“Yes.” His voice was a squeak, and he cleared his throat. “It’s not much. We should tell the headmistress. I’m sure we can find you a better room. Something away from the guys’ dorms.” He wrung his hands nervously, his feet shifting as he glanced at the doorway connecting their rooms.
“Where do the rest of the hunters stay?”
He blinked at her. “Here, of course.”
Morgan dropped her bag on the mattress, yanking open the zipper. “Then it’s decided.”
She pulled out her weapons, organizing them on the bed, ignoring Neil hovering in the doorway. She put her meager clothing in the wardrobe, the four outfits leaving it glaringly empty.
“Oh, wow.”
Morgan whirled at his comment, lunging forward to quickly grab his wrists, stopping him before he could touch the weapons. Bones ground under her grip.
“Sorry. Sorry.” The kid winced, watching her with wide eyes, and she quickly dropped his arm.
“Never touch another hunter’s blades. Unless you know how to use the weapons, they are dangerous.” She waved a hand to the bed. “You see these as our weapons, but you must never forget that the hunter themselves are the greatest threat. These are just tools, and they take years of practice to master. One slip and you can lose a hand…or your head.”
When Neil looked ready to keel over, she kicked out the desk chair. “Maybe you should sit. You don’t look well.”
He groped for the inhaler in his pocket, fumbling to bring it up to his mouth. After two deep breaths, he recovered slightly, a little color returning to his face. He nervously pushed his glasses up his nose.
His body was thin, all angles, elbows and knees, his clothes too large for his frame, as if he’d recently lost weight. His skin was pale, a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. His brown eyes sparkled feverishly, the whites slightly jaundiced. If she listened hard, she could hear his heart pounding irregularly in his chest.
“You’re dying.”
Neil gave a bitter laugh, struggling to stand, but ended up falling back on his ass in the chair. “All wizards are dying. It’s the nature of our existence. While we’re able to use magic better than any witch, it burns through us faster, because our bodies are unable to process it. The more we work spells, the more we become infected. Sicken. Die.”
“Then stop using magic.”
It seemed the logical choice.
“And what? Pretend we’re human? Is it what you would do? You’re female. You aren’t a hunter, but you’re here to train as one, even though you know it will eventually kill you. Would you quit?”
“No.” Morgan blew out a breath, then studied him carefully. “So what are you doing to stop it from happening?”
Anger melted away from him, and he gave her a tentative smile. “Research.”
“Which is why you put up with the abuse.” And why he wouldn’t stand up for himself and risk retaliation.
“The Academy was originally from the void, torn from the rift so long ago, no one remembers when or how it happened. There are nooks and crannies all over the castle. If there are answers, they will be here. Unfortunately, there are hundreds of rooms to search and thousands of relics. Plus, when the hunters aren’t out saving the world, they’re collecting artifacts which have been smuggled out of the Primordial World. They contain too much magic that could prove dangerous to both sides of the realm if they fell into the wrong hands. Sooner or later I’ll run across the answer. Hopefully, it won’t be too late.”
Morgan wished she could offer him some hope, but she didn’t know of anything to reverse the effects of magical poisoning.
“This is your first day. I should let you settle in.” Neil rose and shuffled toward the door.
“You must know this place like the back of your hand. Do you have a map? Everyone else has been here for years and probably knows their way around this place blindfolded. I could use any advantage I can get.” She needed to find a way to move around without being noticed.
Her first priority had to be finding the killer. The marks on her back were too similar to those in the pictures of the murdered girls. Whoever was doing this was searching for her, and wouldn’t stop until they found her.
She had to make sure she found them first.
“Sure, there should be one in with your schedule.”
Morgan followed where he pointed and spotted the embossed folder on her desk. “Thanks.”
Neil smiled, and stopped by the door. “Just stay away from the basement. They don’t want us down there. It’s mostly full of relics and weapons from the other realm, and they patrol it regularly.”
His warning piqued her curiosity, the mention of weapons a lure she couldn’t resist. She opened the folder and pulled out her list of classes. Defense magic. Battle fighting. Creature hunting. Weapons training. Primordial knowledge. She breathed out a sigh of relief, glad she wasn’t stuck with too many irrelevant classes.
“What’s wrong?”
Morgan’s head snapped up to see Neil staring at her in concern. “Nothing. I just expected to have field training—to actually go out on hunts.”
“It’s not allowed for First-Years. It’s too dangerous. Field training is only allowed after your instructors pass you.”
Disappointment sank its claws in her, but maybe it was for the best.
She needed to focus on her mission.
Training and hunting with other hunters was not important.
She couldn’t allow the temptation to distract her.
Neil tapped his hand on the wall. “I’ll leave you to it. Best read those books. You’ll be needing the information for your classes.”
Morgan turned, spied seven thick tomes and sighed again.
“Thanks…” But by the time she turned around, Neil was gone.
Dismissing him from her mind, she shut the door and quickly stashed her weapons about her person and the room, leaving behind a dozen or so weapons in her bag. She shoved it under her bed and picked up the crime folder. This time she flipped past the images and focused on the file.
