs. Fleur announces, clapping her hands. Her bangles clang off each other like a tambourine. “Please show your partner what you created.”
Everyone turns their paper over to the person sitting across from them. I hold mine close to my chest, waiting for Lucas to show me his first. When he does, my breath hitches in my throat. In almost every childhood picture I haven’t managed to destroy, I’m frowning.
That’s not the case with Lucas’ portrait.
He’s drawn me so beautifully. So happy. I’m smiling across the table at him, my hand threaded in my hair, my elbow perched on the table, and loose strands of my hair falls over my shoulders. He’s even drawn the heart-shaped freckle on my brow bone.
“Wow. You’re crazy talented,” I tell him, feeling a little embarrassed about my own. I might as well have drawn a stickman in comparison to this. “You drew birds for my pupils. Why?”
It took me a minute to catch on to that.
Lucas shrugs a shoulder. “There’s something about you that screams freedom. Gut instinct.”
Shit. He’s got good instincts.
“Well, mine isn’t as good as that. In fact, I’d rather not show you.”
I try to slide the paper under the bench but Lucas reaches over and snatches it from my hand. He holds it in front of his face and takes a very, very long moment to assess the damage. I cringe, hoping he doesn’t take my drawing personally. I took more of a caricature approach to this task and gave him a slightly wonky, horse-shaped face and juicy pursed lips that are sloppily kissing a pancake. It’s meant to be a joke, of course, because it looks nothing like him. And my drawing skills are extremely limited.
Mrs. Flora claps again, addressing the class. “Don’t forget to take your portraits home and reflect some more on what you’ve learned today.”
Learned today? I nearly scoff under my breath. All I’ve learned was how to offend someone I need to get close to. Good one, Regan.
Lucas peers around the edge of my drawing, then hides his face again, studying my terrible artwork his utmost sincerity.
“I see what you did here,” he says at last, putting the paper flat on the bench. He purses his lips at me and winks. “You think I desire to kiss you. Okay, newbie. Pucker up then.”
“K-kiss me?” I choke out, dumbfounded. “No! I was just joking around. I didn’t even follow the brief.”
“Pssht. Yeah, I can see that.” He grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder, and nods to the door. “Come on. You can get my lunch since I got your brekkie.”
“What about the drawings? Aren’t you going to frame mine?”
“On the contrary, I’m going to carry it with me for the rest of my life. It’s made me quite emotional.”
“Oh, please. I know you hate it.”
He watches me pick up my bag and carefully place his drawing inside.
“Actually,” he says, shooting me a wolfish grin, “it was fucking hilarious.”
“Oh.” I gawp at him. “Well, you can keep it then.”
He mimics my ‘oh’ expression, then throws me that sexy smirk of his.
Damn, he’s cute.
And he’s also not on the menu, I bitterly remind myself.
Yes, I can be friends with him in order to learn his secret. But under no circumstances can
I flirt with or grow feelings for him. That cannot happen. Not only because I don’t want to hurt Anne, but because I need to kill him eventually.
I have one focus right now and that’s keeping my secret safe.
As I follow Lucas out, I glance at some of the other drawings spread over the surface of the benches. Looks like I wasn’t the only one to mess up the assignment. Someone has drawn Malcolm with a massive cock on his face.
We find Anne in the rotunda and head off to lunch. I’m not sure if Lucas is just pushing his luck, but he makes me order him the biggest lunch on the menu. It takes at least fifteen minutes to get everything ready. I’m not sure he spent the same amount of time throwing a waffle in the toaster for me. But it’s not like I’m in a hurry and I do need to get on his good side.
So far, he hasn’t given any information about his sin, but he has hinted at being guilty about something. No one wants a fresh start in life unless they’re running away from their past.
After we’ve eaten, Imogen is waiting for me outside the cafeteria. I say bye to Anne and Lucas and follow her to our next class.
