“What about Ayaz?” My breath hitched.
Trey didn’t answer. “It’s not important now. Where are you? Did you get to Zehra?”
“No. There was a cave-in. Zehra wasn’t there. She could’ve been caught in it… I waited all night. That’s why I came back.”
Trey shook my shoulders so hard my brain wobbled inside my skull. His eyes blazed. “You never should have come back. But where are you now?”
“I’m in the Dunwich Institute, of course. Because I'm cuckoo bananas.”
Trey swore. “You’ve been right here in Arkham this whole time? Fuck my father.”
“Gross. No, thanks.”
Trey’s cold smile lit up my heart. He drew himself back from the rage that threatened to carry him over the edge, squaring his shoulders and tightening his jaw – that look he always got before he blew everyone away in class. “Agreed. Okay, so you’re at Dunwich. And they haven’t hurt you?”
“Not really. They restrained me after I bit a nurse, but it probably hurt her more. She bled everywhere.” Trey looked aghast, and I laughed. “They just give me lots of drugs. They’re fixing all my broken memories.”
“What broken memories?”
I poked him in the ribs. “Like you. Like Ayaz. He told me we’d never been together, but I have all these feelings…”
“Of course. That makes sense. They can’t hurt you physically because they don’t want to hurt the god, but if they alter your mind, they can control you.” His thumbs dug into my shoulders. “Hang in there, Hazel. We’re getting you out.”
“How do you plan on doing that? You can’t leave the school, unless that’s another of my broken memories.”
“I’ll find a way.”
He said the words with such fierce assurance that I believed him. I believed this dream boy who I’d created in my mind would come and save me. My chest soared with hope I knew I shouldn’t feel.
I shook my head. I couldn’t indulge this. Dr. Peaslee said it wasn’t healthy. “Don’t bother. I’m here because I’m sick. They’re going to make me better. I had all these hallucinations about you, about us, about gods and monsters and rats in the walls—”
“They weren’t hallucinations. They were real.” Trey kissed me again. “What we have is real.”
“Of course you’d say that. You don’t want me to take the drugs and stop hallucinating you—”
“Is this a hallucination?” Trey grabbed my arm and swung me hard against him. His fierce kiss burned through my soul, his lips rough, possessive, burning with unchecked need, with a desperation that pulled me under his spell…
I woke up, my whole body drenched in sweat, the ghost of Trey’s kiss sizzling across my lips.
I replayed the dream in my mind. Trey’s touch had felt incredibly real. Moving slowly, swimming against the tide of drugs sweeping across my mind, I held up my wrist. My fingers trailed over crescent-shaped dents where his nails had dug into my skin.
Real.
But then, dreams always felt real, didn’t they? According to Dr. Peaslee, my whole life since I arrived at Derleth Academy was one weird-ass dream. The drugs they had me on probably made Trey seem more real, more Technicolor.
I rubbed at the crescents. A faint, familiar smell wafted across my nostrils. Spring herbs, wild-blossoms, fragrant cypress wood – light and airy and calming.
Trey’s scent.
I sucked in a breath, letting the taste of him linger on my tongue. Through the high, barred window, the moon traced a path over the cinder-block walls, illuminating the pits and scratches from the other inmates who’d had this room before me.
For the first time, I truly saw the great deception. I’d fallen right into their trap.
Trey was right. I wasn’t crazy. I’d been set up by Vincent Bloomberg to get me out of the way without breaking the oath Ms. West had made with the god. By making me believe that I was insane, they could nullify me without having to hurt me at all. It was genius. Top marks to Vincent for his imagination.
I slotted the pieces together to form a grotesque image. I’d had those dreams where I’d seen myself as the bully terrorizing the school. Ms. West had convinced me that was what happened, but she did have a god who could control dreams on her side.
They knew I wouldn’t believe them unless one of the guys turned on me. If they’d threatened Trey and Quinn, they would have put the screws to Ayaz as well. I couldn’t believe he would bow to them, but maybe he’d had no choice.
