by May Dawson
She gives us all swords, then moves to intercept a diving hawk that attacks us. She cuts its head off with one smooth arc of her sword. “Good luck.”
The four of us take off after Gabriel. He reaches a Fae student, fallen on the path. He struggles silently to free himself from the birds that cover him now, pecking at him, tearing chunks of flesh away with their beaks. His spelled sword is still in the scabbard, useless to him since Fae can’t draw their swords except on their own house grounds.
Gabriel wades into the birds, swinging his sword, sending them flying off the Fae student. One of them splatters in the trees. They wheel, surrounding us.
Now we’re surrounded by the damn birds.
“Stick together!” Gabriel shouts. “Ever, Lincoln, get him to safety.”
Lincoln’s wings snap into his body. Lincoln scoops up the stone-faced Fae, who can’t help but grit out a groan, as Lincoln throws him over his shoulder. Then the two of them run down the path toward the Fae house. Ever’s sword swings through the air, the blade shining in the sun but not igniting, as he cuts down a hawk that soars toward them. The bird’s head sails into the trees.
“The hawks are drawn to Nephilim or angels most of all,” Gabriel tells us as the snapping hawks swarm us.
A hawk catches Gabriel’s right shoulder, tearing away flesh, and he throws his sword to his left hand so he can cleave its head from its neck.
The bird drops at his feet, and he staunches the blood with his hand as he adds, “But they’ll attack humans…or human-ish creatures—if we aren’t easy targets.”
“We have to protect the rest of campus,” I say. “Do they know how to fight back against the hawks?”
“I never thought I’d see them here on Earth,” Gabriel says with a frown.
“There’s got to be a faster way to get rid of them than decapitating them one-by-one,” I say.
“Maybe it’s time to put our criminal backgrounds to good use,” Julian says abruptly. “They’re from Hell. So makeshift flamethrowers might be out.”
“What are their weaknesses?” I ask Gabriel.
“Their biggest weakness is their origin,” Gabriel says suddenly. “There’s so many of them. They keep coming… they must be coming from the Hell gate.”
“Of course,” Julian says, his face paling.
Ever and Lincoln run back down the path. They’re both bleeding, sweating, being chased by hawks. As they run past us, we knock down the hawks that chase them.
“We left him with some other Fae,” Lincoln says. “Now how do we stop these things?”
“Come with me,” Gabriel says. “We’re going to cut them off at the source.”
“Time for a trip to Hell.” The ease in Julian’s tone sounds forced, as if my usually unshakeable friend is nervous.
I hold my sword at the ready as I glance around at them. “And here I thought we were already in hell.”
The grim faces around me suggest the Wicked Reform School is a mere shadow of Hell itself.
Too bad, since sooner or later, we’ll all take a stroll through Hell.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Gabriel
THE FIVE OF us sprinted to the Hell’s Gate, which is located deep in the woods between the house of Nephilim and the house of Fae, in an area where no one ever goes. Even the Myrmidions give it a wide berth.
The woods seem to grow darker as we run deeper in. Branches twist above our heads in ever tighter, more intricate patterns, and it almost feels as if we’re descending into darkness, even though there are glimpses of the sun above.
I’m not used to running this path frantically. I was an instructor during last year’s Culling, and we walked our chosen students down the path at a measured pace. My heart had been in my chest, afraid to see them fight and die in the Culling. I’d seen enough death in my time in the Sent, and I’d come here hoping to save lives, not take them.
Now, Hell’s hawks circle above the Hell’s Gate in slow, lazy circles.
“Sentries,” I say, pointing the tip of my flaming sword toward them. “They’re far more intelligent than one might expect from the size of their skulls. They’re capable of working as a team.”
“Luckily, so are we,” Eden says cheerfully, casting a sideways glance at Lincoln. “Aren’t we?”
He reluctantly grunts.
“When we get up there,” I say, “I need to get to the gate to close it. There’s an incantation.”
“We’ll get you there,” Lincoln promises.
