Phoenix Academy: Forged (Phoenix Academy First Years Book 3)

by Lucy Auburn

  Gravely, the headmaster says, “My deepest apologies for not including you, Ocean. I thought your knowledge might be better suited for a solo presentation. Without the students here.”

  He looks over at us as if for the first time, and I wonder if he’s considering putting extra essay questions on our final as a punishment for seeing him embarrassed.

  Sam, Liam, and Petra take this as their cue to get up and leave. I'm about to go with them when Ocean shakes his head in my direction. "This might concern you too."

  "I don't know." I glance towards the door, but it's clear he wants me to stay.

  "This is about Meyer," he says, "and you're the only one who knows much at all about him."

  So I reluctantly stay in the room as Petra closes the door behind her, sealing me off from escape.

  Lana says, “Please, if you have information on Meyer that the rest of us could use, share it now. And feel free to grab a chair. The more the merrier.”

  Ocean—it’s easier to think of him by that name now that I’m picturing him getting absolutely wasted with Kade—waves her words away. “I won’t be needing a chair, or much time to present my findings. Brevity will suffice.

  “It’s all very simple, you see, though the research I had to do to get my information was incredibly complex.” I tilt my mug up to get the last of the coffee from the bottom of it, certain that despite his words on being brief, we’re about to get a patented Ocean Johnson extra long lecture. So I nearly wind up spitting my coffee out when he says, “There is no Leo Meyer at all. The man we know by that name is in fact Grim General Wilhelm Gunter. The very same Wilhelm Gunter who led the Rhine Valley Massacre in the First Phoenix War.”

  Chapter 6

  It won’t shock anyone who knows me to learn that I haven’t paid very much attention in Phoenix History class. Or Shifter History class, for that matter, though it was fun to find out that shifters go through a second puberty as their animal form in addition to the whole human puberty thing.

  What an experience that must be. You couldn’t pay me to live through a two-puberty Petra—though I’d pay someone who knew her then to describe what it was like. And it’s fascinating hearing descriptions of various well-known shifters whose existence created legends about ghosts, werewolves, and animal gods.

  But when it comes to the whole, “this war started in the year blah-dee blah-dee blah, ended however many years later, and all these dead guys did all this terrible shit” type of stuff, well, in one ear and out the other. I’ve basically crammed as much history in my head as I needed to pass the final, and even that is probably less than thirty percent of what I need to know.

  But what’re they gonna do, kick a rare Black Phoenix like me out into the cold, Grim-infested arms of the world because I got the date wrong on a multiple choice question? Nah, that’s never gonna happen.

  Besides, now that I’ve got my guys back, I can always just summon Lynx in his incorporeal form and have him feed me the answers—assuming his conscience doesn’t get in the way and prevent him from helping me cheat.

  So I don’t know much history. Making it a shock that I’ve heard the name Wilhelm Gunter.

  “You can’t be serious.” I stare at Mr. Johnson, hating that my coffee mug is now empty, and there’s no booze in this whole fucking office. “You’re saying Meyer, my da—former teacher, is straight up the Hitler of the phoenix world?”

  He frowns at me. “I’m not sure that comparison tracks one-to-one. Perhaps Robert E. Lee is a better comparison to make, although he made many tactical errors, unlike General Gunter. Heinrich Himmler is an even better comparison to make, although unlike Himmler, Gunter did not report to a government official. I suppose that—”

  “Enough.” The headmaster holds up her hand palm-out, looking tired. She presses her fingertips against her forehead and slumps back in her chair, looking for the first time this morning like someone whose heart was straight-up snatched out of her chest like something out of a horror movie. Apparently even she has her limit.

  “So you’re telling me that the teacher I hired and brought on campus, while apparently at least partially under the influence of a dark spell, is the very same man who exterminated almost the entire population of phoenix in Germania? And he’s somehow stayed alive for centuries since, without aging even so much as a day?”

