FAUSTINE (Bonfire Chronicles Book One)

by Rose, Imogen

  FAUSTINE (Bonfire Chronicles Book One)

  Text copyright © 2011 by Imogen Rose

  Website: http://ImogenRose.com

  Cover photograph and design by Imogen Rose

  Cover photo copyright © 2011 by Imogen Rose

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  I write for Lauren, my youngest daughter. I started writing my first book when she was eight; now, at ten, she’s doing the first edit! Lauren, thank you for being you and for your patience with me while I spend hours at my computer.

  While I write, my wonderful team keeps me on the straight and narrow. My awesome friend and Editor, Sue Bernstein, spends many a billable hour pouring over my U.K. English, making sure I sound more and more American with every book. I’m indebted to you, Sue, yet again, for editing this novel. Joining the editing team is Lynn O’Dell (Red Adept Reviews), who made the final edits to this novel. Thanks Lynn, it’s been a pleasure, and I hope that you will be a part of this team for a long time.

  I am extremely grateful to my friends Lala Price and Frankie Sutton for proofreading my work so carefully. Thank you, you both are awesome.

  I also want to thank my beta readers, Al Kunz and Allirea Brumley for their valuable criticisms and suggestions.

  I have the most awesome fans! Thank you. I am blown away by the enthusiastic support from all of you.

  -Imogen Rose

  A dreamer must dream

  A storyteller must tell

  I dream to tell

  I’d have to get used to all the stares. No one had flinched at my red eyes at Bonfire Prep, but here in the Newark International Arrivals Terminal, I couldn’t help but notice the stares and sneaky glances.

  “Faustine!”

  I looked toward the source of the sound and found my mother waving at me. I walked over and was enveloped in a tight embrace.

  “Let me look at you,” she said, giving me the once over. Mom nodded approvingly. I was still wearing my school uniform–charcoal grey pinafore with a crisp, white blouse underneath, red sash, red and orange striped tie, neatly finished with a red, military-style, wool coat with the Bonfire Prep logo on the lapel. It would be hard to let go of this uniform; it had become my security blanket. It made all the students at the Prep equal, no matter who we were.

  Of course, being a demon princess placed me in a different social echelon than the average demon, vampire, or shifter. That, however, hadn’t mattered at Bonfire Academy for Paranormal Preparation, a cozy private boarding school nestled at the foot of the St. Moritz peaks in Switzerland. There, we were all socially equal and attended the academy to learn one thing only–how to control our paranormal powers. Unfortunately, being a demon princess meant that I had more powers to learn to control than the average student. It took a year more than it should have according to the demon charter, but I finally mastered them. Now here I was, on my way back home to Manhattan.

  “You look so grown up!”

  “Well, it’s been three years, Mom. I am fifteen!”

  My mother looked impeccable, as usual. While I noticed a few lines around her eyes, she really hadn’t aged at all. Her hair was, as always, perfect. I wished my hair would stay as straight and in place as hers.

  “It certainly took you long enough to complete your studies,” Mom said with her usual directness. “I tried talking the headmistress into letting me visit since it was taking longer than expected, but she wouldn’t hear of it.”

  I smiled. Yes, Frau Schmelder, or Frau Smelt, as we liked to call her, was not one to ever bend the rules.

  “Your eyes are as red as ever. I guess there is no controlling that?” she asked.

  “No. But we’ve always known that.”

  “Contact lenses?”

  “I can’t wear them; the heat from my eyes melts them.”

  “Well, to tell you the truth, I love them the way they are. You have grown into a striking young lady. And they aren’t as bright red as they used to be, more... auburn. So tell me,” Mom asked, switching the subject, “are any of your Prep friends based here in the city?”

  “A few actually, but only two are going to my high school, as far as I know. It’s going to be weird being back in a regular school again.”

  “What are they, the two coming to your school?”

  “Vampire twins.”

  “Nice. Perhaps we could have them over for a play-date?”

  “Mom! I’m too old for play-dates! Lunch, maybe?”

  “Okay, lunch it is.” She beckoned a man in a smart-looking cap–the chauffeur, I guessed–to take my cart as we walked toward the exit. I didn’t have a lot of luggage with me, despite having been away for three years. Bonfire Academy required us to wear their uniforms, both day and night. Yes, we even had uniform pajamas. So, the only outfit I had with me was the one I was wearing. I left the Prep clothes behind, as required. I was, in fact, going to have to send the uniform I was wearing back to the Academy. My bags were mostly filled with books, photos and other mementos from my time at the Prep. Shopping was going to be a priority, though I had a feeling that Mom would have stocked up on the basic necessities.