Or maybe he wanted to hurt me. Maybe this was his plan all along.
I stared down at my blank wrist, where the Elder sign tattoo had been. That was the one part of the deception I couldn’t put together. No one except the guys had touched me before they dragged me to Ms. West’s office. How could they remove a tattoo without me even noticing?
Ayaz is the one who gave me the tattoo.
I pressed my finger to the scar from the fire – that remnant of my past that reminded me of what I was capable of. I drew strength from what I knew now – that Trey and Quinn were fighting for me, that evil people thought they had beaten me, and that I wasn’t crazy. At least, not in the way they expected.
It was time for Vincent Bloomberg and the Deadmistress to learn what happened to people who crossed Hazel Waite.
Chapter Two
Now that I could see the deception for what it was, I couldn’t throw myself into therapy with my previous abandon. I tried to pretend everything was normal, but every time Dr. Peaslee probed into ‘the demons of my past’ and the ‘traumatic experiences I’d suffered,’ all I could see was Vincent Bloomberg leering over his back – the puppetmaster pulling the strings. I wasn’t giving that bastard any more ammunition to use against me.
This was war.
Even though I was a decent-enough actor, Dr. Peaslee literally had a degree in sniffing out deceptions. He spotted my change in temperament after a couple of sessions and ordered me into his office.
“You were doing so well, Hazel. I don’t understand what happened. You can’t keep resisting treatment. When faced with overwhelming proof from teachers, friends, and classmates that you’ve been suffering delusions of persecution, you refuse to let go.” He clasped his hands in front of him, tilting his head to the side in this way he did to make himself feel more approachable.
I’m sick of fucking fake people pretending to be on my side.
I refused to meet his gaze. Instead, I watched the monitor behind his head, which he’d foolishly angled in such a way as to give me a sideways view if I leaned back in my chair ever so slightly. The screen was divided into squares, and each square showed a video feed from an inmate’s cell. It was too far away and too slanted for me to identify individuals, but I recognized the rounded safety furniture and bare block walls.
No privacy. Nothing sacred. Something about seeing those video feeds reminded me of Trey’s room at school, of the college prospectus I’d pulled from his bedside table, the one where he’d scrawled NO FUTURE. NO HOPE. NO TOMORROW across the photographs of happy students. Derleth was a prison when Big Brother watched every move, where even the Kings of the school had to hold their secrets tight.
Dr. Peaslee was still talking. “…Ms. West has placed you in my care, and I made her a promise that I would cure you of these delusions. As your medical professional, I have no choice but to recommend a more permanent treatment.”
My eyebrow lifted. “What treatment is this?”
“Researchers at Arkham General Hospital are on the forefront of medical research in the area of the brain. They’ve been able to connect a specific area of the frontal cortex to specific mental conditions, including the kind of trauma-induced hallucinations and delusions you’re experiencing. By removing those areas, we’ve able to completely cure the patients of their psychosis.”
His words sent a chill down my spine. “You’re talking about… a lobotomy?”
Dr. Peaslee chuckled, as if jamming an icepick into my brain was somehow a laughing matter. “No
, no. We don’t use that word today. Lobotomies, as performed by Victorian doctors like Freeman, were barbaric and unsafe. Now, we understand much more about how the brain works. The procedure is entirely safe and performed under anesthetic. I will be the doctor operating, and I have one of the highest success rates in the country.”
“The highest success rate in experimental lobotomies? No thanks.” My head swam. No fucking way was this guy getting anywhere near my grey matter. “I refuse this treatment.”
“I’m afraid that since you’re a minor and are no longer of sound mind, you cannot make medical decisions for yourself. Your guardian has approved the procedure.”
“My guardian?” I snorted. “I don’t have a guardian, unless you’ve somehow found the sperm donor who impregnated my mother.”
Peaslee steepled his fingers. “When you entered Derleth Academy, the state of Pennsylvania signed over your guardianship to Ms. Hermia West. She feels this operation would be in your best interests.”
