Grimmstead Academy: A Villainous Introduction

by Candace Wondrak

  Grimmstead Academy

  A Villainous Introduction

  Candace Wondrak

  © 2020 Candace Wondrak

  All Rights Reserved.

  Book cover by Melony Paradise at Paradise Cover Design – Premade Book Covers Group

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  Chapter One – Felice

  Chapter Two – Lucien

  Chapter Three – Felice

  Chapter Four – Felice

  Chapter Five – Payne

  Chapter Six – Felice

  Chapter Seven – Ian

  Chapter Eight – Felice

  Chapter Nine – Lucien

  Chapter Ten – Felice

  Chapter Eleven – Felice

  Chapter Twelve – Dagen

  Chapter Thirteen – Koda

  Chapter Fourteen – Felice

  Chapter Fifteen – Ian

  Chapter Sixteen – Felice

  Chapter Seventeen – Lucien

  Chapter Eighteen – Felice

  Chapter One – Felice

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. At nineteen, I should be in college, learning, figuring out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I should be laughing and making friends that would last a lifetime.

  But that’s not how it happened, and that’s not who I was.

  I was a disappointment to my father, I knew, and if my mother was still alive, she’d be downright aghast at my decisions, too. Too late to take any of it back. Too late to make apologies. Such as it was with mistakes; once they were made, you couldn’t take them back.

  I didn’t want to talk about it, but let’s just say I was kicked out of school, and with my current record, no college worth their weight would accept me. For weeks I’d been lost, not knowing what to do, hating being under the glares of my father, and then it came.

  A letter. A proposition. An…employment opportunity I could not pass up. For someone like me, something like this came only once in a lifetime. Or never. At this point, I wasn’t sure how they found me, but they found me, and it was because they found me that I sat in the backseat of a taxi, my luggage in the trunk.

  I wore nice, pressed pants, a floral shirt I’d grabbed off the clearance rack at some random department store, long-sleeve and button-up. The collar sat just above my clavicle, and I felt its soft fabric try to suffocate me with every breath I took. They were supposed to be interview clothes, but I just felt silly.

  Technically I was an adult, but sometimes I still felt like a kid masquerading as one. Would I ever really feel grown up, or would my entire life pass by in a dreary blur?

  We must’ve been close to the destination, for the cab driver glanced in the rearview mirror. He was an older gentleman, maybe fifty, with hardly a strand of hair on his head. “Don’t know why you want to go to Grimmstead. I live a town over, but all the locals know not to go near it.”

  My eyes were staring at my reflection in the glass: tan skin, darker hair, and the darkest of eyes imaginable. I’d been watching the raindrops splatter onto the window, wondering why it had to be rainy and miserable during the drive. I’d be soaked in a matter of seconds the very moment I got out of the taxi.

  I’d Googled Grimmstead Academy before I decided to leave and travel here. From what I understood, the letter was a straight-out job offer; I didn’t have to interview. They somehow found me and wanted me, and I was in dire enough straits to accept with little hesitation.

  The internet search yielded some interesting results. Most of the results dealt with its history. It used to be an asylum, but over seventy years ago, it was shut down. Soon it was repurposed into an academy, but that’s where my research failed. Oddly enough, its current days as an academy were hardly talked about online. Strangely enough, it was almost like Grimmstead Academy no longer existed.

  That wasn’t the case, though. When I typed in the address on the letter and mapped it out, it took me right to Grimmstead itself.

  Weird, but I was grasping at straws before that letter, gazing steadily into the mouth of the unknown, not knowing what to do with my life. The moment the letter came, before I even looked into it, I knew I had to go. I knew it, deep in my soul. Grimmstead would save me.

  “I’m not afraid of ghost stories, if that’s what you’re talking about,” I said. “I actually got a job offer.” Didn’t know why I felt like speaking more; it was clear this guy looked down on Grimmstead and its people.

  “From Grimmstead?” The driver’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. His knuckles were white on the wheel, the wipers on the glass before him going at full speed. Swish, swash. “That place has seen better days. I’d rethink that offer if I were you.”

  What this man didn’t know was that I had no choice. Working in retail for the rest of my life sounded like hell on earth, so working at Grimmstead would definitely be a step up. My saving grace, even if I had to deal with children who leaned more towards the criminal side of the law.

  I didn’t bring much of value; I didn’t have much, so it wasn’t like I was too worried about any of that.

  I said nothing else, my jaw clamping shut. There would be no rethinking this; Grimmstead was where I was going, and it would be where I stayed, at least for a while.

  After another ten minutes of driving, the taxi rolled to a stop, and through the rain, I spotted gates. Wrought iron, tall things, their ends pointed sharply. The gate was closed, blocking out the view of what was inside—Grimmstead Academy.

  “Well, this is your stop,” the driver spoke, turning around. The machine on his dashboard calculated my fare, and I reached into my purse and paid him. “Good luck, and remember, if you need a ride out of here, I’m in the area.” Trying to drum up more business rather than being nice, but I could tell by the tone of his voice he really didn’t think I should get out and go in.

