by A. K. Koonce
But the address is there. It matches the numbers on the bricks that stand tall before me. The metal gate that encompasses the space is the same glowing glint of gold as the business card. The engraved swooping words across them tie the richness of this fucking place together like a bow on top of a Ferrari in the middle of Buckingham Palace.
Hallow Hill Academy
Est. 1894
All I hear is the sound of my blood pumping through my ears as I consider turning around and striding right back to my apartment downtown. Are money and a safe haven really worth changing my entire life? I like my life. It’s a good fucking life. I don’t have to socialize with coworkers. I don’t have to fake-smile at a desk all day. And Monday morning small talk? Fuck that.
I get to kill bastards on my own schedule. I get to go home afterwards and watch anime until the early hours of the morning without alarms blasting in my ears.
The sword at my hip pulses, and I can almost sense its eye roll at my meek little existence.
It’s a good life! A fine life . . .
A . . . lonely life.
I swallow hard, and my hand lifts slowly. One by one, my fingers skim over the sleek gold bars of the gate. The shine of it oddly intensifies wherever my skin touches metal.
Then . . . the doors slowly glide open. They are soundless and drifting at a casual speed, but they scare the fuck out of me.
My big eyes stay glued to the open gates for several seconds . . .
And then I walk right in.
Trees with long hanging vines reach down and kiss the pebbled driveway on either side of me. The leaves sway in the cool breeze, and the sound of it is pure and harmonious with the crunch of my black-heeled boots against the ground. I’m out of place in my tight jeans and leather weapon harness around my thigh. Out of place and yet, fitting all at the same time. I can’t explain the sudden magnetic surge in the air. The blade at my hip purrs from it. The tattoos along my arms glint with the heat of magic stinging the air.
This place, it’s powerful.
The road winds with the swooping vines and the shadows dancing across my body as I walk on with a stiff spine and careful steps. It’s all a little too peaceful. For a normal person, it might seem beautiful. But I know life isn’t peace and beauty. Everything comes at a price.
And this fucking nirvana, this place has a price tag I’ll never be able to afford.
I should turn around. Now.
I halt in my steps to do just that, when the drifting vines give way, the shadows dissolve, and an enormous white-bricked building shrouds over me. Magic is all in the timing. Had the magical veil pulled away a moment later, I wouldn’t have noticed. I would have run out of this place like a gold medal sprinter.
Magic and life are all about timing.
My gaze drifts higher and higher along the structure to find the sharp peaks of the rooftop glittering with golden caps as well.
Holy Lady of Death. Spare some fucking gold for the rest of us.
“Miss Lucero, I’m so pleased you’ve decided to join us,” a cryptically pleasant voice says.
Baker.
My attention settles on the man now filling the space above me on the Academy stairs like he popped in out of nowhere. He looks down on me from his high ground like a god without judgment. With only acceptance.
I don’t like it.
“I haven’t decided,” I tell him flatly, but I climb the many steps to his side anyway.
He nods to me. “Yes. I understand. Nonetheless, I am an Academy board member and Headmistress Krist’s personal advisor. You may call me Marcen.”
“I didn’t ask, baker.” I don’t pause for Board Member Advisor Marcen. I head straight for the pretentious golden door, and even I’m surprised when it opens with ease beneath my palm. I’m even more surprised that it’s warm to the touch.
It seems like all I do is blink, and there he stands.
The one I came here for. The male Sekar.
Messy blond hair that’s more silver than honey hangs over cold, cutting gray eyes. I’m sure it’s a dye job when his thick, dark brows lower even farther, if that’s possible, as his scrutinizing gaze drags down my lithe frame. The tattoos that are so similar to my own cover him, twining across his bulging biceps and forearms. They disappear up his sleeves, the tips of the runes stark against his neck. But instead of shining with magic, his Sekar runes are black. Ashen.
Lifeless.
