by Jade Alters
It’s most of the same from all of us. Bart and his brazen lack of concern for his own safety is, in truth, the most eventful thing to happen at the Broken Academy in the past year. Serge reports whispers of some kids passing around false information about the Kyrie, like ghost stories, throughout D-Wing. I haven’t noticed any suspicious activity in any of my classes, or on the Sealbreaker field. The closest thing to the kind of racial supremacy that might trip an alarm is one of the Runners from Cypher Stream, Soerilla, targeting Magicians in a few matches. I’d hardly consider that supernatural terrorism. The rest of us share a similar theme in each of our accounts. There are fewer Vampires enrolling in the Academy than ever. A decent number of them have even withdrawn, presumably to find their VampKing. Almost all the Fey have gone. Fey Deller and Fey Hartgen are two of six that remain at the Academy at all. Magicians maintain a steady presence, at least. It seems the Dalshaks exude less control over the Magician population than they believed. The steady presence of Magister Reynold helps, too.
“Most of the Demons share no sympathy with the Kyrie,” Bryant delivers his report last. “We have no particular love for our home Realm, any more than we do for this one. Nor do we desire to make others subservient to us. Our beings are more tied to the physical than social.”
“Understood,” Thise nods, “That’s good. One less group that needs monitoring. If that’s all…you’re dismissed. We’ll meet again next week.” Each of us nods, one by one, and turns to go. By now, even I’ve mostly soaked through my clothes with sweat. Still, it’s enough to send a chill through my bones when Thise adds, “And next time, maybe have a drink or two less before the meeting. It shouldn’t take six of you to contain one Vampire.” I gulp, nod and head through the door.
I’m so embarrassed I don’t notice that we’re down a member until we’re outside for a few seconds. I glance left and right as I swipe sweat from my forehead to count the members of the ASTF. Our newest recruit is still in the office. I turn back to see why just before Thise’s door slams on its own. I linger with a hand held out to it. A big knot of something’s not right ties itself in the pit of my gut. A cracked black hand touches my arm, which jostles me back to reality. I look up into Bryant’s glowing orange eyes.
“Dragonlord Thise trusts him. We should too,” he advises.
“Things aren’t always so simple with people, Bryant,” I tell him, though I do let my arm down.
“But sometimes they are,” Stephanie interjects. “You don’t think you’re grasping just a little?”
“I…don’t know yet. Which makes me nervous,” I admit.
“Yeah, well, the guy’s a little prick but he’s new here. You should understand!” Lee laughs. Man, he’s really fixing for a clock from me today. Yet somehow, it also makes me laugh.
“I assume we don’t need to tell you to keep an eye on him,” Serge says, as I finally inch away from the door.
“Nope,” I grin. Finally! Something to do.
Bartholomew
Bart,
Sierra Nevadas, Illusory Reach
“Tomorrow begins your special assignment,” Thise told me after the others left. After our initial meeting, I understand why. They hardly trust me already. Then again, they have no idea the kind of rapport Thise and I share. Just how long we’ve known one another. Fortunately, the Academy has seen enough shifts in the past lifetime that she’s one of the only ones left who would recognize me. Who would have thought the former VampKing would be able to walk the halls of the Academy as a student once again, completely anonymous? “Disclose not one detail more than what we discussed. Just enough to get them to trust you.”
“Of course, Thise. I didn’t think you were capable of cold feet,” I teased her. She was less than amused, as always. “The coordinates I gave you mark the spot, in case I don’t come back. Assume the worst and don’t approach the stronghold until you’re absolutely certain you’ll win,” I warned her.
“How long until I should expect you to return?” Thise asked.
“They’ll want me to stay overnight at least, to make it convincing for you. Beyond that, I can tell them I’m needed back as soon as possible,” I told her. “Three days maximum.”
“Very well. Good luck…Bartholomew. Unless you actually wanted me to call you Bart,” Thise tried her hand at teasing. It was a surprisingly good look on her, like everything, for her age. I still remember when she was more in Cece’s ballpark.