  With the gate shut, I wasn’t sure how I was going to get in anyway. And with this rain…

  Best just get it over with.

  Hugging the purse close to my chest, I got out, hurrying around to the trunk and pulling out my luggage. Two big suitcases, nothing fancy. I hardly packed much, mostly because I wanted to leave everything back there.

  The rain drenched me quickly, and by the time I rolled my two suitcases up to the gate, the taxi driver left. I watched him go, shooting him a frown as I cursed myself for not checking the weather beforehand. Stupid, stupid.

  My eyes cut back to the gate, and I wondered if there was a camera somewhere. I saw no box to speak into, no button to press to let them know I was here. It was as I started wondering just what the hell I was going to do when the sounds of metal grinding on pavement entered my ears, and I watched with an open mouth as the gate itself slowly swung open, inwardly inviting me onto Grimmstead property.

  “Well,” I spoke to myself in the rain, “here goes nothing.”

  Not exactly a vote of confidence in myself, but it was hard to be confident when I was sopping wet and probably looking like a drowned rat.

  My feet drew me up the long driveway, my body starting to shiver. Back in the day, more of this land—land that was now covered in well-kept grass and impecca
bly-sculpted trees—housed the asylum. When they closed, they tore most of it down, keeping the centermost building, the building that, as I neared it, looked more and more like a mini-castle taken out of its own time.

  Dark brick, single-paned glass. Not a garage to be seen. Just a concrete pathway to the stone front steps. The academy loomed over me, only three stories tall, but its towers were pointed and ominous, seemingly lifting up and rising against the grey sky.

  Enough ogling. I had to get in, get dry.

  This was not the first impression I wanted to make. Soaking wet, like a lost kitten that had been forgotten and abandoned outside. I heaved my suitcases up the front steps, finally under an overhang near the front door, no longer getting pelted by constant rain. I set my suitcases down, reaching for my hair and wringing it out.

  Yes, I’d gotten that wet. Yes, it sucked. I was not a huge fan of water. Quite the opposite, actually.

  The front door didn’t have a doorbell—or any cameras, I noticed as I glanced all around—just one of those metal rings attached to the door itself. A knocker. A very old-fashioned thing, something most houses didn’t have anymore.

  My fingers curled around the cold metal, a shiver coursing down my spine due to how cool the knocker was, and then I knocked. Once, twice, three times before releasing it and standing back, grabbing the handles to my suitcases as I waited.

  What if I got here and they wouldn’t let me in? What if I was invited inside and promptly taken to the basement where they kept pretty girls like me in cages?

  Okay, that was probably far-fetched. My mind getting the better of me. Not that I was paranoid—I wasn’t—but being a girl in this day and age, you never knew. If my father didn’t hear from me today, he’d know something was wrong. He’d send the police after me or something, I was sure.

  Pretty sure.

  Eh, more like reasonably sure.

  Okay, fine. It was more like fifty-fifty, but that was okay, because I couldn’t live under that roof anymore with his knowing stares. My father thought he knew everything, but he didn’t. Still, for whatever reason, I strived to make him proud. I couldn’t take being the disappointment any longer, so this job offer had come at the perfect time.

  I was just about to knock again when the impossibly large wooden door opened. No one stood on its other side, just a whole lot of empty space, almost as though the door had unlatched and opened on its own.

  “Weird,” I mumbled, stepping inside, pulling my luggage over the threshold. Immediately I felt out of place; my nice clothes were soaked, and I was pretty sure you could see my bra through the wet shirt. Probably my underwear line too, on my butt.

  Hoo boy. Definitely not the first impression I wanted to…

  My thoughts vanished the moment I gazed around, at the entryway around me. Tall ceilings, dark wood walls, lights hanging on them instead of the ceiling. They looked almost like candelabras, old-fashioned with wax candles and real fire, but after a closer inspection, I realized they were only lightbulbs.

  I left my luggage near the front door, which had surreptitiously closed of its own accord, and stepped deeper into the hall. Straight ahead, the ceiling opened up wide to a grand staircase that split, half of it going left to the second floor, and half of it turning right.

  The air inside here was chilly, or maybe that was simply because I was drenched from head to toe. Stupid weather.

  I was about to step forward again when something small and black caught my eye, and I froze, the water dripping from my clothes and hair the only movement on my form. A black cat sat on the wooden floor before me, its tail slowly whipping back and forth in a way that told me the cat was interested in me. I was a new entity to it, and I had to be investigated. Its eyes were a vibrant yellow, slit and blinking up at me.

  “Hey there,” I said, kneeling down and extending my hand to it. “Can you tell me where everyone is?” So far, the space around me was quiet. Too quiet. So quiet my voice echoed in the empty hall, making myself wince. I really hoped this wasn’t a mistake.

  Me, coming here to accept the position. The letter said it would take no calls, and when I searched online, I could find no numbers. I hadn’t spoken to anyone before coming here. What if this was all a huge mistake?

  I really didn’t want to go crawling back to my father and hear him tell me I told you so, which he surely would do over and over until I grew sick of hearing those words.