A million emotions tremble through my body, making my heart stutter uncomfortably. I make sure none are visible on my face. I can’t stop staring at the runes on him, trailing delicately up his strong body. Our runes are a gift from our Lady. It marks us as Sekar, makes us unique. For every soul we take in a tribute to her, more runes appear. He has about the same number as I do, some faded with time. The ones around his neck are most prominent. I squint to get a closer look and notice he’s wearing a collar around his neck. Black and metallic, it tightens around his throat. I’m starting to see a theme here with those hideous things.
First baker and now him.
“You’re the other Sekar?” I cock a sharp brow at him, but he seems just as unimpressed by my appearance. There’s a dull glow of gold around the rings of his eyes that just seem like they’re stones covered in dirt. Or shit. They don’t flare but are pale and glaring. Every hope I harbored of connecting with the mysterious Sekar shoots to hell.
Even if the tiniest part of my fangirl heart squeaks at just how much he looks like Zero Kiryu from Vampire Knight.
Something has sucked the soul from him. Our kind thrives on unity, on worship, prayer, and death. How long has he been without a coven? Is that what I’ll look like if I go so long without my own?
Ew.
“Were you expecting Prince Fucking Charming?” he asks through teeth that are still tightly clenched together.
What a total asshole.
But maybe that’s just the cold magic we both share. I shift on my heels as I consider that little tidbit. Is it a trait of our heritage, or is being an asshat just a pretty crown we both wear?
Why do I care?
I don’t. I won’t even be staying.
Another pulsing eye roll hums through my blade as I fold my arms hard over my chest.
And note how his steely eyes follow the movement to linger on the curves of my breasts.
“Sialen, would you please escort Miss Lucero to Headmistress Krist’s office?” Marcen asks on a flowery flow of words. He looks bored with our whole interaction. Fuck, I’m bored, too. I came here expecting to feel elated at seeing one of my own kind. So far, the Sekar has fallen short of what I’d expected.
He’s a knock-off compared to the powerful, magic-blessed man I expected.
Marcen smirks at me as if he can hear my train of thought. He’s like a damn house cat. All elegant grace but a deadly shine to his watchful eyes. I feel that gaze hot against my back even as I follow after Sialen’s careless stride. His gray shirt is pulled tight across broad shoulders and a tense spine. He says nothing.
In return, I, too, keep quiet as I check our surroundings.
Chandeliers bathed in gold illuminate the spacious foyer in a hue that matches molten pools of sunlight drifting across the surface of water. Rugs of expensive threads that look imported from foreign countries and polished tables with no purpose linger in the rooms we pass. Vases that look like they cost more than all my internal organs and manga collection combined adorn the surfaces. It’s all . . . perfect. Rich.
It’s real fucking rich.
Two women in tight button-down shirts and flowy, dark knee-length skirts pass me with hard stares in their eyes. I don’t meet their gazes. I simply feel the slice of their attention against my skin as I take note of the rings around their irises and the leather-bound books in their hands that read Introduction to Necromancy: The Supernatural Guide of the Dead. Their pulse kicks up just a small pounding beat. I know this, because I can sense and taste fear as thick and as sweet as honey. Interest seems to
flare to life within them at the sight of a newcomer like myself. They smell . . . oddly similar. It’s a dirty, masculine scent that stands out and wafts around both of them.
I see more of them than they see of me. I’m sure of it. I’m clearly better at spying.
But they’re better at pettiness, it seems.
“Witch,” The redheaded woman hisses to her friend in a tone that sounds like a spitting insult, while her eyes stay warily on me. “Another slutty witch for Krist to play with,” The slender redhead continues with a sharp, nasty smile.
Sialen arches an eyebrow at the woman but keeps walking.
I’ve kept to myself for all of the two minutes I’ve been here. I’ve observed. I’ve been a good little guest.
Until now.
“You smell like old cum,” I say as I pass them by. “Both of you,” I add. “Are you aware that she’s sleeping with your boyfriend?” I ask neither one in particular. Because I honestly don’t know who has claim to the boy I scent all over them.