“Only around the others,” I told her and left.
I’ve been walking ever since. First I walked across the length of the Academy, to one of the Six Tethers that hold it up. Even for me, gazing down that blazing white stream of natural energy never stops being incredible. I swing open the double doors and ride the jet stream back down to the surface of California. The same part that I came from. The Sierra Nevadas.
I walk up the cracked, pine-skirted switchbacks to the rocky, dusty peaks. I smirk at a few hikers passing by, all the way to the first summit. I take note of a few with backpacking packs on. In my younger days, they might have been a decent energy snack on the return journey. For now, I just keep straight. I go right over the edge, as if for an obscure photo op. But, where other journeymen turn back to head for their cars at the trailhead, I continue down a hardly-marked game trail.
I weave between crisp, huge-trunked trees. I hop over rocky streambeds blanketed in moss. Once the game trail gives out, my targets are gray, scaly tree trunks that look to have been struck by lightning. More likely, they were scorched by Dorian’s flame when he first picked out the spot for the Kyrie stronghold, twenty-two years ago. Every fifty feet or so, I squint around for the charred bark that marks my next checkpoint. I connect the dots between them at an easy, human pace. Zipping downhill at maximum velocity is ever-tempting nectar, but it’s also the quickest way to turn your ankle the full way around. It’s not like I’m fifty anymore - such things hardly entertain me.
When I leave the piney tree line behind at the creek crossing before a meadow, however, all restraint leaves me. I put my head back for one, long, crisp breath, and shoot off across the field. Tall grass slices past my thighs. Two-plank wide bridges creak beneath my feet as I tear by. Wind gusts lift foaming walls of water from brooks behind my heels. I clear the whole field in about five minutes. I round the next mountain in a valley of lush, low-lying brush in twenty. By the time I shoot through the illusory curtain around the stronghold, I’m actually short of breath.
“Whoa! Easy!” I shout as my heels dig into the dust. I scrape to a stop about twenty feet short of a pair of Magicians. Both of them cock their arms up at me, fingers ready to snap. I’ve seen the inside of many a mental prison at the hands of men and women with less skill than these two have. Dalshak Magicians. Damn their pride, but I’ll be damned if they don’t have the raw ability to back it up. “It’s me. Bartholomew. He-lo? Ringing a bell? I’ve met both of you before.”
“You’re not supposed to fly in here at full-speed,” one of the magical dolts announces with all the personality of a clothed mop.
“And you’re not supposed to raise hands to your superiors. How about we agree to let one another slide, hm?” I ask. The Magicians let their hands down with a reserved sigh. Everything the Dalshaks do seems to come with one of those. All of them except Horace and Deliah. Those two are something else altogether. I stroll between the doormen to the front of the Kyrie Stronghold. My home for the past ten years.
I plant my feet between the two stony poles that mark the staircase down into dry earth. A light flicks on in the hood of the raised doorway. It shimmers over my body for about three seconds before deciding entry is permitted. A single, thick sheet of steel slides away from what would otherwise look like a subterranean cave-mouth. Inside is anything but a cave. I clank down the metal steps into the central hub.
The glass walls of a steel-caged dome enclose most of it. Beds of flowers skirt the gigantic tree trunks grown by the Fey to hold up the earthy roof. A constant trickle of w
ater echoes through networks of halls and open atriums like this one, from the gigantic fountain at its center. Fed from a well, it froths up before cascading down the marble petals of a stone rose. The water pools around a huge basin, then funnels out into little channels along each hall that branches from the hub. I round the fountain and take one of these branching halls to the Vampire Sector of the underground stronghold.
I pass the library, the Runic Gate chamber and the Blood Farms on the way to the conference cavern deeper in. There, I’m met by a man in a long, dark-green cloak. His eyes pop out just as red as mine, if a bit darker. All of us, descended from the bite of Fordicus share variations of the same color. He’s the man I’ve known longest in this world, and yet he is no man at all.