  The cat stood on all fours, blinked up at me, and started to saunter away. Not knowing what else to do, I followed it, leaving my suitcases near the door. I dribbled water onto the floor with each step I took, and I really hoped I wasn’t damaging anything.

  I’d hoped this was the start of something good, but…maybe it wasn’t. If this was the start of something good, I could only imagine how good the rest of my time here at Grimmstead would be.

  Hint: not good at all.

  The cat led me down a hall, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say the cat actually had understood me when I asked it to tell me where everyone was. Most of the doors we passed were closed, but one rectangle shed light in the otherwise dark and gloomy space. Those light fixtures on the walls didn’t do much to light the area.

  I turned into the open room right after the cat did, immediately stopping when I saw a man. He stood near the window on the far wall, gazing out of it. He wore a dark grey suit, his arms crossed, making the fabric taut on his shoulders and back—of which I only saw because he didn’t see me walk in.

  The room was an office of sorts, two huge leather chairs facing a big, wooden desk. Bookshelves lined the walls on each side, full of volumes that smelled a bit old, kind of like how my grandma’s house used to smell, before she went into the nursing home. Musty, mildewy, almost.

  The cat silently hopped onto the giant mahogany desk near the man, stretching out over the papers spread there and yawning lazily. It plopped down, its feet nearly scattering the papers on the man’s desk.

  The man still did not turn to look, which caused me to cough and awkwardly say, “Um, hello. I’m Felice Fairday. I, uh, got your letter in the mail—” Whatever else I was going to say died in the back of my throat the moment that man turned around. Something in my gut hardened when we met eyes, and I knew, right then and there, that I was in deep trouble.

  Deep, deep trouble.

  Why? Oh, no particular reason.

  Only that this man was probably the most handsome man I’d ever seen. His light brown hair was combed to the side, his eyes a beautiful green. Tall and gruff, almost, like a mountain man in a suit, his beard shaved close to his jaw. If I had to guess, I’d put him somewhere in his thirties. Way too old for me, but not too old that I couldn’t appreciate what I saw.

  And what I saw was a muscular hunk in a suit who seemed to be about as perplexed by my presence and I was his.

  Please tell me this guy wasn’t going to be my boss. Please.

  He was slow to uncross his arms, only to put his hands in his pants’ pockets. The man took two steps toward the desk, glancing down at the cat for only a split-second before lifting that intense stare back to me. “Letter?”

  “Yes,” I said, turning to dig in my purse and pulling out the letter I received. The paper was dripping wet with water, and I instantly cringed at myself for being so, well, silly. Feeling uneasy, I moved closer to his desk. Even though that big desk separated us, I still felt a bit uncomfortable being this near him.

  Don’t get me wrong, he was handsome, yes, but the look he currently gave me told me to be wary. It was not a warm, welcoming look. Heck, it wasn’t the type of look you’d give someone you were expecting.

  Oh, no. Was this letter some sort of scam? My heart started to race, for I did not want to go back home.

  “Here,” I said softly, handing him the letter, noticing with a pained heart that my hand shook a bit. Not only was I walking in unannounced in the pouring rain with a see-through shirt looking like a dead rat, but I was also so unbelievably nervous I wanted to
throw up. Funny how my nerves remained quiet until now.

  Until I saw him.

  The man silently took the letter from me, saying nothing about my trembling hand as he held up the letter. Water dripped from its lowest corner, and his hazel eyes glanced up to me. “Do you mind if I keep this?” There was a pause before he added, “I’ve sent out so many letters lately that I need a refresher on what position you were offered.” To the letter, he muttered, “I do hope it dries.”

  Ah, so they hired other people as well for other positions? Made sense. So far, this place seemed a little…empty. Where were the students? The teachers? Where were the other people?

  “I’m sorry about that,” I said. “I didn’t think I’d need to bring an umbrella.”

  The man set the wet letter down on his desk, near the black cat, who rested idly, its yellow eyes closed. “I think, Ms. Fairday, you’ll find Grimmstead has everything you need.” Though his words didn’t sound too foreboding in and of themselves, they still settled on my ears like nails on a chalkboard.

  I said nothing, unable to shake this eerie feeling. Maybe it was the almost gothic atmosphere of the place, how empty it was.

  “I am sorry for the odd welcome,” the man went on, glancing at the windows, at the rain splattering the glass. “I was not expecting anyone today.” He ran a hand down his suit’s front, and the gesture caught my eye a little more than it should. He was a muscular man beneath that suit, wasn’t he?

  If this man would be my boss of sorts, having a crush on him would only be ill-fated. Plus, he was closer to my father’s age than mine. Still, that did not take away from his attractiveness. Maturity did not age every face well, but for his, it most certainly did.

  The man extended his hand over his desk, offering it to me as he said, “Please forgive my lack of manners. I’m Lucien Grimmstead.”

  I moved closer to the desk, dripping a bit on the cat—which the cat surely hated—as I went to shake his hand. His fingers curled around mine almost stiffly, firmly. His hand was rough, and so much larger than mine. And warm. Did I mention he was warm?