But I soon find out.
“You fucked Gavin?” The redhead shrieks.
Sounds like she suspected it all along.
Also sounds like Gavin’s a fucking undeserving asshole. They’re better than him. I hope there’s a swift knee to the balls in this mystery man’s future.
Their screaming match echoes around the hall, and I look back at them for a final short moment. “This slutty witch has a spell to rot his dick off, if either of you are interested? As long as you promise not to use necromancy to resurrect a fallen member.”
The redhead glares hateful daggers at me.
The blonde smirks and bites back a snorting laugh. That feels like a truce of sorts.
Then we turn the corner, and I fear I’ll never know what happens to the tale of Gavin and the Little Dick that Shouldn’t.
“Don’t make waves,” Sialen growls, his harsh whisper skirting around me in the dimly-lit corridor.
The man is a worse people person than I am. But he’s just like me. He and I come from ancient, alluring magic. I can feel it in him. It makes me think stupid, stupid thoughts about him.
About us.
It’s such a demanding feeling that when he opens a thick wooden door for me to slip past, I brush up against him. Intentionally but thoughtlessly. He shifts as my shoulder skims his arm and then his chest. Our eyes are locked hard, the ring around his pupils brightening to a manic look of deadly magic.
Or lust.
Because that’s all I feel the moment his skin briefly kisses mine. For a single heart-pounding moment, there’s no air in my lungs. There’s no thoughts in my head. There’s nothing.
Except this terribly alluring man and the shiver of intrigue he sends spiraling all through my body.
“Miss Lucero, I’ve been expecting you,” A smooth voice crawls over my flesh, and the hypnotic feelings Sialen just gave me are washed away in a venomous drink of that tone.
My attention spans the room slowly. I take in the heavy red curtains drawn over the enormous windows along the eastern wall. Two velvet chairs the color of crimson are tilted toward a large, shining desk.
A woman sits perched there. A sort of woman, anyway. Her black nails tap against her sharp jawline, and the long, jewel-clad fingers attached to those nails are so startling, my stomach drops at the sight of them. They’re metal. Ebony metal that shines in the minimal sunlight. A clattering sound fires off with every move those fingers make. Something scuttles swiftly, and then I see what else she’s made of.
A tail. A tail of curving, metal vertebrae slithers back and forth against the side of her desk from beneath her tight pencil skirt. It flickers between her smooth legs and over her red high heels from time to time, but she seems unaware of it.
I wish I fucking was.
Because what the actual fuck did I just walk into?
“Headmistress Krist,” Sialen murmurs before bowing so deeply, he nearly kisses the floor she walks on.
What. The. Fuck? Sekars bow before no one except our Holy Lady of Death. Seeing one of my own reduced to this type of groveling is demeaning and enraging. I can even feel my sword hum its own rage at the sight. It’s something our Lady would not look on with leniency. For a moment, I feel sorry that he’s stooped so low. In another instant, I wonder why.
We are a proud race. It’s embedded into our DNA and in the threads of magic that course through our veins. I have never met a Sekar who wasn’t prideful. Who would have rather swallowed their own tongue than to bow before this metal creature.
He also says her name in a way I wasn’t previously aware of.
Krist. Christ.
It’s eerie and slimy to roll across my tongue. The mechanical way her porcelain flesh moves is something I couldn’t look away from if I wanted to.
She’s a walking dead. A corpse strung up and brought to life with more science holding her together than blood. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before and gives me a wary feeling throughout my body.
When her piercing blue eyes settle on me, my heart nearly dies in my chest. My shoulders stiffen hard, and I tilt my jaw up to her as she stands regally and glides toward me on flawless steps that don’t at all scream monster but high lady.
“It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen a powerful Sekar.” Her sharp features cut apart my appearance as her attention sweeps over the glowing tattoos along my arms. She ignores Sialen entirely. “How many near-death experiences have hunters brought you?”
