Academy of Assassins

by Stacey Brutger

  Morgan knew they shared the thrill of the hunt, a sense of kinship and comradery, if not affection.

  As if reading her thoughts, he sighed, his shoulders drooping, and she was shocked to see a crack in the wall the old man erected around himself. He rubbed a hand down his tired face, giving her a frank look. “I hate to see you go, but you can’t hide here forever. You’re too good. You’re destined for more.”

  Morgan flinched at his gruff words—for no matter how much she didn’t want to hear them, they were true. She was merely biding her time here.

  He pushed the invitation closer to her. “Maybe I did you a disservice not sending you to the school sooner, but I couldn’t resist training you myself.”

  A rare smile briefly touched his lips, and she felt hollow at the finality of his words.

  He picked up the envelope and handed it to her, giving her no choice but accept her new future.

  “The Academy is the most prestigious school for our kind. Only the best of the best are ever invited.”

  A niggling suspicion danced at the back of her mind, too ridiculous to contemplate, but she couldn’t dismiss it. “The soldiers tonight, the ones who’ve have been here all week—they’re from the school, aren’t they?”

  A crafty grin came and went from his face. “They are the elite. Each year, students apply to be trained as warriors, and must pass the trials to be allowed into the program. The training is tough, rigorous even for warriors with our enhanced skills. Only a fraction are mentally and physically equipped to fight, and even fewer graduate.

  “For the first time, I allowed them to have their trials here to prove to you that you will fit into the school.” He used one finger to touch the edge of the shoebox still on his desk, straightening it. “You have questions.”

  Morgan took his comment as permission to speak. “You said the school invites people. How did they even get my name?”

  He gave a deep chuckle, the lines of his face creasing. “While this mansion is full of wards, the school itself is imbued with so much magic it’s become sentient. The building itself does the selection. It knows who needs to be trained.”

  Morgan scowled, not liking the idea of being surrounded by a bunch of kids in training, and got down to the one question that mattered. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No, you should’ve been sent off long before now. You need to train with people your age, and make contacts who could be invaluable later in life.” He shook his head and chided her. “Hunting isn’t meant to be a solitary occupation. Not only is it dangerous to hunt alone, it will get you killed. You need to find people you trust to fight at your side.”

  As if anticipating her protest, he shook his head, scowling when she opened her mouth. “Your hellhound isn’t enough. You’re good enough to be leading a team. We need you.”

  She unbent a little at his gruff tone, her thoughts flashing to Ascher, and her heart ached anew.

  She doubted she could find anyone better and wondered if she would ever see him again.

  Once anyone went through a rift, they needed magic to send them back Earthside—usually a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

  Though she struggled to accept the truth, she had to face facts. It was doubtful he would ever return.

  Maybe it was best to leave. The mansion was steeped with too many memories, very few of them good. Without Ascher, she wasn’t sure it was worth staying any longer.

  Her nerve endings tingled with excitement at finally being allowed to hunt with a real team, refusing to believe her anticipation had anything to do with seeing the soldiers again, then immediately hated herself. Her happiness at finally escaping the coven felt too much like a betrayal to Ascher.

  A second away from accepting his decree, she stopped when she noticed the slight tension around his eyes, and her suspicions sharpened. “What are you not telling me?”

  He leaned back in his chair, wove his fingers together and rested his hands on his chest, his eyes crafty as he gazed at her, reminding her there was a reason they called MacGregor Madman Moran. “What makes you think I’m hiding anything?”

  His skill as a hunter was legendary, hundreds of students petitioning every year to train under him. In the beginning, he selected a few pupils, but they always failed his stringent training. After a while, he stopped trying.

  Until her.

  He was hard on her, but she understood why—he was training her to be the best, and was determined to do whatever it took to achieve it.

  Though he was rough around the edges, tough beyond measure in his training methods, he’d softened when he realized she refused to accept defeat.

  “I know you, old man. You know something you’re not telling me.”

  Humor danced in his eyes before he grew serious. “You’re being called to the Academy now, not only to be trained, but to investigate who has been killing students. Three witches have died so far.”

  Morgan shoved away her roiling emotions like the soldier he trained her to be and focused on what would be her first assignment. “What do you know?”

  He picked up a file from his desk and handed it over. “Not much. The headmistress sent over everything they’ve discovered, but the file is painfully thin. You will be on your own. I don’t need to emphasize how important it is for you to find the killer quickly.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her fingers itched to crack open the folder and get started. As if understanding her need, MacGregor nodded permission, and she flipped it open, then froze.

  A graphic picture of a girl lying facedown was splashed across the page. Her shirt had been torn away, leaving her back exposed and looking incredibly vulnerable with the nobs of her spine standing out in stark relief.

  That was not what captured her attention.

  No, it was the markings brutally carved into her flesh.

  Markings so similar to her own it was like looking in a mirror.

  She flipped through the rest of the pictures.