“Batholomew,” he greets me.
“Lucidous,” I nod in return. Without a word more, I wander up the stairs with him to the platform overlooking the Blood Farms. Plot after underground plot of steel egg-shaped pods stretches out to fill the enormous cavern below us. We lean over the rail that separates us from an eighty-foot drop together and marvel at it. The possibility of a new world, a new future, for all of us. Vampires, free of the constraints imposed by our nature. Free of most humans, forever. If only we could calibrate those God-forsaken Runic Gates. “Your and Fey Rorelia’s Council seats remain unfilled.” According to Dragonlord Thise’s orders, this should be the end of my report. But then, she’s not entirely sure who I truly report to.
“They are even less trusting than I suspected,” Lucidous hums. The pods below swim in his eyes. In both of ours, the shade of the very thing that both grants us power and binds us. “This must pose unique difficulties for your assignment.”
“Not so many as you’d think,” I tell my old friend. “The past clouds Thise’s judgment. She remembers me as a fond friend from her time spent working with the previous Council. It hardly took a few rescue missions before she assigned me to come here and spy on you.”
“And look at how well you play the part,” Lucidous marvels. Then he turns to me with a smirk I know all too well. I’m the one who taught him that look. I dare you, it says, without a word. “You would do well not to think so little of Thise’s skills of deduction. Always assume she knows what you’re up to. And mistake me for no fool, either.”
“Come now, Ludicrous,” I taunt him, for an instant cringe. I’m one of the few who never used to call him that, back when our following was little more than a nomadic clan. But then, he never used to accuse me of treason. “You know how much I want this. How tiresome it all becomes… The feeding…the hiding… None of us can go on forever like this.” Finally, Lucidous’ guard lowers, and we’re brothers again. He lets himself relax against the railing.
“And yet…we’re all cursed to,” he sighs.
“The Council seems to be keeping the task of locating us for themselves. I haven’t received word on any specific projects yet, there. But rooting out insurgency in the Academy seems to be up to the group Thise has me on. Students. They go by the Academy Security Task Force, or ASTF,” I explain.
“I see… An excellent position to gather intelligence,” Lucidous comments, “And what of the girl?”
“Which one?” I ask.
“Either. Both have been a monumental pain in our asses,” says Lucidous.
“Right now, Thise is only taking third-year students or longer for the group, myself aside. This excludes Emery Dalshak. But her brother, Serge is a member, so you can expect she’s informed. As for Cece…she’s front and center, as you’d expect,” I explain.
“Be wary of them all, Bartholomew. The girls, their men, their friends. If you’d have told me before that day a year ago that we’d be undone by a handful of students…but it happened,” Lucidous growls.
“Well, if you’d told me that, I’d have taken them out before they were a problem. I don’t leave things to chance, Lucidous. I thought I taught you that,” I scold him for old time’s sake.
“You know damn well we couldn’t do that. And we still can’t. Not with…” Lucidous turns back to check over his shoulder. “Not with Dorian looking over our shoulders,” he whispers.
“Right,” I nod. I give it a little sarcasm, just to remind Lucidous who he’s talking to, then turn to head back down the stairs. “Well, that’s everything for this round. But this is just the beginning. What shall I tell Thise?”
“That the stronghold is too vast for you to see it all in ten visits, and we walked you straight to your room,” Lucidous feeds me. I nod and tap down onto the first stair.
“Right. Well, I’m off to sample the crop then,” I wave to my old friend. To the Blood Farms I go. Or so I plan to, before I reach the bottom stair. There, a hand grasps my shoulder from the side. I betray no hint of how surprised I am and turn a nonchalant stare on a tan, large-framed man. His hazel eyes flash at me like two nuggets of fool’s gold at the bottom of a pond.
“You’ve seen Cecelia?” he asks.
“Why hello, Dorian,” I mock him with an overly friendly tone. He doesn’t seem to notice. He only pulls me along, back toward the hallway. “Yes, I have.” I tell him.