The information was sparse, mostly stats pertaining to the victims—breed, years at the Academy, family.
Nothing stuck out as relevant to the case.
Reluctantly, she pulled out the pictures again, setting them side by side.
Besides the markings carved into their flesh, none of the girls were similar in any way.
Except they were all witches.
The glyphs carved along their spines were disturbingly similar to the markings scorched along her own back and shoulders.
The magic was burned right out of them, charring the bodies in the process.
Morgan didn’t have a clue why she survived and they didn’t, but whatever the reason, it couldn’t be good.
It left her as a target for anyone else who made the same connections.
When nothing else leapt out at her, she closed the file with a sigh.
Not trusting her room to be private, Morgan stood and surveyed the small domain. Hiding places were few and far between. After a moment of debate, she carefully tilted the four-hundred-pound wardrobe up three inches and slid the folder underneath. She straightened, dusting off her hands and grinned at her own cleverness.
It was midday, too early to venture out and snoop around without attracting more attention. She grabbed one of the tomes and the map and made herself comfortable on the bed. After charting where the bodies were found, Morgan studied the floor plan…and couldn’t make sense of anything. Doorways led into walls. Stairs vanished into ceilings. Hallways led into dead ends.
She scowled and tossed the map aside.
Someone must have sabotaged her copy.
It was the only explanation.
With a few hours left before nightfall, Morgan cracked open the dictionary-sized book and began to read. She wasn’t far off in her guess. Thousands of creatures were listed in the books, some she’d never even heard or seen before. Underneath were listed their strengths and weakne
sses, enemies and allies.
The writing was ancient. Though she didn’t recognize the language, her brain translated it easily, another perk of her mysterious heritage, and she was soon fascinated by the categories of primordial creatures and their origins.
Only when she began squinting did she realize the sun had finally set. Rolling off the bed, she grabbed the map, scanning it one more time, then headed out. She took a left out the door, striding in the opposite direction from the main Academy. As she worked her way down the hall, travelling through one after another, the castle started to feel eerily familiar.
She studied the stone walls and archways, but she couldn’t place where she’d seen them.
It was like a dream she couldn’t quite remember.
She was so distracted, Morgan turned a corner and almost smacked into a wall.
She stopped, completely confused. According to the map, there should have been a hall in front of her. When she turned to recount her steps and locate where she took a wrong turn, she gasped and flung herself backwards, barely saving herself from a nasty trip down a set of stairs that hadn’t been there moments before.
Goosebumps spread down her arms as she turned full circle.
She was in an alcove, where the only direction she could go was down.
Pulling a blade from the sheath tucked into the back of her pants, she carefully crept down the stairs.
The staircase was narrow, while the steps were so shallow they were almost like a decline instead of actual stairs. The smell of dirt filled the cramped space, so she knew she was underground, the lights practically nonexistent.
MacGregor said the Academy was sentient, but she hadn’t believed him until now, and she silently wondered where she was being led.
Then she ran into a black fog of complete and absolute darkness. Even with her keen eyesight she couldn’t penetrate the sea of black. The darkness seemed to invade her senses, leaving her twisting and turning about in the underground maze, and a tightness clutched her chest at the thought of being permanently lost.
A second later a familiar stench reached her nose…a combination of charcoal and sulfur she associated with creatures from the void. She was no longer alone. Morgan put her back to the wall, not wanting to accidently stumble through a rift.
If a rift could be opened inside the school, it would make sense how something could slip inside the Academy walls and kill the girls.
Sounds became muted. Shadows shifted and swirled, distorting her vision further, and she knew whatever was downstairs with her was using some sort of trick to fool her mind.
It wanted her to run, wanted to chase her down like she was prey.
Not going to happen.
Morgan straightened, holding the blade close to her side. Inhaling deeply for courage, she resolutely closed her eyes, relying on her heightened senses to keep her alive. MacGregor blindfolded her for three weeks until she learned to defend herself blind.
To her surprise, the training came back to her like second nature.
She filtered the sounds, focusing on the threat. She pushed away from the wall, giving herself room to move. If she listened closely enough, the magic imbued in the stones of the Academy gave off a slight, almost imperceptible hum, allowing her to gauge the size of the room.
Something cackled behind her, and Morgan whirled, quickly giving chase, her only clue to the creature’s location was a trailing scent of burned marshmallows.
Anger twisted in her gut as she imagined the other girls being lured downstairs, terrified and alone in the dark, knowing they were going to die horribly.
But something didn’t make sense. The locations of the bodies were wrong. They were killed in their own rooms, behind locked doors, no signs of a forced entry.
No, whatever she was chasing, it wasn’t her killer.
It enjoyed the thrill of the chase too much.
Which didn’t mean she could allow his mischievous ways free rein at the school.
With her eyes closed, Morgan wasn’t able to move fast enough to catch the bastard.
Which left her only one way to trap him.
