Faeling for Them: An Eight Wings Academy Novel: Book One

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Tapping my nails against the armrest of my seat, I smirked at the thought, but didn’t have too much time to ponder the idea as the instructor soon arrived, swaggering through the door like he was Elvis about to walk on stage.

  I hated Leopold. He was a creep, and when we did Phys-Ed shit outdoors, he always found a way to slide his hand over my ass or to cup my tits. He knew he could get away with it because I was, in the faculty’s eyes, human born and therefore lesser, but it didn’t make me want to stab him any less.

  As he perched his ass on the desk, he folded his arms and stared up at us. His gaze swept along each row, taking in the many faces of this year’s class, and asked, “How many people here understand how we mine magic from the witches?”

  My jaw clenched at the question. He didn’t know he was insulting me, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t insulted.

  On Day Two of my life at Eight Wings, I’d learned that all witches lived a lie. I’d figured it was all downhill from there on out, and I hadn’t been wrong.

  A single hand popped up, and I studied the male it was attached to.

  The Fae were a beautiful race. It wasn’t like I hadn’t known that coming into the Academy, but some of them? Sol, they were what I was starting to call panty destroyers.

  Matthew was one of them, the guy who wanted to answer Leopold’s question was another—Daniel lin der Ruid. He was a little different to Matthew. Daniel had dark blue eyes that made the Atlantic look wishy washy, his hair was white blond and he wore it in a shaggy mop like a surfer. The tousled strands were in complete contrast to the strong lines of his jaw and brow. He had high cheekbones that gave him a beautiful profile, but even better, he had lips that looked like they were constantly pouting.

  Kissing lips.

  This was the torment I was having to deal with here.

  He was as tall as Matthew, but his wings weren’t as white. I’d noticed that before and, after a little poking around, had learned why—Matthew and Daniel were from different castes.

  Yeah, it was like going back to the eighteen hundreds with the Fae. They still lived in castes, and they still affected every single fairy’s life from cradle to grave.

  Matthew, as a child from a warrior line, had the little ‘vil’ in between his surname. So, he was vil der Soe unlike Daniel’s lin der Ruid, as Daniel was from the administrative caste. The final caste were instructors, and their tag was ‘dir.’

  His surname and caste were just one of the reasons why Matthew’s wings were snowy white—thanks to how much time he had them out in the sun. Daniel’s, on the other hand, were creamier. A bit golden here and there. I guessed, and this was the nicest way to describe it, they were patchy.

  “Yes, lin der Ruid,” Leopold asked, tipping his chin at Daniel.

  “They gather into Conclave-wide events at solstices and rites and we graft their magic onto gold dust.”

  Fucked up, right?

  That ivy that covered the building that I’d thought wasn’t ivy because it was covered in gold? Yup, it was magically grown. So, essentially, turbocharged ivy covered the Academy’s walls. That was how they wasted witches’ magic.

  Bastards.

  My stomach churned with the thought of our important events being used against us. I’d always hated the Fae, most non-Fae did thanks to their arrogant ways, but ever since I’d started learning the ins and outs of how they controlled the world, I’d begun loathing them even more. Which was pretty sucky considering I was one of them now. The puddle-gray wings that were digging into the back of my seat were testament to that.

  “Magic is tithed,” Leopold explained, and in a tone that was bored, proceeded to destroy everything I’d ever learned about where Fae magic came from, “so once it is sent to the Assembly—” The Fae government. “—each Fae family gets a dose of it depending on their rank in our society.

  “Families in the warrior caste get the most after the Assemblymen, then the instructors and finally, the administrative caste.” He raised his hand and tipped it palm up. “We are taught from a young age how to call on magic.” In his palm, gold dust began to pool. “It began when Ibrahim vil der Kird learned, back in fifteen-twenty, that magic has a polarity.

  “Gold isn’t magnetic, but neither is magic. He learned that the two attract one another when gold is heated, that’s why the witches, at their events, throw it onto their bonfires. Now, how does the magic cleave itself to the gold?”