  To be clear, my mom’s just a regular human, well, as regular as an Upper East Side heiress can be. She hooked up with my father, a demon king–which she was unaware of at the time–during a night out with her fellow debutantes. Apart from my red eyes, I inherited my mother’s looks. My father has several different... uh, looks, so of course, I prefer my mom’s! Thankfully, Mom didn’t freak–which I probably would have–when she found out that she had become a pregnant debutante. Of course, she didn’t know that I would turn out to be a demon, then. I don’t know how or when she found out. My eyes weren’t red when I was born; they were purple. They were different, but not weird enough to worry her.

  “So, tell me everything, Faustine!” Mom demanded as soon as we were comfortably settled, sipping our hot chocolates in the back of the limo. She sat back, flicking her brunette hair over her shoulders. She looked like a slightly older version of me–apart from the eyes, obviously. Hers are emerald green.

  I shrugged and shook my head. “Mom, you know I can’t tell you much at all. I can’t break the rules.” The Prep had a strict non-disclosure policy.

  “Well, what can you tell me?” she asked, slightly annoyed. “What am I supposed to tell all my friends about your stay in Switzerland?”

  “Can’t you just keep telling them whatever you’ve been saying so far? What exactly have you been telling them, anyway? Where am I supposed to have been for the past three years?”

  “I’ve kept it vague and just told them that you were away at an exclusive, private boarding school in St. Moritz. They think that I visited you regularly,” she added wistfully. “I can’t for the life of me understand why that couldn’t have been arranged.”

  “Mom, it would be too dangerous for a human to enter the school. It’s filled with a bunch of paranormals who can’t control their powers, yet. No, it wouldn’t have been a good idea for you to come.”

  “Why couldn’t you have been given leave to visit me, then, especially when I was on my ski vacation in St. Moritz? It would have been lovely to have seen you.”

  “They don’t let us out until we graduate, you know that. But, here you go!” I said, as I proudly handed her my gradation scroll. As she read it, I watched a smile transform her f
ace. Not wanting to spoil her good mood, I carefully omitted telling her that my dad had been at my graduation.

  “With distinction! Well done, honey! Let’s stop at Barneys and get you something nice as a treat.”

  “Maybe later, Mom. I really just want to head home and laze around for a while. You do live at the same place, right?” The same place was a two-story penthouse apartment in a building on the Upper East Side.

  “Yes. I redecorated your room, but apart from that, almost everything is the same as before. Well, I guess not totally the same. I updated the kitchen and the entertainment system. I also replaced the terrace pool with an infinity pool, easier to keep in shape.”

  “Sounds good. Is Tessa still with us?” Tessa was my old nanny. I sure hoped that Mom had found her something else to do while I was away at school and hadn’t fired her. Tessa’s daughter, Neave, and I had been best buddies. It would be nice to connect with her again.

  “Didn’t I tell you? Tessa got married!”

  “Awesome! When? Are they living in the city?”

  “Two years ago. And yes, they are living in the city, in our building, in fact. Tessa’s husband is a broker.”

  Awesome, that meant I could hook up with Neave whenever.

  “Tessa told me that Neave will be attending the same school as you.”

  “Great!”

  Neave is only a few months older than I am. Tessa and she had lived with us when Tessa was my nanny, which was right up until I left for the Academy three years ago. I had always assumed that Neave would come with me. I had figured that witches needed formal paranormal preparation, too. I mean, can’t have them throwing random spells around! It turned out that witches are trained by their families. Needless to say, I was devastated when I found out that I was heading off to the Academy all on my own, after having been cocooned in the safety of the Upper East Side. Being suddenly thrust into the midst of a bunch of unruly paranormals was not my idea of a fun time. Give me an afternoon of rollerblading in Central Park any day. Obviously I had coped, but it would be fantastic to see Neave again.

  I looked out the limo window with sadness at the altered Manhattan skyline as we approached the Lincoln tunnel. I had heard all about it, of course, but actually taking in the changed skyline was unreal. Mom took my hand and squeezed it.

  There’s nothing like exiting the Lincoln tunnel on the Manhattan side–home at last. I slid down the window to breathe in the city air. Yuck. My nose was still used to the fresh mountain air of St. Moritz. But the pleasant familiarity was a relief, as were the stores and skyscrapers along Madison Avenue. Our limo stopped right outside our building. I jumped out and rushed in through the door held ajar by an unfamiliar doorman.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Faustine and Lady Annabel,” he said, as I half smiled at him.

  “Hold on, Faustine,” Mom instructed. I turned back impatiently. “This is Bill, one of our doormen.”

  “Nice to meet you, Bill,” I said as I shook his hand. He must have thought me awfully rude. I wasn’t; I just needed to use the facilities rather badly, which I rushed to do as soon as we entered the apartment.

  “Mom,” I said, returning to the kitchen where Mom was making some tea. “Would it be okay if I went to my room for a bit? I’m wiped out.”