I’m really not looking forward to science. It’s something I’ve always struggled with since primary school. However, it’s an opportunity to chat with Imogen and get more information about Hunter. She’s got her usual scarf tied around her neck and a long-sleeved t-shirt underneath her shirt. I know by now that both items are an attempt to hide whatever fresh bruises she’s got.
The thought of Hunter laying a hand on anyone, even one of Charlie’s Angels, boils my blood. It takes tremendous effort not to go looking for him and beat him to a pulp. The only reason I’m not doing that is because revenge is a dish best served cold. I’ll wait until the right moment to choke the life out of him. It’ll taste sweeter that way.
“You can sit next to me,” Imogen says, smiling weakly. “Sorry if I’m a little quiet today. I barely got any sleep last night.”
That sonuvabitch is going to get what’s coming to him.
I give her a reassuring smile. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I didn’t want to get out of bed this morning.”
“You too, huh?”
“Yup.”
I follow her to the back of the classroom. It’s a little farther back than the rest of the desks, which will give us a little privacy to talk about her abusive as fuck boyfriend. As soon as sit down and take out our notebooks, I waste no time.
“Were you out with Hunter last night?”
Imogen flinches, staring down blankly at her butterfly notebook. “Yeah.”
I can see that the subject is making her uncomfortable. I’d drop it if I could but Truth’s ‘tick tock’ keeps ticking away in the front of my mind. I need to start getting answers.
“You don’t sound too happy about seeing your boyfriend,” I note gently.
Imogen sighs, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. “Hunter isn’t the kind of boyfriend to write home about. I’d leave him if I could.”
“Then why don’t you? You’re way too pretty and nice to be stuck with someone like him.”
She smiles, just barely. “I know that. I’ve not really got a choice though.”
Realisation seems to dawn on her. I don’t think she wanted to tell me that.
I watch her fiddle with the corner of her notebook, her eyes on the paper.
Lowering my voice, I ask her, “I know we’ve just met but you can trust me. I promise. If there’s one thing I hate in this world, it’s bullies, and you don’t need to be Einstein to see that Hunter is bullying you.”
Tears well in her eyes. “It’s that obvious?”
“Yes, and it’s killing the girls. I’m pretty sure I heard Tilda threatening to beat him up, too. Okay. That was a lie. It was me threatening to do that. With a baseball bat. Starting with his knees.”
A single tear slips down Imogen’s face. She wipes it away with her sleeve and lets out a quiet laugh. “Trust me, it won’t stop him. If he sees me being friendly with anyone else, he always manages to take them away from me. He’s…” Her voice cracks and she looks away.
I reach out and tenderly touch her arm. This girl is broken and it’s devastating to watch.
“He’s what?” I probe softly.
Imogen wipes more tears from her eyes, muttering, “No one believes me. Even Charlie thinks I’m insane but I know it was him. He did it.” Looking at me, her expression hardens and her voice turns cold. “He messed with the breaks, I’m telling you, and that’s why Matty’s car…that’s why he…on his way home…”
“Shh, shh. It’s all right.” I wrap my arms around her, glowering at the students noseily glancing our way. “What did Hunter do?” I whisper in Imogen’s ear, seconds away from learning the truth. My pulse spikes and I hold my breath.
She sniffles and rubs her face with a handkerchief. Finally, she looks up at me and whispers back, “He killed my boyfriend. It was the only way he could force me to go out with him. My fingerprints were all over the car since Matty had just dropped me off home. Hunter, he was there that night. I saw him from my window. He—”
The teacher walks in and Imogen shakes her head, turning back to her notebook.
Before the class begins, I ask Imogen quietly, “Did he kill Matty and then blackmail you into dating him?”
A simple teary-eyed nod is my answer.
I bend over to grab something out of my bag, but it’s really to hide my smile from Imogen. It takes a killer to know one. I knew Hunter Cross had blood on his hands the moment I laid eyes on him. Now that I’ve learned of his sin, I can finally kill him and score his name off my list.