  “That, or he’s someone who bears a remarkable resemblance to Wilhelm Gunter, has his same unusual powers for a Grim, and an identical fingerprint.” Ocean slides a large flat envelope out of his jacket and pulls a thin set of papers from it, then approaches the desk and sets them down in front of the headmaster.

  “I became suspicious when I heard him speak a dialect of Dutch that has been out of fashion for some time, though even I doubted my own suspicions, despite records from the day confirming his uncanny resemblance to the man himself. It wasn’t until I took his fingerprint and compared it to one on an archival document in Melisandra’s Library that I realized my hunch might be right. So I sent a scan of both fingerprints off to a friend of mine who works in a forensic science lab. She owed me a favor. The results are... well, unless he traveled back in time to put his fingerprint on Wilhelm Gunter’s battle orders, Leo Meyer is the man himself. And I suspect I know how he’s been keeping himself alive.”

  Clearing my throat, I reluctantly admit, “I know how he’s been keeping himself alive. Or at least, one of... one of my demons,” how strange to say that here in front of all the teachers, “the uh, the quartet I bonded to—that’s a Black Phoenix thing apparently, it’s normal, well—he saw Meyer put ground-up phoenix hearts in his coffee. You know, like a crazed psycho murderer does.”

  “Interesting,” Ocean says, in a way-too-calm voice considering the circumstances. “I’d like to speak to this demon of yours and learn more about what he observed. In fact, I’d like to speak to you too. My research on rare phoenix types is woefully inadequate save for the Red and Gold Phoenix, both of which we’ve had here at our disposal. These demons no doubt have answers to missing gaps in my history.”

  I have to stuff down a groan at the thought of spending an extended amount of my free time answering his “questions” and no doubt getting more lectures, this time one-on-one. But then something occurs to me. Putting on my best long-suffering voice, I tell him, “I’d love to sit down and answer all your questions! Except...” Chewing on my lower lip for best effect, I sigh and add, “well, with finals I don’t really have that much time. What with all my studying...”

  He raises a dark brow, pushing his long braided hair over one shoulder and squinting at me suspiciously. “I suppose it could count towards the research section of your final exam. Just the Phoenix History exam, though—Shifter History you’ll need to pass all on your own.”

  Well, it’s better than nothing. I don’t know what I expected. “Thanks,” I grind out, “how generous of you.”

  The headmaster cuts in. “We’ll reduce finals as much as possible for all of you. In fact, I’d recommend that all your combat credits be waved in light of what happened last night.”

  Fisk chimes in, “Waved completely,” which of course doesn’t help me at all since I’m not in his class anymore.

  “I’ll wave the entirety of my finals to anyone who can describe a moment of weapons combat they survived,” Kade offers.

  “I suppose I’ll shorten my final for those who have injuries,” McKinley reluctantly says, “though I expect all my students to be able to perform a simple mat takedown unless they’re completely invalid.”

  My eyes go to Yohan. He raises two sparse, salt-and-pepper brows in my direction. “Your phoenix fire skills are still nascent. Any moment of practice is valuable. With all the extra time your shortened combat finals have opened up, not to mention the obvious lack of a final for Meyer’s class, I’ll expect you to report bright and early as scheduled to show me both your wings and your flame-throwing skills.”

  I bite back a groan. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”


  Wisely, Yohan doesn’t say anything to contradict me, despite the fact that according to him my wings have remained far behind his expectations. I once told him that maybe Black Phoenix wings develop slower than others, and he gave me such a scathing glare you would’ve thought I took a dump right in front of him.

  Now all I have left before the glorious break is a few prying questions from Ocean, a Shifter History final I’m sure to fail without Lynx’s help cheating, some fire to summon, and a Pixie Resistance test that I expect will go off without a hitch.

  Maybe taking finals will make everything feel normal again.

  Or maybe I’m kidding myself.

  “Well, I think we’ve come towards the end of this meeting with more questions than answers,” the headmaster says, sighing and shaking her head. “Everyone is dismissed—except you, Mr. Johnson, and you, Dani. I’d like to speak with both of you a bit longer about a few things. Kade, give my best wishes to Ms. Lewis. I’ll come visit her in the infirmary as soon as I’m able.”