  Matthew raised his hand, and one of the gold bracelets he wore glinted in the light. “Each solstice has a different ceremony, so each time, there’s a different way of mining the magic.”

  Leopold nodded. “This is true. There is no one way to do it, so how about you tell me one.”

  Matthew shrugged, like he’d known this information all his life and had no idea why he was being told it now. I knew this information wasn’t shared with everyone, as some of the kids who were ‘lins’ and ‘dirs’ looked just as perplexed as me.

  Apparently, the warrior lines didn’t just get most of the magic but they were the ones graced with knowledge too.

  That Fae magic didn’t come from the Divine was news to me as that was what witches were told. Sol, no. Not told. Lied to about.

  My jaw clenched as Matthew explained, “In the Winter solstice, when it’s cold, it’s said that the witches gather around an unlit bonfire skyclad.

  “I believe there are several chants as they toss gold onto the kindling, and it’s even said that they dance to keep warm.

  “Naturally, it’s late December in the northern hemisphere when the Winter solstice hits, so they grow colder from the low temperatures regardless of their exertion, and this turbocharges their magic when they all seek to light the fire.”

  Leopold hummed his agreement. “This is correct. Every single member of the congregation channels their magic into lighting the bonfire. As they do, the gold cleaves to it, and the flames burn like a rainbow for a handful of seconds.

  “The witches stay until the fire ceases burning. Once the ceremony is over, they dress and return to their lives without knowing their magic is drained. To them, it’s a natural fatigue from having been skyclad in less than ideal temperatures, from a night’s magic and partying, but also, for three days prior to the celebration—whichever season it is—they fast.”

  My nails dug into the armrest as I stared at the instructor and imagined ripping off his head. Of course, it wasn’t Leopold’s fault he’d been assigned to teach us the ‘History of Magic.’ And it wasn’t his fault that what pissed me off the most was how he knew more about our magical rites than I did.

  I’d never celebrated a solstice with a congregation of witches before, so couldn’t even say if his timeline of events was right or wrong. What I did know was that, as a family, we did fast for three days before a solstice. That was the only way my mother followed Gaia’s Way.

  “Any questions?” Leopold asked, his gaze scanning the crowd.

  I raised a hand. “Why do they fast?”

  He tilted his head to the side, and I knew he was surprised because even though I’d only been here a week, I’d made it a point to engage very little in classes.

  “Because Ibrahim knew it would justify how drained they felt after the solstice.”

  Fuming inside, I tried to think about all the other random shit my abuela had done when I was a kid. Back before she’d died, that was when my mom had done more witchy stuff. After, she’d just given up and hadn’t even really used her magic at all—I’d almost had a heart attack one day when I’d seen her lighting a candle with a lighter, for Sol’s sake.

  That was how far her refusal to cast had taken her.

  Grabbing my bottom lip, I began to pluck it as I tuned in on the class once more. Leopold might be an ass, but he was teaching me shit I apparently needed to know.

  “The Conclave are quite aware of the situation.” The Conclave was the governing body of the witches, and the Assembly was the Fae’s. “The following day, a Conclave member will
‘treat’ the area. Usually, these events take place in woodland, and most witches believe this ‘treatment’ is to neutralize the location, to spiritually bless it until the next time.”

  “Why would they do that?” a girl I only knew as Kira asked.

  “The witches believe it because they’re accustomed to cleansing their spaces. Usually, every Friday, the head of the household will cleanse the house and bless it for the upcoming week. It’s considered good luck to invite the Goddess, Gaia, into their walls.

  “Where the solstice is concerned, cleansing isn’t necessary. The Conclave use that moment to gather the dust that has cleaved to the base of the bonfire.

  “It is gathered, stored, and sent to the Assembly along with millions of other tributes the nation over. The Assembly then distributes the dividends.”