Of course she does. It was another way to get around the pact we made. According to the rules we’d agreed to, she wasn’t allowed to hurt me until the end of the year, but that didn’t mean this guy couldn’t come in with his ice pick. She must’ve decided it didn’t matter how much that hurt the god as long as I was out of her way.
Which meant I was an even bigger threat than I realized.
A familiar rage bubbled up inside me. It started in my stomach as a slow simmer, the heat rising through my chest to settle over my heart. That someone who was supposed to be looking out for me – for all her students – had the power to do this and that fucking weasels like Peaslee let them all get away with it made my blood boil.
They’re not going to get away with it for long.
“So carving up my brain is in my best interests? Some guardian.” I stood up. My palms burned with heat. “I’m not doing it.”
“This isn’t a matter for discussion, Hazel. Your operation is scheduled for two weeks time. I’ll be visiting you within the next couple of days for some preliminary tests. I suggest you use the interim to get used to the idea. I can give you some information leaflets to read, if that will help you come to terms with it?”
The heat buzzed against my skin, flames licking the undersides of my palms. “You think a fucking leaflet is going to make this okay?”
“Hazel, you look distressed. Perhaps I should have someone take you back to your room. You can skip therapy today—”
The heat burst from my palms. The rage flared inside me, rushing along my arms and hurtling from my fingers, completely beyond my control.
Dr. Peaslee’s computer sparked. He shoved his chair back just as flames leaped from the keyboard. A burning plastic smell filled the room.
Satisfaction replaced the rage as I watched Peaslee cower in the corner, his eyes wide as sparks rained from his monitor like some kind of fucked-up fireworks display. Smoke billowed from the unit. A shrill alarm buzzed in my ears.
The satisfaction didn’t last long. Dr. Peaslee moved his hand to a panel on the wall. I didn’t have time to wonder what he was doing before he pushed a button and two orderlies barreled into the room, pinned me on his desk, and stuck a needle in my arm.
Chapter Three
Two weeks.
That was all the time I had left before they permanently altered my brain and I believed the lies they were trying to force down my throat.
Two weeks until I lose the only weapon I had that could destroy the god and free the students of Miskatonic Prep.
Two weeks until I could no longer remember what was real and what made me who I was. They would take the only beautiful memories I had left and twist them into something ugly. They would erase Trey and Quinn and Ayaz and turn them back into my tormentors.
And that wasn’t even the worst thing. Only I knew just how tightly I clung to my last shreds of sanity. Just beneath the surface, I hid something dark, something dangerous. Something I didn’t understand and had hoped to banish forever.
But I couldn’t hide from myself. Not any longer. Not with everything that was at stake.
The only way out of this institution was to stop trying to brace myself against the madness. I had to embrace it. I had to become someone I’d always feared, someone I’d locked down deep, because acknowledging her existence meant accepting the monster inside me.
Possessed by fire.
Whether I wanted to acknowledge her or not, my time at Derleth had revealed the cracks in my system. I couldn’t control the monster when I was around Trey, Quinn, and Ayaz. When they were my bullies I’d been able to stay cool, but that was because I was used to life shitting on me. Now… they were so much more to me, and I had this warm hope flickering inside me. And that made me dangerous.
I needed a plan. I needed control.
My glimpse at Dr. Peaslee’s computer screen showed the cameras in our rooms were angled in such a way that there was one small corner they didn’t quite reach – in our bathroom stalls, down beside the toilet. I figured there was probably some law about not being able to film patients (inmates) while they went to the bathroom.
That meant I had a private space where I could practice.
As soon as the orderlies locked my door and I heard their footsteps fade in the hall, I went into the bathroom, locked the door, and sat on the toilet as though I were going about my business. Casually, I snaked my hand up the wall and pushed on the air vent. It had always been open a tiny crack, just enough to send a faint breeze through the room when the wind picked up outside. That wasn’t enough for my purposes. I pushed on it, but it wouldn’t give any further. I gave it a good hard shove, but the thing wasn’t moving. I’d have to try another way.