I have to bite back the laughter bubbling at the back of my throat. How many people have tried to kill me in my twenty-four years?
She thinks I know that number off the top of my head? Supernaturals are always hunting other supernaturals. The black market is full of all the various body parts of the rarest creatures: mummified hands, preserved eyeballs in jars, locks of hair perfect for spells . . .You name it, and it’s all there. Someone as rare as me has never been safe.
“Probably around fifty,” I say, and she nods. Until I add more, “this year.”
Delicate blonde eyebrows lift high on her smooth features. A cold gaze from the man at my side is frosty against my face, but I don’t look at him.
I can’t. Because the curiosity in the headmistress’s face is too demanding.
“Do you know how many attacks occur within the walls of my Academy, Miss Lucero?”
Why’s this a game for her?
“Uh, by your confidence, I’d say less than fifty.” I tilt my head and force myself not to sigh dramatically in her face. This is the weirdest encounter I’ve ever had. As far as greetings go, though, I’m grateful she hasn’t shot at me or tried to cut the runes out of my flesh.
Yet.
I can’t let my guard down.
“Less than one, Miss Lucero.” Her slender arms fold over her sleek black blazer, and the clattering tail swooping around her legs continues its little taunting shifting like it has a life of its own. It’s a cocky little fucker, I’ll give it that.
“Those are good numbers,” I finally say, just to appease her tail’s ego.
Her eyes narrow on me the way a disappointed parent would look at their favorite child.
Not that I would have a single clue what that feels like.
“The students of Hallow Hill Academy are safe. Safer here than anywhere in the entire world. And their power, it’s intensified year by year. We accept only the best. And you, Miss Emmera Lucero, you are indeed the rarest and the best.”
Damios at my side pulses bright white before calming into a dimmer shade of gold.
Seems he, too, likes a little ego-stroking now and then. I have to shift my hip to get it to calm down before it goes full-blown erection on us and starts throbbing in golden colors.
There’re several long, drawn-out seconds where I’m staring at the walking dead, and she’s staring back at me with so much excited life in her eyes, it’s damn near enthralling.
This place made her, didn’t it? I’ve never seen any monster like her
in my entire life, and here she stands running an academic institution with more gears in her head than brains.
“Would you like a tour of our fine Academy, Miss Lucero?”
“No,” I say, containing my interest in her. In the rare Sekar at my side and every other wonder this building seems to be housing in plain sight, right smack in the middle of the state of Maine.
More staring and more containing my interest slip by as I debate walking out and forgetting this mysterious place entirely. I can take them down if they try to stop me and hop out the window or take one of the many exits I discovered when I scoped out the place earlier.
I could forget this place entirely.
Which my mind would never, ever let me do.
If I have a reason to walk away right now, it’s those clanking metal gears of her body, clicking and clattering like a rusted machine. And if I have a reason to stay, it’s the Sekar at my side. The bastard has said all of two words to me, but I feel his presence keenly. How can I not? However broken he may be, he’s still one of my own, and something whispers in my mind telling me I need to save him. From what? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s my Holy Lady of Death tempting me with that. I can’t be sure. All I know is that now that I have another dark witch at my side, I’ll be damned if I let him go.
Even if he is the biggest asscock I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Our inhouse working students are salary. Paid bimonthly,” the conniving but oh-so-intelligent woman adds.
Salary. Safety. And Sekars.
I shift on my feet as I reach for a deep breath. My heart’s pounding so loud, I swear this headmistress just gave me an orgasm with the simple word bimonthly.
Money tempts me—think of all the manga I can buy—but really, it’s easier than admitting to the truth. That the only reason I’d ever stay here is because of the Sekar and the mystery the headmistress has to offer.
“Where do I sign up?” I ask with a small smile pressed to my lips that feels forced.
A low groan interrupts my pleased appearance, and it seems to put off Krist as well. Her icy gaze slides to the quiet, brooding man at my side for the first time since we entered the room.