  “Will do.”

  As the others file out of the room, I spot Liam hanging out in the hallway. Ducking out, I tell him that I’ll visit Olivia ASAP—something I already feel bad for not doing last night.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs to me, squeezing my elbow, “you had your hands full. I’m just glad I was able to get her out of there before things got worse—and I’m glad we didn’t lose anyone.” His eyes flicker with guilt. “Well, any one of us... I guess you know what I mean. I didn’t know Laena that well.”

  “Neither did I,” I admit, twinging with guilt myself.

  “The shifters who knew her are going to have a memorial. We should go,” he says, and I immediately think of Ezra, carrying her body up to the roof. “I’ll see you soon?”

  “As soon as the headmaster lets me out,” I mutter.

  Liam heads down the staircase, leaving me to return to the headmaster's office and face whatever she wants to talk to me about. There’s something intimidating about facing the headmaster alone, much less the one teacher who’s never had anything good to say to me in class—I’m not much of a test-taker or an essay writer. So it’s not surprising that as I take a seat closer to the desk, empty mug still clutched in my caffeine-addicted hands, I feel a surge of anxiety.

  A big surge.

  The kind that makes your heart skip a little beat.

  And, well... I’m out of practice at the whole bonded-to-four-demons thing. I can no longer keep myself from reflexively reaching out to tug at the place where they settle inside me, making me feel alive and comforted, whole and protected. As soon as I feel outnumbered and nervous, here they are, arrayed behind me in a half-circle, incorporeal but most decidedly present in my eyes.

  Forged together by magic and power I don’t pretend to understand, we’re better as five, a quartet and the lucky dead girl stuck in the middle.

  “I want to talk to you about your connection with Meyer,” I hear the headmaster say; my attention is on Lynx, who’s casually leaning up against the wall behind her desk, his fingers playing at the bottom edge of his T-shirt. He’s smirking at me, damnit, teasing me with the promise that he might take it off—all while she keeps talking, completely oblivious to the hot man tease behind her. “This is a delicate issue, I know. You just learned about it yourself. So if it bothers you and you want to keep it a secret...”

  She pauses, and I realize I’m supposed to be looking at her and answering some unspoken question. I jerk my gaze away from Lynx, whose smirk has turned into a full-on chuckle now. Her eyes are pointedly staring in Ocean’s direction, while he’s just finished getting his own mug of coffee and is settling into the chair next to me.

  It takes me far too many seconds to get it: she wants to know if I’m uncomfortable telling Mr. History himself that Leo Meyer, also known as Wilhelm Gunter, is my father. “The others already know,” I answer to her unspoken question.

  Licking my lips, I swivel in my chair towards Mr. Johnson, aware that a torrent of facts and lecture might follow my surprising declaration.

  He glances up at me curiously over the edge of his mug. “Are you talking about the fact that he’s the only Grim who’s ever worked here, and you’re the only phoenix he may have ever bonded with? There may be something there, it did occur to me.”

  “She doesn’t mean my connection with him as a student to a teacher. What she means is that last night, Leo Meyer told me that he’s my biological father.”

  To my shock—and Ocean’s, based on the look on his face—he spits his coffee out at this news. Straight into his mug, thankfully, and not in my face, which would be almost as unpleasant as all the heart-stealing people-killing shit that went on last night. I’m glad for his aim but more than a little irritated by the look on his face.

  “I don’t think he was expecting that,” Sebastian says dryly from over his shoulder. “Gotta say, Dani, if they all react this way I want you to summon us before you tell them.”

  “I love a good spit take,” Mateo adds.

  “So you’re telling me,” the history teacher says, blinking his eyes behind his round glasses, “that Leo Meyer, whose thumbprint matches Wilhelm Gunter,” the guys react to this in various states of unease and disbelief, “whose description matches Wilhelm Gunter, who seems to quite possibly be hundreds of years old, has... recently reproduced? I don’t even know how that’s possible.”