I glance over the four of them. I wish I could protect them all, but if we’re going to stop the Hell’s Hawks from terrorizing campus and killing dozens of their fellow students, I need them now.
“If you survive, you’ll all get A’s in Ethics,” I promise, and Eden lets out a laugh that eases the tension in the air.
The five of us turn the corner, and there it is: a black twisting gate that should block the mouth of the cave, but it stands open. The forest itself seems to fold around us at this point, funneling us toward the gaping dark maw of the cave. The path feels inescapable. Coming here for the Culling left me unsettled, and what came after… that was worse.
The hawks can’t rise directly into the sky through that tangle of branches above; they shoot under the interlocked tree branches at us, like projectiles, and we cut them down as they come.
Julian, Lincoln, Everett and Eden move with grace and speed. They already seem to be a fluid team, and that might well save their lives one day when they face the Culling, if they’re nominated together. But my heart aches at the thought of them walking into that fearful darkness. And yet, maybe next year… maybe I should be the one to nominate them. It’s the only way they can ever leave.
“Help me close the gates,” I shout at Lincoln.
There’s something moving deep within the cave, something foul. Lincoln and I both throw all our strength into closing the enormous gates that stretch above us like jagged demon’s wings. Every muscle strains as I throw everything I have into closing the gates, and I begin to incant the words.
Behind us, I can hear the flash of swords as Ever, Julian and Eden fight the hawks, which are flying back through the tunnel of branches to attack us.
Then the gates, with one final creak—that sounds like a long human scream—slam closed.
I’m exhausted, dead on my feet, but I turn with my sword flaming in my hand and rejoin the fight. We destroy every hawk, then—all of us bloodied and staggering—we head down the path back to the Nephilim house.
When we emerge, we’re greeted by Esther and her students, who she rallied to cut down the hawks.
Esther’s eyes widen when she sees us. “Are you all right, Gabe?”
I give her an ironic thumbs-up. “We closed the gates. That should be the last of them.”
“You’re bleeding,” she starts, then abruptly turns to her students, raising her voice. “Good work. Disperse through campus in pairs—make sure there are no hawks left. Tell the other students—and I don’t care what species, you snobby assholes—how to kill them if you see them.”
Despite her words, her voice is affectionate what she calls them snobby assholes. I try to give my students a different perspective in my Ethics classes, but really—it’s an uphill battle.
Esther turns to face me, her eyes still shining from the fight—as much as she’s my friend, her taste for blood is unsettling—and she tells me, “Thanks for getting the gate shut.”
“I couldn’t have done it without them,” I say, nodding to the four of them.
Someone claps, slowly, and dread settles into my gut as we turn to face the sound.
Aero and Michael emerge from the shadows.
“Some admirable teamwork,” Aero notes. “Thank you for protecting our students, Gabriel.”
“Did you know about this?” I demand, fury igniting in my chest.
Aero shakes his head. “But I’ll allow it. The students did well.”
“They must be tested,” Michael says. “And
they did do quite well. Good job, all of you.”
He flashes my four a smile. They do not return it.
“Given their bravery,” Michael continues, “I believe they’re all ready to face Finals.”
“What?” Disbelief colors my voice. “They’ve all been here a year or less… they’re inexperienced.”
Aero’s lips tighten. He’d like to see all our Nephilim go to the Culling, and he’d like for everyone to watch, as is common for the other species. But because the Nephilim—and the angels themselves—want to see our students truly reform and graduate, he has to play by our rules.
“Especially Eden, correct?” Michael gives her a look I don’t care for.
“She is the most recent to arrive,” I say guardedly. I can tell Michael is setting his trap, and I don’t care to spring it.
Julian starts to say something, no doubt a smart-ass remark knowing him, and I silence him with a look. I need to be the one to deal with Aero and Kinley; the four of them will only make things worse.
Eden reaches out to take his hand, giving him a faint smile despite her exhausted, bloodied face, and I can tell Michael doesn’t fail to notice.
“You’ve got a fondness for the girl,” he accuses me.