  Her brain pushed past her stunned shock to finally notice the differences. Half of the runes were incomplete. The girls must have perished before the killer had finished. Runes were a way for a witch to boost her power, but it was taboo to permanently mark themselves with them.

  Human bodies weren’t meant to hold so much magic. Eventually, their blood would become infected by the magic, and it would ultimately kill them. Only those with strong ties to the void could contain such power, but only one or two runes at most.

  More would be pure suicide.

  Magic had burned through the bodies of the girls in the photos, leaving the marks a black, charred mess. Streaks of blood had dried on the bodies, the girl’s faces twisted in screams of terror and pain, evidence that they had suffered through the unbearable, excruciating torture.

  She quickly flipped through all the pictures again, avoiding the lifeless eyes staring accusingly at her.

  It should’ve been her.

  She heard those words as clearly as if they shouted it.

  When she lifted her head, it was to see MacGregor studying her with sharp eyes.

  “Do we know how they were taken?” Her voice was hoarse as she waited for him to demand answers. Her mind flashed back to the wraith who tried to pull her through the rift, and couldn’t help wondering if the two might be connected somehow.

  It was too coincidental.

  MacGregor shook his head. “We have no idea. It’s something you need to figure out and stop.”

  “What are they trying to achieve?” The question was directed more at herself than him, but he answered anyway.

  “That’s what we want you to discover. We believe the attacks will increase. The school is under siege. With your age and training, you’re the perfect agent to find out what’s happening without alerting the kids…or the killer.”

  Morgan had two choices—leave and head out on her own or go to the Academy.

  Either way, she could no longer stay at the coven.

  Life as a rogue hunter was rough, an
d not for the faint of heart. Most didn’t live past their prime, but everything inside her rebelled at the thought of attending the Academy. One thing kept her from rejecting the invitation out of hand…if she went rogue, she had no doubt more girls would be brutally tortured, and it would be her fault.

  “When do I leave?” Bands tightened around her chest as she reluctantly accepted her fate.

  “Tomorrow.” Sensing her need to get started, MacGregor waved her away and opened a file on his desk, his head bent as he went back to work. “Pack and be ready to leave by six.”

  She studied the clock. She had three hours to wash off the stink of the hunt, pack, and catch an hour of sleep. She studied his burly features one last time, then turned away, wondering if she would ever see him again.

  It felt like good-bye.

  When she reached the door, MacGregor spoke. “Was your hunt successful tonight?”

  She turned to see he had a pair of reading glasses perched at the tip of his nose, peering up at her over the rim with avid curiosity and a hint of envy, since he was rarely able to hunt anymore, being too inundated with running the coven.

  Morgan hesitated, not sure how much to share. If he knew a demon had tried to kidnap her instead of kill her, he would assign her a contingent of guards, which was unacceptable. They would just get in her way. “The imp proved to be a challenge, but the mission was successful. He was dispatched back through the rift.”

  “Well done.” MacGregor nodded, not expecting any other answer, but his gaze flickered down to her wounds, and his eyes narrowed, clearly not fooled. Her injuries were too vicious to have been inflicted by one small imp. But instead of confronting her, he returned to his task, silently dismissing her.

  Morgan relaxed as she headed out the door, not bothered that he hadn’t shown any concern over her injuries.

  They were soldiers.

  As long as she was standing, not missing a limb or bleeding to death, she was fine.

  MacGregor taught her that.

  She headed up three flights of stairs, mentally sorting through which weapons she should bring.

  Chapter Six

  Morgan rolled out of bed the next morning, grimacing when she saw the sparkling, rust-colored dust covering every surface of her room. The runes crawled across her back, stilling the instant she woke, the weight of them pressing heavily against her skin.

  A daily reminder of their presence.

  The first time she woke to something wiggling under her skin, she freaked out, and refused to go back to sleep, reading book after book about runes.

  Every mention said they were only used in two ways, either to boost power or for protection.

  Since she had no access to magic, she gradually accepted the alternative.

  During the third night without sleep, her body simply shut down, and she had no doubt it was the runes compelling her to rest.

  Apparently they would protect her…even from herself, if needed.

  Now, five years later, she’d grown used to it.

  Almost.

  She suspected her primordial side was emerging, trying to take over when she was at her weakest—when she fell into the unconsciousness of sleep. So far, the runes had blocked the change. At one time, Morgan prayed for this very thing, longing to fit in at the coven, but now she feared what kind of monster she might become. What could be so terrible that the protective runes were preventing the change? And would any of her remain if the markings lost the battle?

  The sounds of the household waking jolted her away from her morbid thoughts.

  The staff was preparing breakfast and maintaining the grounds, while the soldiers were changing shifts and preparing for another day of training.

  And she would no longer be joining them.

  Buoyant at the thought, Morgan shuffled sleepily toward the bathroom, suddenly excited to leave. As it did every morning, the torque around her neck warmed, stretched and twisted, spinning into a delicate chain with a silver charm…of a sparkling shoe.