  That wasn’t the part that I expected to shock him.

  Mateo quips, “He must have dusty sperm by now, if he really is an old fuck.”

  “I didn’t think you were right, Ezra,” Lynx admits, “but it sounds like you may very well have been onto something.”

  “I told you I was.”

  Ignoring the demons for now, I tell the headmaster, “I don’t know how much me being his daughter is really a connection. He still lied to me and betrayed me. He used dark magic on me to take my demon quartet—apparently they were supposed to be mine from the start, as it’s how I access my Black Phoenix powers. And he nearly killed you and my friends. Doesn’t seem like he’ll be getting Father of the Year award just because of a little DNA contribution.”

  “But he came here for you, I believe now. And I think he may return for you at some point, when the opportunity is right. Has he contacted you yet?”

  I shoot her a bewildered look. “How would he?”

  “We gave you a cell phone,” she reminds me, “I’m more than a little shocked that someone your age doesn’t have it tethered to you at all times.”

  Oh, right. It was better than the prepaid phones I usually relied on when I was out on the street—far better, with unlimited data, texts, and minutes. But the only numbers I ever put on it were the other students in class with me, who I see every day anyway. I didn’t see any point in using social media when there are strict academy rules about posting where we are or putting any location-specific photos online to try to prevent the school’s mysterious hideaway from being found. I decided pretty early after getting it that the thing was basically a brick and there was nothing interesting I could do with it besides use it as a mirror for applying makeup on the go.

  Not to mention the back of the phone has a gold phoenix embossed in the dark red aluminum, thoroughly branding it just as much as the sheets, pillowcases, towels, blazers, and basically everything that can be branded in this place—except maybe the toilets. Though maybe one day they’ll put a little gold phoenix in the porcelain bowls that we can marvel at every time we shit.

  “I have it somewhere.” Mateo shakes his head as I rummage through my blazer pockets looking for the thing; Ezra cocks a bemused brow, and Lynx yawns and stretches, showing off the thin strip of skin that runs above the waistline of his jeans. Fishing in my left-hand pocket, I finally find it when I poke my fingers through a hole in the blazer’s lining and dive deep inside until my fingers hit glass. “It might still have a charge...”

  Even Ocean, who’s the most crunchy granola hippy in existence, loo
ks bemused at my utter disinterest in using the smartphone. I feel like all eyes are on me—and judging me completely—as I hold down the power button to turn it on.

  I refrain from mentioning that I’ve forgotten my own phone number.

  And to think, mine is the generation that was born online.

  “I like paper books better anyway. Electronic devices are so overrated,” Lynx says comfortingly, which only makes Sebastian and Mateo snicker that much harder.

  As the phone turns on, 17% battery life glowing red in the little row of icons, notifications start flowing in. I’ve got friend requests, not that they’re going to get anything out of them; the only things I post online are closeups of my winged eyeliner and badass lipstick. There are news alerts, which I clear out because fuck if I wanna be depressed about the even worse shit going on outside the campus walls. And, eventually, a few message alerts.

  Sam texted me a few days ago inviting me to movie night on the roof. I never responded, but I didn’t have to—Petra dragged me up there in person.

  Some kind of spam text about signing up for text alerts.

  An emergency notice about an amber alert in Santa Cruz, where the phone is convinced I am, despite the campus technically being in the northeast. The weather is the most useless part of this thing.

  And then.

  A text I have to read five times just to confirm it’s real.

  From a phone number I barely remember adding to the phone shortly after my class syllabus slid underneath my door, where it mostly stayed next to overdue library book notices—all of which I ignored.

  The text reads: I know you must hate me now, but there’s so much I need to explain. If you listen, you might understand. I did this all for you. Meet me at the corner of 1st and 3rd, near the movie theater that’s under construction, at 11 tonight. I promise I’ll explain it all.

  Well, fuck.

  Glancing up at the headmaster, I reluctantly tell her, “He’s reached out already. He wants to meet.”