“Cutie, you didn’t come to the student council room to see me.”
Ethan nearly makes me jump as he appears by my side, pulling out the chair next to me.
Man, that guy managed to sneak up on me, of all people? Now that is impressive and a little worrisome. Mind you, my head hasn’t been in the game since I came to this academy and I received the first letter. I hoped I’d run further enough here that my past couldn’t touch me, but it feels like a storm that is heading in only one direction.
Straight towards me, and when it blows over, more than one life will be destroyed.
I look around the room at the other five empty desks. There’s a guy slouched over one of them, sound asleep, and he has been since I got here. Ethan could sit anywhere. Why the hell does he want to sit with me?
“A little birdy told me that’s where you invite all the girls,” I counter as he sits down in the chair, so close that his shoulder presses against mine. He turns to face me as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and pretend not to notice him. Damn him and his bright, sky blue eyes. They’re so clear and alluring, almost like the ocean, and I’m sure more than one girl has fallen for them.
“If the little birdy let me fuck her on my desk, would you do the same?” he proudly answers and it snaps me right out of my little daze.
I almost thank him for it.
“You’re ever so charming, Ethan,” I state dryly, rolling my eyes.
“Liar.”
He chuckles and so do I, much to my own surprise.
We sit comfortably for a long pause as we wait for the law teacher to come into the classroom, but of course, Ethan has to talk again. He seems like the type to break a silence. Not that I’m totally unhappy about that. I want to get him comfortable with me, enough to possibly let his guard down so I can ask questions that might help me figure out his sin.
“Why are you studying law, cutie?”
“Why are you?” I retort, arching a brow at him.
“I asked first.”
I’m quick to push off his question. “That you did. Doesn’t mean I’m going to answer you.”
“Fine, I’ll play.” I only watch him as he turns to me, not giving any indication that I care either way. But of course I do. Why he is studying law might be something to do with his sin. “My parents want a lawyer in the family. Well, at least to begin with. They have dreams of a prom
otion to a judge.”
He tells me that so effortlessly, but there is something in the way he holds himself, the slight tension building in his shoulders and even the quick way he talks, that tells me he’s lying. Of course, I can’t call him out on it. I know what he might tell me though.
“Do you want that?” I ask as I wonder why his family would want him to be a lawyer. Surely a politician is better and keeping it in the family business? They could have much better lawyers at their beck and call with his family’s position already in power.
His lips form a tight smile as his eyes stay rooted on mine. “Of course. Now tell me why you’re in here.”
I shrug casually. “My parents are judges, and I can tell you now, it’s a shit job they both hate.”
Ethan laughs, a real, deep and fucking sexy laugh that sends shivers right through me.
Damn. I see why Tilda went out with him now. The playful nature, the beach boy looks, and sexy as heck laugh, he could convince anyone out of their clothes.
Except for me.
I need to convince him into a body bag.
The classroom door opens and a middle-aged woman enters.
“Welcome to Law, your specialist class selection. I am Mrs Anderson. As there are only three students in here, and one looks asleep…” She stares long and hard at the guy snoozing on his desk, growing more and more annoyed as he continues to snore. I watch her grab a notebook off her desk, awkwardly tear out a bunch of pages and roll them into a ball. She throws it at the student, whacking him on the head.
Good aim.
He jumps in his seat, nearly falling out of it as he stares around in shock, trying to work out who hit his dumbass head.
“As I was saying,” Mrs Anderson resumes, smoothing a hand down her red dress. Her heels and lipstick are the same colour, and they really bring out her blond hair that she’s tugged up into a neat ponytail. A wedding band glints on her ring finger as she tucks a loose strand away. “Since there are only three students, I will spend one class at a time with each of you individually. The other two students can start reading the textbook on your desk. The entire book will be part of your test at the end of the year, so do take it seriously.”