  She narrowed her eyes for a few seconds, then snorted at the foolishness. “Cinderella. Except I’m not exactly going to a ball, and I don’t need any prince to save me. I can do that all on my own.”

  She turned away from the mirror, stripping out of her clothes and unwrapping the bandages she’d placed over the worst of her injuries. The wounds were healed, leaving behind deep bruises that ached when she moved. Before nightfall, they will have faded as well.

  She tossed the bloodied bandages into the garbage next to last night’s outfit and plucked a shirt and pair of pants out of her dresser, not bothering to look at what she grabbed. No need, when the only clothes she owned were T-shirts and black leather pants.

  With an eye on the clock, Morgan pulled an old, worn duffel bag out from under the bed and set it on top of the mattress. In minutes, she had all her clothes packed, but it took longer to decide which weapons to take. She couldn’t bring them all, because only a fraction of them would fit in the bag. After a few seconds of indecision, she removed half the clothes, leaving her with four outfits and enough room to add another set of knifes, a group of throwing stars, half a dozen daggers, and a second rope of pliable metal.

  After a short battle, she managed to pull the straining zipper shut and hefted the bag over her shoulder, staggering slightly under the weight, staring regretfully down at the double broadswords, the worn staff she trained with when she first arrived, two dozen smaller blades of different types and styles, and the three different types of bows left on the bed. There simply wasn’t a way for her to sneak them inside the Academy without being spotted.

  With one last sweep of the room that was home for the past ten years of her life, she quietly closed the door and headed down the stairs. Knowing she only had a few more minutes, Morgan hurried outside, managing to dodge the patrols with ease as she slipped into the forest.

  She raced through the trees, the duffel heavy against her back, until she reached a small clearing by an outcropping of stones. She rounded a large rock and spotted the small opening to the cave. Even before she entered, she knew Ascher wasn’t at their normal meeting place.

  Devastation stole her breath, and it was hard to swallow around the knot in her throat. For some reason, she expected to find him waiting for her like any other day. On unsteady legs, she turned away, almost unable to leave the cave, but she knew no amount of waiting would bring him back.

  As she trudged toward the mansion, she was suddenly fiercely glad to be leaving. She couldn’t bear to stay now he was gone. When the mansion came into view, she could barely control the need to tear into anyone stupid enough to mess with her. As if sensing her volatile mood, none of the soldiers approached as she headed up the stairs of the mansion—much to her disappointment.

  She came to a stop outside MacGregor’s study and closed her eyes, feeling defeated. If she accepted this assignment and walked out the door, she could never return.

  Then she stiffened her spine.

  If she learned what was killing those girls, she might be able to trace back what happened to her as a child, and maybe recall her missing years.

  The temptation was too great to resist.

  Inhaling deeply, she lifted her chin, pushed back her shoulders and knocked on the door.

  “Enter.”

  Recognizing a command when she heard one, Morgan twisted the knob and did as instructed. MacGregor stood in front of the fire, his hands behind his back as he gazed down at the flames. “I wasn’t sure you were going to come in or not.”

  Morgan decided to be truthful. “I wasn’t sure myself.”

  MacGregor turned toward her with a heavy sigh, his bushy brows lowered. “I almost wished you’d changed your mind.”

  “Sir—”

  “Bah,” he waved a hand and headed toward his desk. “Forgive a sentimental old fool.” When he turned to face her again, a hardened warrior stood before her. He scanned her from head to foot and nodded. “You’ll do. Ready?”

 
It wasn’t a question, but Morgan snapped to attention.

  He beckoned her forward. “Stand here.”

  Curious, she followed him to the corner of the room, stopping before a clouded mirror. It looked centuries old, and she’d never given it a second thought. The golden frame was tarnished and flaked, the glass itself warped.

  MacGregor reached out and tapped the glass twice.

  The image wavered with a silvery ripple. Once it hit the frame, seven sigils etched into the wood began to shimmer, the markings so faded and worn she hadn’t even noticed them. As the sigils began to glow, the images in the mirror solidified, revealing a whole new world.

  “A transportation spell?” She shot a questioning look at MacGregor. She never heard of such a thing.

  He smirked and shook his head. “Good guess, but this is something even rarer.”

  She glanced back at the mirror, and her mouth fell open. “Mirror magic.”

  MacGregor’s chest puffed up, and he smiled proudly, tickled at sharing one of the secrets of the coven with her. “The older covens had these mirrors installed when the buildings were constructed. Very few people can activate them. It takes a special gift few possess and a lot of magic to create, so this mode of transportation has fallen out of practice, not to mention not everyone can pass through them without suffering side effects. The school occasionally uses them for emergencies.”

  She eyed the mirror with trepidation. “How does it work?”

  “Pure primordial magic. You must focus on the location you want when you activate the spell. People can become lost inside the void if they aren’t careful.”

  Not a comforting thought. This type of travel also meant the human side of her would be briefly poisoned when the otherworldly magic came into contract with her skin. “Good to know.”