Bait.
Morgan slowed, then stopped completely.
Only then did she hear it.
A faint tapping.
Above her.
Morgan lashed out, the tip of her blade striking true.
A loud squeal nearly ruptured her eardrums.
Or that was the excuse she used for not hearing the footsteps pounding toward her. Before she could turn, she was tackled to the ground, her blade spinning out of her hands. Cursing silently, Morgan brought up her knee, slamming it into something solid.
She expected her assailant to go flying from the strength of the blow, but he only grunted.
The shadows around the room began to lighten, barely giving her enough time to see the fist aimed to remove her head. She twisted to the side and watched his hand slam into stone. Instead of shattering bone, a swirl of dust and shards of rock shot into the air, peppering her face.
The tiny nicks stung.
She brought up her elbow, slamming it into her attacker’s face.
He rocked backwards, and she brought up her feet, kicking him in the chest, giving herself precious room to move.
The darkness had almost retreated completely. Morgan flipped to her feet, whirled and snatched up her blade, twisting to face her attacker—and froze.
She recognized him immediately as the soldier from the forest who had so fascinated her.
Up close, he was even taller, more muscular than she imagined.
And more intimidating, his pale green eyes so intense she had a hard time looking away.
His face was rough, full of angles, almost too lean, the stubble along his jaw giving him a bad boy edge, his lips full and firm, and she imagined what it would feel like to have them caress her own.
“You.” His voice was deep, a rough whisper that sent a shiver down her spine. He stared, lifting a hand as if to touch her and see if she was real, when the creature shot between them with a cackling laugh, diving for the only exit.
Her legs nearly went out underneath her. The soldier reached for her, but Morgan ducked under his arm and scrambled after the black shadow, inexplicably afraid to have him touch her.
“Wait.”
Morgan heard the soldier shout, but ignored his order. She increased her speed, not sure if she was running after the creature or away from the hunter. “He’s getting away.”
His curses echoed against the stones, and he quickly followed her almost soundlessly.
“How did he get in here?” Morgan darted around a corner, nearly clipping her shoulder on the tight turn.
“Nothing can get into the Academy. The place a veritable fortress, the wards too thick to allow anyone entry without being granted permission.” The words were a growl of frustration, then he muttered, “He escaped from his cell.”
For a wild moment, her mind flashed to the wraith who tried to kidnap her, and Morgan wondered if she had been sent to the Academy for her own protection.
No one could get in or out.
She would be safe.
Which made no sense.
No one else knew about her close escape.
That left her with an important question…if demons couldn’t get inside the Academy, who was killing the students?
Chapter Eight
Morgan might be fast, but the soldier was faster, gradually edging closer. When the hall split into opposite directions, he reached forward and grabbed her elbow, nearly jerking her off her feet as he dragged her to a stop. His touch sent a wave of static up her arm, making her whole body feel alive. Instead of jerking away, she stared up at him mutely, barely resisting the urge to shuffle closer.
“Go left. At the end of the hall is a set of stairs that will lead you out of the basement.”
It was an order.
Morgan scowled and jerked away, feeling foolish for allowing herself to be distracted, conscious of their capt
ive getting away. “I can help.”
“Now.”
His roar was so fierce, Morgan was halfway down the passageway before she came to herself. He acted so much like MacGregor, every inch of him demanding and imperious, she’d automatically obeyed.
By the time she whirled to confront him, he was gone.
She debated for all of a second whether to follow, then shrugged. The morpheus creature, one of many different varieties, had the ability to muddle and confuse the senses, but they weren’t considered dangerous, more of a nuisance. He could handle the beast on his own.
Resentful of being sent to her room like a child, Morgan rubbed her arm, where she still felt his touch, wishing she could erase it so easily.
Once on the ground floor, she saw only more and more gray stone.
Leaving her with no idea where in hell she was.
Curiosity got the better of her, and she gingerly touched the wall. A small, welcoming vibration from the stones greeted her. She jerked her hand away, rubbing her fingertips together, the nerve endings still tingling from the brief touch.
Too restless to return to her room, Morgan decided to try a quick experiment. Closing her eyes, she reached out until her fingers barely brushed the wall and blindly followed the path the castle chose.
Ten minutes later the vibration faded.
Her eyes popped open to see a long galley-style kitchen before her. Stovetops lined one wall, while dishwasher racks and a pantry that rivaled a grocery store stood opposite. Stainless steel islands marched down the center. At the far end of the room stood a walk-in freezer and three side-by-side fridges.
When no one rushed out to shoo her away, Morgan made a quick sandwich. As she put the supplies away, she caught a reflection of light from the corner of her eye. Grabbing her sandwich, she followed, and soon was standing in front of a small door, the upper portion covered with panes of glass that allowed her to see outside. It must be where they delivered supplies.
When she touched the knob, she expected to be blasted by wards. Instead, the door creaked open. Giving in to temptation, she walked outside into the night, the weight of her blades sitting comfortably within reach if anyone thought to mess with her.
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