  My throat grew tight— dividends. Like this was a business exchange. Except, as far as I could see, there was no exchange to it. The Fae got the magic and the witches were left feeling ‘drained,’ after having been conned into losing their magic.

  I raised my hand, and when Leopold caught my eye, asked, “Does this have an adverse effect on witches?” My already husky voice was huskier than I’d have liked from my outrage, but I thought I managed to hide it quite well considering.

  “No,” he murmured, shaking his head. “That’s the interesting thing. Over the subsequent months, their magic returns. It grows almost until the next solstice, where the cycle recommences.” He unfolded his arms and leaned back against the desk. “The interesting thing, of course, is how we call on the magic. Who knows how we do this?”

  Daniel raised his hand again. The fairy was either a know-it-all or just a suckass. At Leopold’s nod, he murmured, “All Fae have an affinity for gold anyway. In the early days, we were the best goldsmiths in the world until we diversified and became as we are today.”

  “Why were we the best goldsmiths?” Leopold tossed back.

  Daniel shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “It’s a funny story, actually.” Nothing about this story was making me bust a gut laughing. “Who’s been to a christening?” Everyone raised their hand except me. Considering I was the only ‘human born,’ that figured. “The babes are given matching bracelets, aren’t they? One for each forearm. What do they represent?”

  “One represents the house line,” a girl called out.

  “And the other?”

  “The house’s power,” a guy answered.

  “That’s correct. Once upon a time, we were aligned with something we called Gaia’s Gift. Our Goddess is a creative deity, and so, each family was associated with a talent. Anything from music to sourcing the best gems. Goldsmithing to carving wood. It is said that, originally, there was only gold where creativity could be spent. But as time passed and we evolved, so did her gifts.

  “When a child is given a band, it shows the house and the Gaia’s Gift associated with the band. Those are always gold, always, and you wear them to this day, do you not?” He raised his arms and showed his. “The gold your family is tithed isn’t attracted to you, it’s attracted to the gold bands.”

  “But why?” I asked, not even bothering to raise my hand.

  “Because they’re spelled to, of course. Back when Ibrahim came up with this idea, the Conclave were involved in the decision-making process. It was established that the bands would facilitate magic use.

  “Now, they’re a part of our culture, just as much as the solstice rites are a part of witch culture.”

  The appropriation didn’t seem to bother Leopold, but why would it? All this shit ran in the Fae’s favor.

  “Why did the Conclave agree to do this?” I rasped, heart hurting at this news.

  “For power, of course. The Conclave went from being a small entity to a large one under the Fae’s directive.”

  “The Conclave answers to the Assembly for all things though,” Daniel pointed out.

  Leopold grinned. “We give with one hand and take away with the other.”

  His pride made my magic burn the tips of my fingers with the need to cast. Sol, I wanted to make him pay for that statement, for his glee at the way the Fae systematically abused the witches with this misuse of power, but what could I do?

  Nothing.

  And how that stung.

  The rest of the class passed in a blur, but what didn’t?

  My resolve.

  After I’d seen the way the Fae were going to treat me, I’d determined by my second day here that I’d spend the following year doing my best to get away from this place. I’d learned that in eight months’ time, there would be the Eight Wings’ equivalent of the SATs and from that point, students would either be sent home if they failed to pass, or would be allotted into their future role for the Assembly.

  I’d be doing none of that shit.

  The second I could, I was out of here. There was no way in Sol I was about to do anything to further the Fae’s abuse of power over the Conclave, and as far as I could see, that was all the Assembly did.

  The witches gave their power to the Fae who merely used that to gain more ground over all the races.

  They were the top dog on the backs of the witches’ might.

  There was nothing I could do to stop it. Nothing I could say, no one I could talk to.

  In the eyes of the world, I was just a human born Fae now. My allegiance belonged with the Fae, but they couldn’t make me do shit, and I wouldn’t.

  Ever.

  I’d always known the Fae were scum, but learning from the horse’s mouth just how they rolled?