I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, and laid down on the bed. The mold patterns on the ceiling swirled in front of my eyes, resolving themselves into the twisted shadows that had followed me in the gymnasium. I still had no clue what those shadows were and why they had attacked me that day – if that was even what they were doing.
Miskatonic Prep had so many mysteries still to unravel. Why did I hurt the god? Why were there so many rats scrabbling in the walls, but I’d never seen a single rodent? If the god ate souls, why were Trey and Quinn and Ayaz still so… human? But there were only two mysteries I needed to solve – how could I stop the Eldritch Club from sacrificing more innocents? How could I find a way to give back what was taken from the students of Miskatonic Prep?
The key in my door turned. Nurse Waterford walked in, accompanied by the beefy orderly. She held out my cup of medication. I noticed a small white pill inside that had never been there before.
She handed me the uncapped drink bottle.
“Thanks. Um… it’s so stuffy in here,” I waved my hand in front of my face, then pointed to the small, barred window high up on the wall. “Is there any way we could open the window? I’m feeling faint.”
Nurse Waterford exchanged a lingering glance with the orderly. She wasn’t the empathetic type, but she might have heard about what happened in Dr. Peaslee’s office and assumed I was shaken up. She shook her head. “Not in this room. But James will open the vent in your bathroom. That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”
Fine by me. I tipped the cup of pills into my mouth as the orderly fiddled with the vent and finally managed to crack it open. Now I had ventilation. Hopefully, it would be enough to get rid of any smoke before it set off the fire alarms.
I set down the water bottle. The orderly checked my open palms, then grabbed my neck and wrenched my head back. Nurse Waterford nodded. Satisfied I’d swallowed every last pill, they let me go. The door slammed behind them.
As I listened to their footsteps disappearing, my fingers fiddled with the edge of my sleeve, touching the tiny pills in their hiding place. It hadn’t occurred to them to check up my sleeve, where I’d unpicked a few stitches and slipped the pills inside the hem. Just one of the sleight-of-hand tricks Dante taught me.
I hopped down from the bed and s
at on the toilet again. Plink plink plink. I dropped all the pills into the water. Trey’s voice trembled against the inside of my head. I wondered if I’d dream of him tonight.
I hoped I would.
But dreams could wait. I needed to practice. This monster was going to learn some self-control.
Chapter Four
I started small, tearing off squares of toilet paper, laying them on the cold tile floor, and thinking about things that made me angry until my palms felt hot. It wasn’t difficult, not when I pictured Ayaz’s cold eyes and the way he had turned on me, throwing the night we’d shared back in my face.
Square after square of toilet paper went up in flames before my eyes. I stopped when I could smell the smoke in the air. Even with the vent open, the smoke alarm was only by the door, and I couldn’t risk setting it off. I rubbed my palms together, trying to shake off any residual heat, then crawled into bed. I closed my eyes, hoping Trey would visit my dreams. Or Quinn. My heart ached for his silliness and total disregard for rules or propriety. I longed to hear him called me ‘Hazy’ in his carefree way.
But I couldn’t sleep. All night I tossed and turned, thinking about those squares of toilet paper immolating, thinking about another fire that started with a spark and a whoosh of rage and flame and ended with two urns filled with ashes.
The next day, I had to wait until after breakfast and an inane arts and crafts class that reminded me painfully of Ayaz to be left alone in my room. First, I tried individual squares again, making sure yesterday’s progress wasn’t a fluke. Next, I practiced with the same-sized squares, but moved further away. I needed to understand how close I needed to stand to start a fire. I leaned against the shower stall, watching the orange flame flicker and go out as the fire consumed its fuel. How far away could I be and still summon a flame at will?
Possessed: A reverse harem bully romance (Kings of Miskatonic Prep Book 3) Page 2