  “Of course. You must be tired after that long flight. I’ll come and wake you for dinner. I had Manuel–he’s my personal shopper–select a wardrobe for you. I was told that you’d need a whole new wardrobe. We’ll obviously go shopping, but at least you’ll have something in the meantime. Dinner will be informal tonight; just Tessa and Neave will be joining us.”

  I was glad to hear that. I wasn’t the least bit opposed to dressing up and meeting new people, but it would be nice to have some time to unwind and catch up with Neave.

  Once I was in my bedroom, I rushed to my closet to retrieve my old scrapbook. I was relieved to see it sitting in its usual place surrounded by a substantial collection of new handbags. Manuel was definitely not handbag-shy. I slumped down on my new king-size bed and leafed through the pages of the scrapbook, stopping when I found the page with the locks of hair, Neave’s and mine. Underneath, Forever Friends was scrawled in red marker; we had decided that blood was a bit over the top.

  I had been so envious of Neave’s beauty when we were younger. Her blonde curls and deep violet-blue eyes were striking, so much so that people would stare at her rather than me, despite my red eyes. I’d be thankful for it now. The last thing I wanted was attention, and if Neave could pry some of it away from me, that would be great.

  I lay back on my pillow remembering some of the great times Neave and I had spent together. I used to be able to tell her everything, but now I was restrained by the rules set by the Academy. I wouldn’t be able to share everything with her anymore. I closed my eyes, recalling the rules from the Academy. They needed to be followed at all times.

  The Academy had three Golden rules. The first rule of the Academy was the same as the rule from the movie, Fight Club: You do not talk about the Academy. This one would be a major challenge. It would definitely be difficult not blabbing to Neave. I would have to be totally upfront with her about this rule. There was probably witchy stuff that she wouldn’t be able to share with me, either. Thankfully, this rule didn’t cover those of us who had attended the Academy together. So, I’d be free to talk to the vamp twins, Audrey and Viola, for instance, which was a huge relief. The last three years had been very intense, but also fun in many ways. I had made some close connections, which was another point of attending the school, and it was important to be able to nurture these.

  The second Golden rule of the Academy was: Trust no one. You’d think that I should be able to trust my mom completely. And I did, as much as one can trust any other being. However, people, and other beings, could be tricked. The Academy had instilled in us how easy it was to be manipulated. Beings could be drugged or subjected to pain, magic, and all kinds of external forces that could render them helpless and in a position where they would impart information they shouldn’t. So yeah, trust no one.

  The third and final Golden rule of the Academy: Never miss a meal. Yeah, strange, I know. One would have thought that this final rule would be a grave blah-di-blah about not using one’s powers unless absolutely necessary. I guess it was assumed that we knew this after our years of training, and it didn’t have to be written down as a Golden rule. However, regular feeding was something that was a challenge for all of us. It’s so easy to miss a meal when busy, and the repercussions to paranormals could be scary. Vampires, for instance, would just end up snacking on the first human they encountered when hungry, certainly not something one would want to witness halfway through math class. No, keep those vampires fed! The effect of my skipping or delaying a meal was less drastic. The first thing that would happen would be that my eyes would shine a brighter red. It was probably best to avoid that. When hungry, I also became restless, impatient, and easily angered, but so did Mom, so that probably had nothing to do with being a demon. Unlike Mom, my anger manifested in unexpected ways, ways that I had learned to control, but regular eating made it all easier. Yeah. So, no missing any meals.

  I looked up at my new chandelier and watched the crystals shower the walls with beams of light. This was all so princessy. I had become used to the strip lighting that illuminated the rooms and hallways of Bonfire Academy. This attention to creating an ambient aura was something at which my mother excelled, though a decorator had probably helped. I closed my eyes and settled into the luxurious feather pillow and yawned. My mind floated back to my graduation. Three years of intense training had culminated in a grand, but weird, event.

  My dad had been there, in his human form, thank goodness; he was much easier on the eyes as a human. I could see why Mom had been attracted to him; although, she must have been a bit tipsy not to have noticed his red eyes. His human form would be the envy of most Hollywood stars. Think a young George Clooney, from his ER days. However–rule two, trus
t no one–behind that disarming smile lived a demon, a demon king, to be precise, the Demon King of London.

  Much like vampire politics, demon politics is conducted territorially. Dad had been in New York on some royal protocol blah-di-blah when he bumped into Mom and her friends. She has always been very vague about what happened, probably because she can’t remember half of it.

  Of course, Dad came to visit over the years; although he never stayed too long–just long enough for my mother to stay completely head-over-heels. She has never dated anyone else.

  Dad always arrived in his human form, so I never noticed anything strange about him. That is, not until the Demon King of New York tapped on our front door one winter evening. Mom told me to wait in my room, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I strained to hear what was going on between them and heard faint sounds of whispering, which gradually turned to aggravated hissing and strange, animalistic growling.