Delight spreads across Aero’s face. He loves drama almost as much as bloodshed.
“If I do, then perhaps it balances out your desire to kill her,” I tell him. If we’re throwing around accusations, I’ve got my own. “You loosed the Hell’s Hawks. You created the golem that attacked her. And you set up the detention center to kill her.”
It’s a shot that I can’t prove, but Michael doesn’t deny it.
“True,” he admits. “I created extra tests for a student—that’s my right as head-of-house.”
“You’re trying to kill her. That’s well beyond your right as head-of-house.”
“I have a personal grudge against the girl,” Michael tells Aero. I never expected he would admit it so openly. Then he continues, “She murdered my entire family. My parents, my younger brother, my sister.”
“Actually,” Eden steps forward, and Lincoln slaps his hand onto her shoulder, ready to pull her back, but she doesn’t even seem to notice, “the only one I killed is your rapist brother.”
“Maybe you’ve forgotten what you did,” Michael says, his eyes narrow as he stares her down. “That seems to be a problem for you.”
The two stare at each other, hatred flaring in their eyes. I can tell Eden wants to kill him, and the guys move closer around her, protecting Michael—in order to protect her from herself.
But Eden suddenly relaxes, her shoulders easing. “Let’s find out just how guilty I am in the Culling. As long as it’s going to be supervised by someone else.”
That’s a smart play. Esther doesn’t have any bias; it would be best if she were the one who was responsible for the Culling. The angels watch over it as well; it should be a relatively fair fight once they get in there, unless…
…Unless Michael made a deal with the devil. He must have made a deal with our demon on the faculty to get the gates of Hell open in the first place, in violation of the Nephilim’s flimsy truce with Hell.
“A wonderful idea,” Kinley says. “Unfortunately, Ms. Esther will be required at the viewing stands for the other species’ Culling ceremony, to watch over the Nephilim students who are not visiting Hell that day. And Gabriel can’t oversee Finals. Gabriel…”
Kinley makes a tsk-tsk sound. “Gabriel will need to leave campus immediately. He violated Sent protocol when he began an illicit relationship with a student.”
“What?” I demand.
“Oh, interesting,” Aero purrs, crossing his arms.
We all know that the dean has illicit relationships with students. But it’s forbidden for Nephilim, and our code-of-conduct is a bit more… unforgiving.
“I’ve had no inappropriate conduct with Eden Greyson.” I’ve thought about kissing her, sure, but there’s no rule against that. I’ve never touched her in any way I wouldn’t touch any student, a hand on the back or on the shoulder.
“It’s true,” Eden glances at me. Her expression is blank, guarded, but I have a feeling she’s guilt-stricken under that cool exterior. “There’s nothing between us.”
“I have several students who will testify to what they’ve seen,” Michael warns us. “There’s no point in lying about it.”
My mind wheels frantically, trying to find a way out. There’s no way I can protect Eden, Julian, Ever and Lincoln from the Culling. One way or another, they’ll have to go eventually.
But maybe I can be there with them.
“Then let the Culling determine my innocence as it does theirs,” I say. “Instead of forcing me to leave campus, let me go into Hell.”
Michael smiles, a slow smile as if he’s won but we just don’t see his end game yet.
“Aero,” he says, “I would consider that a fitting trial…and a fitting punishment…for this Nephilim who violated the rules of our kind. What do you think?”
Aero says what I swear is his favorite catchphrase, whenever it comes to blood and punishment: “I’ll allow it.”
That’s it. Dread tightens my stomach, but I jerk my head in a nod.
The five of us will go to the Culling together.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Eden
THE NEXT FEW days pass in a blur. Everyone knows who’s been nominated for the Culling. Other Nephilim nod to me in the halls and murmur, “Good luck.”
The rest of the campus doesn’t have similar warm feelings. They seem to hate us because not all Nephilim go to the Culling.
And they probably also hate us because our personalities suck, but that can’t be helped.