“Then there’s a conversation to be had, between the two of us,” says Dorian.
Entangled Souls
Lee,
The Broken Academy
I only maintain a vague idea of where I am. Advanced Transformation class. I only hear the faintest echoes of sound bouncing around my ears. The professor droning on about introductory transformation review. How can I pay attention to that, with this gorgeous shape of a body slamming into mine?
Cece’s legs warm the sides of my hips. Her vagina hugs my throbbing muscle as she swings all the way back, almost until I come out of her. Just as my head slides out between her lower lips, she squeezes me back into her. Our hips tie together tighter than a pretzel, only to peel apart again. In the Soul of Fire, I hold her up easily. It’s no great feat for her to hold my neck with her wrists and dangle from me like a scarf, so I can watch her breasts bounce together with each hard pulse. Her feet sway behind me between long, broken-up groans and sharp breaths.
“Hey…eyes down here,” Cece breathes when she notices my eyes wander up.
“Sorry,” I smile down at her while I push up without missing a beat. I have to check back in class every once in a while, to make sure we’re not missing vital test material. I grab her hips for an extra hard thrust to make up for it. Her nipples swing around in a wild arc while she lets her head back to grunt. But I’m not off the hook that easily.
“What could be…more interesting…than psychic sex…during class?” Cece demands to know. She pulls down on me to straighten up and hang from my neck. I slide my hands down over the curve of her butt cheeks to lift them. Cece rises then slides back down the pole of my penis at such a pace, I can hardly focus enough to talk anymore. Every time I part my lips I fight the urge to warn her just how close she’s brought me to climax.
“Just…” I bite my tongue for a deep breath as Cece pinches me between her powerful thighs. She slows the pace to tease me with a devious smirk. She arches and straightens her back to massage the base of my penis with her inner walls. In her crystal blue eyes, I see myself struggle to hold it all in. “Just listening…to make sure…we’re not…missing anything,” I tell her. Somewhere in the background of my mind, I hear the professor’s voice. This class will teach you how to shorten your transformation time. You may even be able to enlarge the size of your true, draconic form, or develop a flame cloak.
“And?” Cece asks, “Is it more interesting than…this?” she whispers in my ear just before her lips draw out the shape of a long ahh, against it.
She sweeps out with her hips so far that my penis slips out. It slides along the seam of her pronounced lips while she pushes me back. From the wall of flames that enclose our shared space in the Soul of Fire grows a mass of solid blue and red plumes. Cece calls it over beneath me. It catches me like a hammock, yet as firm as any mattress, and holds us b
oth. She rolls her hips and the kiss of her wet vagina up from the base of my pleasure center to the tip. With the force of control alone, she shoves herself down over it. I explode up into her, which detonates a blast of pleasure in each of us.
Suddenly, I can’t keep my hands off of her. I can tell how close she is – I don’t have to hold back anymore. I grasp her breasts. I roll her nipples under my thumbs as I push up inside her. I squeeze, then stroke my fingers down her whole body, to her hips. I reach behind to get a firm hold on her butt. With each rise, I tighten and pull her down harder. I lift and yank Cece down on my penis with all my strength until she grabs the outsides of my arms. She pins me to our flaming bed with astounding might. She pops her hips up at a higher angle. She does it so fast I feel butterflies flutter up into my chest. Down below, tremors of ecstasy vibrate my muscle inside her. Cece’s vagina answers the call with a tremble of its own.
I’m on the verge of one of the most shaking orgasms of my life, and yet I’m suddenly distracted. I felt something. Not with my spiritual body in the Soul of Fire, either. I felt something with my physical body, back in our classroom. I let my mind wander there, just for a second, to see what’s happened. I hardly believe it, but my arms are straight down. Just the way Cece pinned them. A surge of worry rises in my gut about what else I’ve acted out with my body, and why. I’ve heard of light aftershocks from the Soul of Fire, like twitching at the end of a dream. But never anything so directly correlated. Never anything so pronounced.