  Fuck them.

  And that was all I had to say about that.

  2

  Gabriella

  Fuck off.

  The words were on the tip of my tongue as I stared at Instructor Jeanien, but instead, I probably looked like a gremlin as I tried to remain patient. I could feel the onset of early wrinkles but I didn’t give a Sol. Not now I knew her game.

  “I barely landed,” I told her grittily, well aware that it was a wonder my head hadn’t blown off.

  “You’re ready,” she insisted, tone so calm that it irked me even more.

  My throat felt full. Not of tears, but of fury. It was like fire bubbled away in there, as though it were a cauldron of my emotions. As was starting to become a common theme now I was at Eight Wings, my magic responded to my fury. I could feel my fingers burning again, and curled them into my palms and dug down to fight the loss of control.

  “I barely landed,” I repeated. “This is my fourth class. I can’t make it in the group class. Not yet.”

  She pursed her lips. “The faculty allows the human born enough time to adapt—”

  “And four sessions is enough time? I can hardly stay up in the sky!” I ground out, my hands squeezing tighter at my sides as I tried to contain the anger and the frustration that was spilling out of me.

  For the first time in years, I wanted to use my magic. I’d tucked it away into cold storage, never intending on using it. It had never burned me in the human world, had never urged me to do anything, seemingly content to remain tucked away for the long haul. But the Academy was bringing the need to cast out of me. Like now, I wanted to cast a spell so badly it hurt. One that would have the wind whirl her far, far away from here and away from me, but my magic had never been normal. I knew that, and knew that I could make a real ass of myself if I flubbed it.

  It was like when my mama had shown me how to wash the dishes with a spell when I was six, and instead, I’d flooded the kitchen. Something she hadn’t been able to reverse on her own, and had called on my grandmother for help in stemming the flow.

  My odd connection with magic wasn’t why the family evaded the Conclave, that had to do with my grandmother’s once illegal status as an immigrant in the US, but I knew after she’d died, it had been one of the reasons why my mother had stopped practicing.

  To her, I was a failure and that looked badly on her. Especially as our family had been powerful ba
ck in Cuba. Even if she’d wanted to pay the fine the Conclave would have penalized us with because we’d been hiding from them for so long, she never would. Why? Because I’d need to get tested to earn my license, and that would be official proof that my mother had given birth to a Scant—a witch whose powers were, you guessed it, scant.

  The desire to use a spell to trip Jeanien up was heady, however. I wanted it more than I wanted to lick Matthew vil der Soe—and I wanted to lick him more than I wanted a box of Oreos to myself right now—but I knew that my spell to send her away would undoubtedly end with her falling flat on her face in a concussion or something like that.

  The only thing I could magic up without an issue was food, and unless I wanted to force-feed the skinny bitch of an instructor to death, that wasn’t going to do much good, was it?

  “Rather than argue with me, why not see it as a positive?” the Fae fucker retorted piously, her hands in front of her belly. She looked like a yoga instructor who was trying to get my still fat ass into a better looking downward dog.

  “What’s positive about public humiliation?” I retorted.

  She firmed her mouth. “Let’s take off once more and land once more. You managed five minutes in the air last time, let’s go for six.”

  This ‘let’s’ shit was also getting on my wick. I mean, she wasn’t the one suffering up there, was she? It took a lot of strength to heft all of my curves up into the sky, and I wasn’t getting anywhere fast.

  Though it was considered inelegant, the only way I could take off was to run and jump into the air. The others could take off from a standing position—showoffs—whereas I made Dumbo look elegant, and that was a fact—Jeanien had complimented me on the maneuver just last week, in fact.

  Knowing that I’d cast if I didn’t get away from her, I decided to obey even though outright rebellion suited me more at that moment.

  Girding my loins, I ran forward about twenty meters and launched myself into the air. When I’d first started doing this, I’d been panting already at this point so at least I was getting fitter. That was something, right?