The last day before the Culling is strangely normal. I go through my classes feeling numb; it seems ridiculous to hand in math homework when tomorrow, we’re supposed to face death. At least there’s no Torture 101 with Ms. Esther; we’re supposed to rest for tomorrow. And now, there’s no class with Gabriel, either.
I haven’t seen much of Gabriel lately. Lincoln’s been cynical, thinking that he might run rather than face the Culling. Ever, who sees the best in everyone, thinks he’s busy working with the Sent on the case against Michael.
I’m lying on Everett’s bed that last afternoon—our last true afternoon at the school, whether we die tomorrow or graduate—when Julian comes in. I might be breaking some kind of record for the shortest stint at the reform school.
Julian throws himself on the bed beside me, the mattress swaying beneath his weight, and stares up at the same ceiling I am.
“Your teacher friend’s back,” he says. “I just saw him talking to Esther out in the yard.”
“My teacher friend? He’s tried to help us all.” I roll onto my elbow to talk to him, which brings our faces intimately close together.
“Yeah,” Julian admits. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His expression is fond. “You should go talk to him. He doesn’t have to go in there with us. But he’ll give us better chances of survival.”
I glance away, over his shoulder. “I still wish he wouldn’t come. I wish I was going in there alone.”
“Surprise, surprise,” Ever says. He’s sitting on the floor, and he rips another sheet off his notebook and crumples it into a ball before tossing it into the trash can.
I frown at him, but before I can ask him what that means, Lincoln looms in the doorway. His gaze catches on Everett, and Linc asks, “What are you doing?”
“I’m writing my deliver-if-I-die letter,” Ever says, “and I’m trying to make my parents feel like assholes for sending me into this mess. But subtly. That takes a lot of drafts.”
Lincoln leans against the footboard. “You can’t die in there. You’re a Sent spy.”
Everett looks up at him and scoffs. “I don’t think that makes Hell more my friend, Linc.”
“Why do you have to go through Hell, anyway?” I ask. I check that the door is closed, then add, “Y
ou were never truly sentenced to this school.”
“Nope,” Ever says. “But the deal was always that I did the whole thing. Pretended to be a real student, made myself useful to the Sent, lived or died…however it works out.”
He says the words so lightly, but the trash can full of crumpled last goodbyes tells another story.
“Wait,” I say. “I thought you were arrested and the Sent forced you to come here. But your parents…”
“They knew where I was.” Everett rubs his hand across his face. “I’d been hiding out with these guys, refusing to turn myself in.” He nods at Julian. “I told them Jules was going in, they wanted me to go too, we argued… and a few days later, I woke up with a hangover and a half-dozen Sent agents standing around my room.”
“And here I thought my parents were fucked up,” Lincoln says.
Ever throws aside the notebook. “Ah, fuck them. They don’t deserve a letter anyway. What’s the story there, Linc?”
“First,” Lincoln says, “I want to know why you plan to go into the Sent when your parents are such pricks.”
Ever scoffs. “You think I’m a prick too. Why shouldn’t I?”
Lincoln rolls his eyes. “You’re insufferable and self-righteous and a bit too nice for a Nephilim. You annoy the hell out of me, but you’re nothing like your parents and you know it. You’d never use anyone you considered family.”
It’s one of the longest—and the nicest—things I’ve ever heard Lincoln say, and silence hangs in the room for a few long seconds.
Then Ever says, “I know some assholes seek the power of being Sent. But humanity really does need to be protected. From the demons. From the Lords…you know they’ll rise again.”
“We could do that,” Julian says lazily beside me. His eyes are closed; he looks like he’s more interested in a nap than saving the world. “We could do it together.”
“Holy shit, Everett’s sweetness is contagious,” Lincoln mutters.
“Well?” Ever asks Lincoln.
“My father popped in and dragged me bodily to the gates to ‘turn myself in’,” Lincoln says. He knits his arms over his chest. “It’s not that I wanted to be a Lord anymore—not after what they did to Eden and Elliot—but I didn’t want to be here either.”
